Extra To Protagonist
Chapter 112 - 112: Trial (4)

"Accurate."

They stood in silence for a moment.

Sand shifted. Wind picked up. Nothing else moved.

Finally, Hermes sighed.

"You did better than most," he said. "Didn't panic. Didn't fumble. You even punched someone in the soul. Very on brand."

"You gave me no rules."

"I gave you one rule: deliver."

Merlin crossed his arms. Winced. Let them fall again.

"I delivered. What now?"

Hermes tilted his head.

"Now?" he echoed. "Now, we test for weight."

Merlin blinked. "That wasn't the test?"

"That was the delivery," Hermes said. "A message must reach the right place. But a messenger must survive what comes after."

"…And what comes after?"

Hermes smiled again. But this time, it didn't reach his eyes.

"You'll find out."

System ping.

[New Quest Acquired: Echoes on the Threshold]

[Objective: Await instructions.]

[Reward: Favor. Or memory loss.]

[Note: The Messenger is rarely direct.]

Merlin didn't speak.

There wasn't much left to say.

Hermes stepped past him. Ran one finger along the tower's edge.

Then paused.

"You should rest," he said, not looking back. "Your real problems haven't started yet."

Then he was gone.

No sound.

No step.

Just not there anymore.

Merlin stood alone.

Again.

Wind pushed the sand across his boots. The sun started rising behind the dunes.

He exhaled.

And waited for whatever came next.

—

He didn't move for a while.

Because the sand didn't feel like sand anymore.

It had weight.

Like a thousand unseen eyes were stitched into every grain, and each one blinked at a different rhythm.

The scroll was gone.

The gods were gone.

Hermes? Not a whisper.

But the world hadn't returned.

No door opened.

No system message followed.

Just that one final line:

[Await instructions.]

Merlin waited.

For three minutes.

Then the wind stopped.

Not slowed.

Stopped.

Air froze mid-current. His coat lifted and didn't fall. The particles of dust hung in front of his face like someone had paused the weather mid-breath.

Then the door opened.

It hadn't been there.

Now it was.

At the base of the tower, a seamless stone slid inward, revealing black beyond black. No torches. No glow.

Just a hallway that didn't make architectural sense.

Merlin looked at it.

Then the system whispered:

[Trial: Echoes on the Threshold — Commencing]

[Step inside. Alone.]

[Objective: Interpret the Message.]

[Constraints: No weapons. No lies. No exit until response is given.]

He frowned.

"No lies?"

The system didn't elaborate.

Of course it didn't.

He pulled his coat tighter.

Left the blade buried in the sand.

And stepped in.

The door closed behind him.

The black wasn't empty.

It was loud.

Not sound.

Just pressure.

Thoughts that didn't belong to him pressing against the sides of his skull.

Then came the voice.

Not Hermes.

Not any god he knew.

Not sound, either.

Just something that arrived straight between his eyes:

"Why do you carry?"

Merlin froze.

"Why do you run?"

"Why do you choose the weight of words over the edge of steel?"

"Answer."

He exhaled. Stepped forward once.

The hallway shifted. Grew longer.

No end in sight.

Figures moved on the walls. Reflections. Not his. Not now. Not entirely.

His younger self, standing in a burning hallway.

Nathan, laughing with half his ribs bruised.

Elara asleep at a table covered in notes she would never read out loud.

All of it flickered.

The voice returned.

"Who are you when no one watches?"

Merlin didn't answer.

Not yet.

He walked farther.

The system pulsed once.

[Reminder: Falsehood will end the trial.]

[Truth must be chosen. Not spoken.]

[The gods are watching. Quietly this time.]

He stopped walking.

Not because the hall ended.

Because it looped.

He was back at the beginning.

Standing in front of himself.

Only—

It wasn't him.

It was the version of him that never got a system.

That never saw the original story.

That never died in a burning corridor with his name misspelled on the roster.

The other Merlin looked at him.

Tired.

Unimpressed.

And said—

"You don't get to carry the message if you don't understand what it's for."

Then everything broke.

The floor vanished.

The hallway collapsed into pages.

Paper.

Torn.

Scattered.

One floated up.

Just one.

He grabbed it.

It read:

Say the truth. The whole truth. Not just the version you survive.

And the system asked:

[What do you carry?]

His mouth opened.

This time?

He had to answer.

—

The question didn't echo.

It settled.

Like dust across his tongue.

Merlin stood there, one page in his hand, surrounded by thousands of others drifting in still air.

All blank.

Except his.

He looked down.

Read the words again.

Say the truth. The whole truth. Not just the version you survive.

