Chapter 43: Gaining Trust-III
Gunlaug's voice rolled through the hall like distant thunder, and for a moment, nobody
answered.
The Guards behind us shifted—barely. Kai stood stiff as a plank, doing his best not to look
like the world's most famous singer accidentally wandering into a lion's den. Sasrir was
unreadable as ever, a cold shadow at my side.
And me? I stepped forward.
If Gunlaug was expecting fear, or trembling, or hesitation… he was going to be disappointed.
I bowed my head just slightly—just enough to stay polite without actually meaning it.
"Yes," I said. "I do."
My voice echoed back at me, swallowed by the massive hall.
Gunlaug leaned back lazily in his gilded seat. Even from a distance, the molten-gold armor
seemed to pulse faintly, alive in a way no armor should be. He tapped a finger against the
armrest, thoughtful.
"Then come," he said. "Speak."
I walked forward until I stood beneath the first step of his dais. Sasrir stayed a half-step
behind me. Kai stayed farther back, still clearly unsure if he should even be here.
Gunlaug studied me, head tilting slightly like he was examining a new animal he hadn't seen
before.
"Well?" he prompted.
I raised my head.
"Two nights ago," I said carefully, "two of your Guards assaulted an innocent woman. She
fought back, and they responded by nearly killing her."
The hall vibrated faintly with murmurs—some shocked, some uneasy, some darkly amused.
Gunlaug lifted a hand, and the room fell silent instantly.
"And you," he said, his tone slow… deliberate… almost indulgent, "believe this is worthy of
my personal intervention?"
"I believe," I replied, "that if order exists in the Bright Castle, then this is the kind of rot that
needs to be cut out before it spreads."Gunlaug chuckled.
Not loudly. Not joyfully. Just a low, rolling sound—as if he'd heard the world's most
charming joke and didn't mind acknowledging it.
"So." Tap… tap… tap went his finger on the throne's arm. "You accuse my men."
My jaw tightened. "I do."
Gunlaug's golden helm didn't move, but I could feel his smile widen.
"And what," he continued, "makes you so certain this incident happened as you say?"
Behind me, Kai finally stepped forward, eyes flashing with barely bridled fury.
"Because I was there," he said. "And because I buried the bloodstains myself."
The hall rippled with reaction—Gasps. Recognition. Whispers.
"Is that—?" "Nightingale?" "The Kai Nightingale?" "What is he doing here?"
Even Gunlaug paused.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then the golden helm tilted faintly in Kai's direction.
"…Interesting."
I exhaled slowly.
This was the moment. The point of no return. The path that led either to justice… or to a very
messy, very public fight.
Sasrir's shadow curled subtly around my feet.
Gunlaug leaned forward.
"Well then," he said, voice smooth as oil. "Let's not waste any time."
He snapped his fingers.
Two Guards stepped out from behind the pillars— and I recognized them instantly.
The perpetrators.
They looked confident. Smug. Triumphant. The kind of swagger men wore when they
thought their sins were protected by power.
Gunlaug gestured lazily toward them."Let the accused step forward."
My hands clenched. Kai's breath caught. Sasrir's eyes sharpened like drawn knives.
The confrontation had begun.
I drew in a steady breath and began.
"Two nights ago," I said, projecting my voice so it carried across the entire chamber, "these
two Guards assaulted a Sleeper named Mira. They were drunk, armed, and acting without
provocation. When she defended herself, they escalated—beating her until she was left
bleeding in the dirt, barely alive."
Kai stepped up beside me, expression tight and controlled… but his hands were shaking.
"I witnessed it," he said. "I was the one who carried Mira away afterward. I was the one who
treated her wounds the best I could. And I'm telling you now—if Adam hadn't healed her
this morning, she would already be dead."
Gasps. Whispers. The crowd swelled behind us as more people filtered in, no doubt drawn by
the sheer audacity of the scene—someone leveling accusations against Guards right in front
of the Bright Lord himself.
Gunlaug rested his chin on his fist, as though enjoying a play.
But the two Guards? They strutted forward like they owned the room.
The taller one—a thick-necked brute with a stupid grin plastered across his face—laughed.
"What a sweet little story," he drawled. "Shame it's complete nonsense."
The other folded his arms, snorting. "Yeah. Sounds like someone's trying to cover for a
whore who got what was coming."
A sharp, collective intake of breath rippled through the room.
Kai froze—color draining from his face.
My vision narrowed. Sasrir's shadow twitched.
But I forced myself to stay still.
Gunlaug didn't interrupt. Of course he didn't.
I spoke again, voice colder now.
"Mira isn't a prostitute. She's a Sleeper who works in the textile quarter. And witnesses heard
her screams. They saw you two dragging her. That alone should be enough to—"
"Oh please," the thick-necked Guard scoffed loudly, waving a dismissive hand. "What
witnesses? Show them. Drag them in. Let's see who's stupid enough to lie for your pet singerboy."
