The beating of a heart. The tingling fear of the thoughts clouding the mind. The dread and the uncertainty. The sole question of existence rippling through the Spiritum’s tides.

Valens heard them well in his mind as the dimensions unfolded before his eyes. Through the souls of these people taken by the fog, he witnessed their emotions as if his own. He saw mothers wailing for their lost children. Heard the fathers weeping for their loss. Little children stared senselessly around them, too shocked to even think of the things that had just happened.

And as Valens felt the living in their waking terror, he also heard the songs being cut short across the square. Hundreds dead, their frequencies slowly vanishing, their presences drawing back from the material world, souls disintegrating into the endless Spiritum like the rotten leaves of a broken tree.

He tried to reach them, but it was like grabbing air trying to stop them from passing off. Gone, they already were. Their songs would never return.

The discipline he was taught throughout his life kept his mind in control. The battlefield was just that, a place where some people died and some others survived. He ought to focus on the survivors. Make sure they remained alive, even if it was to live with a ghost of their past.

It was possible. Memories could break a man, but at least mending them would remain a possibility. The true work, though, would belong to them. Valens was just a Healer.

Right.

Just a Healer.

People rose from where they had been cast like a flock of mindless sheep. Bloody fingers got patched with waves of lifemana pouring into them. Valens didn’t have to touch them at all. The Hexsurge bent the dimensions and bound them to his core, where their rhythms resonated with his soul.

In the Spiritum, everyone was whole. Physical touch was not necessary.

He could even feel Nomad’s unique frequencies, the twisted rhythm of his being making little sense. Lenora’s presence shimmered like the stub of a candle bearing a winter storm, slowly dissipating as sharp winds hacked at her. The Captain was staring agape at him from below, stooping under the pressure with Mas and the disciples beside him. Garran had already passed out. Dain was trying hard to keep his mind from slipping.

Unlike the others, the true members of the Golden Church had lingering motes of sacred presence mixed into their souls. The more Valens peered into their beings, the more those motes reacted to his probes and forced their souls to their knees. It was as though something in Valens stirred a deep unease in them.

He shook his head as he drew his presence back from them. No need to make them suffer.

There underneath his feet was the Dread’s monstrous Resonance. So high and sharp were its frequencies that it hurt just taking a peek at its core. The sheer strength radiating from its arms and muscles, the oozing pus of the Shadow coating its skin like a tight veil.

How could anyone stop this creature?

For now, it stood still as Valens searched his being. Scarcely moved an inch, as if it waited patiently for this sensation to pass. The cruel reality it represented made Valens’s heart skip a beat. Even with all the mana in this world, he couldn’t deal with this creature as he was now.

There around his back was a high-pitched scream stabbing at his mind.

A single pull, then the Evercrest woman lurched toward him.

Another pull, and she got dragged like a puppet with its strings holding it tight.

Her Gate was an old thing. Corroded by the edges, cracked across the surface, leaking the mist of her so-called Mother. A thick shroud covered what lay beyond the Gate, much similar to the soulless Shifters Valens had examined before, but now that protection scarcely mattered.

The Hexsurge threads drilled a sharp way across the shroud, forced the puny soul of the woman to the surface. Wrapped around her like ropes fashioned for soul, the woman wriggled against their hold, her frequencies screaming in defiance.

Delicate thing, her mind was. It snapped the moment Valens sent his Lifesurges into her brain, her mouth frothing, eyes bulging as the fair threads severed her brain from the rest of her body.

[You have managed to defeat Mistwalker (Dormant) - level 199. For killing someone above your own level, you are granted bonus experience.]

She went limp, then her body crumbled. The shadows around her scattered. The air went still. Her soul wavered as it faced Valens, but before his Hexsurges could find purchase in the Surgemasters’ Hall, the same fog that cuddled her like a mother forced a way through Valens’s hold. It dragged the woman’s soul away from him, toward the high columns of the hall, trying to slip her past to the unknown stretches of the Spiritum.

[You have felt the presence of an Ancient One.]

“I do understand that you don’t want to lose your child here,” Valens muttered, still seated atop his throne, facing the squirming tendrils of the fog trying to drag the woman’s soul away. “But I believe that is a tall ask, considering the things she has done to the people. That deserves a sentence—one that I’m obliged to deliver.”

