Chapter 23: The Trial of Power is Suicidal but This Guy Doesn't Care Part 2
I stand before the Valley of Repeat, a green concave hidden within Mount Origin. This place is sacred and mystical. Every peak of midnight, this place is said to return to its original state no matter how much effect a person may leave here. I marvel at its beauty, expressing it in words.
"The hues of green paint a picture of eternity," I remark.
The old man, Bartholomew, melancholy smiles as he replies, "I cannot agree more. This valley has witnessed the passage of time, yet it remains untouched."
It is currently dawn, and the sun has long ascended mid-sky.
Sanaryn interrogates me, her eyes probing for sincerity.
"Can you be trusted?" she questions, her tone blunt.
I meet her gaze, responding, "Absolutely. My intentions are clear."
She's vocal about her feelings, not mincing words.
"Bartholomew," she addresses the old man, "reject his request for the Trial of Power. We should just kill him outright."
I sigh at the openness of her plan for my murder.
"Why such a direct approach?" I ask.
Sanaryn's eyes narrow. "I don't trust you. There's something off."
I ponder her hostility and realize it might be related to my wife. Sanaryn has a personal grudge against her. Hell, a lot of people does… I imagine even if the Universe wants her dead, she will still manage to survive. The tension becomes clearer as Sanaryn direct me her bloodlust.
"It's because of her, isn't it?" I say, a realization dawning.
Sanaryn clenches her jaw but doesn't deny it. Bartholomew, seemingly unfazed, calmly intervenes.
"The Sages cannot decline an applicant's request for a Trial of Power, especially if the applicant has already killed one of the Sages," he explains. "We also cannot deny the Trial of Power even if the applicant has a direct relationship with a person we as Sages swore to destroy…" The old man adds, without a hint of emotion in his tone.
"I've killed Pierre Viola. I'm more than qualified for the Trial of Power," I assert to Sanaryn.
She challenges me immediately, concern etched on her face, "But if you become a Sage, you might bring harm to the Sorcerer World."
Sanaryn seems convinced that Miynadrel Celeste, my wife, harbors a wicked plan. "Your wife is plotting something that will turn the world upside down, as she usually does. You're just a pawn in her game."
I look her in the eyes, sincerity in my voice, "I am just a normal husband hoping to clean up the mess of his wife. I don't want her actions to affect the world." I walk to one spot of the grassy valley, while Sanaryn walks opposite me.
"You can't even recognize yourself as just a pawn," Sanaryn ridicules me, her tone cutting. "There's no getting through to you."
Without further warning, Sanaryn announces the start of the Trial of Power. In an instant, she flickers in a spark of ember, the speed of her movement astonishing. She materializes beside me with a swiftness matching Pierre, a Space Magic specialist.
Her presence is imposing as she summons a scimitar of pure fire elements. The heat emanating from it is palpable even without direct contact.
"Let's see what you've got," she taunts, the challenge hanging in the air.
With a thought, I cast <Phantom Step> and appear at Sanaryn's rear. Then, I cast <I Believe> on myself, inducing a Third Person's Point of View, allowing me to look 360 degrees around me. I point my finger at Sanaryn and cast a Calm Spell, followed by a Sleep Spell.
Two bolts of illusory arrows strike Sanaryn, and her movement slows down. It isn't the effect I intend, since that should have made her fall into sleep instead.
Sanaryn smirks condescendingly at me as she flickers again, appearing at my flank. "Is that the best you've got?" she challenges.
Sanaryn summons another scimitar of flames in her other hand, dual-wielding as she strikes at me. Meanwhile, I notice a fireball projectile dropping from above, cunningly conjured to evade my detection.
I simply stand my ground.
As Sanaryn lunges, she passes through me, and simultaneously, the fireball she conjured descends upon her head. She stands there, looking at the real me.
Smugly, I remark, "Maybe you should have your eyes checked since you kept chasing after my illusion. You should be better than that."
Sanaryn calms her breathing, and it seems the lingering effects of my Calm Spell and Sleep Spell have been dispelled. She brandishes both swords, and with a flicker, she rushes at me again. Sanaryn walks past me, and I realize she is up to something.
Whispering joyfully, she says, "I see you."
