Chapter 7: The Trial of Justice
"Gasp… Gasp… Gasp…"
My lungs were on fire. My palms were torn and raw, every layer of skin flayed open by the rope's coarse bite. Blood slicked the hemp, leaving behind a red trail that stretched endlessly into the abyss below.
How long had it been? Hours? Days?
I had lost track.
It felt like eternity—an eternal descent where time itself was devoured. My muscles spasmed every other breath, threatening to betray me. At least a dozen times my fingers slipped, my body dangling on the brink of death before pure instinct clawed me back.
And through it all, there was no end. Only darkness. Only the monotonous rhythm of pain and despair.
It reminded me of my old life. Back in the world before this, hunched over a keyboard, endlessly typing chapters that no one cared about. A machine without purpose, without hope.
Now I was the machine again—reduced to mechanical motion. Hand over hand. Down, down, down.
Until, at last, even pain abandoned me. My body became numb. My thoughts splintered. My vision blurred.
And then—
I fell.
The rope slipped from my fingers.
I expected the cold bite of death, the pitiless void swallowing me whole.
But instead… warmth.
It wrapped me gently, cradling me like a child. A sensation so alien yet so comforting I almost wept. It was like returning to my mother's womb, safe and shielded from the world's cruelty.
"…Is this death?" I whispered.
It didn't feel like the first time I had died—where the void had been endless cold, endless loneliness. No. This was different. Softer.
Then—
DONG.
A temple bell tolled.
DONG. DONG. DONG.
The sound rattled through my skull, each strike pulling me out of that embrace. My eyes snapped open.
"What—what just happened!?"
I bolted upright, gasping. My body was drenched in sweat, my hands shaking violently. I was no longer clinging to a rope. Instead, I was sitting atop a simple wooden bed, its sheets soaked through from my feverish state.
I blinked rapidly, forcing my mind to process the scene.
The room was small. Minimal. A tatami-like mat covered the floor. In the corner, a massive bronze clock swung its pendulum, each tick accompanied by the faint toll of a bell. Aside from a low tea table, the room was bare.
And then—
"You're awake."
The voice was calm, deep, and steady.
I snapped my head to the right.
There, seated cross-legged at the tea table, was a middle-aged man. His hair was jet black streaked with silver. His eyes were deep, fathomless, carrying both kindness and an unyielding sharpness. His hands moved with deliberate grace as he poured steaming tea into a clay cup.
He looked… ordinary. Yet not.
Because the moment my gaze locked onto him, my instincts screamed.
This man was a master. A being far beyond me. A mountain disguised as a man.
"Relax, boy," the stranger said without looking up. "If I meant you harm, you wouldn't have woken up."
"Who… who are you?" I croaked, forcing my trembling body upright.
The man smiled faintly, as though the question amused him. He set the teapot down and finally turned to face me.
"I am Bhargav."
The name hit me like a blow.
My breath caught. My mind blanked. My body froze.
"G-Grandmaster Bhargav!?"
The founder of the Axe Path. The first to temper the axe not as a weapon of slaughter, but as a tool of justice. A figure buried in the annals of mythology, his teachings scattered and lost.
And here he was. Sitting before me.
My throat went dry. My mind screamed in disbelief.
But Bhargav only chuckled softly. "You know my name. That spares us some introductions."
"No… this isn't possible. You died millennia ago!"
His expression turned wistful, almost melancholic. "Indeed. What you see before you is but a remnant. A fragment of my soul bound to this place, awakened only when one worthy endures the descent."
I swallowed hard. "A… remnant soul."
It made sense. A technique as old as the Vedas, where the soul of a master could divide and anchor itself, leaving behind memory and will. Not true life. Not true consciousness. But enough.
Enough to teach. Enough to test.
Bhargav studied me quietly, his gaze like an axe stripping bark from a tree. Finally, he nodded.
"You lasted longer on the rope than most would dare. Endurance is a virtue, but endurance without direction is nothing but stagnation. Now… we see if you are truly worthy of my axe."
He gestured with his hand.
The tatami walls dissolved.
In their place bloomed a new world.
---
I stood in the center of a vast courtyard, flanked by towering stone pillars carved with scenes of battle. Each depicted Bhargav himself—cleaving demons, protecting villagers, standing unbowed even before kings.
At the far end stood a shrine. Within it burned a sacred fire, crackling gold and white, its smoke curling toward the heavens.
Bhargav's voice thundered across the courtyard.
"Listen well, Kael Arden. My axe was forged not for conquest, but for dharma. Righteous duty. For justice untainted by vengeance. If you seek my art, you must prove not strength of arm, but clarity of soul."
The ground trembled.
Two massive doors materialized before me, etched with divine script.
One read: Justice.
The other: Dharma.
"Enter," Bhargav commanded. "Choose. But beware—once chosen, you cannot turn back."
My pulse quickened. My throat dried.
I approached the doors, hesitating for only a breath before pushing open the one marked Justice.
Light swallowed me whole.
---
When my vision cleared, I stood in a village. Smoke rose from burning huts. Blood stained the earth. Cries of terror echoed through the air.
A group of bandits had descended upon the place, slaughtering indiscriminately. Women screamed. Children wept. The helpless were dragged like cattle.
My stomach twisted. My hands clenched.
And then I saw them.
Two men bound and forced to their knees at the village square.
One was a bandit. His hands still wet with blood. His eyes burned with defiance, unrepentant.
The other… was a villager. A trembling man, gaunt and weak.
A voice thundered in my ears, reverberating through the scene.
"Kael Arden. This is the first trial. Justice is not the swing of an axe, but the balance of truth. One of these men is guilty. One is not. You may free one, and condemn the other. Choose wrongly, and your path ends here."
My breath caught.
I scanned the two men.
The bandit looked obvious. Too obvious. His sneer practically begged for punishment.
But the villager… something about his trembling felt wrong. Exaggerated. A performance.
'This is a test,' I realized. 'Justice is not about the obvious choice. It's about seeing beyond masks.'
I narrowed my eyes, recalling the murals in the dungeon. Bhargav had written: "The axe is not for vengeance. The axe is for truth."
I stepped closer to the villager.
"Why are you trembling?" I asked.
He flinched, eyes darting, lips fumbling for words. "I-I'm just… afraid!"
Too fast. Too forced.
I turned to the bandit. "And you? Why no plea?"
He spat at my feet. "Because words are wind. Kill me or don't. I fear no axe."
My gut twisted.
This was it.
Justice wasn't choosing who looked guilty. Justice was piercing lies.
I drew a deep breath, pointed at the villager, and declared:
"You are no villager. You are the bandit in disguise. You killed and tried to hide behind weakness. Justice demands your end."
The false villager's eyes widened. His mask cracked. His trembling vanished, replaced by a cold, murderous grin.
"Tch… clever boy."
Before he could lunge, the world split apart.
The scene dissolved.
And I was back in the courtyard.
Bhargav stood before me, nodding slowly. His eyes burned with approval.
"Good. You chose truth over appearance. This is the first step of the axe."
But his gaze hardened.
"Now comes the second."
The door marked Dharma swung open on its own.
Light spilled out, brighter than the sun, searing into my eyes.
Bhargav's voice echoed like thunder.
"Justice without dharma is tyranny. Dharma without justice is weakness. Step forward, Kael Arden. Prove you can bear both."
My fists clenched. My pulse roared.
This was only the beginning.
And yet, every part of me screamed
The next trial would break me.
---