Cute.

Very Hermes.

He stared forward at the place where the hall used to be.

It didn't exist anymore.

Just air.

And pressure.

And the system waiting like a clerk behind divine glass.

He opened his mouth.

No words came out.

'What do I carry.'

He almost said responsibility.

Almost.

It was clean. Noble.

It would've passed in front of a crowd.

But it wasn't real.

So he bit it back.

He almost said the system.

That was true.

Objectively.

But still wrong.

Then came the answer.

Not pulled.

Dragged.

Slow.

Ugly.

Heavy.

"…Fear."

It didn't feel like enough.

The system didn't respond.

He closed his eyes.

Opened them again.

"I carry fear."

His voice was low. Dry.

The kind of dry that came from talking too little and thinking too much.

"Fear of being wrong."

"Of being weak."

"Of waking up one day and realizing I'm not actually ahead of anything. I just got lucky."

The air thickened.

Pages turned themselves.

He kept going.

"Fear that I missed a page."

"That I let someone die because I hesitated for half a second."

"That if I stop moving, even once, everything breaks."

He swallowed hard.

Didn't blink.

"And I carry guilt."

"For lying."

"For pretending."

"For making everyone believe I've got it handled when I don't."

The system pulsed once.

[Continue.]

He breathed in.

Slow.

"I carry the memory of another world."

"I carry a story I didn't write but still got dropped into."

"I carry the weight of being a name that shouldn't exist, in a plot that doesn't care."

His fists clenched.

The page in his hand folded without tearing.

"I carry the version of me who should've died already."

"And the version that wants to."

Silence.

One long beat.

Then—

[Truth accepted.]

[The Messenger smiles.]

[The Thread-Tenders snip nothing.]

[The Grin Beneath the Mask is very, very quiet.]

[The Chainbreaker turns away.]

A breeze returned.

Just a soft one.

A single page floated up in front of him.

This one wasn't blank.

It had a new message.

You passed. That wasn't the end. It never is.

And below it—

[Trial Complete: Echoes on the Threshold]

[Title Updated: Apostolic Courier → One Who Bears the Hidden Letter]

[Skill Unlocked: Veilstep (Passive – Allows movement unseen between observation layers.)]

[Favor with The Messenger increased.]

[You may leave.]

A door opened behind him.

No light.

Merlin stared at the page in his hand for a second longer.

Then let it go.

And walked out.

—

Nathan stared at the dust cloud.

"…So. That's fine."

The corridor where Merlin had vanished still vibrated like the stone itself was trying to decide whether or not to scream.

The dragon's roar echoed once. Then twice. Then it faded behind the turn.

Elara hadn't moved.

Seraphina looked like she might pass out, but even she didn't blink.

Nathan exhaled through his nose. Loud.

"Right. Just to recap. A monster the size of a small mansion busted through the wall, Merlin decided the smart play was 'throw everyone like luggage and sprint into the death tunnel,' and now we're here."

No response.

"Cool. So we're just… trusting the plan."

Still nothing.

He kicked a rock. It rolled exactly one and a half meters and died against a broken pillar.

"This is stupid."

Elara finally spoke. "He bought us time."

"He's buying himself trauma."

"He's not dead."

"Yet."

Seraphina shifted against the wall. Her breathing was shallow, but focused. "We should move."

"To where?" Nathan spun around, arms wide. "In case you haven't noticed, this place has the architectural logic of a drunk minotaur. For all we know, that hallway loops straight into the dragon's mouth."

Elara crouched beside a faint groove in the floor. Her fingers brushed it once. "No. The pressure changed."

"That sounds like a sentence that belongs to people with vision quests and bird bones."

She didn't rise. "He's leading it away from us. The wind hasn't snapped back."

Nathan opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

'Of course she can read the wind now. Why not.'

Silence settled again.

He hated it.

Every second that ticked without a roar, a scream, a something felt like Merlin not existing anymore.

Which was not a thing Nathan was emotionally prepared to deal with on a Tuesday.

Elara stood finally. Turned to him. "If you're going to panic, do it now."

He blinked. "That was the non-panicking version of me."

Her head tilted slightly. "Impressive."

"Do I get a badge?"

"No."

"Then I want my panic back."

She didn't smile. Which was normal. But somehow, it still felt like she was trying not to.

Nathan sighed again. "Okay. Fine. We move. But the second I see a claw, I'm kicking Merlin into a wall when he comes back."

Seraphina pushed off the stone with a grunt. "He will."

"Yeah. I know." Nathan turned, stared down the corridor. "He always does."

But this time, the silence lasted a little too long.

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