Kai inhaled sharply.
"And this," the second Guard added, spreading his arms smugly, "this is your proof?" He
jerked a thumb at Kai. "A pretty face with a crying story? Someone who fainted his way into
the Dream Realm from a stage?"
A ripple of laughter came from somewhere behind the pillars.
That was when I realized we weren't alone.
The Host had arrived.
Tessai and Harus stepped out first—two towering shadows flanking Gunlaug like decorative
statues.
Tessai wore his perpetual sneer, eyes glittering with that familiar cruelty. He didn't even
pretend to hide his contempt for us—or his delight in the Guards' mocking.
Harus looked… elsewhere. Off-balance. Emotionally hollow, like someone drifting between
breaths, not quite present in the moment.
Gemma and Kido entered together. Gemma looked uneasy, gaze flickering from the Guards
to Kai to Gunlaug. Kido looked confused, maybe even impressed that anyone would dare
challenge Gunlaug's authority so publicly.
And then there was Seishan.
Standing apart. Regal. Serene. Watching us like we were the most entertaining development
she'd seen all week.
When our eyes met, she actually smiled.
It was a mix of sympathy, amusement and interest.
The room felt suddenly smaller. Heavier. Like the palace itself was waiting for blood.
One of the Guards shrugged, spreading his arms wide.
"Look, Bright Lord," he said, tone oily, "this is simple: we didn't do anything. The Sleeper
girl probably fell. Or got into a fight with her boyfriend. Or maybe pretty-boy here roughed
her up and is blaming us. Who knows?"
A few chuckles came from the more loyalists in the room.
Kai's jaw trembled. "You—!"
I gently caught his arm.
Not now.The second Guard leaned forward, sneer widening.
"We serve the Bright Castle. We bleed for it. You think we'd risk our positions for some—"
Sasrir took a step. Just one. Everyone shut up.
Gunlaug's helm turned toward him slowly.
"Oh?" Gunlaug murmured. "Does the shadow have something to add?"
Sasrir didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, letting his eyes rest on
the two Guards with an expression that could only be described as patient, clinical boredom.
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft— No, soft wasn't the right word. Quiet. But sharp
enough to slit a throat.
"They're lying."
No hesitation. No qualifiers. Just simple fact.
The temperature of the room seemed to drop.
Gunlaug leaned back again.
"Well, well," he said with a low laugh. "How fascinating this is becoming."
The crowd whispered. Some leaned closer. Others backed away.
I took a breath.
Because this was only the beginning.
And now the entire Bright Castle—and the Bright Lord—were watching.
Harus moved.
It was slight—just the tilt of a neck that looked like it was barely holding onto the spine
beneath it—but it was enough. The hunchback's hollow eyes, always unfocused and drifting,
actually fixed on us. On Sasrir, specifically. Something in that deadened stare crawled under
my skin.
My pulse jumped despite myself.
He dies in a corner in the original novel, I reminded myself. A pathetic death. Nothing to
fear. Nothing to fear. If Sunny can kill him, then I can too.
But knowing the future didn't make the present any less unnerving.
Sasrir, for his part, didn't seem remotely bothered by Harus' attention. If anything, the
shadowborn warrior's stance only sharpened, chin rising a fraction, his presence pressing
against the room like a blade against a throat.The tension was so thick it felt like the air might crack.
Gunlaug finally broke it.
The Bright Lord reclined back into his throne as if settling comfortably into a bath, the sharp
amusement draining from his voice. "Enough," he said, almost bored. "The evidence is…
inconclusive."
Kai stiffened beside me. "What? But Mira—"
Gunlaug flicked a hand. "Bring her forward, then. Let her speak."
Kai almost choked on his own breath. "She can't! She's still too injured—she hasn't even
woken—"
Tessai let out a barking laugh, sharp and vicious. "Then end this nonsense already. We all
have better things to do than indulge gutter rats and outsiders."
A smattering of snickers and murmurs rippled through the gathered Guards. The crowd
behind us bristled—but no one spoke. Fear sealed every mouth shut.
I felt the weight of their stares. Contempt. Hostility. The kind of casual cruelty that came
from the certainty that no one would challenge them.
For a moment, all I could hear was my own heartbeat. I reached up and rubbed the crucifix
around my neck.
And then I stepped forward.
My voice cut clean across the throne room.
"I demand a trial by combat."
Silence. Absolute, ringing silence.
Every gaze snapped to me—Seishan's narrowing with interest, Tessai's widening in disbelief,
Harus' hollow sockets somehow seeming even darker. Even Sasrir shifted, just enough to
give me a sidelong look.
Kai stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
But I didn't look at any of them. I looked only at the Bright Lord.
"If your men are innocent," I said, my voice steady, "they'll win."
I let the implications hang in the air like a guillotine.
The throne room exploded.
