ONLINE: Blades of Eternity

The morning mist hadn't yet burned away when Eirana led Kaelen and Kelvin to the center of the ancient Nullcarver hollow once again. The seven runic stones still glowed faintly, humming with residual Qi from the activation the day before. Today, however, the air felt heavier—pressurized, like something immense and invisible had descended from the heavens and was watching them with cold, unfeeling eyes.

"Today," Eirana said, her voice flat and merciless, "you will begin your initiation into the First Juggernaut."

Her tone carried the gravity of a death sentence.

Kaelen shifted his stance, his muscles still humming from the aftereffects of the mana vein baptism. Kelvin rolled his shoulders, giving a grin—forced and brittle.

Eirana knelt and touched the central stone again, pouring a sliver of her blood into it.

The training ground shifted.

Massive slabs of earth rose from the floor in concentric circles around them, forming a labyrinth of jagged stone pillars and narrow paths that looked like the ribs of a giant fossilized beast. In the center, a deep basin formed, filled with a thick, dark sludge that reeked faintly of iron and sulfur.

Eirana pointed to it. "The Qi Swamp. You will stand in that and remain standing until your body roots itself to the ground."

Kaelen squinted. "...Roots?"

Eirana's lips curled slightly. "Yes. This is not metaphorical. The First Juggernaut teaches your body to synchronize with the Earth Qi. That means you become as immovable as bedrock. No mana. No movement. You learn to endure. You learn to become the mountain."

Kelvin's smirk returned. "So what, we just sit in a mud pool?"

Eirana turned to him, her eyes colder than stone. "The swamp will slowly constrict your muscles. Your joints will begin to lock. It will seep into your lungs, your ears, your pores. Your Qi will be forced to match its stillness. And if you fail to adjust—"

She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

Both men stepped forward.

The moment their feet entered the Qi Swamp, they felt it.

Like plunging into a pool of liquefied gravity.

Kaelen's knees buckled instantly. Kelvin growled, planting his scythe like a crutch. The sludge clung to them like a living thing, dragging at their limbs, pulsing against their chests, slowing their heartbeats. They could feel the foreign Qi trying to force its rhythm on them—slow, heavy, ancient.

Their systems went silent.

No skills. No HUD. No mana.

They were utterly, terrifyingly normal in this place.

Within five minutes, Kaelen's shoulders started twitching involuntarily. The pressure on his spine felt like being slowly crushed under a boulder. His legs trembled violently. Every breath came at the cost of strength.

Kelvin was no better. His normally boundless energy drained like blood from an open wound. His jaw clenched so tightly that his molars cracked slightly. His vision began to blur as veins popped near his temples.

The pain was constant. Grinding. Unrelenting.

Eirana watched with impassive eyes.

"The First Juggernaut does not accept cowards," she said aloud. "It teaches the will of earth. The patience of mountains. And the endurance of time itself. Let your minds scream. Let your flesh weep. Only when you stop resisting… will you start learning."

Time crawled.

An hour passed. Then two. Then four.

Kaelen's eyes were bloodshot. His lips were cracked. Yet, he did not fall.

Kelvin's legs had gone numb. His shoulders shook from silent sobs of agony. But he did not kneel.

Every second was a war. A howl of protest from their nerves, their organs, their will.

And then… a shift.

Subtle. Inward.

Kaelen's trembling ceased—not from exhaustion, but from alignment. His breaths slowed. The fire behind his eyes dimmed, not from defeat, but from centering. He wasn't resisting anymore. He was listening. Feeling.

The pain was still there—but it no longer owned him.

Kelvin's neck stopped twitching. He stopped cursing in his head. For the first time, he felt the rhythm—the slow, ancient drumbeat of the Earth Qi. It was like an old song, a pulse from the bones of the world. He stopped clenching and let it invade him.

And the swamp accepted them.

Eirana's eyes widened faintly as the Qi around the basin shifted, just barely.

"They're syncing…"

The sludge no longer fought them.

Instead, it cradled them—like rock forming around a gem. Their postures straightened. Their expressions slackened into eerie calm. Steam rose off their skin as internal heat regulation adjusted.

They had begun their transformation.

The first root had taken hold.

Six hours in. No sleep. No food. No mana.

Only will.

Eirana knelt by the side of the swamp, still unreadable, but inside—she was shaken. It took me three weeks to reach this state. They did it in half a day.

Kaelen's eyes fluttered open. They were calm. Heavy. Centered.

Kelvin grunted, "Still hurts."

