Darkness. That was all Atticus could see for an indeterminate amount of time.
Time seemed distorted, unquantifiable. All Atticus knew was that it passed.
And during this time, his mind was quiet, far too quiet considering how loud it had become after his bond with a certain spirit.
Atticus could feel the faint presence of Ozeroth within him, their unbreakable connection still there. It was as though the spirit was watching him, observing silently. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach him.
He didn't mind the quiet. But he also wouldn't have minded Ozeroth's usual sharp commentary either.
Clearing his head of unnecessary thoughts, Atticus began preparing himself for the upcoming adversity. His life was at stake, and he had every intention of giving it his all.
Time passed.
The darkness began to recede, replaced by a blinding white light that flooded Atticus's vision. He flinched, shielding his eyes with his arm.
When the brightness dimmed, he lowered his arm and found himself standing in a pristine white room.
Before him stood three men, their auras potent and suffocating.
… A Few Minutes Earlier …
The white room was tense, thick with a palpable weight that settled over its occupants.
Three men stood apart and each of them had pure white hair.
The first man had a relaxed air about him, his posture loose and unbothered. A sly grin curved his lips as his gaze shifted to the second man.
"Seeing you here is unexpected. A man of honor, they say. Yet here you are."
The second man, lean with sharp, chiseled features, had hair as white as snow and eyes as cold as steel. His expression remained stoic, his head turning slightly to glance at the speaker. He said nothing, his silence sharper than any retort.
The first man's grin widened.
"In your lifetime, you wouldn't even cheat an animal. Yet here you are, about to do the unthinkable. And let's not forget how you bullied the others to thin out the competition."
The stoic man's gaze remained steady, unmoving, before he finally looked away, saying nothing.
The first man laughed, "Nothing to say? No denial? Thought so."
He then turned his attention to the third man.
Shorter than the other two but no less imposing, the third man carried a cynical air around him. His white hair was in disarray, reflecting the volatility of his personality.
"And you," the first man sneered. "Even you're here. Surprising. I thought you'd be too busy brawling with the weaker ones."
The third man frowned, his expression darkening. "Do us all a favor and shut up." His voice was rough, his tone curt and dismissive.
The first man's grin didn't waver. "Touchy, as always."
Silence fell between them, the tension growing heavier, as if the very air in the room could shatter at any moment.
Finally, the first man broke the silence. "What do you think? Will this boy be the one? Will he pass the fourth trial?"
No one answered immediately.
Their gazes dropped slightly, their thoughts churning.
These three men were the strongest among those who lived within the katana. In their prime, they had lived long, gathered immeasurable strength, and achieved greatness before their deaths. They were not ones to waste time, and yet here they were, contemplating the boy's odds.
Their presence here alone was proof of their belief in Atticus, however slim that hope might be.
But the silence wasn't just thoughtful. Beneath it was something darker. Personal.
Their gazes flickered suddenly, snapping to the side.
A few meters away, a white-haired boy appeared at the room's entrance, staring at them calmly.
Their gazes met.
'Three men? Enemies?'
Atticus appeared calm on the outside, but internally, he was anything but. As soon as the blinding light had subsided, his head began to spin, and his battle intent surged.
His hand instinctively reached for his katana, only to find it wasn't there.
'It's not just that.'
Atticus wasn't sure if the trial had officially begun, but he had already conducted a quick assessment of himself. He needed to figure out what abilities he still possessed and make a plan for any eventualities.
'No spiritual energy. No elements. Just mana.'
The realization was brief but devastating. He was left with only mana and no weapon.
Atticus refused to let it unsettle him. He didn't believe the katana would give him an impossible trial.
Instead, he focused on the men in front of him, scrutinizing them carefully. 'Do I have to defeat them?'
The three men silently scrutinized him in return.
After a moment, the first man smiled, as though reading Atticus's mind. "We're not your enemies. Don't worry, your trial hasn't started yet."
Atticus narrowed his gaze, saying nothing.
The man smiled wider. "Looks like Cedric's words were true. You're not an impulsive one, eh?"
Atticus's eyes flickered slightly at the mention of Cedric. "You know Cedric?"
"Know?" The man burst into laughter, as though Atticus's question was amusing. "We lived with the man for centuries."
"You mean…"
"Yes," the man nodded. The other two men standing silently to the side fixed their gazes on Atticus.
"We're all previous wielders of the life weapon."
'Shit,' Atticus thought. To him, it was bad news. What could the fourth trial possibly entail if it required not one, but three spirits to guide him? The earlier trials had been impossibly challenging, and Cedric alone had been sufficient.
He decided to stop overthinking it, nodding at the revelation.
"Alright. What is the fourth trial?" Atticus asked.
The man's mouth twitched, caught off guard by Atticus's reaction. He had expected more, shock, confusion, or even awe. Instead, the boy remained unfazed, his calm demeanor not showing a hint of excitement.
"You don't want to know what happened to Cedric?" the man asked, tilting his head.
Atticus's eyes lost focus for a second, a wave of sadness washing over him. "It's fine. He already told me what would happen to him." His eyes were calm, steady.
The three men paused, silently staring at him.
'Such a firm mind,' they each thought.