Whispers surged through the gathered crowd like a wave breaking—sharp, frantic,
disbelieving."He invoked trial…?" "Is he insane?" "A Hunter challenging Guards—" "—why would they
fight amongst themselves—"
Tessai reacted first.
The brute surged upright with a roar, veins bulging along his neck. "YOU LITTLE—"
The two accused Guards joined in, shouting over each other, spitting insults, fury, and panic.
"This is a joke!" "Trial my ass!" "We won't be—"
Gemma sucked in a breath, hands clenching at his side as he looked at me like he wanted to
kill me. Harus merely stared, unblinking, expression unreadable. Kido looked at me like she
was seeing me for the very first time—really seeing, eyes narrowed in analytic surprise.
But none of it mattered, because—
Gunlaug laughed.
No—he erupted.
His head snapped back and he unleashed a bellow of laughter so loud it made the torches
shiver in their brackets. The sound ricocheted off stone walls like thunder. Guards fell silent
mid-shout. The crowd hushed instantly. Even Tessai stumbled back a step, eyes wide.
Gunlaug kept laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
Nearly a minute passed.
Each second stretched tight enough to snap as the Bright Lord emptied his lungs, and I bet
tears of amusement were squeezing from the corners of his eyes. Finally, as the echoes faded,
he drew in a slow, steadying breath.
Then— For the first time since we'd entered— Gunlaug rose from his throne.
Liquid gold armor shifted with him, gleaming in the light like a warning. He stood tall,
casting a long, heavy shadow that reached all the way to our feet. His amusement vanished,
wiped utterly clean.
What replaced it was cold contempt.
He looked down on me—on Sasrir, on Kai—as if we were something he'd found stuck to the
bottom of his boot.
Then he drawled, each syllable dripping with disdain:
"A trial by combat, is it?"
The hall held its breath.
Even my heartbeat felt too loud.Gunlaug's lips curled—not into a smile, but something hungrier, sharper.
"Well now," he murmured, "isn't that… interesting."
Gunlaug's voice rolled through the hall like grinding stone.
"And who," he said slowly, savoring every word, "will you nominate as Champion?"
My jaw tightened. I didn't speak yet—but he wasn't waiting for an answer.
"The supposed victim…" He flicked his fingers dismissively. "Still unconscious, yes? Can't
fight. Pity."
His gaze shifted to Kai.
"Will the singer step forward?" A pause. A cruel smile. "I hear your voice is quite famous,
Nightingale. But I wonder… do your hands know how to do anything besides pluck strings?"
Kai paled.
Before he could muster even a breath, Gunlaug was already turning to me.
"Or perhaps you, Preacher?" His tone soured mockingly. "You seem awfully eager for justice
today. Care to bleed for it? Or should we see if your God will intervene?"
I didn't answer. I didn't have to.
Gunlaug's eyes slid past me like a blade, landing on the shadowed figure at my back.
"Ah," he purred. "Of course. There is one more option."
Sasrir didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't even look up.
Gunlaug leaned forward on the edge of his gleaming armor, voice dropping into something
darkly delighted:
"Maybe your little pet—" He gestured lazily at Sasrir. "—wants to spill some human blood
for once."
The hall tensed.
Hunters stiffened. Guards gripped their weapons. A few Sleepers went pale.
Everyone knew Sasrir was dangerous—nobody knew how much. And Gunlaug, damn him,
was trying to turn that fear into an excuse.To see just what secrets Sasrir was hiding, to see if
he posed a threat to Gunlaug's despotic reign.
Beside me, Kai swallowed hard. Sasrir remained perfectly still. Not a muscle twitched—but I
felt it. Like the shift in air pressure before lightning strikes.
Gunlaug straightened, gaze sharp as a knife."So tell me," he said softly. "Which Champion will stand for your accusation?"
All eyes fell to me.
But as the hall waited for my answer, Sasrir stepped forward.
No sound accompanied the motion. No flare of aura, no ripple of killing intent.
He simply moved—and suddenly the hall felt colder.
"I will, of course."
His voice was quiet. Not loud, not theatrical. Just inevitable.
A murmur rippled through the crowd like a shockwave. Even the Hunters—hardened, jaded,
violent—leaned back as if something enormous had shifted in the air.
Sasrir tilted his head, the barest hint of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.
"The question you should be asking…" He lifted his gaze to Gunlaug, then let it slide toward
the accused Guards. "…is who will stand on their side?"
The two Guards froze. Then trembled. Then nearly collapsed entirely.
Their faces drained of all color, lips quivering like men standing before the gallows. A
moment ago, they had been sneering, arrogant, smug.
Now?
One let out a broken noise and stumbled backward. The other's knees knocked audibly as his
weapon clattered against his armor.
Facing a malnourished girl was one thing.
Facing the Reaper of the Dark City—the shadow walker, the best Hunter the Forgotten Shore
has seen in years—that was another entirely.
They wouldn't have mustered the courage even if they'd been given ten lives and a hundred
blessings.
