Ch15. [Cheshire's Gleam]

Miles felt a sudden shift in weight as Cheshire leaped from his shoulder, landing gracefully on the ground. The cat stretched, its languid grin widening unnervingly as it looked up at him.

"It's time, my boy." Cheshire purred, its tone dripping with amusement.

"Time for what?" Miles narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Cheshire didn't answer immediately. Instead, the feline's body began to shimmer, its sleek form dissolving into tendrils of violet mist. Miles took an instinctive step back as the mist swirled upward, coalescing into a solid form in his hands.

The weapon felt heavy but balanced, its presence radiating an aura both menacing and familiar, although not quite like the one he felt back then. When the mist cleared, Miles found himself holding a scythe eerily reminiscent of the [Scythe of the ???], and the system echoed in his mind:

[You received an Artifact: Cheshire's Gleam]

Miles' eyebrows arched slightly as he looked at the weapon. The blade arched wickedly, its blackened surface etched with glowing runes similar to those on Cheshire's sword form. A faint, otherworldly hum emanated from the weapon, and the curved shaft was smooth, cold to the touch, and forged from a dark metal that seemed to drink in the surrounding light.

"Cheshire?" Miles whispered, gripping the weapon tightly.

The voice that answered came not from the scythe but from within his mind, smooth and confident.

"Yes, my boy." Cheshire's tone was playful, but there was weight behind the words, as though the cat had become somewhat serious.

"Why? Why this form?" Miles lifted the scythe, testing its heft.

"Let's call it preparation," Cheshire purred. "The [Scythe of the ???] is not something you can simply wield without consequence, as you might have already noticed. Its power is bound to its bearer's strength and proficiency. To inherit it fully, you must master the art of wielding such a weapon. I, my boy, am here to ensure you survive long enough to do so."

"And if I don't master it?" Miles frowned.

"Then it will master you. And trust me, I think you already know that you won't enjoy that." Cheshire's voice darkened.

"Great. Another thing to add to my growing list of 'ways to earn a horrible death.'" Miles exhaled, his grip on the scythe tightening.

"Don't be so dramatic," Cheshire teased. "I'll guide you. Together, we'll carve a path through whatever stands in your way."

Before Miles could respond, the Rabbit's impatient voice shattered the moment.

"You're late! Both of you!" The Rabbit shouted, its crimson eyes blazing as it hopped toward them. "I don't have time for your idle banter!"

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming." Miles rolled his eyes, resting the scythe's shaft against his shoulder.

"You better be!" The Rabbit snapped, already bounding toward the distant silhouette of the Queen's castle.

"This thing is really getting on my nerves." Miles sighed, jogging after it.

"Don't be so hard on him," Cheshire said in his mind. "He's not wrong, you know. You're running out of time."

The ruins of the Queen of Hearts' castle loomed in the distance, its jagged towers silhouetted against the green sky that assumed a reddish, bloody hue over its once magnificent structure. The atmosphere grew heavier with every step, and a cold wind whispered through the air, carrying with it the faint sound of clinking metal.

As they approached the castle's entrance, Miles spotted movement ahead.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.

Arrayed before the crumbling gates was a small group of Card Soldiers, all gleaming unnaturally in the dim light, a mix of flesh and metal. Their faces were eerily still, their eyes devoid of emotion as they stared at Miles and his companions.

"Is this going to be a thing now?" Miles asked, tightening his grip on the scythe.

"This is your battle. I've done my part getting you here." The Rabbit turned to him, its expression severe.

"You're not going to help? Not even a little?" Miles glared at the Rabbit.

The Rabbit sniffed indignantly.

"I am not a fighter. That's your job. Also, I think I already helped you enough rewinding you to the best of your conditions back in the cave, don't you agree? Now, if you'll excuse me…" It hopped to the side, settling on a rock at a safe distance from the impending fight.

'So that was the weird healing magic I felt back then…?' Miles' eyes widened ever so slightly, recalling the strange sensation that he felt, every time he got wounded too horribly that he could not fight properly or almost died. "Yeah… I guess you could say that…" He grumbled.

"Focus," Cheshire said. "This will be a good opportunity to test your skills. Let's see what you've got, my boy."