The shrouded, tall walls of the hall seemed to pulse with Valens’s Resonance as the fog splashed against them with force. The tendrils bounced back aimlessly from it, the woman’s soul screaming in terror, clawing at the cold stone in vain as slowly, painfully, her Mother’s hold broke into thousands of pieces.

[Ancients have no authority upon the Surgemaster’s Throne.]

The Endless Mist retreated. The soul of her child remained in the hall.

It was with cold indifference that Valens gazed at her. She had her own truth. Believed a cause deeply enough to sacrifice thousands for it. Brought terrors from the depths of the earth and released them across Belgrave. More were on their way. Already, the Gate of Surges underneath the Golden Cathedral was crumbling as creatures clawed their way up to the surface.

This Dread was the head of the horde, but it wouldn’t be the last.

It doesn’t feel like a victory.

But the System seemed to think otherwise.

Notifications clouded his vision even as he examined the woman’s mindless soul. She was a speck, a seed now that her body was no more. Planted in the right fields, perhaps she would become whole once again. Left alone here in the Hall of the Surgemasters, though? Her soul would die a slow death.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Consequences. We all have to live them, eh?

Mana rushed in. The hall’s own fog drew slowly back as the columns gained an ethereal hue about them. The sigils drawn upon the seats grew clearer. The lingering presence across the place pressed upon Valens’s shoulders.

He felt the change within him. Void Sphere resonated with the eight other spheres dotting his Gate’s surface. One of them went alive with flashing lights, then stayed like that—a bright circular stone against the other, muted seven.

[You have completed your First Trial.]

It began with this simple line. For weeks, Valens chased this riddle. For weeks, he got dragged into numerous shady plots in his search for truth. That resulted in piles of dead bodies and a half-destroyed capital. Broken boundaries and broken people. Belgrave would never be the same.

But then, change wasn’t always worked for the better.

Outlines of wavering figures appeared over the seats normally occupied by the members of the Midnight Society. Old men and women, richly dressed in robes, faces looking mightily wise and painfully rigid. Their eyes glowed with endless wisdom. Gestures were calculated as they turned slowly to face him.

It soon occurred to Valens that they weren’t looking at him. Not necessarily at his apparition, but the throne. Glowing spheres rotated around them. Nine in total, each radiating a different color.

For a second the hall regained what seemed like its former glory. Delicately woven, silken curtains flopped against an invisible breeze. Columns decorated with high candelabras illuminated the table from overhead. There across the floor, a crimson carpet felt silken-soft against Valens’s skin.

That wasn’t the end of it.

At the far end of the hall was an opening leading to a balcony. Valens rose from the throne and strolled calmly through the seats, heads following his steps, mana rising in waves.

Past the curtains covering the exit, Valens found himself facing an endless sight. Sky was a bright crimson as if the sun had recently smeared its color across the clouds. Buildings rose in the distance, impossibly high, adorned with multi-faceted jewels. Colossal statues lined the streets between them, their past glory captured perfectly in gleaming marble, each holding a different tome in their hands.

Are these scholars?

Then a thundering applause rocked the balcony. Voices roared in celebratory pleasure, coming from thousands upon thousands of people dotting the giant square down below. People threw multi-colored flowers into the air, danced and sang in united passion. So wide the crowd was that Valens couldn’t see the end of it.

Yet when he looked through his sound vision, he couldn’t see anybody’s face.

They were blank, like a half-forgotten memory.

Slowly, darkness crept into the city. First, it took away the people. Strangled them with its ever-stretching shroud, leaving the streets completely alone. Without the people, the city began corroding at a visible rate. Buildings crumbled against horrendous storms. Sharp winds ate away their roofs, windows, and jewels adorning their faces.

In the blink of an eye, the majestic city succumbed to a desolate transformation until only the statues of the scholars were left, but not before they each lost their marbled heads to the passing of time.

[You have glimpsed upon Viremeth, the City of Magisters.]

[Its presence resonates with the throne.]

[A thousand years have passed since it was abandoned, but still the statues of the Surgemasters remember the old blood.]

Then the scene vanished.

Valens found himself back on the throne, alone with no one else around him. The wavering forms of the people had vanished. The fog returned to the hall, although it was much thinner than before.

