The golden mist drifted lazily over the floating arena, carrying Seymour's frozen form far below, a testament to Herja's unfathomable precision. I reduced my flow of intent to the Eye of Heaven slightly, sensing the subtle tremor of fate shifting—not from the battlefield itself, but from threads unseen.
A faint crimson glimmer caught my attention on my left hand. My love finger bore a new mark, pulsing faintly—a single strand of ruby-red energy curling like a living ribbon around my second knuckle.
Felicity stirred, her silver essence coiling nervously along my arm. "Ashriel… that's the Red Rope of Rahab," she whispered, her voice tinged with worry. "It's binding you… to her. Or at least… it wants to."
I flexed my fingers subtly, the rope twisting with a slow insistence. "I feel it," I said, voice low. "A pull… like a heartbeat, or a tether. But I don't understand why it appeared now, or why it chose me."
Felicity's glow flickered, indecision evident in her tone. "The Red Rope isn't a simple charm. It senses… destiny, intention, and the choices you make with your heart. It's… complicated."
I looked toward the arena, where Herja's veil fluttered in the ghostly frost still lingering from her last victory. Every eye upon her was caught in awe—and a sliver of fear. My chest tightened. The Red Rope tugged with a gentle, insistent pulse, aligning with the beat of my heart.
"I've trained for battles, for techniques, for survival," I murmured, voice almost a whisper against the hum of Felicity's essence. "But this… this is different. It's not strength, it's… fate."
The rope pulsed again a soft pressure, almost tangible, drew my gaze to Herja. Felicity recoiled slightly, silver light dimming with unease. "You're walking a tightrope, Ashriel… between ambition and your heart." Her silver blood phage symbiote twined around his arm in subtle spirals, a reminder of both power and responsibility. She could feel it—Ashriel's pulse quickening at the thought of marriage, the vows, the political weight—and her own hesitation mirrored in the faint tremor of her intent.
A sudden breeze swept across the floating arena, and even through the Eye of Heaven, I felt the weight of destiny pressing in. The Red Rope's glow flared, a herald of the trial to come.
Then, faint as a whisper against the wind, a strand of crimson appeared, curling delicately around Herja's love finger. The Red Rope of Rahab, glowing faintly like a thread spun from fate itself, appeared almost unwillingly. Felicity recoiled instinctively, a ripple of unease running through her.
"That's… new," she murmured, silver eyes narrowing. "It's… binding you to her. But why now? And why so visibly?"
I flexed my hand, the rope coiling in time with my heartbeat, tugging with a gentle insistence. "The Will of the Beast Vein Continent wants this. I feel the pull, Felicity… a promise that isn't mine to make yet, not entirely."
Felicity's voice dropped, almost warning. "Promises bound by strings of fate aren't suggestions, Ashriel. They're chains… and chains can break, or crush."
The crimson strand shimmered faintly, catching the sunlight like molten ruby, and in that instant, Ashriel felt the tug of destiny against his chest. It was intimate, binding, impossible to ignore—and yet, beneath it, a pulse of defiance stirred. I glanced at Herja, still standing calmly in the center of the floating arena. Aware of every eye in the royal audience.
I exhaled slowly, steel in my spine and determination in my gaze as I entered the arena.
Above them, banners fluttered in the breeze, and the Red Rope of Rahab pulsed like a heartbeat, anticipating the first move of a prodigy willing to challenge both destiny and empire.
The floating arena fell into silence as Ashriel stepped onto the polished obsidian tiles. The chill from Herja's frost still lingered, swirling faintly in the air like whispers of snow. I adjusted the simple Langot around my waist, the only attire permitted after the previous swimming trial. The lack of armor left my muscles outlined against the dim golden light of the floating arena, every sinew of my body visible, but I didn't flinch.
He bowed deeply to Herja, letting the faint crimson pulse of the Red Rope of Rahab flicker across my love finger. "It feels… strange," he murmured, voice low but audible across the arena. "Like I've always been standing here, waiting… and finally my body caught up to my mind."
