The Unvanquished: Child of Nihility-Chapter 63: The Trial of Reflexes.

"You were being watched, you know," Maya added, glancing over her shoulder. "Not just by instructors... but by the Technol Eyes."

"Technol Eyes?" Morca asked, brows slightly raised.

---

Maya gave a faint nod. "Yes. A monitoring network controlled by the Monument Tower. It’s connected to every trial candidate’s wrist device. It identifies anomalies... Outliers. People who shouldn’t exist on paper... yet shake the foundation of standard metrics."

That’s when it dawned on Morca – he now understood how the academy could ’rescue’ those lucky enough not to die before the trial’s time frame ended. It also made sense how they kept track of candidates scattered across the dungeon. Then, something ticked in his mind – What did she mean by ’outlier’? But before he could ask, Maya continued.

"As for your strength units – 15,799 places you above the threshold for Phase Seven cultivators. That’s not just abnormal for a freshman... it’s bordering on monstrous. Most elite second-years are stuck around 8,000 to 10,000."

"So you’re saying only saint-ranked individuals – elite ones, at that – can pass the fifth phase? Then why is it included in the Physique Trials?" Morca felt puzzled.

"That’s because of people like you, who’ve already broken through to the Saint Rank – before or during the trial. Judging you on the same metrics as Awakened Rank candidates wouldn’t reveal your true potential. Wouldn’t it have been easier for you to be admitted into EDA without going through the test? Honestly, this trial is just a formali..." She paused, as if sensing some aura pressing down on her.

Morca remained quiet, but a faint gleam pulsed in his left eye – unnoticed. Not again... someone is watching. Who could it be?

Regaining her composure, Maya turned towards him before continuing. "Grades go from Common, Transcendent, Rare, and Epic... then Mythical. Beyond that, there’s a rumored grade no one’s officially recorded – Apex Grade. But that’s considered a myth, even among the high faculty."

"So Mythical is the highest official classification," Morca murmured.

"For now," Maya replied. "Achieving it means your path is no longer quiet. You’re marked."

"You mean I reached the Apex Grade?"

"You might not be standing here right now if that were true. You’re still a bit short. For Awakened Rank trial candidates, hitting 5,000 strength units earns a Mythical grade. At 8,000, they become Apex. For Saint Rank? The threshold for Mythical is 8,000. Reaching 12,000 to 14,000 places you at Rare or Epic class. But reaching 16,000? That’s the threshold for second-year Saint Rank students to be graded Mythical. For a freshman? That’s the bar for Apex."

She stopped explaining.

Morca, on the other hand, processed everything: first, trial grading differs between Awakened and Saint Ranks. Second, he’d known little about second-year grading. Lastly, for a freshman to reach Apex, one must hit 16,000 strength units.

’So that means... I just need a little more. 16,000, huh? Not a big deal. Maybe four or five days.’

As if sensing his thoughts, Maya smiled – a rare, almost amused smile. "I forgot to mention – second-year students aren’t graded on strength alone. There are other aspects. You’ll find out... once you become one."

Maya stepped aside and looked back one last time. "The second trial – Reflexes. Movement and reaction test. Do your best."

Morca gave a rare, faint smirk. ’She sounds more casual than before...’ But then his expression turned serious as he stepped forward, and the second entrance slid open.

He stepped through, and this time, he didn’t feel the same ’presence’ as before. Instead, it felt similar to when he used the teleportation booth.

Once Morca disappeared, Maya tapped her wrist device. A soft beep, then a transparent interface window hovered in the air – something only higher-ranked academy students could access. She had just spent a few academy points to request viewing rights for the trial. Given her third-year status, it was approved with minimal cost. She hadn’t spoken a word since Morca entered. Instead, her gaze remained sharp, scanning every flicker of movement.

---

Morca appeared inside a silent, elongated white corridor.

The moment he stepped in, the silence became weighty. The smooth floor, seamless walls, and ambient glow made the place feel like a dream. But he knew better – this was the second test: The Trial of Reflexes.

"Subject: Morca Sherman," came the sterile, system-generated voice. Unlike the strength trial, there was no human announcer this time.

"Evaluation: Reflexes and Evasion Adaptation. Trial begins in three... two... one..."

---

(Observation Room – Opposite the corridor)

Instructor Ania White sat cross-legged in an elegant white robe etched with arcane patterns. Her golden eyes – piercing and ancient like those of an Engle – watched with calm calculation. Her report tablet glowed softly, Dale Earnhardt’s message still open:

"Morca Sherman – Potential candidate for Apex Grade Trials.

