Chapter 102: Seven Deadly Sins: Laziness/Sloth
Ruchir stepped onto the 151st step, and immediately, a profound sense of relief washed over him.
The pressure of gravity that had weighed him down for what seemed like an eternity had vanished.
The overwhelming force that had made each step feel like a monumental task was now just a memory.
He stood there for a moment, almost disbelieving, waiting for the sensation to return.
But it didn't.
The gravity had returned to its normal state, and for the first time in a while, he felt light—almost as if he could float up the mountain with ease.
But then, as he ascended to the 152nd step, Ruchir felt a strange shift in the atmosphere around him.
Something was off, a subtle change that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was a fleeting sensation, something that brushed the edges of his consciousness and then slipped away before he could grasp it.
He paused, considering the possibility that it was his mind playing tricks on him. After all, the trials had been relentless, and he had been through so much already.
Maybe it was just fatigue, or perhaps the remnants of the gravity trial lingering in his senses. He shrugged it off and continued climbing, dismissing the nagging feeling in the back of his mind.
But that was the problem. If this had been the normal Ruchir—sharp, inquisitive, and vigilant—he would have stopped.
He would have given that suspicion more thought, probing into the possible cause of the change he sensed.
But now, he ignored it, brushing it aside as if it were insignificant.
He continued upward, unaware that the trial had already started affecting him, subtly and insidiously altering his thoughts and reactions.
It was not fatigue, not a residual effect of the previous trial, but something much more profound: the theme of the next trial was beginning to take hold of him.
At the foot of the mountain, Principal watched this scene unfold with keen interest. He had observed many students face these trials, each one revealing something deep about their character, their strengths, and their weaknesses.
As Ruchir climbed further, Principal could see the shift in his demeanor.
There was no doubt about it—the next trial was now in full effect.
He murmured to himself, "So, the theme of the next trial is laziness. How fitting."
Laziness, Principal mused, is not just a physical state, but a creeping malaise of the mind and spirit.
It can start as a small seed of doubt or fatigue, something that seems harmless at first, but it grows, taking root deep within a person's soul.
Laziness can strain relationships with family, friends, and colleagues, as the person becomes unreliable, unmotivated, and indifferent.
Tasks that once seemed important lose their significance.
Even basic needs, like eating and drinking, can be neglected as laziness takes hold, sapping the will to do anything at all.
It is a subtle poison, one that dulls the mind and deadens the heart, leading a person down a path of inertia and decay.
The Principal knew that this trial would be one of the most challenging Ruchir had faced.
It wasn't about physical strength or mental acuity; it was about willpower, about the drive to keep going even when every part of him wanted to stop. Laziness was a trial that could break the spirit, and Ruchir was now in the thick of it.
As Ruchir climbed higher, the effects of the trial became more pronounced. By the time he reached the 190th step, the laziness had taken hold of him fully. It was as if a heavy fog had settled over his mind, clouding his thoughts and dulling his senses.
The world around him seemed to slow down, and each step felt like a monumental effort.
The thoughts that had driven him forward before—the need to prove himself, to complete the trials, to reach the summit—were now distant echoes, faint and unimportant.
He felt an overwhelming desire to stop, to rest, to let go of the struggle.
Why should he continue this tedious journey?
What was the point of these endless trials?
They were exhausting, demanding, and for what?
A fleeting moment of victory?
A temporary sense of achievement?
It all seemed so pointless now, so utterly meaningless.
"Why should I fight against this?" he thought.
"Maybe it's better to leave it to fate.
To let things happen as they will, without my interference.
After all, what is the purpose of struggle if all it leads to is more struggle?
Perhaps the greatest wisdom lies in surrender, in embracing the inevitability of things.
To resist is to fight against the current, but to surrender is to flow with it, to let life take its course without resistance. And in that surrender, perhaps there is peace."
This thought settled into his mind like a heavy stone sinking to the bottom of a river. It was a philosophical resignation, a relinquishing of control.
It felt almost comforting, the idea that he didn't have to try anymore, that he could simply let go and let fate decide.
He could stop right here, on this step, and let whatever was meant to happen, happen.