Herja's veil fluttered as she stepped forward, the ghostly frost around her dissipating into near invisibility. Her green eyes narrowed beneath the silk, sharp as shattered ice. "You were probing me earlier," she said, voice low but firm, cutting through the arena's quiet. "Your spiritual senses. It did not go unnoticed by me, Ashriel. That was... inappropriate."
I froze mid-breath, a flush creeping across my cheeks. I scratched the back of my neck sheepishly, lips curling into a crooked grin. "I… I wasn't trying to be rude," I said, tone light, teasing even as my heart hammered. "I was just curious. You're fascinating too me."
Herja's gaze sharpened, though a faint edge of amusement glimmered beneath the reprimand. "Curiosity in the realm of cultivators can be dangerous," she said softly, voice like wind over glass. "Especially against me."
I straightened, letting my king level intent ripple outward, eyes bright with both challenge and humor. "Then I guess I'll just have to rely on something else. My body… my wits… maybe even my good looks."
A ripple of tension passed through the arena, a whisper of movement in the Eye of Heaven as Ashriel's Qi flared. The Red Rope pulsed subtly, as if nudging me forward. I could feel Felicity stirring in my mental dantian, silver tendrils coiling nervously, uneasy at the intimacy of the moment but loyal nonetheless.
Herja's hands folded behind her back, stance still calm, unreadable. "We will see if your body and mind can match your curiosity," she said, voice laced with both warning and challenge.
I smirked, letting a subtle surge of additive Qi spiral through him. I knew she could nullify it—but I also knew the fight would not be one of raw power alone. It would be a dance of precision, timing, and strategy. And I was ready to play.
Ashriel didn't waste a heartbeat. The moment the arena's frost-tinged air settled, he sprang into motion. With a sharp exhale, he unleashed the Fire-Fly Mirage, a breathtaking display of movement Qi. In an instant, hundreds of ghostly copies of himself shimmered into existence, darting in arcs and spirals across the arena like swarming fireflies.
The crowd—or what remained in view through the Eye of Heaven—gasped. Each copy moved with perfect fluidity, a blur of muscle, Qi, and intention, weaving patterns that dazzled and disoriented. Even Herja's eyes narrowed slightly, the first hint of surprise in her otherwise unflinching gaze.
Then, without a moment of hesitation, I struck. My hands glowed with a soft golden light as I channeled my additive Qi into the Volley of Thousand Lords Spirit Palms. Each palm was a concentrated strike of pure martial essence, a fusion of physical force and spiritual resonance. They erupted from my hands in a flurry, streaming like golden comets toward Herja with blinding speed.
The copies continued their dance, zig-zagging, feinting, and looping, a spectacle meant to both impress and disorient. But the real test was the volley itself. I wanted to know exactly how far her subtractive Qi pool could stretch—how much she could nullify before even the slightest slip allowed damage through.
Herja's calm composure remained, but a faint ripple of energy traced through her subtractive Qi field as the volley approached. The air thickened around her, frost pulsing faintly as her subtractive qi began to unfold, invisible currents twisting to intercept each Spirit Palm.
I watched through the Eye of Heaven, heart pounding, putting everything on the line. The first few Spirit Palms collided with her Qi barrier, the energy dissipating into thin mist with faint golden sparks. Yet, as the volley continued, a subtle ripple of strain passed through her subtractive field, almost imperceptible, but enough to catch my attention.
Herja's green eyes flicked toward me, and beneath her calm exterior, a ghost of a smile appeared. "So eager," she murmured, voice like wind over ice, "to see how much you can impress."
The clones darted around her in spirals, a living constellation of potential strikes, while the volley of Spirit Palms continued to press, probing for the faintest weakness. Every strike absorbed, every path blocked, was a message: I was daring her to show the true extent of her power—and maybe, just maybe, to reveal a crack.