Chapter 24 : The pain of weakness 2

Arthur awoke groggily, his head pounding with a relentless, rhythmic pain as though someone had been using it as a drum. 

'Where am I?' he thought, his mind clouded with confusion. The darkness around him was impenetrable, and he realized he was lying on something cold and unyielding. The ground? 

A surge of panic jolted through him like lightning. For a fleeting, harrowing moment, he thought he was back on the battlefield, trapped in the night. Adrenaline surged through him banished his fatigue, and he leapt to his feet, eyes scanning wildly for threats. 

But no—this wasn't the battlefield. 

'You idiot', he chastised himself, his breath escaping in a long, shuddering sigh. 'The battle ended long ago.' 

Forcing himself to take a moment, Arthur properly surveyed his surroundings. He was in a cave. The jagged walls of dark stone surrounded him, glistening faintly with moisture. Memories began to filter back: the arduous climb up the mountain… and then… nothing. A void of blackness. 

'Syar must've carried me here', he reasoned, stepping cautiously toward the cave's entrance. When he emerged, the biting chill of the high-altitude air hit him, and he realized just how far up he was. The landscape below stretched into a sea of jagged peaks and mist-filled valleys. 

It wasn't the same mountain he'd tried to climb. 

"So, you're awake then," a gravelly voice called out. 

Arthur flinched, his hand instinctively reaching for his side. He hadn't noticed Syar crouched near the cave's entrance, his rugged robes blending seamlessly with the dark rock. The man's sharp eyes glimmered with a knowing amusement. 

"What was that place?" Arthur asked quietly, his voice tinged with unease. There was no mistaking what he meant. That mountain wasn't normal. He was no longer the feeble noble he had once been; as an Awakened, scaling such a height shouldn't have been an insurmountable challenge. 

And yet, it had been. 

The shame of his failure burned in his chest. He'd thought himself above Syar, questioning the man's worth as a master, only to faint during a climb. 

Syar chuckled as if reading his thoughts. "There's no need for shame. You're not the first to faint climbing that mountain, but you may be the last." 

"Huh? What do you mean?" 

Syar's dark eyes fixed on the horizon, a faint smile tugging at his weathered face. "That mountain has a name older than this land. The elves call it Dracken Fjell. It's ancient—a relic from before our race ever set foot here." 

Arthur felt a strange sense of reverence at the mention of the name. "What do we call it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Dragonmount," Syar replied. 

Arthur's eyes widened. "Dragonmount? Does a dragon live there?" 

Syar's laugh was low and bitter. "If only. No, what resides there is far more tragic." 

He paused, as if weighing how much to reveal, then continued, "Legends speak of it as the resting place of a crying deity. Who knows, the elves did speak of Dragons as minor deities back when they existed.

But from what I know, it contains a dragon egg."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. "A dragon egg? How could it remain unhatched for so long?" 

"Because," Syar said, his tone grave, "that egg… it's almost hatched. Perpetually. Its aura seeps into the mountain, making the climb nearly impossible for anyone unprepared." 

Arthur frowned. "Then why hasn't anyone claimed it?" 

Syar's smile returned, sharp and predatory. "Two reasons. First, no one has managed to reach the summit. Not even me. Second, after thousands of years, the egg's hatching is nothing but a forlorn hope.

Still, the mountain serves as a test for those who dare to ascend, at least it did back when we first settled here." 

Arthur's frustration flared. "Not even you reached the peak?"

"No," Syar admitted, his white teeth flashing in a grin. "I've only reached my peak...both on that mountain, and in life." 

Arthur didn't understand but chose not to press further. Syar's gaze shifted to him, and something in the man's expression made his stomach tighten. 

"I've decided to accept you as my disciple," Syar declared, standing and brushing off his robes. "Let's begin." 

Arthur's jaw tightened. 'This bastard!' he seethed inwardly. 'He's the one who approached me, and now he's acting like he's doing me a favor!' 

But Syar's next words silenced his indignation. 