Kaelen let out a dry chuckle. "But it's not screaming anymore."

Eirana nodded. "You've taken your first step. Don't be proud. This was only the door."

She stood. "Tomorrow, we begin pain amplification. The Earth Qi will enter your nervous system directly."

Kelvin groaned. "You're trying to kill us."

Eirana smiled faintly. "No. I'm making you weapons."

They didn't argue.

They stood. Slowly. With the stiffness of stone statues, but the quiet strength of mountains.

And walked out of the swamp.

Unbowed.

––––

In the twilight hours of the Elven moon, when the canopies above filtered pale silver light across alabaster-stone walkways and blooming mana-lit flowers, four silhouettes moved through the heart of an Elven settlement—drifting between crowds like mere travelers, but with a purpose honed by danger and necessity.

Morris's face was obscured beneath a deep brown cowl, his golden eyes dimmed with illusion magic. Beside him, Lila walked with grace unnatural even for an Elf, her own appearance dulled and altered by a weaver's glamor. Ethan trailed behind with a hood pulled low over his face, projecting the weary gait of a mercenary just off a long job, while Guinevere had adopted the look of a travelling herbalist, her vibrant red hair now dulled to a rustic auburn.

They had to be careful.

Because now… they were fugitives in this territory.

All because of Lila.

Her earlier confrontation with a local Elven patrol captain—where she had laid bare a small fraction of her true aura—had sent ripples of fear and interest through the forest cities. Word had spread. The High Boughs were stirred. Bounties had been set.

But they had no time to lament.

Their goal lay deeper still.

Kaelen.

They had finally pinpointed his presence, felt it as a lingering echo in the mana threads of the forest—his essence pulsating on their tracking device which shows he is near a forbidden, heavily warded region known in hushed tones as the Deadroot Jungle.

A jungle now rumored to be under siege.

"Quick," Morris muttered, as they ducked into a narrow alley between vine-laced buildings. "We blend in, gather information, and disappear. No show of force."

Lila, still irritated from having to restrain herself, folded her arms. "If these Elves weren't so prideful, they wouldn't be scrambling over one small pressure wave."

Guinevere smirked, whispering dryly, "You shattered a mana well tower… (with a sigh), Lila."

"…Fair."

They stepped into the glow of a moderately crowded tavern—The Whispering Branch—its wooden doors carved with age-old sigils, and glowing fungi nestled between the grains of polished tables. A harp-like instrument was playing in the background, tuned to harmonize with the wind.

They approached a long table near the back, seating themselves like a band of traveling merchants. A slender Elven waitress with aquamarine eyes drifted to them silently.

"What may I serve?" she asked, in the lilting Common tongue laced with Elvish inflection.

"Four Blue Fern wines," Morris said gruffly, "and any news you have worth selling."

The waitress tilted her head slightly, eyes sharp. But gold speaks louder than suspicion. Morris dropped a single polished mooncrest—a currency rare and revered among Elves—into her palm.

She leaned forward slightly, whispering under her breath, "The Deadroot howls. The Nullcarvers—our hidden relics in the mist—are under siege. Mistwalkers and creatures of fog have broken the unspoken accords. Even the rangers don't dare enter now."

At the word Nullcarvers, all four subtly stiffened.

Guinevere's wineglass, halfway to her lips, paused midair.

Lila's gaze sharpened. "The Nullcarvers?"

The waitress nodded. "Yes. Forgotten tribe. Only spoken of in whispers. Elders say they carved flesh and soul from stone and mist. Most don't believe they're real. But something ancient is bleeding in that jungle, and they are part of it."

"Any humans?" Ethan asked.

The waitress blinked. "Impossible. The Deadroot jungle rejects your kind. To go there is to vanish."

Guinevere's voice dropped to a whisper, just for her group. "Kaelen's there. I know it. And I don't think he's just surviving anymore."

Lila stood abruptly.

They left without touching their drinks.

Back in the street, Morris didn't hesitate. "We make for the Deadroot. Now."

"It'll be warded. Surveilled. Watched," Ethan said, already calculating paths through his mental map.

"I'll freeze up a hole if I have to," Lila muttered darkly.

Guinevere cracked her knuckles, her fire aura simmering just beneath her skin. "Let's just make sure we're not too late."

The four of them disappeared down a side passage, slipping through the veil of vines and stone, moving like ghosts through the Elven heartlands.

Unseen. But hunting.

Toward the heart of the jungle, where the mist screamed.

Toward the friend—and the storm—waiting within.