Kapitel 36: Trial of Lance and Resolve
"My test... You won't ever pass it!" Lance's words echoed ominously in Arata's mind, the warning from the night before sharp as ever. Arata jolted awake, beads of sweat clinging to his skin. His heart raced as if it were trying to escape his chest. He sat up abruptly, the room still cloaked in darkness, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His mind swirled with unease.
"It was just a bad dream... right?" he muttered, though doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. His fingers clenched the sheets, knuckles white, as the weight of Lance's words settled into his bones. "I won't pass, huh?" he repeated to himself, voice thick with frustration. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face tense as he rubbed his palm over his face, trying to shake the lingering fear.
"This is supposed to be the toughest test, huh?" he whispered, eyes narrowing as he gazed into the shadows of his room. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to focus, his instincts—usually sharp and reliable as a wolf's—remained eerily silent. His hands trembled slightly as he dragged them through his hair, the usual confidence that accompanied his abilities now absent.
"This time... my wolf's instinct is not helping me..." His voice barely more than a breath, laced with unease.
In a dimly lit room, Dan sat hunched over a cluttered desk, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion. Dark bags sagged beneath them, evidence of countless sleepless nights. The glow of a flickering lamp cast harsh shadows on his gaunt face, but Dan's focus remained unwavering. His hands moved methodically, fingers twitching with a mixture of determination and fatigue as he tinkered with the small, metallic ring in front of him.
The door creaked open behind him, and the doctor stepped in quietly. The man's presence barely registered with Dan, who only glanced up briefly, his gaze unfocused yet filled with a burning intensity. "Did you succeed yet?" the doctor asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
Dan nodded slowly, the movement almost mechanical. "Almost 90% done…" he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly. He stared down at his ring, eyes narrowing with fierce concentration as his fingers traced its intricate design. "My ring... I think I know how to upgrade my ring," he said, more to himself than to the doctor. His expression tightened, a slight smirk of determination tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think I have an idea of what I will have to do," he added, his tone resolute despite the weariness that clung to his every word.
The doctor, watching Dan intently, moved closer. He reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek black gun, its metallic surface gleaming under the faint light. "From my end, I have found a solution to defeat your fellow Ringmasters," the doctor said, his voice calm but carrying a weight of finality. He extended the gun towards Dan, who hesitated for just a moment before reaching out with a trembling hand. As Dan's fingers wrapped around the cold metal, a shiver ran through him.
"This gun has 5 bullets. Once that bullet connects with a Ringmaster, they will permanently lose their ability to transform," the doctor explained. Dan's grip tightened on the weapon as his mind absorbed the gravity of those words. His eyes flickered with a mixture of fear and excitement, understanding just how powerful the gun truly was. He gave a slow, deliberate nod, his expression darkening as he contemplated the limited but devastating potential of the weapon.
Lance finally stood face to face with Arata, the air between them thick with tension. Arata's eyes narrowed as Lance smirked, the confidence in his stance palpable. "Weapons. That's my specialty," Lance said, his voice cold and assured.
Before Arata could respond, everything around him shifted. The world blurred, and in an instant, both he and Lance vanished from where they stood. Arata stumbled as his surroundings solidified into a vast, barren desert. The heat was oppressive, and as his gaze swept across the horizon, he froze. Stretching out before him were millions of weapons, scattered like broken promises across the sand.
High above, perched on a rocky cliff, Lance's figure appeared. His eyes gleamed with challenge as he looked down at Arata. "The Queen won't help you here, Arata," Lance's voice echoed across the desert, dripping with cruel certainty.
Arata's fists clenched at his sides, his body coiled with tension as he scanned the endless sea of weapons. His heart pounded in his chest, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. A figure materialized in front of him—a dummy version of Lance. Its expression was blank, but the malice in its movements was unmistakable.
The dummy Lance lunged at Arata with a speed that took him off guard. Arata instinctively raised his arms to defend himself and countered with a swift strike, but his attack seemed to pass through the dummy as if it were made of smoke. The impact left no mark, and Arata's jaw tightened in frustration. His teeth ground together as he felt the sting of futility.
"You have to use a weapon out of the millions of them that you see there," Lance's voice called out from the cliff, his tone calm but commanding. Arata's chest heaved with labored breaths as he surveyed the chaotic field of weapons. With gritted teeth, he reached down and grabbed a sword—a heavy, weathered blade that looked like it could deal some serious damage. He tightened his grip, muscles tensing as he swung it at the dummy Lance with all his might.
The blade collided with the dummy, and for a brief moment, Arata felt a glimmer of hope. But then the sword shattered, pieces of metal scattering across the sand as if mocking his efforts. Arata's face twisted in shock and anger, sweat dripping down his brow. His frustration boiled over as he stared at the broken remnants of the weapon in his hands.
Lance's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "There is only one real weapon, Ryuki Arata," he said, his tone as serious and unyielding as the desert heat.
Arata's breathing was ragged as he charged forward with a new weapon—a scythe this time. His muscles screamed in protest, but he swung the curved blade with everything he had. The air whistled as the scythe sliced through it, aiming for the dummy Lance. Yet, as the blade connected, it shattered like glass. The pieces clattered to the ground, and Arata staggered back, his hands trembling with both exhaustion and frustration. He barely had time to register the failure before he was already reaching for the next weapon, this time a massive hammer.
Dodging the dummy Lance's swift attack, Arata swung the hammer with a grunt, aiming to crush his opponent. The weight of the weapon made his arms strain, but determination fueled him. The hammer connected, and for a brief moment, it felt solid—but then it too crumbled, leaving Arata empty-handed. His eyes flickered with desperation as he scrambled to grab a nearby shield. Without hesitation, he bashed it into the dummy Lance, hoping brute force might be the answer. The shield buckled under the impact, warping and breaking apart in his hands. Nothing worked. Nothing was enough.
Twelve hours passed. Arata hadn't rested for a single second. His face was slick with sweat, his body bruised and battered from endless combat. He had cycled through over 700 weapons, each one failing him in the same way. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes darting across the field of weapons as if searching for something, anything that could help. His fingers were raw from gripping countless hilts and handles, and his arms ached as if they were about to fall off. But still, he pushed forward, his resolve burning bright despite his beaten form.
The desert heat beat down on him, sapping his strength with every passing minute. Each failed attempt felt like a heavier weight dragging him down, but Arata refused to stop. His spirit remained unbroken, though his body screamed for rest. The test was unrelenting, testing him to his very limits. Sixteen more hours passed, the sun rising and setting again as Arata continued his desperate struggle. His eyes were bloodshot, deep bags forming beneath them from lack of sleep. He had wielded nearly 3,000 weapons, and not a single one had been the real weapon. His hands shook uncontrollably as he reached for the next one, teeth gritted against the overwhelming fatigue.
Arata swung the latest weapon—a jagged sword—only for it to disintegrate on impact. He fell to his knees, gasping for air, but his eyes never left the dummy Lance. The dummy's attacks had become more relentless, each strike landing harder, but Arata still dodged and fought back with whatever he could find. His skin was littered with bruises, his clothes torn and bloodied, but his determination still burned fiercely in his gaze.
Suddenly, Lance's voice echoed through the desert, taunting him from above. "Are you going to be dependent on the Queen again?" Lance's words cut through the chaos, causing Arata to falter for the first time.
"Huh?" Arata muttered in confusion, his brow furrowing as he turned his gaze upward, trying to make sense of the situation through his exhaustion. The dummy Lance didn't give him a moment's reprieve, attacking again with a brutal knee strike to Arata's stomach. The impact sent him flying backward, his body slamming into a nearby boulder with a sickening thud. Pain shot through his back, and he slumped to the ground, coughing violently as dust settled around him.
