Capítulo 15: Chapter 15: The Field of Blades
Chapter 15: The Field of Blades
The translucent screen flickered before me, its faint blue glow casting a surreal light over the endless grasslands.
[Analyzing Player]
[...]
[Analysis Complete]
[Player Class: Swordsman]
A sharp whistle pierced the still air, followed by the dull thud of steel meeting earth. A black blade embedded itself at my feet, its force shaking the ground. I flinched, stepping back as the echoes of the sound faded. My eyes locked on the weapon, and a strange familiarity settled over me, a fleeting, fragile sense of belonging.
I reached out, my hand trembling as I gripped the hilt. It felt solid, grounding, as if this sword was an extension of myself. The weight was perfect, the balance flawless. For a moment, its cool surface steadied the whirlwind in my chest. The translucent screen blinked to life:
[Aeladrian Black Steel Sword]
[Details: Forged in the smithies of Aeladria from the resilient Black Steel, this blade is a masterpiece of balance and durability. Indestructible within the Field of Blades.]
I gave it a few cautious swings. It moved through the air as though it were parting silk. The faint whistle it produced was oddly comforting. A prompt appeared, drawing my gaze away:
[You may now perform the first trial.]
[Proceed? Y/N]
I stared at the screen, my chest tightening. How many times had I steeled myself for horrors, only to find new depths of torment? My body ached for rest, but my mind knew better. This world wasn't kind to hesitation. With a sigh that felt more like a surrender, I pressed Y.
The grasslands around me dissolved, replaced by a charred, decrepit battlefield. The statues of blades were gone, replaced by mounds of lifeless bodies. The air reeked of decay, thick and choking. The cries of war and the clash of steel tore through the silence.
A firm hand yanked me backward. "Get your head straight, soldier!" a man barked, his bloodied face inches from mine. Before I could respond, he shoved me forward. "CHARGE!"
The ground trembled beneath the pounding boots of soldiers surging past me. Their war cries mingled with the anguished screams of the dying. My legs moved, unsteady and heavy, as though I were dragging chains behind me.
[First Trial]
[Objective: Lead the human forces to victory against the Demon King's army.]
[Progress: 0/100%]
A commander's voice broke through the chaos: "Archers, FIRE!"
Arrows hissed through the air, their deadly tips raining down on the grotesque creatures before us. My gaze followed their trajectory to the Demon King's forces. They were monstrous, humanoid beasts with unnatural skin tones and crude weapons. They closed in with terrifying speed, their guttural roars drowning out everything else.
I raised my blade and charged. The first swing bit deep into flesh, spraying dark, viscous blood. The stench was overpowering. Around me, men fell, some struck down by arrows, others torn apart by the enemy. My arms moved on instinct, the sword slicing through limbs and torsos, but my mind felt detached, a spectator in my own body.
A guttural roar shattered my focus. A towering beast lumbered forward, trampling friend and foe alike. Each step shook the earth. Its iron club, smeared with fresh blood, swung with a force that sent bodies flying.
"Hold the line!" someone shouted, their voice tinged with desperation.
The beast's club descended, shattering shields and soldiers alike. I froze, watching helplessly as it crushed a man beneath its weight. The sickening crunch and splatter of blood made my stomach churn.
It turned its eyes to me. I couldn't breathe. The weight of its presence bore down on me like a physical force. My legs refused to move.
The beast charged, its club raised high. Instinct screamed at me to dodge. I stumbled to the side, narrowly avoiding the first swing, but it was too fast. The club's redirected strike slammed into my ribs. Pain erupted through my body, and the world went black.
When I opened my eyes, I was back in the Field of Blades. The serene grasslands stretched endlessly, mocking me with their calm. My breathing was shallow, my chest tight.
[First Trial Failed]
[Details: The human forces were crushed under the might of the Demon King's army. The world is engulfed in carnage.]
[Progress: 0,6/100%]
[Retry available in: 23:59:37...]
I collapsed to my knees, the sword slipping from my grasp. I stared blankly at the screen, its cold, unfeeling words hammering at the fragile remains of my resolve. My shoulders sagged as a hollow laugh escaped my lips.
"Again?" I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Of course."
The weight of it all pressed down on me, suffocating. I wasn't angry. I wasn't even frustrated anymore. I was tired, tired of fighting, tired of failing.
I reached for the sword, my hands trembling as I gripped it once more. "If this is all there is... then let it come."
The realization was bitter but final: there would be no reprieve, no mercy. Only the unending cycle of death and rebirth until I either succeeded, or broke completely.
Capítulo 16: Chapter 16: Endless Skies, Endless Struggles
Chapter 16: Endless Skies, Endless Struggles
One thing had become painstakingly clear about this "realm," or whatever it was: the day never ended. The sun hung frozen in the sky, its golden rays casting a perpetual, unchanging light. Hunger was nonexistent, and sleep never crept in, not even as a faint whisper. It was as though time itself had stalled, leaving me stranded in an eternal limbo. This was how I'd imagined death, bright, yet hauntingly empty.
