The Oracle Paths



A string of surreal deaths played out across Twyluxia, claiming several hundred faceless soldiers from both factions. The quantity of rank 2 Privates foolish enough to participate in the Fifth Ordeal might have been a rare breed, yet there were some still around—definitely less than a thousand but certainly more than a hundred.

The great irony was, on any regular day, finding a Rank 2 Private in the opposite Mirror Universe would've been nearly impossible. The average skill of their contestants notoriously surpassed those from Jake's Mirror Universe, dominating most Ordeals between their twin realms.

Yet, in a bid for fairness, the opposing Mirror Universe was bound by the vexing task of matching the quantity of Players at each rank—a task that was turning into a considerable headache for their Oracle equivalent.

But the most stunned of all were the native soldiers, freshly conscripted for the imminent war, at the scenes of these "spontaneous squishings". Where Leo Vinson was abruptly crushed by his own weight, the intimidating barbarians marching beside him couldn't believe their eyes. They even pinched themselves, trying to comprehend the reality of the situation.

"Are we under attack?" One murmured, his eyes scanning the horizon suspiciously. Dressed in ragged clothes and wielding a worn-out butcher's knife, he looked quite unimpressive.

"P-possibly," another barbarian agreed, gripping his lumberjack axe nervously.

An older, frail-looking barbarian, eyes shimmering with wisdom, knelt by the remains. He dipped his fingers into the mashed flesh, sniffed, and tasted the blood before quickly spitting it out.

"Ugh! This man must've been cursed. I've never seen a body with such weak life force. It wasn't a spell that caused his death; his organs just gave in to gravity," he remarked with a mocking tone, yet his eyes betrayed a hint of fear.

If this was a new long-range curse conjured by the Radiant Conclave, it was truly terrifying. None would be safe.

The eerie demise of the unknown soldier quickly drew the attention of nearby barbarians, halting the endless snake-like formation of troops. A grim-faced captain was alerted as he noticed the 'tail' of the formation split into two, half paralyzed by the incident.

Grimacing and ready to lash out at those responsible, his expression morphed into horror upon discovering the blood-soaked pool of flesh sprinkled with bone dust. He shuddered, imagining himself in the dead soldier's place.

However, he regained his stern demeanor quickly, barking, "Did anyone know the victim?"

Several barbarians seemed on the verge of speaking, but soon shut their mouths, confusion evident.

"Blast, who was he? I can't recall his name. Honestly, I don't even remember talking to him."

The two barbarians who had marched beside the anonymous soldier and shared a tent with him exchanged glances, whispering, "Come to think of it, I'd never seen him before last week's mass conscription."

"He never told us his name... I even thought he might be mute."

Seeing no one could provide an answer, the captain's face twisted in growing anger. But just as he was about to chastise them, a sense of foreboding washed over him when he noticed all the barbarians kneeling reverently.

Turning slowly, the captain's face turned ashen, recognizing the hovering figure in a black robe. Her graceful form, the hypnotic shimmer of her long black hair resembling a bed of stars, and her enchanting face with a friendly smile ignited a fire of desire in him, yet intensified his dread.

"Your presence honors me, Soulmancer Meridelle," the usually proud leader intoned, bowing deeply, sweat dripping from his brow onto the blood-soaked ground.

"What transpired here?" Her voice, as soothing as a lullaby, asked.

After the captain's briefing, her brows furrowed in intrigue. Flying to Leo's remains, she plunged her arm into the carnage. When she withdrew, her hand held a ghostly figure—a spitting image of the deceased.

It was none other than Leo Vinson, and he was... aware! The Aether density in the area was high enough to sustain a soul, especially in the Duskwight Lands, a haven for wandering spirits.

Yet, Leo was still under the impression this was some form of Ordeal introduction—a cutscene. And in a way, he was right, except usually, there wasn't much after a movie's end.

Having just been rescued by a striking brunette, Leo gave her his most charming smile and his most enigmatic gaze, ready to shower her with thanks. But instead of the budding romance he'd hoped for, an unexpected twist hit him.

With a dispassionate expression, Soulmancer Meridelle uttered, "Soulsearch."

"AAARRRRRRRGGHHHHH!"

A bloodcurdling scream echoed, then silence reigned. With an entirely different gravitas than moments before, the young woman trapped the now senseless soul inside an ancient-looking locket and commanded,

"Resume your duties. Pretend this never happened."

Seeing some barbarians still restless, she added, "This won't happen to you. If I'm not mistaken, the Radiant Conclave is facing a similar situation."

With that, she soared away, streaking towards the presumed direction of the Dusken Throne's capital. A game-changing report awaited the Soulmancer King, one that could alter the course of the war.

As for whether the Soulmancer King would allow these foreign Players to use their war as a playground? Not her concern.

*****

Far to the east in the Lustra Plains, several Lifemancers and Radiant Mages had also their ways to extract soul information. Combining their strength and sacrificing some Lumyst Water rich in vital energy, they performed...

A Resurrection Spell!

A Player's Light Warrior, previously crushed beyond recognition, seemed to rewind in time, every bone and organ reassembling.

Though they couldn't wield spells like the Soulmancers' "Soulsearch," once the resurrected victim was in their grip, they had a myriad of ways to extract a confession.

"AAAAARRRGGHHH! Okay, okay! I'll spill!"

A piercing scream, eerily reminiscent of Leo Vinson's, reverberated through the makeshift interrogation room, quickly followed by the expected confession.

Under the care of a Lifemancer, death wasn't an option unless they permitted it. So the Player lived. After being healed with a rejuvenation spell, he was swiftly escorted to the Radiant Conclave's capital. Whatever awaited him there made him wish he hadn't survived.

Within mere minutes of the commencement of the Fifth Ordeal, it was already glaringly evident how it was distinct from the previous four. Here, their identity was no armor.

If they were unmasked, no one would shield them from the fallout.

One way or another, every Rank 2 Player from both factions met their end, either crushed by unyielding gravity or tortured to death after countless resurrections. Whether it was the Dusken Throne or the Radiant Conclave, they eventually uncovered the Players' involvement. But unlike the merciless manner in which they had questioned these weak Players, likened to defenseless chickens, they remained tight-lipped about it afterward. It was just a ripple in a vast pond, and its consequences were quickly smothered.

ραndαsΝοvεl ƈοm However, before their demise, both the Dusken Throne and the Radiant Conclave caught a glimpse of the last notification the Players had received before meeting their end. And through it, they knew this series of events was just the beginning...

The notification read:

[ Rank 3 Players will join the war in 36 hours. We suggest that you use this time to consolidate your position before your superiors arrive. ]

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