Sanaryn strikes at me rather accurately, forcing me to reveal myself. In response, I cast <Phantom Step> to escape her.
Sanaryn's eyes are burning, and it feels like she can see through me. Even if it's a kind of temperature detection, I remain confident that I won't be easily seen. I realize her mystical accomplishments go beyond the elementalism of Pyromancy she pursues.
She chases me with incredible speed, and I attempt to outrun her, devising a new strategy to adapt to the changing variables. Warily, I eye the old man who is yet to join the fight.
"If only there were an easily accessible life sacrifice I could use to cast Phantom Apocalypse," I think to myself, knowing it could tip the scales in my favor.
As I dodge and weave around, I notice Bartholomew watching us with calm ease. It seems he won't join unless I show something worthy of his attention. Sanaryn, on the other hand, is limiting herself to a few spells and appears to be enjoying the combat more than the Trial itself.
While keeping my toes on the ground, I scan myself. I feel a foreign magic in my skin, and I see burnt markings on my hand. Noticing my actions, Sanaryn explains what it is. It's not just out of arrogance but her honor and pride as a warrior.
"You've been marked by Ifrit's Brand, my own unique magic," she declares. "Every fire-based magic that touches you will be multiplied in effect. The brand also marks me in a way that I can easily track you. Worst of all, Ifrit's Brand will spread throughout your skin, amplifying its effect over time."
I wryly smile at how fast my situation has turned. Pierre is really a chump if compared to the legit Sorcerers. If only I can cast my Phantasm Apocalypse. This is the disadvantage of my Phantasm Apocalypse, a magic that requires life sacrifices. Creatures with sentience can easily reject it, and that's why I must hijack my sacrifices' minds first and usurp their will, but clearly Bartholomew Whitman and Sanaryn Flamberge have strong mentality. I cast Mirage Clone, summoning clones of myself. They easily die to Sanaryn's onslaught. I buy myself time, finalizing a strategy that is slowly forming together. I grin…
I look around the Valley of Repeat. I think I have an idea. The terrain is my ally, an ever-shifting landscape with illusions playing tricks on perception. I gather my strength, focusing on the essence of the valley. My hands move in intricate patterns as I invoke the latent magic residing in this place.
The air shimmers, and the Valley of Repeat responds to my command.
I cast Phantasm Apocalypse, setting up the Valley of Repeat as my sacrifice. "Change," I declare.
In response, the atmosphere shifts, and the once vibrant valley succumbs to the dark magic. In order for something or someone to be a sacrifice, they must have either of the two, life force and magic power. The Valley of Repeat is plenty with it.
Quickly, the green grass withers, and the visible healthy soil grays beneath the weight of the impending spell. The sun itself darkens, as if undergoing a solar eclipse. The air thickens with the anticipation of the magical forces at play. I extend my one hand and use <Telekinesis> to seize hold of Sanaryn's figure.
Sanaryn, surprised and unable to move, expresses her astonishment. "What's happening?" she demands, struggling against the invisible force that holds her in place.
"It is my turn from now on," I calmly assert. The dark winged angels descend from thin air, crashing down around Sanaryn. Their presence is ominous, their eyes emotionless as they wield steel weapons that promise death.
Sanaryn, still held in place by my telekinetic grip, looks around in terror. "What have you done?" she accuses, desperation evident in her voice.
"These are the consequences," I reply coldly, watching as the angels close in. "Of looking down on me."
Sanaryn explodes with fighting spirit; her hair turns to fire, and her eyes burn brightly. She glares at me and challenges, "Is that the best you can offer?"
I laugh, a confident smirk playing on my lips. "Oh, my dear, I haven't really started yet."
Dramatically raising my arms, I announce to her, "For a start, I shall surround you."
Sanaryn, confused by my choice of words, furrows her brow. Then, she notices the ominous darkness that has engulfed the surroundings. The once vibrant day has transformed into an eerie twilight. She looks up, her eyes widening as she realizes how dark the sun has become. However, the most noteworthy sight captures her attention—the flying dark winged angels that have literally blotted the sky.
"What have you unleashed?" Sanaryn demands, her voice a mix of awe and apprehension.
"A taste of what's to come," I reply cryptically, reveling in the unfolding spectacle. "Prepare yourself, Sanaryn. This is just the beginning."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone