UNMEI: Pantheon's Game-Chapter 105: The One Who Keeps Moving Forward

Dune kept moving.

Each step carried him farther from Ned. It wasn't fair. Ned had trained just as hard as anyone, no, even harder. He had fought, bled, and survived countless battles. But here, in this test, all of that didn't seem to matter.

Dune clenched his fists as he walked. Ned shouldn't give up. He can't.

He thought of the determination in Ned's eyes during every fight they had fought together. The way he pushed himself beyond his limits over and over. That was what mattered. Not some arbitrary test. Not some glowing gates that tried to define their worth.

Dune exhaled. He'll be fine. He has to be.

Beside him, Atlas walked at the same pace. Dune could feel the weight of the test pressing against them, the same invisible force that had crushed so many others.

As they passed the 40th gate, something changed.

The crowd, tens of thousands of spectators seated above them, erupted into noise.

"Look! They're still going!"

"They passed forty!"

"No way, these two are real monsters!"

The air vibrated with excitement, the energy of the arena surging like a storm.

Even the officials, the strongest figures in the academy, had taken notice.

Up above, in the special seating area, King Aramir watched, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Damion leaned forward slightly, his red eyes gleaming with curiosity. Ramires, the academy director, remained calm, but his fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair.

The pressure was immense, but Dune kept walking. Each step forward felt heavier, the weight of the test pressing against his body like an invisible force. Atlas strode beside him, his pace steady, his focus unwavering.

Behind them, others followed, their presence forming a trail of determination.

Seraf Neville. Leonard Amelia. Cedric Walliford. Lucas Neville. Edward Ederius. Rafael Caelum.

Every step they took sent ripples through the crowd. The massive coliseum trembled under the deafening roar of tens of thousands of spectators. Their voices crashed together, an overwhelming wave of excitement, disbelief, and anticipation.

The 50th gate stood before Dune, glowing with the same ethereal radiance as the others, yet it felt different. More imposing. More... resistant.

Atlas didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, passing through effortlessly, his body slipping past the barrier as if it didn't exist.

Dune followed, And then, A sudden resistance.

The moment his right foot crossed the threshold, a strange force gripped his body. His right side pushed through smoothly, swallowed by the gate's glow, but his left side Stopped.

A wall of pressure slammed into him, an invisible force pressing against his chest, stopping him in his tracks. His breath hitched. His body strained, his muscles tensed, but he couldn't move forward.

What is this?

A sharp jolt of pain shot through him. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs. The gate, something about it, was rejecting him.

Then, without warning, the force struck back.

A violent shockwave erupted, sending Dune flying backward.

He crashed into the ground with a heavy thud, his body rolling against the stone floor before coming to a gasping halt.

Cough! Pain flared in his ribs. His lungs struggled for air. His vision blurred, spinning as he tried to push himself up.

The arena, once filled with an ocean of cheers, had gone completely still.

Thousands of spectators, who had been roaring just moments ago, now sat frozen, eyes locked on the fallen figure of Dune.

Magma, arms folded, let out a slow exhale, his usual indifference flickering with the slightest trace of surprise.

Ramires, the director of the academy, frowned, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his seat. This had never happened before.

A gate had never rejected someone like this.

Dune lay on the ground, breathing heavily, his mind racing. What the hell just happened?

And why did it feel like, in that moment, Like something inside him had been denied.

Pain pulsed through Dune's ribs as he lay on the cold stone ground, still trying to process what had happened. He had felt the pressure just like everyone else, had endured the weight of the gates like Atlas and the others. Yet, just when he was about to pass through the 50th gate, something had stopped him.

Something had denied him.

"Dune!"

Atlas was suddenly by his side, kneeling next to him, eyes filled with concern. He grabbed Dune's arm, helping him sit up.

"What happened?" Atlas asked, his voice urgent.

Dune let out a shaky breath, still dazed. "I... I don't know. I was almost through, and then it just—" He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "It just rejected me. It threw me back."

Atlas frowned, glancing at the gate as if he could somehow force it to make sense.

Dune shook his head, then let out a short, dry chuckle. "I guess that's my limit."

Dune sighed, his lips curling into a small, self-mocking smile. "I didn't expect to go this far anyway. Fifty gates? That's already more than most. I should be happy, right?"

Atlas didn't respond immediately. He could see it in Dune's eyes, he wasn't angry, but there was disappointment lingering beneath his calm words. Still, Dune wasn't the type to let something like this consume him.

Dune patted Atlas on the arm and smirked. "You, on the other hand, better not stop here. Keep going. Go as far as you can."

Atlas hesitated for a second, then nodded. He stood, glancing at the path ahead before turning back to Dune. "I'll see you after."

Dune gave him a lazy wave. "Yeah, yeah. Try not to make it look too easy."

Atlas took a deep breath, then stepped forward, continuing his ascent through the gates.

As the sound of Atlas's footsteps faded, another presence stepped up beside Dune.

Azrael Rodeny.

The red haired warrior stood there for a moment, arms crossed, gazing down at him with his usual unreadable expression. Then, without looking at Dune, he spoke.

"Defeat the gods and Bring the heavens down, huh?"

Dune glanced up at him. Azrael's lips curled into a smirk as he repeated the words Dune had once spoken, his bold declaration to tear down gods and shake the heavens.

Azrael chuckled, shaking his head. "And yet, you don't even have more than 50% potential?" His voice was light, amused, but there was a sharpness to it. "Kind of embarrassing, don't you think?"

Dune simply raised an eyebrow.

Azrael let out a small laugh before rolling his shoulders and stepping forward. "watch closely." He shot a glance over his shoulder. "I'll show you how it's done."

Then, without hesitation, he walked forward,

And passed through the 50th gate.

Then the 51st.

Then the 52nd.

He kept going.

And the crowd roared.

Dune sat there, watching him, his smirk slowly fading. He clenched his fists, not out of anger, but determination.

He wasn't done yet.

Not even close.