I was filled with anticipation when the day finally arrived for our departure to the Invader's Gate. My goodbyes had all been handled the day before. H, Carl, and Ginge had wished me luck surviving my first Challenge, with a few jabs about how it'd be easier now thanks to my sudden "growth spurt." Thankfully, there hadn't been any more jokes about me trying to escape, which eased my nerves. I didn't want anyone accidentally guessing what I was really planning. It was bittersweet knowing that, if things went well, I'd never see them again. But we were friends by circumstance, not deep bonds, so I didn't let it weigh too heavily on me.

My final goodbye with Billy came in the form of another sparring session—one where he only managed to knock me out once. That was great progress by both our standards. I'd grown into a fighter who could hold his own against someone like Billy, which was impressive even with my healing advantage. My spear work was still just okay, not great, but I wasn't complaining. Billy said the only thing left for me to learn was what it felt like to actually stab someone. He'd tried to find a way to replicate it in training, but nothing quite matched.

"The one thing you gotta remember," he said, "is to pull harder than you think. These things have a habit of getting stuck. Last thing you want is to lose your weapon or worse, yank the poor bastard into you."

As we packed up for the final time, he gave me one last reminder.

"Don't forget what I said about Erick's."

"I do. I'll go to see him, I owe you that much."

He reached his big hand out and I gripped it in mine. Despite it not being that long ago, it was a lot different from our first meeting.

"It's been good knowing you, kid," he said with a smile. "Make sure you keep your 'ead screwed on tight out there, you 'ear?"

"I hear you Billy. Thanks again for everything you've done for me. Maybe one day I'll be able to repay you."

That night, I went easy on my training. Trouble could start at any moment, and the last thing I needed was to be out of mana when it mattered most. If an opportunity to escape presented itself, I had to be at my best and that meant sharp, rested, and ready.

The only regret I carried as I joined the conscripted workers was not getting the chance to say goodbye to Mistress Maggie. During the weeks I'd spent training, I'd considered faking an injury just to get a moment with her but ultimately decided it was too risky. If anyone caught on, it could've jeopardized everything and put her at a risk. Besides, if my plan worked, she'd find out soon enough, and I didn't think she'd hold it against me.

After breakfast, we lined up as instructed. It was just the crafters initially because the fighters were to be brought out later, which meant we'd be heading to the Challenge site as a smaller, more manageable group. Ironically, I saw that as a problem. With fewer of us, the guards—and worse, the Wallowhackers—would be more likely to keep a close eye on us without any chaos to distract them.

My plan was to lay low for the first few days—maybe even the whole week—until their guard was down, or their attention elsewhere and I had the opening I needed to get away. Of course I was planning to take up any chance that came my way but I was doing my best to keep myself focused. The last thing I wanted was to get overwhelmed with the urge to escape and play my hand too early.

I looked around at the other prisoners as we waited. Taking in their appearance and demeanour. One or two looked to be calm but the rest—including Tom—looked riddled with anxiety. It made me feel a bit bad for them all. There we were getting ready to leave prison and yet for them, it was actually a worse fate. I studied Tom in particular as I weighed up my chances of success if I took him with me.

He'd been a bit of a prick lately, barely talking to me and when he did say something it just seemed to be throwing barbs Billy's way. I could see how much going to the Challenge was affecting him though, and he'd been good to me before he'd been conscripted so I wasn't letting it affect my view of him too much. As I stood there feeling sorry for him, I came to the decision that I'd try to take him with me if the window of escape materialised whilst we were together.

After about ten minutes of waiting, one of the guards showed up. I recognised him from my first day in here but couldn't recall his name. He was fully armoured and had a face like a slapped arse like the rest of them though.

"Arms out!" He shouted.

A lad a couple places down to me was a little slow on the uptake and the guard pounced on the opportunity to make an example out of him. Before he even had time to rectify his mistake, he'd been punched in the stomach by a gauntleted fist.

I winced in sympathy for the man. He'd definitely be feeling that for the rest of the day.

"Let that be a lesson to the rest of you!" The big guard shouted. "You will do what I say, when I say it. If you do not, then you will feel the consequences. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes sir," we shouted in unison.

He motioned with his hand and the other guards began clamping our wrists with manacles as he scanned us, looking for any sign of trouble.