The hall fell utterly silent.
No one breathed. No one spoke.
Even Gunlaug's confidence seemed to have flickered—only a fraction, but enough for me to
see it.
Sasrir continued to stare at the two Guards, expression serene, voice still gentle:
"Well? Which of you wishes to meet the gods today?"Neither answered.
Neither could.
They stood like statues carved from pure terror.
And for the first time since stepping into this hall, I saw doubt creep across the Bright Lord's
golden throne.
The silence shattered—exploded—under the weight of Tessai's bellow.
"ABSURD!"
The Giant's voice slammed through the throne room like a battering ram. Several Sleepers
flinched. One actually stumbled. Even Harus blinked, as if roused from some distant
nightmare.
Tessai surged forward a step, the floor cracking beneath his heel. He was enormous—
towering, swollen with muscle, veins bulging like ropes beneath ash-gray skin. His armor
screeched from the strain of containing him. The air around him distorted with barely
restrained brutality.
His furious gaze snapped to Gunlaug.
"My Lord, this farce has gone on long enough!" he thundered. "That brat speaks nonsense!
He's looking for any excuse to slander our Host, to spit on your authority!"
He jabbed a finger toward me—thick as a branch, knuckles like boulders.
"And that whore—yes, the one who 'mysteriously' can't show up—no doubt she seduced
him into this! Whispered lies into his ear until he ran here whining about justice!"
He sneered, lips curling back over teeth stained with whatever lunch he'd eaten last.
"Justice? Justice?" He spat the word like it tasted rancid.
"This coward wants to twist your laws! Manipulate you into cutting down loyal men of the
Guard! This entire stunt is a disgrace, a joke! Just throw them out—better yet, have them
whipped for causing disorder in your hall!"
He cracked his neck, a sickening sound of bones grinding.
"And if they dare complain—if they dare keep pushing—we can solve this RIGHT NOW."
He slammed a fist into an open palm, the impact echoing like a war drum. "No 'trial.' No
theatrics. Just blood on the floor."
Behind him, the accused Guards nodded frantically, hiding behind the giant like he was a
living fortress.
Sasrir didn't move. I didn't look away.And Gunlaug? Gunlaug didn't even blink.
The Bright Lord stood languidly before his throne, face unreadable behind that mask of
liquid gold, eyes half-lidded as though Tessai's roaring tantrum were nothing more than wind
whistling through a window.
He let the Giant rant.
Let him stomp and howl
It was clear—painfully clear—that Gunlaug didn't care about Tessai's anger. He didn't care
about the girl either, he didn't even care about the accused Guards.
What he cared about was the fact we had brought trouble to his front door and demanded he
deal with it. For a man like Gunlaug, this was bordering on treason, on defiance. In fact, if
not for the goodwill and reputation I had built up over these past six months, I was sure he
would have ordered Harus to cut me down on the spot. I wasn't Nephis-I didn't have the
legacy of the Immortal Flame Clan to protect me. Here, on the Forgotten Shore, I was a
nobody.
Though, I was already changing that.
And as Tessai finished with a final, snarled:
"This is INSANITY, my Lord!"
Gunlaug merely tilted his head—calm, composed, amused again.
As if this entire uproar was nothing more than entertainment to him.
As if he was waiting—hungry—for what would come next.
"In that case," Gunlaug drawled, tilting his head just slightly, "why don't you volunteer…
Tessai?"
The room froze.
Absolutely froze.
Every Sleeper, every Hunter, every Guard nd Artisan and Handmaiden—even the accused
men behind Tessai—went rigid as if the air itself had turned to ice.
Even I blinked, surprised.
Tessai, however—Tessai went pale.
Not much, not dramatically. But enough that someone with eyes sharper than most—
someone like me—caught the flicker of fear that crossed his brutish face."M–My Lord," he started, his deep voice suddenly lacking its usual thunder. "I was merely
suggesting—merely saying that this is beneath—"
Gunlaug didn't even speak to him. He just turned his head and stared silently, the shimmering
gold of his faceplate reflecting Tessia's own ugly mug back at him.
Then—
A soft voice cut through the hall like a silver blade sliding free of a scabbard:
"Are you a coward, Tessai?"
Silence rippled outward as heads turned.
Seishan stood a bit apart from the others, elegant and pristine as always—every movement
graceful, every word cool and sharp enough to draw blood.
She blinked slowly, lips curved in a polite, deadly little smile.
"Your shouting was so impressive," she continued. "I assumed you were volunteering.
Otherwise… why speak so loudly?" She let her gaze drift down Tessai's frame, pausing
deliberately around his waist. "Unless that enormous size of yours is simply compensation
for...something else that is lacking, perhaps."
A few Hunters swallowed audibly.
Someone in the back snorted.
Tessai's face went from pale to furious scarlet in a heartbeat.