Gritting his teeth, Arata forced himself to his feet, using the boulder for support. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he refused to give in. His vision blurred from exhaustion, but his spirit remained unyielding. He wiped the blood from his mouth again, his eyes locking on the dummy Lance as it advanced toward him. Despite the overwhelming odds, despite the pain and the endless failures, Arata still stood tall. The test wasn't over, and neither was he.
Lance stood atop the cliff, his gaze sharp and unforgiving as he watched Arata struggle below. His voice dripped with disdain. "So far, all you've proven is that you're a dependent bitch who relies on someone else's help. Nothing else."
Arata's body went rigid at the insult. His face darkened, the shadows under his eyes making his expression even more intense. He stood still for a moment, his breath coming in slow, measured inhales, eyes narrowing with suppressed fury. When he finally looked up, his gaze was cold, piercing through Lance's taunt.
"You think I'm a dependent bitch?" Arata asked, his voice low but laced with a dangerous edge. He slowly pushed himself up to his feet, every movement deliberate despite the pain that wracked his body. A smile—a mix of exhaustion and defiance—crept onto his lips as he met Lance's gaze head-on. "Let me tell you something… I never asked you guys to save me," he continued, his voice steady, "But you did. And I'm thankful for it."
Lance's expression flickered with confusion, his smirk faltering as he tried to make sense of Arata's words. "Hmm?" he muttered, his brows knitting together.
Arata's lips twisted into a more serious expression, his eyes hardening as he spoke. "But you know what's worse?" he began, his voice rising with every word, laced with frustration. "Except for Cheese and the Queen, all of you mocked my weakness. Even you… I don't know where you get that shitty personality from…" He spat the words with venom, though there was an odd calmness in his stance, a resignation that was somehow even more powerful than his anger.
With a swift motion, Arata reached down and grabbed two katanas lying nearby. His grip tightened around the hilts, the cool metal feeling solid in his hands. He raised them, his knuckles white as he readied himself for another assault. His eyes locked on the dummy Lance, every ounce of his focus on the target in front of him.
"But I WON'T GIVE UP!" Arata roared, his voice echoing across the barren landscape. He charged forward with renewed energy, his muscles burning with the last reserves of strength he had left. With a powerful swing, he slashed the katanas toward the dummy Lance, aiming directly for its ribs. The blades cut through the air with a fierce precision, driven by sheer willpower and determination.
The katanas sliced through the dummy, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. Both the katanas and the dummy Lance vanished into thin air, disappearing like mist. Arata stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide with disbelief as the emptiness settled in front of him. His grip on the katanas had been so tight that his hands still clenched in their absence.
Breathing heavily, Arata straightened up, his expression softening as he looked up at Lance. "It's because…" he started, his voice quieter now, but resolute, "As much as I hate your shitty personalities… I also understand that you guys aren't bad Undergrounders."
Lance stared back at Arata, his cold demeanor cracking, eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, he was speechless, the hostility in his expression melting into something more thoughtful, almost impressed.
Then, with a slow shift, the world around them began to change. The desert faded away, the weapons dissolving into nothingness. The arid heat gave way to a cooler, more familiar environment as reality restored itself. They stood face to face once again, back in the real world. The Queen awaited them, her eyes glowing with a soft, knowing smile as she watched Arata and Lance stand before each other, their trial complete.
The true test had been laid bare. It wasn't about finding a physical weapon among the millions—it was about Arata believing in himself, believing that he already held the strength he needed, rather than succumbing to the doubts Lance's words had planted in his mind.
Arata stood still, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. He looked around himself, his eyes scanning the now normal environment, almost as if he were trying to convince himself that the surreal ordeal was finally over. The tension in his shoulders began to ease, though his body still felt heavy with exhaustion.
"Good," Lance's voice broke the silence, and with a swift motion, he tossed something toward Arata. Instinctively, Arata caught it, his reflexes still sharp despite his fatigue. He looked down at the object in his hand—Lance's badge.
"What?" Arata muttered, his brows furrowing in confusion as he glanced up at Lance. His body still hummed with the lingering effects of the battle, his mind racing to catch up.
