The soft orange glow of sunlight bathed the peak in its gentle rays, illuminating a tall figure standing at the edge of the cliff.
The sound of whistling wind engulfed the area, the storm below raging furiously. Yet it did nothing to calm the racing thoughts of the man as he stared down the cliff with a cold, somber expression.
"I'm sorry, kid," the spirit muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on Atticus disappearing into the storm below.
In the next instant, loud, booming laughter erupted, shaking the air and reverberating across the mountain peak.
"Dorander! I never thought you'd stoop so low!"
Dorander's gaze darkened as his head snapped toward the source of the voice.
Standing behind him was the same sly spirit who had been with him when Atticus chose a guide for the fourth trial. Sylas. The man who had been visibly annoyed when Atticus didn't select him, despite all his feigned niceties.
Dorander remained silent, his cold gaze meeting Sylas's mocking expression before he turned away, uninterested in engaging.
But Sylas didn't care.
"I have to say, I'm shocked!" Sylas continued, "I was surprised you even volunteered in the first place, knowing how it would end. You, Dorander, the great warrior, always preaching honor and fairness. Who knew you'd do something so dishonorable!"
His laughter echoed across the peak, drawing the attention of the other spirits who sat quietly, their expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief.
Dorander's eyes snapped back toward Sylas, narrowing dangerously as his aura flared.
"That's enough, Sylas,"
But Sylas's grin widened, his laughter only growing louder.
"Or what? You'll throw me off the cliff too? Pfft," Sylas sneered.
Dorander's expression darkened further, his clenched fists trembling at his sides.
"This bastard," Dorander muttered under his breath, his tongue clicking in frustration as he turned away.
'I had no choice,' he thought bitterly, his hands curling into fists.
Their reactions were justified. Dorander's actions were a stark departure from his reputation. Among the spirits, he had always been seen as a warrior who excelled in battle and upheld a strict code of honor.
Before becoming a spirit, Dorander had been a champion in his unranked, energyless world. He had dominated countless fighting competitions, his skill unmatched.
When reincarnated into Eldoralth, Dorander's confidence had soared. To him, this was his calling, the reason for his existence.
But he had never had the chance to prove himself against other reincarnated warriors of the different races. Despite his confidence, Dorander had opted to remain low-key, biding his time and gaining strength before making his mark.
That time never came.
He died in the fourth trial, a trial he had been so confident he would conquer.
The devastation of his failure haunted him when he joined the other spirits within the katana. He lived in solitude, consumed by regret, until he learned something shocking.
The fourth trial was different.
The rules changed drastically. It became far more dangerous but equally rewarding.
Unlike the earlier trials, the fourth trial offered something extraordinary: a chance for spirits within the katana to leave and be reincarnated.
At the start of the fourth trial, the challenger was required to choose a spirit to guide them. Should the challenger pass all the challenges and reach the end, the challenger and their chosen guide would face each other in battle.
Victory for the guide meant reincarnation, a chance to live again.
And so, despite his principles, despite his honor, he had made his choice.
He had betrayed Atticus.
It was high stakes for both sides. If the spirit won, it would be reincarnated. But if it lost, its soul would be absorbed by the challenger.
Dorander had journeyed through the fourth trial with Atticus and had seen firsthand what the boy was capable of.
At this point, he and the other spirits had long since mastered the fourth art, with over a century to refine it. Yet Dorander knew one thing with absolute certainty: if he faced Atticus fairly in battle, he would lose.
This was why he had resorted to such a disgraceful trick. If Atticus had stepped into the arena, he would have regained his strength, and it would have been too late.
'I had to do it,' Dorander thought, his clenched fist trembling as though trying to convince himself of his actions.
Those words repeated in his mind like a mantra as he stood at the edge of the cliff, his gaze fixed on the storm below.
He closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself, before turning away from the cliff.
But then his brow furrowed.
'Why is he still laughing?'
Dorander turned to Sylas, who was still laughing loudly, his mocking tone echoing across the peak. The other spirits watched him, their expressions amused, some even smiling.
"Did I miss something?"
Before he could piece it together, a scoff sounded from one of the other spirits.
"Why are you relaxing? It's not over yet."
Dorander's eyes widened, his heart pounding.
"Impossible," he muttered, spinning on his heel and rushing back to the edge of the cliff.
The storm raged below, its thick veil obscuring everything. Yet Dorander's sharp gaze seemed to pierce through it, focusing on what lay beneath.
His heart trembled. He had followed Atticus through all his trials, including the last one. He knew the boy was exhausted, his mana reserves depleted to the brink of nothingness.
'So what is this…?'
Beneath the storm, Atticus plummeted rapidly, the wind whipping around him with deafening intensity.
Despite the incredible speed of his descent, Atticus's burning crimson gaze remained locked on Dorander, unwavering and cold.
The anger radiating from him was palpable, yet his body moved with a shocking calmness. His piercing eyes glowed like embers, his mind working at lightning speed.
'Looks like his advice came in handy,' Atticus thought, recalling Ozeorth's words just before his consciousness had been pulled into the katana's realm.
…
"Bond, listen carefully. You're sharp, sharper than most, but you ignore things too much. One day, that's going to get you killed if you're not careful.
"You've got one of the greatest advantages most people would kill for, and you're not making use of it, your intelligence. You notice the little things: the way someone's tone shifts, how their body moves differently, the flicker of an emotion on their face. I've seen you use it in fights, and it's impressive. But why stop there? That could be so much more.
"If you learn to read people like that all the time, you'll know what they're thinking, feeling, planning, and you'll turn it all to your advantage.
"This fourth trial… I don't know what's waiting for you, but any mistake will get you killed. You need to be careful. Watch everything, trust no one, and use your head. You've got the tools to win this, Bond. Just don't waste them."
As the memory faded, Atticus's gaze burned brighter.
"Watch everything," he muttered under his breath.
Trust no one.
Use your head.
Ozeorth had been right. L