The descent felt endless.
Aden followed behind Rudeus and Ian as they walked through the dim stone corridors that spiraled deep beneath the Bastion of Blades. The air grew colder with each step, the scent of ash and ancient steel lingering like a memory etched into the walls. Torches flickered in their sconces, casting twisted shadows on the aged Vasco runes carved into the stone.
Finally, they reached it.
A massive circular door stood before them, forged of obsidian and veined with pulsing crimson light—like it was alive. Five men waited outside, clad in black armor emblazoned with the Vasco insignia. Their auras were suffocating, blades resting at their hips, eyes sharp as if awaiting a signal to kill.
"The Black Knights," Aden murmured, recognizing them. His gaze sharpened, but his voice remained even. "Didn't realize I'd need an execution squad."
Rudeus glanced at him, tone calm but firm. "They're here to ensure that if something goes wrong… it ends quickly."
Ian nodded. "We've seen what happens when the Wrath consumes a soul."
Aden exhaled sharply through his nose. "And you think it'll consume me?"
"No," Rudeus said. "But Egmund might."
A moment of silence passed.
Then, Rudeus stepped closer and placed a hand on Aden's shoulder—not in comfort, but in gravity. His voice lowered.
"If you lose yourself in the fire, let pain bring you back."
Aden looked up, locking eyes with the Swordmaster.
"And if I can't?"
Rudeus's gaze did not waver. "Then that's the end of the story."
The door groaned as it opened, steam hissing from its edges like the breath of some ancient beast.
The chamber within was vast and circular, etched with runes older than the Bastion itself. Symbols of fire, war, and conquest burned faintly across the floor and ceiling. The air was thick with power—hot, stifling, and old.
Aden stepped in alone.
Behind him, the door sealed shut with a thunderous boom. The sound echoed like a drumroll before judgment.
The trial had begun.
The moment the door sealed behind him, reality twisted.
Aden staggered forward as the chamber around him began to dissolve—the stone walls melting into darkness, the runes writhing like serpents beneath his feet. The ground vanished, replaced by an endless red mist that churned beneath him like a sea of blood.
Then came the sound—a deep, slow drumbeat, echoing like a heartbeat carved into stone. The rhythm pulled at him, dragged him deeper into this place. Time no longer obeyed. Space bled into thought. The world was unmade.
He stood not in the Bastion anymore, but on a vast battlefield soaked in scarlet light. The sky was black, cracked by veins of fire. Ash rained from above like snow.
Around him—corpses. Thousands of them. Some human, some not. Some looked like twisted versions of himself.
He turned, breath hitching.
There, a younger version of him crouched in the carnage—blood dripping from his mouth, eyes glassy and hollow. A beast. Another vision flickered into view—Aden standing atop a mountain of corpses, wearing a crown made of bone, his expression unreadable.
A whisper crawled into his mind.
"This is you... in pieces."
Aden's body tensed. He spun, drawing breath—but nothing came. Not yet.
Outside the chamber—
Two figures appeared near the sealed chamber, walking past the stunned Black Knights with ease.
Ed Vasco and Zwalter Vasco.
Their presence shifted the very air. The knights parted without a word.
"He's inside?" Ed asked, his voice a low murmur.
Rudeus nodded. "He is."
Zwalter said nothing for a long moment, then spoke with a voice as cold as iron.
"If anything goes wrong... and he lets Egmund loose—kill him before he leaves that room."
Ian's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
Ed crossed his arms. "You think he's ready?"
"He's a Vasco," Rudeus said. "He should always be ready."
Inside the trial—
Aden blinked, the mist parting around him. Then, he felt it.
A pressure—immense, crushing, primal—settled over the battlefield.
From the far side of the warped horizon, a figure emerged. Towering. Armored in blackened bone. Its face was shrouded, but its eyes burned with white-hot malice.
Egmund.
The being that slept within the blood of every Vasco. The wrath given form.
Aden's fists clenched. He didn't speak.
Egmund did.
"You wear my rage, but do you understand it?"
His voice was a thunderclap. "You speak of mastering Wrath... but can you even bear it?"
Then, without warning, he lunged.