The winds howled over the mountains, and with them came a bitter chill. A voice pierced through the silence, cutting through the stillness.
"He is not like the others," it spoke, a hint of dark humor hiding behind their words.
"Let's see how different he truly is."
A monstrous form stepped out of the darkness, its shape massive and unnatural. The ground trembled as it moved, its presence a harbinger of destruction.
This trial… will be different from the rest," the voice whispered, an evil threat that seethed with cruelty.
"Make him experience what it feels like to truly come alive."
The beast's eyes glowed with an unsettling hunger, its growls echoing through the tranquility of the night as it started to advance.
***
My heart rate sped up with each passing second, my mind searching for ways to prevent this unnecessary fight between us.
"I'll fight you after the trials, Zakir," I said, voice steady. "For now, we will finish what we need to do."
Zakir held my gaze, his fingers twitching at his sword hilt. He wanted to press the issue; I could see it in his eyes. But after a tense pause, he exhaled sharply, his hand withdrawn from the hilt of his sword, and nodded.
"Fine."
A few moments later, Sylva came back, her expression smug.
"Job's done."
Up ahead, chaos erupted.
It had only taken a few moments—one blurred shadow, a whisper of movement, a single flicker of motion in the trees. That was all she needed to turn the wariness of the demons into full-blown carnage.
The three we had laid our eyes on earlier were already bleeding, blades flashing in desperation. As they had used all their strength earlier to make haste up the mountain, they were caught unprepared for an ambush in the dark. But the brilliance of our plan had only just begun.
A second group had been drawn in, confusion twisting into hostility. The moment one of them misread a movement, assuming it was an attack, all hell broke loose.
Steel met flesh. A scream tore through the air.
Sylva snickered, watching the bloodshed unfold like an artist admiring her masterpiece.
Zakir, however, remained stiff beside me. His fingers clenched, his jaw locked.
I could guess what was going on in his head. He didn't speak it out loud, but I could tell. Zakir was a swordsman, raised to believe in fair duels and measured combat. However, that way of thinking was naive. Such values belonged to those who had never been pushed to the edge of survival.
"The strong prey on the weak," I said, keeping my voice even. "As I said, this trial isn't just about reaching the top. We must eliminate the competition while getting there."
Zakir scoffed. "I know that."
"Then why do you hesitate?"
He said nothing, but the grip on his sword tightened.
Below us, one of the demons finally collapsed, his throat torn open.
Zakir exhaled sharply through his nose.
"They were already weakened. Attacking them now would be disgraceful."
I turned to him. "And if they were at full strength, would you fight them?"
"Yes."
"What if they were pretending to beg for mercy, but your moment of indecisiveness cost you your life?"
He flinched.
I took a step forward. "Honor won't keep you alive, Zakir. And it sure as hell won't stop them from putting a blade in your back the second you turn around."
His teeth clenched, but I could see the thoughts forming behind his eyes.
Before he could argue, Sylva cut in, rolling her shoulders. "Enough moral debates. We're wasting time."
She wasn't wrong.
The fight ahead was nearly over. Two groups had turned into one, their number reduced by more than half.
Perfect.
I turned. "Let's move."
And so we did.
The night dragged on as we ascended. Every step took us closer to the top, but the further we went, the stronger the scent of blood became.
Sylva was enjoying herself, perhaps a bit too much.
She was like a knife in the dark. Every so often, she'd vanish into the shadows, only to return moments later, smirking as another group descended into chaos.
"As expected of the former successor to the Celeris family," I thought to myself.
Zakir, on the other hand, grew more and more silent.
By the time we stopped to assess our position, his thoughts were too loud for me to ignore any longer.
"Come on, out with it," I muttered.
He didn't meet my eyes. "I don't like it."
I waited.
He finally turned to face me, eyes sharp. "I understand why we're doing this. I understand why it works. But this… deception. This trickery. It's not the way of the sword."
I let out a quiet breath. "Then, what is the way of the sword?"
Zakir looked almost insulted by the question, as if he had told me thousands of times before.
"It's simple. The way of the sword is not just in the steel, but in the heart. It is the path of discipline, where strength is tempered by respect, and victory is earned with honor. To wield the blade is to carry the weight of one's word, for every strike must be made with purpose, and every life taken with responsibility."
"And what happens when the enemy doesn't care for all that?" I asked.
Zakir fell silent.
I stepped closer. "The way of the sword, The way of a warrior. The way of honor. It's all well and good— until you face someone who doesn't follow the same rules."
I let my words sink in before I continued.
"Strength isn't just about the sword, Zakir. It's about surviving. It's about understanding your enemy better than they understand you. And sometimes, it's about using their instincts against them."
He looked down at his blade. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, at last, he exhaled.
"...I still don't like it."
I grinned. "You don't have to."
He sheathed his sword. He may not have admitted it, but I could tell. He was beginning to change.
***
As we made our way deeper into the mountains, the night's cold bore down on us, relentless and unyielding. Zakir, still lost in thought, grew increasingly quiet. There was still something he hadn't said.
I knew him well enough by now to see the storm brewing behind his eyes. He wasn't just thinking. He was reminiscing.
"Zakir," I said softly.
He stopped, turning towards me. "What now?"
"You're not thinking about the past again, are you?"
His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak for a moment. The shadows around us deepened, and I could tell—he was reliving something.
From the fragmented memories that I've been able to recall so far, I had met Zakir long ago, during a time when he was wandering aimlessly, his steps uncertain and his soul just as lost as his path. His only possession was his sword. It was one forged with honor—an extension of his very being, his life's purpose.
He had no allies. No one to guide him. At such a young age, forced to drift in a world that didn't care for his principles. I had seen the way his eyes hardened when he spoke of his lost home—his world, destroyed in a single night.
The enemy had come without warning. They fought using any underhanded tactics they could use, nor did they show any mercy. No, they killed his family, his teachers, and his fellow swordsmen without hesitation. And those who survived? They were hunted down like cattle.
I don't remember the full details, but I had seen the scars of his past, both on his body and his soul. The ones who destroyed his home—those who killed off everyone that was close to him—they didn't care about honor.
Honor was what got them killed.
Zakir's voice was barely above a whisper, as I saw a glimmer of a tear at the corner of his eye.
"I thought… I thought if I followed the way of the sword, if I stayed true to it like they had always told me, I could bring them honor. To my family, my friends, and my teachers. I thought I could avenge them."
"And did your honor protect them?" I asked quietly.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, his hand tightened around his sword. His eyes darkened.
"No," he said at last. "It didn't."
I nodded.
"In this world," I said, "honor won't save you. It won't avenge your past. But knowing when to be ruthless—when to strike and when to retreat—that's what will keep you alive."
Zakir's gaze softened, but only for a moment. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—a shift, as though he were seeing the world through a different lens.
He didn't speak again, but the understanding between us was clear.
***
We were advancing steadily.
Almost a bit too easily.
Our destination seemed to come closer with every step, the spiky cliffs now within reach. The moon hung above, with it a ghostly silver light spread across the mountain top, and the cold in the air seemed to bite at our skin as if warning us of what was ahead.
Suddenly, a growl—low and primal—rumbled through the ground beneath us.
Sylva's grin vanished. Zakir's hand instinctively went to his sword. Something was coming.
From the darkness, two glowing eyes emerged—massive, burning like molten orbs. A hellish beast came forward, its obsidian fur rippling with each step. Claws like scythes scraped against the rock, and the stench of death filled the air.
Zakir's voice was steady. "This wasn't part of the plan, was it?"
Sylva clicked her tongue, more irritated than scared. "Lovely. I hate cats. Especially the big ones."
I met the creature's gaze. It was intelligent—calculating. It wasn't going to let us pass.
I wasn't surprised. After all, things had been going too well. Something was bound to go wrong sooner rather than later. But this… facing a beast beyond my strength, in my weak state—it felt like the universe was mocking me.
Sylva and Zakir, the hands that had ended my life only days ago, were now the ones holding the key to my survival. It seemed fate was a master of irony. My eyes narrowed, and I steeled myself for the fight, determined to do whatever it took to see the light of day again.