[By completing your First Trial, you have gained 10 extra Skill Slots.]

[By completing your First Trial, you have gained access to the experience stored in your soul.]

Ding!

You have learned the Class Skill ‘Ancient’s Domain - Basic.’ Do you want to register it in one of your skill slots?

[Inferno (Adept) has reached level 16!]

[Gravitating Earth (Master) has reached level 14!]

[Lifesurge (Master) has reached level 20!]

[Lifeward (Master) has reached level 17!]

[Hexsurge (Basic) has reached level 15!]

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have reached level 150!

The rush of ecstasy sent Valens’s mind reeling as his hold around the Spiritum slipped slowly away from his grasp. His mind drew sharply back into the material world where he blinked around at the chaotic sight that welcomed him.

Mana boiled in his chest. A new strength poured into his arms. His skin prickled with a thrill so dense that he even forgot to breathe for a second.

Still, it didn’t end.

Still, there was more to come.

[By completing your First Trial, you are granted a Cursed Artifact.]

[The Gate of Surges has opened.]

[The Cursed Artifact has been stored in the Vault of the Surgemasters.]

[By completing your First Trial, you have gained the Title - Proven.]

[Proven - Title]: By completing your First Trial, you have proved yourself as a walker of the paths, a thorn in the eye of the Shadow. You will be more resistant to the Tainted Father’s presence across the Broken Lands.

[By killing an Heir from an Ancient’s bloodline, you are granted the title - The Verdict.]

[The Verdict - Title]: Given a choice between mercy and death, you chose eradication. You killed the body and severed the soul. No echoes remain. No resurrection will heed them. The line ends with your hand. Those of tainted or ancient descent instinctively recoil in your presence. Even beasts hesitate; even spirits pause.

[By completing your First Trial, you have been granted a new Class - Arcane Magister.]

“You…” a voice muttered, pulling Valens’s mind from the flurry of notifications blurring his sight. “Who are you?”

Valens blinked as he came to himself, then turned to see a baffled pair of Templars staring into his eyes. Lenora was there on the ground, eyes squinted and lips trembling as if in fear.

His skin prickled as he felt thousands of eyes on his back. Down below, the people of Belgrave had gathered to the side, being ushered by Templars to a more secure location. Yet they refused to tear their eyes from him.

“Reckon truth always finds a way to come to light, eh?” Nomad snickered from the side, looking greatly pleased by this reaction. “Even I’ll almost believe you can handle a few Dreads right now.”

“A few Dreads?” Valens mumbled, mind still hazy.

“More are on the way,” Nomad said, tapping the tip of his sword to the slimy back of the giant creature. “And I reckon this one’s about to wake up, too. Care for a trip? I know just the way.”

“But people—”

“They’ll be fine,” Nomad shrugged. “The Church bastards are on their way. They’re going to close this city up to the rest of Haven’s Reach. Can’t have you do all the dirty work, can they?”

“W-Who are you?” Garran muttered wearily as Dain helped him to his feet, eyes bloodshot and his armor a mess of cracks.

“An old myth,” Nomad answered before Valens could open his mouth. “You love your myths and tales in Melton, no? Here’s one in flesh and blood. Get a good look ‘cause he ain’t going to be staying here for much longer.”

“A-Ancient…”

“Show me those skills.” Nomad nudged Valens with his rotten chin as the Dread slowly rattled awake underneath their feet. “And get us away from this creature, please. We don’t have much time till the Church arrives. Trust me, those fools wouldn’t stare and clap you for all the things you’ve done. They’re gonna be pissed.”

“Pissed?”

“That’s what they do,” Nomad said. “They get pissed and furious. Small noise, usually, but it can get bigger if you give them the chance.”

I’ve killed that woman.

Guilt tried to creep in, but before it could take control, Valens cast a Gale and picked them up from the Dread’s back, descending gently to the ground where the Captain and others waited for them.

Just then, before they reached the ground, he decided to pause and take a look at his own doing. There he saw the woman’s corpse lying perfectly still over the Dread’s back, a group of shadows wailing beside her. She looked blissful in her eternal sleep even as her soul was no more.

Valens nodded slightly.

Death suited her well, to his thinking.

.......