Keep under strict observation.

Extreme risk. High potential."

---

Phase One: Evade and adapt to 10 projectiles.

The moment the countdown hit zero, a volley hissed out – ten tennis-ball-sized orbs launched from the far side of the corridor. They bounced wildly, accelerating with each ricochet.

Morca moved instantly. A duck. A pivot. A backstep. Smooth and efficient. But already, his breathing grew shallow.

’These are tricky... but manageable. Focus. Read the angles. Don’t overreact. Control the body.’

He evaded them one by one. It was when he began adapting to their speed that –

---

Phase Two: 50 projectiles.

’Huh? Already? It’s only been five seconds!?’ No time to think. The next volley surged. The air blurred with movement and sharp sound. Orbs struck at impossible angles – from behind, above, and blind spots.

Morca clenched his jaw, narrowly dodging a pair that crossed inches from his chest.

Too fast... no, it’s me. My eyes can’t keep up. Stay calm. Don’t let fear in.

His left eye pulsed.

He resisted – wanting to know his natural limits.

---

Observation Rooms

Instructor Ania leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.

"He’s already sweating," she noted, brows furrowing. "His base reflex is high... but not enough. Reflex alone won’t carry him through the final phases."

--

Maya muttered the same thing, watching from the interface. "He’s already sweating... Reflex won’t be enough."

As if synced in thought, they spoke the same words.

---

Soon it reach –

Phase Three: 100 projectiles.

Then, it hit.

The corridor roared. Space warped under pressure as one hundred orbs filled the arena.

Morca’s eyes widened. Heart skipped. His body slowed – not from exhaustion, but because his eyes couldn’t process the chaos.

’Damn. Too fast – I can’t read the angles... I can’t...’

Until –

His left eye activated.

Swirl.

Abyssal black, deep as the void. It spun faster, absorbing the blur of reality.

And suddenly – clarity.

Time didn’t stop. It bent for him.

’This feeling... like I’m standing in another realm. Is this the left eye again? No – it’s deeper now.’

He no longer dodged by instinct. He moved through patterns only he could perceive. The orbs became falling stars in a galaxy he now understood.

This feeling... like I’m watching from outside reality...

---

Maya’s breath caught.

"That eye... what is it?"

She glanced at the readings.

Heart rate: Stable. Breathing: Synced.

Mental processing: Elevated beyond acceptable norms.

"What in the name of the Tower..." she muttered. Usually, she didn’t waste time watching second trials. But this one – Morca – was something else.

---

Instructor Ania blinked, zooming in.

"Wait... he adapted mid-phase?"

She tapped her control pad rapidly.

’That eye... it’s accelerating perception beyond neural tolerance.

What are you, Morca Sherman?’

---

Phase Four: 250 projectiles.

Most candidates failed here. The trial was designed to push neural limits, simulating sensory overload and increasing intensity with each passing second.

Yet Morca, immersed in that strange sensation, didn’t falter. He moved like a shadow dancing in water – perfect arcs, flawless dodges, fluid motions that defied the chaos.

"My body... it’s moving on instinct. No hesitation. It feels almost too natural. Have I done this before? Or... was I always meant for this?"

Time passed.

---

Instructor Ania White glanced at the countdown.

34 seconds.

He was still going.

"He’s... still going? He hasn’t even noticed the phase change," she muttered, her golden eyes narrowing as if trying to pierce the very wall between her and him.

But then she saw it.

The strange state Morca had entered.

’He’s gone beyond reflex. He’s syncing with the environment itself. This isn’t just combat anymore – it’s like watching a law of nature evolve in real time.’

---

At that same moment, Maya’s expression shifted – from surprise to something closer to awe.

Her voice was barely a whisper.

’He’s not thinking... he’s transcending instinct. No – he’s evolving. And he doesn’t even realize the state he’s in...’

---

Phase Five – Mythical Grade: 500 projectiles.

At that moment, the corridor grew unbearably hot as steam rose around Morca.

The walls erupted with movement. Five hundred projectiles ricocheted like a storm of blades, tearing through the air. Even the atmosphere seemed to tremble beneath their sheer momentum.

Morca didn’t blink.

To him, it was quiet.

His body moved with a precision not honed by training – but by instinct, bound by blood and something far older. His abyssal eye swirled faster, and even his breathing fell into harmony with the space around him.

’This isn’t reflexes anymore... it’s –’