“The trial’s the same as before—just go out the door behind me, like slipping through a wind-cut gate.”

“But, is it only about going past, like crossing a thin stream?”

“Your belly’s probably pounding like an empty drum, right?”

“Don’t you want a bite, like a sparrow pecking at dusk?”

“Sometimes you must feel your own tongue looks delicious, like a red leaf under frost.”

“Come.”

“Eat.”

“Eat her (Evil), or…”

“Kill me (Evil).”

“Hey—are you two doing a double act, like street clowns under a paper lantern?!”

Stini rolled her eyes, then slammed her greatsword to the floor; the boom cracked like thunder over stone, and the two so-called examiners shivered like reeds in wind.

It looked like a duet between her and Andor, which should have felt fun, like playing cups by the hearth. But the “her” opposite was dark-skinned, wrapped in lewd lingerie like silk smoke; the manner and gaze were miles from Stini’s own, like moonlight and coal.

Mm… it didn’t feel like her married life with Andor at all; it felt like a sister snatching the boyfriend and flaunting it, like a magpie flashing stolen silver.

Irritated—furiously irritated, like nettles under skin.

“Evil. Human evil, right?”

Stini drew a deep breath, iron-cold, and crushed the urge to pound the dark mirror into a puddle, then stepped for the door like crossing a cold stream.

“‘Temptation of Evil’… No. It’s ‘accept Evil, let it lodge in you,’ or ‘do Evil for a greater good,’ that kind of incense-smoke reasoning.”

She shifted the greatsword to her left, and her right hand—recast in black-gold—clamped Evil’s face like a wolf’s jaw closing.

“Tch, this dripping lust… why doesn’t it look like that on me?” Stini pouted, memorizing the face that matched hers like a mirror lake, learning the lure, practicing a fox’s smile. “Feels like this. Maybe like this…”

“Your face looks like a wild beast warning a hunter, all fang and bristle.”

“…Tch. Fine.”

Stini let go, nudged Evil aside like pushing through tall grass, and kept going.

“Ow… Wait, you’re not eating me? Or killing me?”

“No one knows how many trials lie ahead, like steps lost in fog. I can promise this is your only chance to eat.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“No reason.”

“Because you’re a clean freak? Because you won’t dirty your hands? Because you sit on a high pedestal and call yourself just?”

That grand voice rolled in like a bronze bell, a Divine Being’s tone carrying temple-weight.

Since the Divine Being asked, she couldn’t pretend to be deaf.

Stini sighed, didn’t look back—she didn’t care how the Divine Being descended; she just answered, like speaking to the rain.

“No. If it comes to starving to death… we’ll revisit it then. For now, I won’t eat, and I won’t kill.”

“Why is that?”

“Human reason, human righteousness, human evil—their banners don’t matter as much as the human who holds them. All thoughts rise from human breath, all creeds from human hands; malice too, obsession too, like seeds in one field.”

The girl pushed the door again, like palming a cool stone.

She’d seen the answer’s shape, so the rest was seven parts guess, like reading tracks in snow.

“Since it’s human business, the Hero shouldn’t meddle. The taxman sets the tax, the magistrate writes the law, the inquisitor hunts heresy; the world doesn’t need a Hero to keep its gears turning. What I—the Hero—should do is meet the inhuman, the things that crawl out of the dark.”

In truth, one could pass this whole trial by doing nothing—enduring humiliation or hunger like winter fasting; no strength needed, just a puppet’s patience, a clockwork steward holding order.

But Heroes aren’t puppets; they’re guardians with crushing strength, so the gods need trials, handing power only to those who won’t flip their banners to the enemy.

“As for justice, I won’t lose there—that’s why this strength came, like a hawk to a glove. As for Evil, I won’t meddle; it’s not mine, not my affair.”

She won’t change herself, because it hurts too much and she’s too soft; she won’t change others, because that’s too proud and too willful—two winds crossing.

That was the girl’s long-thought answer, her will pinned like a charm to her heart.

“That’s my resolve. Don’t push me. I’m afraid I’ll bash Evil’s head in if I can’t hold back… And those who might steal Andor include Raven, Elina, Gloria, and a flock of good friends. To keep myself from blowing up their weddings someday, I need to train now, like grinding steel on stone.”

She pushed the gate, and her metal left foot thudded to the floor with a low rumble, like distant drums.

The next trial’s hall lay empty, as bare as a winter field.

“Did the gatekeeper go to lunch this time?”

“We’re not human, not even of the human race; we don’t eat, like statues under moonlight.”

Reason walked in at her heel, steps echoing like echoes in a cauldron.

“That’s me. The gatekeeper.”