His jaw clenched hard enough that the muscles stood out like thick ropes, his enormous
hands trembling with murderous restraint. His gaze snapped to Seishan—pure fury—before
swinging toward the only target he was allowed to kill:
Sasrir.
Sasrir didn't even blink, didn't move, didn't smile at the crass insinuiation Seishan had made
on his behalf. He simply looked at Tessai the way one might look at a dying animal thrashing
on the ground—pitying, but not enough to intervene.
The sight nearly drove the Giant mad.
For several long, suffocating seconds, Tessai's chest heaved—rage, humiliation, raw instinct
clashing with whatever primal sense of survival he had left.
Then, finally—
He nodded.
Slowly.Stiffly.
Like a man stepping into his own grave.
"…Fine," Tessai growled, voice raw and shaking with fury. "I will crush this bloody
shadow."
A ripple of fear and anticipation swept the crowd. The trial was no longer a matter of justice.
It had become bloodsport.
And Tessai had just agreed to fight the Reaper.
Gunlaug's pleased mood returned—bright and terrible.
As if this was exactly the outcome he had hoped for.
"Then let justice begin," Gunlaug's voice boomed, slow and deliberate, his hand sweeping in
a dismissive arc as he sank back into the golden throne. The echoes of his words hung in the
hall like a storm just on the horizon.
The crowd immediately shifted, parting to form a wide circle in the polished stone expanse.
Whispers rushed through the spectators, a tide of excitement and fear that prickled at the skin.
Some tried to inch closer, others braced along the edges, all of them keenly aware that this
was no ordinary duel.
Tessai stepped down from the dais, his massive frame filling the space. Every movement
radiated raw, contained power. With a grunt, he summoned a Memory—a two-handed
longsword that shimmered faintly with icy blue light, edges serrated as if to rend both steel
and bone. The blade hummed subtly, vibrating against the cold, heavy air.
Almost simultaneously, his Aspect awakened. Dark blue scales shimmered across his skin,
thickening and hardening until they resembled plates of solid ice. The room's temperature
dropped noticeably; frosty breath fogged the air, and tiny crystalline snowflakes formed
along the floor, vanishing almost immediately under the heat of the bright torches. It wasn't
just a show—the armor was practical, each layer of ice as strong as steel, each shard a
possible weapon in Tessai's hands.
He hefted the sword with ease, swinging it experimentally once, and the sound of ice
scraping ice resonated like a clap of thunder. The circle of spectators collectively inhaled.
Even the seasoned Hunters and Guards shifted slightly, calculating the danger.
Sasrir remained where he stood, unflinching. The shadows around his form stretched, curling
like ink across the floor, absorbing the chill that tried to creep toward him. Every instinct in
Adam's body tensed; he felt the weight of the fight before it even began. He knew that a
single slip—misjudging the reach, underestimating Tessai's speed—could end in disaster.
Tessai's eyes scanned the circle, finally locking on Sasrir. The two of them—predator and
shadow—stood in silence for a heartbeat that seemed to stretch into eternity. The air between
them crackled, icy vapor swirling, heavy with the promise of violence.And then, with a low growl, Tessai advanced, the two-handed sword raised, ice plating
creaking and glittering in the torchlight. The duel had begun.
Sasrir's hands moved with the calm precision of a seasoned predator. In his left, a Steel
Memento Memory materialized—a halberd that gleamed faintly with a metallic sheen that
seemed almost liquid under the torchlight. In his right, he drew a shadow scimitar, its curved
edge wreathed in darkness that seemed to pulse and writhe of its own accord.
It was an odd pairing, a curious blend of the measured and the unpredictable, but I had
learned long ago that this was entirely Sasrir. He experimented constantly in battle, testing
combinations that others would never even consider. The halberd provided reach and brute
force, the scimitar agility and cunning—two halves of a deadly equation that, when wielded
together, made Sasrir unpredictable and terrifying.
Shadows swirled around him, flooding the space like an inky tide. The darkness licked at
Tessai's armor, trying to pull attention and focus, but Sasrir remained solid, fully
materialized. He wasn't here to vanish and strike from the void; he intended to fight. Blade
against blade. Shadow against ice.
I could feel the weight of the moment settle over the arena. Even the spectators seemed to
lean forward involuntarily, sensing that this fight would be something beyond spectacle—it
would be a demonstration of precision, strategy, and raw power.
Tessai's icy boots scraped against the stone floor as he advanced, the temperature around him
dropping still further, frosting forming along the edges of the circle. Frost traced the seams of
the stone, and the torches' flames flickered, tiny tendrils of heat wavering as if reluctant to
disturb the cold.
Sasrir's stance was perfect, coiled yet relaxed, his shadows pulsing subtly with anticipation.
He didn't speak, didn't taunt, didn't move until the first strike came. His silence was a
promise: he would end this duel swiftly and efficiently, but only on his terms.
