Ruger did not leave immediately. He simply stood where he had first stepped in, trembling as he withdrew the foot he had taken one step too far.
If he had already been hoarse from screaming before, then now Ruger learned just how tenacious his vitality truly was—how much more could be squeezed from him. That earlier hoarseness had been entirely superficial. Such agony could still erupt from within him.
Yet interestingly, he had not become like Mahama. The pain had merely intensified from its original level.
Ruger abruptly retreated to the initial Corridor, gasping for air. He stood there so dazed that he even forgot to breathe.
Big Guy had recovered as well and no longer looked so terrifying, though he remained seated on the ground, panting more wretchedly than Ruger.
Ruger believed the man's abnormal state was related to the path of wizardry he had chosen. The stimulation from standing there had caused an error in his control over flesh and blood. The ability he relied on most for survival had instead become the cause of his earlier danger.
As Ruger thought, he looked toward his companions.
This was probably where they had to stop. After all, this was not some alchemical apparatus meant for newcomers to train with. Its presence on this island served its own purpose.
"Is there a chance?" Mahama suddenly asked.
Big Guy straightened his back where he sat, swept his gaze over Mona and Varin, then turned and fixed his eyes on Ruger.
Mona smiled faintly and shook her head.
Varin, pale-faced, gave a slight bow in Ruger's direction, then nearly toppled over as though she had lost her balance.
"Please keep an eye on me, Lord Ruger. Don't let me die in there—" Varin forced out a smile and headed into the Corridor