"I wouldn't want anyone else to die because of your weakness." 

The memory of Officer Skelter's dying expression flashed unbidden in Arthur's mind. The guilt he carried felt like a physical weight, and Syar's words stoked the embers of his determination. 

"What do I need to do?" he asked, his voice quiet but fierce. 

Syar's smile was approving. "First, we find the weapon that calls to your soul." 

Arthur tilted his head. "The spear?" 

"Perhaps," Syar replied. "But there are many types of polearms. And maybe… your talent lies elsewhere." 

"How do we find out?" Arthur asked warily. 

Syar's grin widened, and a dark shiver rippled down Arthur's spine. 'What the hell have I just agreed to?' 

"Follow me." 

The two re-entered the cave, moving deeper into its shadowy depths. The narrow tunnel eventually opened into a vast stone hall illuminated by hovering orbs of flame. The air felt thick, oppressive, as if the room itself were alive. 

Arthur stared in awe. "What is this place?" 

"Your training ground," Syar said simply. "You'll be trained in the old ways, but at the same time, in a completely new way. I've got one month with you so let's not waste any time." 

Arthur's unease grew, but he steeled himself. "What's the first step?" 

Syar's dark eyes bore into him. "We enter your soul." 

Arthur's breath hitched. 'Enter my soul?' He didn't understand, but the gravity of Syar's words planted a seed of dread deep within him. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously. 

Syar leaned against the wall, his rugged face illuminated by the flickering orbs of flame. "Every warrior's strength lies not in their weapon, but in their soul. Your soul is you, it's the innermost you. It is your very essence, your core personified. It knows everything about you, it's the holder of what we call the unconscious mind." 

"What's that?" Arthur asked, his skepticism barely masked. 

"Your soul knows everything about you that you can't possibly know. It knows your talents, weaknesses, and everything else. So, it also knows what weapon you're best accustomed to. What fighting style would suit you the most, it knows everything." 

"How is that even possible?" 

Syar chuckled, a low, ominous sound. "You'll see soon enough. But first, we need to you to enter your soul space." 

"Isn't that impossible?" From what he knew, the soul space was something briefly mentioned in relation to those monsters who had or were close to achieving the Fourth Awakening. 

Syar smiled, "Ordinarily yes. That's why only masters who have achieved that level develop their own fighting style. But, you're with me. And that changes everything." 

Those words sounded outlandish. Impossible. 

Yet something about them stirred the embers of hope in his chest. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt the stirrings of true purpose. His training was about to begin. He would finally have the chance to become strong. 

Arthur knelt within a circle of runes etched into the stone floor, their glow pulsing faintly with an ethereal light. Syar stood a few feet away, his hands outstretched as mana poured out of him. 

 The air grew heavier with each word, and the runes flared brighter, casting long, flickering shadows on the cavern walls. 

"What… what's happening?" Arthur asked, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to sound calm. 

"Quiet," Syar barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The barrier between your soul and this realm is thinning. You must focus." 

Arthur swallowed hard and closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. A strange warmth began to spread through his chest, and he felt a pull, as if something deep within him was being drawn to the surface. The sensation was both exhilarating and terrifying. 

Then, without warning, the warmth turned to searing heat. Arthur cried out, his body convulsing as an overwhelming force surged through him. 

When opened his eyes, he was no longer in the hall. He was staring at a mirror, it had no borders, rippling in front of him in an impossible manner. 

He saw himself reflected in it. White hair that had started to become long, with fierce red eyes. His frame was no longer skinny and pathetic, with clear signs of muscle starting to develop around his frame. 

Then the reflection shimmered. 

Arthur's breath caught. 

The figure before him wasn't Arthur Gravewalker. 

It was Reshi. Eyes dark, and forlorn with heavy eye bags. Skin pale, and dark hair unkempt. It had been him in the last few weeks of his life. 

When it opened its mouth, the voice wasn't his. It was deeper, and resonant. 

"Who are you?" it demanded. 