I watched, pulse quickening, realizing that the fight unfolding wasn't just about justice or
spectacle. It was a test of every lesson I'd learned alongside Sasrir. Every battle, every
narrow escape—they had all led to this precise moment.
And as the icy aura of Tessai collided with the shadowy presence of Sasrir, the first sparks of
metal on metal hissed through the air, signaling the beginning of a duel that would be over in
an instant—or end disastrously if either underestimated the other.
The air between them shimmered with tension. Tessai, a giant of impossible girth, moved
first. Each step shook the stone underfoot, sending faint vibrations that I felt in my chest. His
massive frame was clad in frost-crusted armor, the Aspect of ice coating him like a living
glacier. Every swing of his longsword left icy trails in the air, freezing the ground where the
blade cut through it. The cold radiated outward, slowing anyone who dared step too close.
Sasrir didn't flinch. He adjusted his grip, halberd in one hand, shadow scimitar in the other,
the edges catching the torchlight. His smaller frame belied the lethal precision coiled within.
Most importantlyy though, his smaller frame hid three black suns that burned dark light-Sasrir had advanced to Demon only three weeks ago, finally catching up to me. Though, I
was nearly approaching Devil by this point.
Tessai swung. The sheer force of the blow forced Sasrir to twist, halberd barely intercepting
the massive longsword. Sparks erupted as metal scraped metal, and a wave of frost surged
outward, coating the halberd in ice. Sasrir used the momentum, slashing with the scimitar, a
strike meant to cut through joints and gaps. Tessai's armor absorbed it, but the movement
forced the giant to stagger back slightly—an unusual crack in his otherwise perfect
composure.
The next swings came in a blur. Each of Tessai's strikes was slow, deliberate, crushing—but
each left a trace of frost that slowed the space around him. Sasrir danced through the cold,
spinning his weapons in arcs, the halberd striking from unexpected angles while the scimitar
darted like a shadowed snake. With three Soul Cores fueling him, Sasrir could afford riskier
maneuvers, exploiting openings that a mere Beast like Tessai could not afford, as well as
making up for their physical disparity.
Tessai tried to close the distance, using sheer size to overwhelm, but every step was
countered by Sasrir's agility. Sasrir ducked, spun, and rolled, striking at the Frost Aspect
when the giant overextended. Shadow tendrils lashed out with each feint, slashing at Tessai's
legs, coating them in darkness that resisted the freezing aura. The Degeneration of a Shadow
Ascetic, subtle but lethal, began to slowly accelerate Tessai's exhaustion—forcing him to
compensate for every slow-motion swing.
The coldness itself was inneffective, blocked by Tessai's own Aspect, but the mental effects
of the shadows was still as potent as ever-though it required contact with actual skin, and
Tessai's ice armour made that difficult.
A massive swing from Tessai caught the halberd squarely, sending Sasrir sliding across the
stone floor. Frost cracked under him. But instead of panicking, Sasrir used the momentum,
driving the shadow scimitar up and into Tessai's midsection. The strike didn't pierce the
armor fully, but it forced a grunt from the morose giant. Three Soul Cores allowed Sasrir to
withstand punishment that would have crushed ordinary Sleepers, and he wasn't shy about
using them.
The crowd watched, wide-eyed. Even I felt the bite of fear and awe; the duel moved faster
than anything I'd expected. The Frost Giant's swings slowed with exhaustion, the thick ice
coating his armor cracking under repeated, precise strikes. Sasrir's halberd danced like liquid
steel, slashing through gaps and delivering blunt force where it would hurt most, while the
scimitar darted between defenses, cutting arcs of darkness that Tessai could not touch.
The space between them seemed to freeze, though Tessai's Aspect did the actual work. Frost
clung to the stone floor beneath his feet, thickening with every swing, and the air itself
seemed to resist movement. Tessai, the largest Sleeper on the Forgotten Shore, moved with
slow, deliberate precision. Every strike of his two-handed longsword was like a battering
ram; every step sent tremors through the hall. His Frost Aspect coated him in dark blue ice,
making him look less like a man and more like a living glacier, his eyes cold and unyielding.Sasrir felt the chill immediately, the frost slowing his reflexes ever so slightly. Even with
three Soul Cores, he had to be precise; one misstep could shatter bone or pierce flesh. He
materialized fully, shadow scimitar in his right hand, halberd in his left, but the combined
weight of the weapons felt heavier than usual in the icy air. The smaller Reaper's movements,
though fluid, were now constrained—Tessai's swings weren't just forceful, they were
designed to limit space, to pin, to freeze him in place.
The first unprepared clash was brutal. Tessai swung his massive sword in a horizontal arc,
sending shards of ice flying as the halberd parried the blow. The impact rattled Sasrir's arms
and forced him back several steps. A wave of frost radiated outward, chilling him to the bone
and slowing the very ground he tried to pivot on. The Reaper struck back with his scimitar,
stabbing low at Tessai's knees, but the giant shifted his weight and absorbed the attack with
his armored leg.
