The officer announced my victory before moving on to the other fights. I won't go into detail about my second fight, as it was quite frankly disappointing. My opponent was a greenhorn who could barely even hold his spear properly. Choosing to be merciful, I ended the fight in one swift motion, cutting his spear clean in half. The talented swordsman won his second fight, securing his position as one of those who would move on to the next trial. To my surprise, the dwarf had turned out to be a fake. His throwing axes and calm demeanor had all been a facade. The second he was put in front of an enemy, his mask slipped, and his fear was plain to see.
Like this, the first part of the trial was complete. Out of the three hundred contestants that entered, only one hundred and thirty remained. The fire separating the dueling rings faded, putting the focus once again on the poduim in the center. The sergeant looked across the remaining faces while the others were being led out of the coliseum. "Those of you still standing here have shown that you have the skills to continue. But skill alone is not good enough to stand amongst the warriors of the first legion. Without will and determination, even the most skilled will falter."
His eyes trailed over the youthful faces with cold indifference. "Therefore, the next part of this trial will be a trial by fire. The flames of will, to be exact. Every single one of you will enter an illusory flame. Although the fire can not hurt you physically, it will test not only the strength of your will. But also the strength of your character. The fire changes color depending on the type of person who enters." With another wave of his hand, three blazing bonfires appeared out of thin air.
I tried to find Bjorn and the others, but they were lost in the crowd. Before I could continue my search, the officers began separating us into three groups. The first to approach the fire was none other than Baron Thomas Antoinette. The fact that he made it this far was not surprising; he was quite skilled with his rapier. He walked forward with the arrogance I had grown to expect from him. Without a glimmer of hesitation, he stepped into the bonfire. The second he did, the fire turned a sickly green with various shades of black. Looking like spreading corruption. The change in color was accompanied by the most inhuman scream I had heard in this life. The scream reminded me of when a Jakarthan beetle devoured their victims. Their mandibles had a paralytic poison that would render you incapable of moving while heightening your pain receptors. Causing the victim to scream as the beetles ate them alive.
It was bone-chilling to witness, but an oh so effective method of torture. The baron hardly lasted thirty seconds before he was dragged out of the fire. A heavy silence fell across the arena after the baron was dragged away. The arrogant confidence that had filled the crowd only moments earlier had vanished entirely. In its place was something far less pleasant. Doubt.
The man who had pulled Antoinette from the fire was one of the officers. He dropped the baron unceremoniously onto the stone floor before returning to his position without a single word. The noble lay there gasping like a drowning man, his once immaculate clothes soaked in sweat. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried to push himself upright.
Yet despite the terror that had overtaken him, his body remained completely unharmed. Not a single burn mark marred his skin.
'So the fire truly is an illusion,' I thought to myself, watching the baron squirm like a wounded dog. The pain, however, was clearly not.
The sergeant watched the scene with the same cold indifference as before. If anything, he seemed mildly disappointed at the turn of events.
"Next."
There was no encouragement. No explanation. Just a single word in proper military style. This made me feel oddly at home.
A tall man from the front of the group stepped forward after a moment of hesitation. Unlike the baron, his steps lacked the same arrogance. He approached the fire like a soldier walking toward a battlefield he knew he could not avoid.
For a brief moment, he stood before the flames. Then, with hesitant steps, he stepped inside. The reaction was immediate. The fire shifted once more, this time turning a deep crimson that pulsed like a beating heart. The man stiffened as if struck by an invisible force. His teeth clenched together while his hands curled into fists at his sides.
Yet he did not scream. Seconds passed. Ten. Twenty.
A murmur spread through the crowd as the color of the flames slowly faded back to their natural orange.
The man stepped out on his own. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes remained clear.
The sergeant gave a small nod in acknowledgement.
"Pass."
That single word carried far more weight than the one spoken before.
The man staggered back toward the crowd, where several others stared at him with a mixture of relief and apprehension. If anything, the test had become even more unsettling.
The flames did not treat everyone the same, but the fact remained. Whatever trial it presented, you would not be easy.
One by one, the contestants began stepping forward. Some lasted only a few seconds before collapsing to their knees, screaming as unseen horrors clawed at their minds. Their flames burned a dull grey before quickly dying out.
While others endured longer. Blue flames. Purple flames. Once, even a pale grey that flickered weakly before fading. Each color was different. Each reaction more disturbing than the last. As I watched the procession continue, I began to notice a pattern. The flames were not testing strength. They were testing resolve.
Fear.
Guilt.
Desire.
And Conviction was laid bare before the fire.
Every weakness buried within a person's soul seemed to be dragged violently to the surface. A cruel but effective method.
"Interesting," I murmured.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the familiar figure of the swordsman from earlier watching the flames with the same quiet intensity as before. His expression had not changed since our duel, though the tight grip on the hilt of his sword suggested he understood the gravity of what awaited us.
The line moved slowly, and eventually, my turn approached.
I exhaled slowly, steadying my breathing as I stepped forward toward the bonfire. The flames crackled softly before me, their light reflecting across the stone of the arena.
For a moment, I simply stared into them. Then I stepped inside. I expected many things, from pain to visions of strange abominations. But instead, I was met with nothing. My eyes moved to the crowd in confusion. Instead of the large coliseum, I saw my brother's throne room. The same throne room where my father told me of his plan to dispose of my sickly brother. The same throne room where my Eliah watched my execution with grim curiosity. Although I could not hear the high priest's words. I remembered them as if it were yesterday.
"For high treason and crimes against humanity, you have been sentenced to death by holy fire. May his grace burn away your sins and set you free." The high priest spoke with venom in his voice as he regarded me with hate-filled eyes. With his hands, he formed the trifold cross before starting to pray. His black and gold robes fluttered from his movement, while the oval hat on his head remained upright. Once again, I felt the lick of the holy white flame as it began to consume me.
But this time it was different. There was a sense of distortion as I died over and over again. As if the scene was playing on repeat. Even now, when I looked at my little brother, I could not bring myself to hate him. I had given up a lavish life as the crown prince for one of war and service so that he may live. I had remained loyal to him even when the fire burned away my eyes. Even after death, my love for him remained. Before me,, I could not see the proud king. Instead, I saw the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his pale skin, and the madness that burned in his eyes. I saw it all before the fire melted my eyes. rendering me blind once more. Gathering the last of my strength, I tried looking in his direction. My lack of eyes made it impossible to see. But my memory had not failed me yet. "I forgive you," merely uttering the words with my dry throat felt like trying to move a mountain. But when I did it, I felt as if a weight was lifted from my shoulders.
Right as my mind was about to fade and another death would take its place, an unfamiliar voice spoke out in my head. "Pathetic."