Miles hesitated, his eyes scanning the enemy ranks. The Card Soldiers moved in unison, their stiff bodies creaking as they charged forward.

'One against an army…' Miles grinned, nervously.

"Not just one," Cheshire reminded him. "You've got me."

"Right," Miles said, exhaling sharply. He lowered himself into a defensive stance, the scythe's blade gleaming faintly in the crimson light.

The Card Soldiers lunged at him all at the same time.

The first wave came quickly, their movements mechanical, but eerily coordinated. Miles swung the scythe in a wide arc, the blade slicing cleanly through the air. The runes along its surface flared brightly as it struck the lead monster, splitting in two with the sound of a metal foil being ripped apart.

'Not bad…' Miles thought, a flicker of confidence surging through him.

"Don't get cocky." Cheshire warned.

Another creature lunged at him, its claws drawing an arc forward with uncanny precision. Miles pivoted, the scythe's shaft deflecting the attack before he spun and brought the blade down in a diagonal slash. The soldier crumpled into a heap of shredded fragments.

The battle quickly descended into chaos, though. The soldiers swarmed around Miles, claws and fangs clanging against the scythe as he tried to block and parry as best as he could.

Each strike sent jolts through his arms, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on.

"Remember your reach!" Cheshire called out. "The scythe isn't just for slashing, it's a tool of control. Keep them at bay!"

Miles gracelessly adjusted his stance, swinging the scythe in sweeping arcs to keep the monsters away. Little by little, as he swung, sliced, blocked, and parried, the weapon began to feel more and more alive in his hands, as though responding to his movements with a fluidity that bordered on unnatural.

But the monstrosities kept coming. For each one he cut down, two more seemed to take its place.

"I can't keep this up forever," Miles muttered, his breath becoming laborious while beads of sweat dripped down his face.

"Then don't," Cheshire said. "End it quickly."

"How?"

"It's not a war. You will have time to rest and catch your breath once you're done with them, so spend every ounce of energy you have, and shred them down as quickly and precisely as you can" The cat's voice took on a sharp edge.

Miles hesitated, his grip on the scythe tightening as he looked at the seemingly endless tide of monsters. His muscles screamed in protest, but Cheshire's words rang in his mind.

There was nothing of small in that army, like Miles had though before…

"Spend it all…" Miles muttered under his breath.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused on the faint hum of the scythe in his hands. The runes along the blade pulsed rhythmically, their light growing brighter with each passing second. A surge of energy coursed through him, and when he opened his eyes, everything seemed sharper, clearer.

Like back when he fought the guardian wraith.

The monsters lunged again, but this time, Miles was as ready as he could ever be.

He stepped into the fray, the scythe whirling in wide, deadly arcs. The weapon cut through the enemy ranks like a hot knife through butter, leaving behind shards of metal and card fragments scattered across the ground. Each strike carried a precision and power Miles was sure he hadn't before, the weapon feeling more and more like an extension of his body.

"You're getting the hang of it!" Cheshire said, its voice carrying a note of approval.

"Thanks." Miles grunted, spinning the scythe to deflect a blow aimed at his head.

Slowly, painfully, the tide began to turn. Though the enemy numbers still seemed overwhelming, their ranks were thinning. Miles' movements grew faster, more fluid, the scythe dancing in his hands as he carved through the remaining soldiers.

But the battle was taking its toll. His breath came in ragged gasps, his arms trembling from the strain of wielding the heavy weapon. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes, but he couldn't afford to falter. Not now.

"Focus," Cheshire said, its voice calm and steady. "You're almost there."

With a roar, Miles swung the scythe in a massive horizontal arc, and after what felt like a painful eternity, the battlefield was silent. Miles stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving as he leaned on the scythe for support. The once-intimidating army of monsters, now reduced to nothing more than scraps of metal and pieces of torn flesh.

"Well done, my boy," Cheshire purred, its tone filled with satisfaction.

"Yeah… sure…" Miles muttered between gasps. "That was just... Great."

With a static noise, the system echoed in Miles' mind, making him grab his forehead with the pang of a headache.

[You leveled up]