Sasrir danced around the edge of Tessai's reach, trying to find an opening. Every time he
struck, the Frost Giant's sheer size allowed him to shrug it off, even as the ice-coated ground
worked against Sasrir's footing. Each dodge required perfect timing, each parry demanded
immense concentration. It was a fight he could win—but only if he didn't make mistakes.
Tessai's next attack forced him back to the wall. The giant's sword came down like a
battering ram, and Sasrir barely managed to block it with the halberd, sparks flying as metal
clashed. The impact drove him back, scraping his boots along the frozen floor. The Reaper
could feel his advantage slipping; Tessai's strength, size, and frost aura made every move a
gamble.
Then, a narrow opportunity appeared. As Tessai overextended with a swing intended to crush
Sasrir against the wall, the Frost on the floor began to crack. The ice, uneven from the first
series of attacks, gave way slightly under the massive weight of the Frost Giant's next step.
Sasrir saw it in a flash—he feinted to the left, drawing Tessai's attention, and spun under the
descending sword.
The halberd jabbed into a weak spot between the Frost armour from Tessai's Aspect, while
the scimitar slashed across Tessai's thigh at the same moment. The combination was precise,
calculated, and deadly—his Soul Cores allowed him to absorb the strain and push the attack
past Tessai's massive defenses. The ice under the giant cracked loudly, shifting just enough to
destabilize him.
Tessai stumbled, one massive leg slipping slightly on the fractured ice. The swing faltered,
the strike slowed, and for the first time, the Frost Giant lost balance. Sasrir pressed the
advantage immediately, shadow tendrils lashing out, reinforcing his attacks and keeping
Tessai off balance.
With a final, expertly timed strike, Sasrir drove the halberd into Tessai's midsection while
slashing across the other leg with the scimitar. Tessai crashed to the ground with a deafening
thud, frost cracking around him like shattered glass. He was still alive, still breathing, but
fully subdued—unable to continue fighting without risking his life.
Sasrir stood over him, chest rising, shadows receding as he lowered his weapons. His smaller
frame was barely scratched, his Soul Cores still fully functional, but he felt the strain fromthe Frost Giant's immense size and relentless offense. He had narrowly tipped the scales in
his favor, exploiting a single flaw in Tessai's stance.
The hall was silent except for the groan of ice and Tessai's labored breathing. Myself, Kai,
and the crowd could barely process what had happened: the smaller, faster Reaper had
triumphed—but only by the tiniest margin. Every onlooker knew that without that crack in
the ice, the duel could have gone the other way in an instant.
I rubbed the crucifix around my neck, a shiver running down my spine despite the outcome,
and Kai just stared, mouth slightly open, finally understanding the terrifying precision and
danger that came with having Sasrir fight on their side.
The hall was still. The echoes of crashing ice and metal had barely faded before the
spectators' murmurs began to ripple outward, a growing tide of disbelief, fear, and awe.
Gunlaug, having seated himself back on his golden throne at the start of the duel, leaned
forward slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the glinting metal. His fingers drummed
against the armrest, deliberate and measured, but the faint tension in his body revealed that he
was not happy with the outcome-or maybe he had just remebered something unpleasant.
Either way, the look he sent our way was downright menacing, despite the fact we couldn't
even see his eyes.
Seishan, regal and composed as ever, let a small, almost imperceptible smile curve her lips. It
was a geniune one this time, one of amusement—it was appraisal, the kind that comes from a
commander recognizing a tactician's brilliance. Her gaze lingered on Sasrir, noting the
control of shadow and weapon, the fluidity and discipline. Even the tiniest slip would have
been fatal, and she recognized that Sasrir had danced right on the edge and not once faltered.
Tessai himself, still sprawled across the frost-cracked floor, struggled to regain his
composure. The fury in his eyes burned, and I thought he might try and sweep Sasrir's legs
out from under him. He didn't get the chance though, as after the slightest twitch Sasrir
pressed the spike on his halberd down harder, drawing blood and making the man hiss.
Harus, who rarely seemed present even when standing in the room, let his hollow, hollowing
gaze focus fully on Sasrir for the first time. For a moment, I felt the chill even though the
hunchback's attention wasn't even on me. But the subtle shift in Harus' posture—a slight lean
forward, the faint twitch of his fingers—was enough to indicate that even this otherwise
indifferent, almost dead-appearing figure had registered Sasrir as a proper threat: as an equal.
Tessai's subordinate Guards and other nearby Sleepers could barely speak, the usual
arrogance drained from their faces. Some had thought the Reaper was more shadow than
flesh, something that could be toyed with, yet they now stared with wide, fearful eyes. Every
whispered calculation and bravado-filled claim had been punctured in a single, mercilessly
executed duel.
Gemma and Kido, standing together, were visibly shaken. Gemma's face paled slightly,
unease flickering across his features as it warred with conflicted opinions. Kido, on the otherhand, seemed to reassess everything she thought she knew about the balance of power here.