"You are someone who is trustworthy," Lance said, his voice calm, no longer carrying the sharp edge of before. There was a sincerity in his tone that surprised Arata, and for a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond.
Suddenly, the Queen burst forward, throwing her arms around Arata in a jubilant embrace. "YOU DID IT!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with joy. Arata stumbled slightly, the sudden contact jarring his already worn-out body, but he smiled faintly, leaning into her embrace as if it were a lifeline after the storm he had just endured.
"The final obstacle before my trial!" The Queen's excitement was palpable, her eyes gleaming with pride as she pulled back just enough to look at Arata's face. Her enthusiasm was contagious, her energy filling the space around them like a warm, bright light.
But Arata's smile wavered, the weight of her words sinking in. He felt drained, both physically and mentally, and as her words echoed in his mind, his expression shifted to one of quiet resignation. "Oh…" he murmured, the exhaustion catching up to him all at once.
The Queen's smile faltered, concern flickering across her face as she looked at him. "What happened?" she asked, her tone softer now, her eyes scanning his face for signs of what might be wrong.
Arata let out a tired chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the words. "I totally forgot…" he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of exhaustion and sheepishness. He looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up at her with a weak smile that said it all. "I thought this was the final one since, you know, you had been helping me…"
The Queen's eyes widened in realization, and then she laughed softly, her amusement and understanding shining through. Arata's smile remained, though it was clear from his expression that he wasn't exactly ready for what came next. His body sagged just slightly, as if he was bracing himself for the inevitable, the weight of everything he had been through pressing down on him once more.
Suddenly, a biting cold crept through the air, sending a chill down Arata's spine. Ice began to spread across the ground, creeping up the walls and covering every surface with a thin layer of frost. Arata's breath came out in visible puffs, and he instinctively pulled his arms closer to his body in an attempt to ward off the sudden cold.
He looked around, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and unease. The temperature continued to drop, the room transforming into a frigid, icy chamber. His skin prickled as the cold penetrated his clothes, settling deep into his bones.
From the center of the room, a throne began to rise, seemingly carved from the very ice that now dominated the space. The Queen sat upon it, her presence commanding as she looked down at Arata. Her gaze was serene, but there was a glint in her eyes that betrayed the severity of what was to come.
"Welcome, Arata, to your final trial," the Queen's voice echoed through the chamber, smooth yet laced with an underlying challenge. Arata's eyes locked onto her, his expression one of disbelief and dread. He had just barely survived the last test, and now… this?
"You will have to survive for three days in my Phase 2, The Queen's Chamber. You will not sleep, you will not eat or drink anything." Her words were calm, almost casual, but the weight of them hit Arata like a sledgehammer. He clenched his jaw, trying to steady his breathing as he processed what she was saying.
His body was already exhausted, the relentless battle against the dummy Lance leaving him bruised and battered. Now, as the cold air stung his skin and filled his lungs with icy sharpness, he felt his energy draining even faster. His breaths grew shallow, each one accompanied by a cloud of mist that curled out from his mouth.
The Queen smiled, a serene expression that seemed almost out of place in the frozen wasteland that surrounded them. "Good luck on your survival," she said, her voice both a blessing and a curse.
Arata's legs felt heavy, his knees threatening to buckle under the strain of standing. His hands trembled, not just from the cold but from the sheer exhaustion that weighed him down like lead. He could feel his body protesting, his muscles aching from the lack of rest and warmth.
He inhaled deeply, the freezing air burning his lungs, and exhaled slowly, watching as the mist formed and dissipated in front of him. His eyes fluttered, the urge to close them overwhelming, but he forced them open, knowing that sleep was not an option. His mind raced, trying to focus on anything that could keep him awake, keep him moving, but the cold gnawed at him, sapping his strength with every passing second.
Arata's teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, his breath quickening as he struggled to maintain his composure. His vision blurred at the edges, and for a brief moment, he swayed on his feet, almost losing his balance. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms, using the sharp sting to ground himself. Not yet, he thought, fighting off the despair that threatened to consume him.
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