"There have been instances in the past where individuals have come to the ill-advised opinion that fighting in a Challenge is their chance to escape their prison sentence," his voice dropped to a low and menacing level. "If any of you so much as sniff at the wrong time, then I will personally drive my sword through your heart. There will be no questions asked. No trials. No last words. I will cut you down and not blink twice. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" We replied.

Some of the lads looked noticeably paler after the guard's speech. One even looked like he might've pissed himself. Judging by the smug grin plastered across the guard's face, he knew it too. I found myself wondering if he'd still look so self-satisfied once he realised I'd slipped right through his fingers. I had to bite back a smile as we were led away. I knew I had to keep my mentality in check. Getting cocky now would be the kind of mistake that gets you caught. If I wanted any chance of reaching Dillon and Morgana, I had to stay sharp. That meant playing my role—scared, submissive, just another meek prisoner with no thoughts beyond surviving the challenges to come.

Outside in the yard, a row of horses stood waiting, which sparked a flicker of hope in a few of the others. Poor fools. I knew better. There was no way the guards would be generous enough to let prisoners ride. Sure enough, I was proven right moments later when one overeager conscript stepped too close to a horse and was immediately shoved to the ground.

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"Do not," the nearest guard barked, punctuating the command with a brutal kick, "go near my horse!"

The lead guard—who still hadn't introduced himself—stepped forward and uncoiled a length of rope.

"Each of you will be tethered by your manacles to a rider," he said coldly. "We'll move at a trot. Anyone who can't keep up will be dragged. We will not stop. There will be no diversions. And most importantly—" his eyes swept across us "—there will be no opportunity to escape."

The lead guard began by roughly tying up the unfortunate conscript who'd failed to follow his instructions earlier, giving me a feeling this was just the start of his punishment. When it came to my turn, one of the guards shoved me into the middle of the line, muttering something about me being "too big" to risk placing at the back. Why he thought I'd be foolish enough to run now, I had no idea. Attempting an escape on foot from mounted guards would be beyond stupid—even I wasn't reckless enough to try that.

At least, not without a substantial head start.

The journey to the Invader's Gate wasn't particularly long, but the guards ensured it was miserable. They kept us moving at a pace deliberately just beyond comfortable, a relentless speed that guaranteed every one of us fell at least once, dragged roughly behind the horses until we scrambled to our feet again. About halfway through, I realised with disgust that the guards were making a game out of it, actively speeding up and slowing down to trip us up. A stubborn part of me wanted desperately to remain upright, refusing to give them the satisfaction—it honestly wouldn't have been too difficult after my training with Billy—but practicality won out. I deliberately took a tumble at one point, blending in with the others to avoid suspicion. There was no point antagonising them yet, even if eating dirt and seeing that smug look on my guard's face had my blood boiling.

My frustration slowly melted away, though, as when we drew nearer to the Fracture, I found my thoughts drifting away. I was mesmerised by its unsettling beauty. The jagged cracks split the sky, pouring an eerie red glow onto the world below, as though reality itself was wounded and bleeding into ours. It captivated me, and I found myself once again wondering about the other side—what the demons and monsters experienced before they stepped into our world. Most believed that creatures emerged from beyond the Fracture, despite scattered theories claiming they were spawned within it. I'd debated this back in class, but the conspiracy theories never convinced me; none adequately explained the historical accounts of explorers who had actually crossed through to the other side. Even with how long ago those accounts were, they were still credible. Staring up at that bleeding sky now, I felt a pang of regret that I'd never discovered any description detailing what truly awaited us on the other side.

The Invader's Gate slowly loomed ahead as we drew nearer to our destination. My first thought upon seeing it was immediate clarity about why they had desperately needed a team of crafters. The fortress was in a dire state. Even with my minimal training, I could plainly see the extent of its disrepair. I wanted to trick myself into believing the side facing the Fracture would be better but I knew already that that was a pipe dream.

Large sections of the walls had crumbled away entirely, leaving jagged holes through which attackers could easily stream. The stonework that remained was cracked and weather-worn, as though years of relentless assaults had chipped away its integrity. Ivy crawled through the numerous gaps, further undermining the structural strength. Some areas looked hastily patched together, the mortar sloppy and uneven, obviously the rushed effort of inexperienced hands.