“So if I take you down, I clear the stage? Andor says in most dungeon crawls, if something wild shows up, it’s the final battle!”

“Whoa, no! Even if you kill me, the door won’t open; this one’s different from before!”

Reason flapped his hands like a startled crane.

It felt less like a Hero and more like a killer on a rainy street… though Stini had zero kill-intent, her greatsword still planted, her muscles loose like ropes.

Joke or not, this was a bit much, like spice thrown in a fasting bowl.

“Too bad. I’ve been annoyed with you for a long time, like grit in a boot.”

“Murderer, right on cue!”

“Hahaha. I’d keep joking, but I’m starving out here. I figure you’ve got a question left to ask. After all, ‘theory’ can only practice one thing: asking.”

She still looked battle-ready—yet inside, Stini was reed-thin and trembling. She faked strength like a lantern’s steady flame; never show weakness before the fall, give your team heart—that’s one of the Hero clan’s house arts.

“Only one question…” Reason circled past Stini, stepped to the hall’s center, and stood solemn as a stone pillar.

This was the gods’ trial, so Reason’s question was the gods’ question, like thunder wrapped in silk.

“What do you want to save, and what do you want to protect?”

A voice vast beyond measure sounded, like the sea striking a cliff; ordinary folk would answer truth by instinct, and just hearing it would polish the soul like river stones.

“I—” Stini opened her mouth to answer, but Reason cut her off like a gust snuffing a candle.

“Wait. Think with your heart. This is fate you choose. Truth or lie, both are answers; both become your fate. Decide carefully.”

“My answer is part of fate too?”

“Maybe someone asks, maybe no one asks—but one day you’ll have to answer this, to a lover, a friend, a world. The trial gives you a chance to choose without impulse, like carving on calm wood.”

“Justice. Whether I ‘save’ or ‘protect,’ the object is justice. My justice. Call it evil if folks like.”

“Hey! At least mull it a bit—why decide so quick? This isn’t a joke…”

“I’m not joking. My answer’s the same, always, like a north star.”

“…Hmph.” Reason had more to say, swallowed it, then smiled, helpless as a tide.

“What a blunt chaotic good…”

“So, what’s next? Can I head out? You promised one question. I’m starving.”

Stini exhaled, relief like cool rain, and sat, leaning against the greatsword buried in the floor like a stake.

She pointed to the far end of the hall where the door had vanished like mist.

“Not yet. You still have to wait.”

“Wait till when?”

“Till the gods conclude, like judges weighing gold… and who knows who decides.”

“Am I gonna starve to death?”

“No, no. You’ll be fine. The root of this trial is ‘push the door.’ If you can pass through, you’ve passed. Think of it as ‘hold your own insistence to the end,’ and that’s enough.”

“Then why am I still starving… Mm, is it ‘because I didn’t accept Evil and didn’t gain Evil’s power, I’m stuck in this bind’… like that?”

Reason nodded and sat beside her, like a shadow sharing shade.

“If you eat Evil… mm, the taste is good.”

Reason produced a finger-shaped thing—yep, a finger—and popped it in, like a lizard gulping a berry.

Stini swallowed—not from hunger, but revulsion, a cold river through ribs.

“Hey, no matter how hungry, you can’t eat people.”

“It’s chocolate—Andor’s little invention.”

“Ah, chocolate. Andor feeds me those all the time—now I can breathe.”

“Evil is made of chocolate.”

“Spit it out! Even if it’s chocolate, it’s still eating a person!”

Stini sprang from her slump like a cat, lunged for Reason, and hammered his stomach with both fists like hail on a drum.

Her body was a wreck, and Reason wasn’t that sturdy either; but given her sugar-starved brain and his longer reach, they scuffled like kids in snow for a heartbeat.

Then Stini’s mind clunked back into gear; she wrapped his arms and snapped a textbook joint throw, clean as a river’s curve.

She rode her weight and dropped an elbow to his gut; the thud was solid, like pounding a melon.

Reason lay there gagging, dry heaving for a long while, like a bell caught in mud, then finally came around.

“Was I too heavy-handed?” Stini asked, eyes puzzled like a deer.

“You’re about to faint from hunger—how would you know your own weight?”

“Oh, right. But I should still have a bit before blackout. I can ‘fake strong’ for a while.”

“So you’re just brushing off the fact you punched me? Fine. Let’s talk a bit. Before you leave the trial—or before you pass out—I’ll keep you company.”

Reason held his belly, pulled himself up, and settled beside Stini again, both of them leaning back-to-back against the greatsword like two birds on one branch, voice gentle as warm tea.

“That gentleness feels like Andor.”

“You could just say thanks, you stubborn thing.”