An existence devoid of progress or change, where the only thing that moved was the countdown to my next attempt at the trial. The first trial, of all things.
I'd failed five times already. Each loss was absolute, and each time, I'd felt the crushing weight of defeat. Yet, the worst part wasn't the pain or even the deaths themselves, it was the sheer, unrelenting inevitability of failure. Every attempt was a brutal reminder of how far I had to go.
Even so, there were small signs of progress. I'd made it past the troll, a hulking monstrosity that had stopped me twice before. But the furthest I'd gotten? A meager 1.4% progress. It was laughable, really, a stark reminder of just how monumental this task was. To lead an army of humans to victory against the Demon King's forces seemed less a trial and more an impossible fantasy.
My gaze fell on the floating timer in the corner of my vision:
[Retry available in: 00:07:24…]
The translucent screen appeared whenever I thought of it and disappeared just as easily. A small mercy, though its presence did little to comfort me. Even as the numbers ticked down, I found myself gripping the hilt of my sword, running through the motions of practice swings. The blade moved through the air with increasing precision, the faint whistle of its passage a solitary reassurance. Each movement felt deliberate, like carving patterns into an unyielding reality.
[Retry available in: 00:00:06…]
The timer reached its end. The grasslands around me dissolved, replaced once more by the charred, decrepit battlefield. The air grew heavy with ash and the faint stench of decay. The screen appeared with its familiar text:
[First Trial]
[Objective: Lead the human forces to victory against the Demon King's army.]
[Progress: 0/100%]
The voice of the man, no, the specter of a commander, barked at me, as always: "Get your head straight, soldier!" His shove sent me stumbling forward. "This isn't a playground! CHARGE!"
I charged alongside the others, my boots crunching over corpses that painted the battlefield in grotesque mosaics. Arrows whistled through the air as a commander's voice called, "Archers, FIRE!" The deadly rain struck true, slowing the advance of the enemy, but it was never enough.
The beasts, the Demon King's foot soldiers, emerged through the haze of battle. Their twisted forms and savage grins greeted me like old enemies. Their eyes, filled with bloodlust, fixed on me as they raised their crude, jagged weapons.
With inhuman speed, I traversed the battlefield, cutting through the first wave with a precision born of endless practice. My blade struck true, splitting skulls and severing limbs. Dark crimson sprayed across the ground, staining the earth with each strike. The satisfaction of the kill was fleeting; there was always another foe.
Then I saw it: the troll.
It towered over the battlefield, trampling allies and enemies alike. Its massive iron club gleamed with fresh blood as it crushed everything in its path. The troll's grotesque face twisted into a snarl as its beady eyes locked onto me.
This time, I wouldn't falter.
The troll charged, its club swinging in a devastating arc. I leaped, narrowly dodging the massive weapon. The ground cracked beneath its weight. Using the club as a springboard, I pushed off, propelling myself toward its head. My blade sang as it cut through the air, slicing cleanly through the creature's thick neck.
Its severed head hit the ground with a thunderous crash, followed by its massive body. Relief surged through me, but only for a moment.
Before I could move, the troll's collapsing form caught me in its shadow. I barely had time to curse before the weight crushed me into darkness.
I awoke once more in the serene expanse of the Field of Blades.
The gentle hum of the endless wind greeted me as I stared at the rows upon rows of swords planted in the ground. Each blade whispered a story of battles fought and lives lost. The serene beauty of this place stood in stark contrast to the horrors of the battlefield.
The screen appeared immediately:
[First Trial Failed]
[Details: The human forces were crushed under the might of the Demon King's army. The world is engulfed in carnage.]
[Progress: 1.4/100%]
[Retry available in: 23:59:58...]
I stared at the screen, unblinking. Progress. Small, incremental progress. It should have felt like a victory, but instead, it left a bitter taste in my mouth.
The endless days here had stripped me of any sense of time. My only marker was the timer counting down between attempts. In the stretches between battles, I swung my sword relentlessly. Each movement was precise, deliberate. My body never grew tired, no matter how many times I repeated the motions.
Even my hands, which should have been blistered and raw, remained pristine, hardened but unmarked.
This place defied logic. It healed me, sustained me, yet refused to grant me peace. And so, I braced myself. I would face the trial again and again.
Failure no longer filled me with despair; it fueled me. My efforts might have seemed futile, but this endless cycle had given me something I thought I'd lost long ago: purpose.
And so, I waited. For the timer to tick down. For the battlefield to appear once more. For the next attempt. Until I succeeded. Or until this endless purgatory consumed me.
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