No wonder the demons had found it so easy to breach the gate before the Wallowhackers had taken over. The entire place barely counted as a fortification. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought it a neglected ruin, held together by hope rather than solid craftsmanship.

A sigh escaped my lips as I looked at it. We really have our work cut out for us here I thought to myself. The only good thing was that it meant I'd be able to spend time all across the fort as I made repairs, which if all went well, would give me an idea of where the best escape point would be. The only sticking point would be the vigilance of the others stationed here.

As we approached the fortress, I noticed that there weren't many guards stationed around the entrance, at least not compared to the heavy presence I'd grown accustomed to in prison. But then again, it wasn't like anyone on this side was eager to charge into the Fracture. The Challenge wasn't live and when it was, demons trying to force their way through were undoubtedly a bigger concern. Still, I studied the stationed guards carefully, searching for any details that might help my escape.

Their armour was identical to what the prison guards wore, except here the differences spoke volumes about their circumstances. While the prison guards wore pristine, polished plate that gleamed like mirrors, these soldiers' armour was battered and worn, dented from what I assumed was relentless combat, and coated in layers of dust from the harsh environment. Even their weapons bore the scars of frequent use, the wood of their spears chipped and nicked from repeated clashes. They made the prison guards look like show pieces in comparison. Not that it made either less deadly to me without a weapon or armour.

As our escort passed by these soldiers, they exchanged brief nods of acknowledgment with a few stopping to share words of greeting. From the nicknames and odd references I could hear, they sounded like old comrades.

Inside the fortress, a cacophony greeted us, echoing off the worn stone walls. The clanging of metal against metal resonated as armoured soldiers trained, sparring rigorously in the courtyard. Nearby, I saw a couple blacksmiths toiled at their forges, the rhythmic ringing of hammers striking anvils creating an unending percussion. Each strike seemed to carry with it a stubborn determination, as if by sheer force of will they might turn the metal they were working on into a weapon from the stories, capable of cutting down monsters and demons like a scythe through wheat. Though it made me wonder how they had managed to get blacksmiths but not masons or carpenters.

The familiar sound of smithing gave me some measure of hope. At the very least, there would be skilled hands capable of crafting or mending tools, weapons, and armour. As far as I knew, we hadn't brought any tools from the prison, and judging by the sorry state of the fortress walls, I'd been worried we'd have little to work with. But hearing the smiths at work was reassuring—it meant we'd likely have decent equipment at our disposal, or at least someone competent to assist us when the time came.

As we ventured deeper inside, the stark contrast between our polished prison and this rough, battle-hardened fortress became more evident. It felt almost surreal, knowing that in a week, this place would become a bloody battleground, and our survival might depend entirely on how well we fixed up the mess beforehand. A sly thought crossed my mind about doing a shoddy job so that it would fall all the quicker but I pushed it out of my mind. If the fortress fell, innocents would pay for it and I wasn't that heartless.

"Line up! Line up!" the lead guard bellowed, his harsh voice cutting through the busy courtyard and silencing the noise as we scrambled into formation. His command drew attention from soldiers scattered around the fortress, some halting their sparring matches to watch us with wary interest. Behind the guard stood a group of men dressed more casually, their confident stances and battle-worn swords at their hips suggesting they were far more dangerous than their relaxed appearances indicated. One in particular struck me as being familiar

"You now stand in The Invader's Gate," the guard declared, his voice echoing sharply against the battered stone walls. "This fortress is the last bastion standing between your sorry hides and certain death. When the Challenge begins, these walls will be assaulted by creatures the likes of which you've never imagined. They'll come without mercy, relentless and hungry. Every life within this fort, and all the lives in the kingdom beyond, depend entirely on whether these walls can withstand that assault."

He paused for effect, his eyes scanning our faces, driving home the gravity of our situation. "It is the pride and sworn duty of the Wallowhackers—" a fierce chorus of cheers erupted from the men in the fortress, fists raised proudly into the air, "—to fight back the monsters that threaten our land. It is your duty to ensure these walls do not fail us. There will be no leniency, no comfort, and no second chances while you remain within this fortress. This is not a holiday or an escape from prison. It is a service. Perform your duties properly, or you will die. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

"Yes sir!" we shouted back in unison, our voices echoing through the courtyard, ringing with forced confidence that most of us certainly didn't feel. But with it, I felt myself get one step closer to escaping.

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