She opened her mouth, closed it, and then simply nodded to herself, as if accepting a new,
uncomfortable truth: Sasrir was not to be underestimated.
Even the crowded corridors behind the initial circle of watchers seemed to hold their
collective breath. Murmurs surged and spread like wildfire. "Did you see that?" "Tessai…"
"That's impossible…" The words were fragments, but the tone was unanimous: awe, fear,
and a grudging respect.
Standing beside Sasrir, I caught Kai's gaze. The singer's expression was a mix of amazement
and concern, his fingers curling nervously around the hem of his sleeve. Kai had known
Sasrir was dangerous, but seeing the skill, the precision, and the near-miraculous timing
displayed in such a high-stakes duel made the danger real in a way that words could never
capture.
Sasrir, for his part, didn't appear to notice any of it. The shadows clinging to his weapons
receded slightly, his breathing steady. The small cut along his forearm had already stopped
bleeding and he was nearly done catching his breath, Soul Cores humming faintly beneath his
skin. Every motion he had made in that duel had been deliberate, every dodge calculated. In
his mind, the fight was already over—any reaction outside of himself was secondary.
Gunlaug finally spoke, his voice low but cutting through the lingering silence. "Impressive."
It was one word, but it carried weight, carrying over the awe and tension in the hall. Even the
other members of the Host, flanking him, felt the ripple. Tessai's jaw tightened; Tessai's
fellow officers shifted uncomfortably. A single word from the Bright Lord could change the
balance of power, and he had just acknowledged Sasrir.
Seishan inclined her head fractionally, a rare gesture of approval, while Gemma and Kido
exchanged wary glances. Harus remained silent, but the way his hollow eyes lingered on
Sasrir suggested that this duel had awakened something in him. The hall was still tense, but
the balance of authority had subtly shifted—everyone present now knew that Sasrir was not
just a shadow to be feared, but a force that could not be ignored.
The whispers began to rise again, lower at first, then louder, spreading through the corridors:
Sasrir had officialyproven himself as one of the strongest Sleepers in the Forgotten Shore,
beyond any doubt or speculation.
And, watching it all, I couldn't help but let a small, satisfied grin tug at my lips.
Gunlaug's gaze swept lazily over the throne room, eyes resting on Sasrir just long enough to
convey quiet expectation. "Justice has been served," he said, his tone deliberate, almost
casual. The words were heavy with authority, but not with finality. He made no move to
intervene further. The two Guards trembled at the edge of the circle, their pale faces betraying
fear, but Gunlaug's posture indicated their punishment would be minimal—barely more than
a slap on the wrist.
Tessai, lying on the floor, blue frost cracking across his massive frame from the duel, lifted
his head slightly. His expression twisted into a bitter sneer. "So this is it?" he spat, his voicelaced with venom. "You beat me… and for what? For no result! My two Guards will walk
away scot-free, and this—this pathetic display changes nothing!"
The crowd around us tensed, whispers rippling like stormwater. Even the Host shifted, their
expressions varying between awe, shock, and apprehension. Gemma's hands clutched the
blade hanging from his waist; Kido's brow was furrowed in disbelief; Seishan's smile
remained poised but tight; Harus' hollow eyes—finally stirred by Sasrir's presence—
glimmered with cautious attention. Gunlaug himself remained immobile, reclining slightly, a
faint shadow of amusement emanating from his form as though he had expected this reaction.
And it was expected: if Sasrir had faced the two Guards directly, he could have killed them
and then ended the matter, just like Changing Star did in the original novel. But he fought
Tessai on their behalf, and so, had no say in how they would be handled afterwards.
But I wouldn't accept that.
Sasrir didn't respond. His shadowy form remained materialized, the scimitar in his right hand
steady and gleaming. His eyes flicked to me, dark and calculating, seeking confirmation. I
met his gaze and shook my head once, sharply. No hesitation, no words—just the silent order
to finish what needed finishing.
Time seemed to stretch, every breath and movement magnified. In one smooth, fluid motion,
Sasrir drove the tip of his scimitar down into Tessai's exposed eye, slicing through ice,
muscle, and bone with terrifying precision. Even on the ground, the Giant's massive body
convulsed in disbelief for a heartbeat before stilling completely. The blue frost shivered and
cracked, melting into the floor, leaving him a lifeless, motionless form.
The hall was utterly silent. Tessai's mocking words and threats died on his lips. His chest
heaved once before going still, leaving only the echo of his final insult suspended in the air.
In Sasrir's ears, a voice only he could hear announced the reult of his most-recent conquest.
[You have slain a Dormant Beast-Tessai.]
[You have received an Echo.]
Sasrir straightened, shadow curling back around him like a cloak settling into place. His
voice, calm and low, cut through the tension like a blade:
"Now," he said, deliberate, measured, "justice has been served"