Ruchir's body, already weary from the trials, responded eagerly to this idea. His legs, which had been trembling with the effort of each step, began to buckle.
His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, began to close. The mountain, the trials, the summit—all of it faded from his mind, replaced by a deep, overwhelming urge to sleep.
He sank down onto the 190th step, his back resting against the cool stone. His eyes fluttered shut, and a soft sigh escaped his lips.
The world around him seemed to dissolve into a haze, the sounds of the wind and the rustling leaves becoming distant, almost like a lullaby.
The step beneath him felt soft, almost like a bed, and the air was warm and comforting, like a blanket wrapping around him.
Sleep began to creep in, slow and gentle, like a tide rising around him. His thoughts, once clear and focused, became fuzzy and disjointed.
He tried to remember why he was here, what he was supposed to be doing, but the thoughts slipped away, like sand through his fingers. It didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered. All that mattered was sleep, sweet, restful sleep.
As he drifted off, his body relaxed completely, sinking deeper into the step.
His breathing slowed, becoming deep and rhythmic, and a peaceful expression settled on his face.
The tension that had gripped him for so long melted away, leaving him in a state of complete calm.
In his dreams, he was floating, weightless and free, carried along by a gentle current.
There were no trials, no struggles, just an endless, peaceful journey through a vast, quiet world. It was a world without time, without pain, without effort. It was perfect.
But as Ruchir slept, the mountain continued to rise above him, the summit still far, far away.
The trial of laziness had taken hold, and now, it would take more than just willpower to wake him from this slumber. It would take something—or someone—to remind him of who he was, and what he was fighting for.
For now, though, Ruchir slept on, oblivious to the world, lost in the deep, seductive embrace of laziness.
Meanwhile, as the crowd at the foot of the mountain marveled at the arrival of Prince Anish Bluefield, their attention was once again drawn to the distant horizon. The sky seemed to shimmer as another grand carriage approached.
But this time, the reaction from the crowd was markedly different. There was no whispering or speculation, only a deep, reverent silence followed by a swell of respectful murmurs. Faces that had been animated with curiosity now softened with admiration, and a collective pride filled the air.
This was no ordinary carriage.
This was the Time Righteous Carriage, a symbol recognized by every citizen of the capital.
Unlike the dark, imposing carriage that had brought Prince Anish, this carriage was a masterpiece of elegance and restraint.
Crafted from a rare, deep golden wood that seemed to glow from within, the carriage was adorned with symbols of justice and wisdom. The craftsmanship was flawless, each detail meticulously rendered, yet it carried no ostentation—only a quiet, undeniable authority.
This was the personal carriage of the Crown Prince of the Four Spirit Empire, the most beloved figure in the land.
The Crown Prince was the epitome of a true leader, excelling in every field imaginable.
His prowess in martial arts was unmatched, his academic achievements were legendary, and his political acumen had brought stability and prosperity to the empire.
On the battlefield, he was a strategic genius, leading the empire's armies to victory time and time again.
But it was not just his skills that endeared him to the people.
The Crown Prince was a beacon of hope for the commoners, a figure who understood their struggles and championed their causes.
His public benefit policies were the most discussed topics in the empire, designed to uplift the poor and provide equal opportunities for all.
For the people, he was more than just a ruler; he was an idol, a symbol of the future they dreamed of.
An analogy often used by the people was that the Crown Prince was like the sun—brilliant, warm, and indispensable. Just as the sun nurtured life, so too did the Crown Prince nurture the empire. Without him, they believed, the empire would fall into darkness.
As the carriage came to a halt, the Crown Prince stepped out. He was a tall, regal figure, dressed in a simple yet elegant robe of deep blue, the color of the heavens.
His features were striking, with sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to see everything and a calm, composed expression that radiated confidence and kindness.
As he greeted the commoners, he did so with a genuine smile, inclining his head slightly to show respect.
But just as the Crown Prince was about to address the crowd, he was approached by none other than his brother, Prince Anish.
The atmosphere shifted slightly as the two brothers stood face to face. Prince Anish's expression was inscrutable, but there was a glint of something in his eyes—perhaps amusement, perhaps something darker.