Arthur struggled to form a coherent thought, let alone a response. "I… I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely audible. 

The voice seemed to consider his words. "Then you are nothing." 

The statement cut deeper than any blade, and Arthur's chest tightened with a mix of shame and anger. "No," he said, his voice gaining strength. "I'm not nothing. I'm—" 

"Prove it," the voice interrupted, its tone challenging. 

Before Arthur could respond, the visions intensified. He saw himself standing alone on a battlefield, surrounded by enemies. The weight of his spear felt familiar in his hands, but it wasn't enough. The enemies closed in, their weapons gleaming with deadly intent. 

"Fight," the voice commanded. 

Arthur gritted his teeth and charged, his movements fluid and instinctive. The spear became an extension of his body, responding to him in a way that it never did in the waking world. His movements were fast, and precise, and yet. It hurt. 

Every time he killed it hurt, like a piece of himself was dying. The pain threw him off his rhythm and the brief flood of power and knowledge within him fled. 

"You cannot win," the voice said, almost mockingly. "What will you do?" 

Arthur's grip tightened on the spear, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'll find a way. A way to save without..." 

"Without what? Hurting people" the voice scoffed, finishing his sentence off for him. 

Arthur closed his eyes, refusing to be a part of this battle any longer. "If I can." 

The voice fell silent for a moment, then spoke again, softer this time. "And what of those you seek to protect?" 

The voice laughed, "So you don't even know why you fight."

"I fight to survive. Not to kill", he responded, his voice firm.

The voice was silent for a long time. Then, finally, it spoke. "Very well." 

When Arthur opened his eyes again, he was no longer on the battlefield. He was standing, nowhere. There was just blackness, a deep, empty, blackness.

A figure walked forward from the Nothingness. Reshi. His hair was slicked back, his dark eyes firm, and his physique stronger. It was him back when he was a soldier. 

Reshi approached with a spear in its hand. Yet it wasn't exactly a spear. It seemed to be stuck halfway between a spear and a sword, not unlike the weapon Syar held. 

"Let us see what the will of yours can do" Reshi spoke, his eyes glinting dangerously. 

....... 

Noah gritted his teeth, stepping back just in time to evade the deadly horizontal slash aimed at him. 

Commander Scarlet grinned, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Almost~" she taunted, her voice dripping with playful menace. 

'Damn it, she's crazy,' Noah thought, his heart pounding. 'Commander Scarlet is far more formidable than I expected.' 

He lunged forward with a straightforward thrust, hoping to break through her guard. But she parried the attack with ease, her blade redirecting his strike with almost casual precision. His stomach dropped as her sword arced through the air, the sharp edge closing in on his face. 

'She's going to stop, right?' 

But the blade showed no signs of halting, the metallic gleam growing sharper with each passing second. 

Closer. Closer. 

'She's going to stop, right?' 

//////////////////////////////// 

Commander Scarlet deflected Noah's thrust with practiced ease, her sword spinning back into a horizontal slash aimed at his face. Forcing someone to awaken their affinity was no simple task. It required pushing them into a genuine life-or-death moment. Only on the precipice of mortality could someone unlock the power hidden deep within them—a force just out of their ordinary reach. 

Her blade sliced toward its target, unyielding. 

And then, everything changed. 

Before the strike could land, a powerful force erupted from Noah, an invisible wave that sent her flying back. She collided with the ground hard, a grunt escaping her lips as the impact stole her breath. 

Commander Scarlet pushed herself up, shaking her head to clear the dizziness. She looked up, but more than that, she felt it—a raw, untamed power radiating from Noah, like a storm unleashed. Winds whipped around him, buffeting her. His hair and clothes rippled in the chaotic breeze, but his expression remained eerily blank, as though he were in a trance, consumed by the force now surging through him. 

Commander Scarlet's lips curled into a smile. 

"Well, well," she murmured to herself. "This is about to get interesting. I spose it wouldn't do much harm if I played a little more roughly now."