From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 98: The Last Trial

The ground ruptured beneath Leon’s boots.

A pulse surged outward from the figure’s raised hands. It wasn’t fire, not fully—it was the weight of something ancient waking, like a mountain exhaling after centuries. The air grew hotter. Not burning. Suffocating. Every breath they took felt thinner, heavier.

Leon didn’t wait anymore.

He charged.

The figure didn’t flinch. He stepped forward to meet the blade, barehanded. Leon swung with all the force the Oathfire granted—but the strike stopped mid-air. Not blocked. Caught.

Fingers wrapped around his sword.

Leon gritted his teeth. He twisted, kicked, drove his elbow toward the figure’s neck.

Nothing worked.

The figure pushed him back with a shove that threw Leon across the chamber.

Elena shouted, running forward, but the ground split between them. Lava-light glowed from the cracks. Not molten rock. Not real lava. The floor moved.

Runes peeled up like they were alive.

The figure stepped into the center of it all. Runes climbed up his legs, across his chest, glowing brighter with each second. His voice boomed now, clear and absolute.

"You are not here to kill me are you?. You are here to break me."

Leon rose, coughing. "Then let me."

The chamber responded.

Chains erupted from the floor. Not to bind. To strike. They whipped toward him like living serpents, each tipped with a jagged shard. Leon ducked, parried, rolled under a second volley. A third one grazed his shoulder, slicing through the coat.

Behind him, Tomas shouted and hurled a knife at the figure—the blade melted midair.

"Stay back!" Leon barked. "This part is mine."

The others hesitated. Then they obeyed.

The figure descended the throne steps.

Each step shook the chamber.

Leon dashed forward again. This time, he didn’t swing. He dropped to a slide, feinted low, then drove his blade toward the exposed side—but the figure turned, faster than he should’ve been. A forearm blocked the strike.

Then a hand grasped Leon’s throat.

"You fight with anger."

Leon struggled. "I fight with memory."

"Same thing. Both get you killed."

The figure hurled him backward again. Leon hit the far wall. The heat should’ve broken him. But it didn’t.

He got up.

Again.

And again.

Blood dripped from his brow. A cracked rib stabbed with every breath. But his eyes stayed locked on the figure.

The boy stepped beside Elena. "It’s not about winning. He has to last."

Elena clenched her fists. "He can barely stand."

"Then he has to crawl."

Leon limped forward.

The figure lowered his stance.

This time, Leon didn’t charge. He raised his sword—not to strike, but to stand.

The figure’s brows furrowed. "Why aren’t you attacking?"

"Because I don’t need to prove I’m stronger than you. I just need to show I won’t stop."

The runes dimmed.

The figure’s stance loosened. "Even if it costs you everything?"

Leon nodded. "It already has. But I’m still here."

A long pause.

Then the figure took a breath. For the first time, he seemed... tired.

"Then you understand."

The runes peeled off him like ash. The chains withdrew. The throne cracked.

The figure staggered.

Leon caught him.

"What now?" Leon asked.

The figure looked him in the eyes. "Now, you carry what I could not."

He placed a hand on Leon’s chest.

A final seal broke.

Light spilled from the floor—not fire. Gold. White. Cool.

The chamber stopped rumbling.

And the figure faded.

Freed.

Leon turned.

The boy smiled faintly. "You did it."

Elena ran to Leon and held him steady.

The path ahead opened—an ascending stairway.

Not into fire.

Into light.

They had made it.

But what waited above... was not peace.

It was war.

Leon took the first step.

His foot hit the first step. It wasn’t stone—it felt like glass, warm beneath the sole, humming with quiet power. Each step lit up beneath him, not with flame, but with something softer. Older. Light that felt like dawn, not fire.

The others followed, slower. Elena supported him with one arm, her breath unsteady. Tomas glanced behind them, half-expecting the chamber to collapse. Mira said nothing. Callen tightened the strap on his sword and kept his eyes on Leon’s back.

At the top of the stairs, a gate waited.

It wasn’t a door. It was a frame—black stone arch, etched with symbols none of them recognised. At its centre was only mist. Thick. Pale. But it pulsed like a heartbeat.

The boy stepped forward.

"This is it," he said. "Past here... we leave the mountain. The seals are broken."

Alden frowned. "So what’s on the other side?"

The boy didn’t answer right away.

Then, simply "The battlefield."

Leon touched the arch. The mist parted.

What lay beyond made them stop.

They were high—far above the world they’d entered from. The mountain they stood in was hollow, and at its heart was a cratered valley stretching for miles. No grass. No trees. Just blackened stone and pillars of fire rising like dying screams. And at the valley’s far end...

A gate. Gigantic. Shut.

It pulsed with every breath of the mountain. Not with life. With restraint.

Something was trapped behind it.

And something else stood before it.

Lines of figures. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. All clad in mismatched gear—some new, some ancient. Swords. Staves. Spears. All pointed toward the gate.

A waiting army.

Tomas squinted. "Those aren’t enemies."

"They’re not allies either," Mira muttered. "They’re survivors."

"No," the boy said. "They’re the last line. The ones who made it this far and didn’t survived."

Callen let out a breath. "So what does that make us?"

Elena glanced at Leon. "The ones who’ll decide if any of this meant something."

Leon looked down into the valley.

The ground trembled again.

The gate far below cracked—just slightly. But enough for everyone to feel it.

The final seal was broken.

Whatever waited behind that gate... had started to wake.

Leon turned back to the others. His voice was quiet.

"Rest if you need to. Eat. Breathe."

Tomas raised a brow. "Why? You think they’ll wait for us to feel better?"

"No," Leon said. "But I want us clear-headed when it starts. Because once it does..."

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t have to.

They all understood.

The battle they came for hadn’t started yet.

But the mountain had already chosen its champions.

And soon, the world would see if they were enough.

Leon stepped away from the ledge, the echo of Tomas’s blade tightening still ringing in his ears. He looked toward the waiting army below. Their weapons weren’t raised, but neither were they lowered. No cheers, no welcomes. Just watchful eyes. Hardened stares.

"They’re waiting for someone to move first," Leon said quietly.

Callen scoffed. "So we’re the spark now?"

"No," the boy replied. "You’re the fuse."

A hush followed. Wind curled through the mountain’s hollow heart, hot and dry, carrying the stench of scorched earth and something older. Beneath them, the cracked valley pulsed again—dull and rhythmic.

Elena stepped closer to Leon, brushing dirt from his cheek. "You still bleeding?"

He nodded. "Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

Mira unfastened her pack, pulling out a dried ration. "Eat," she muttered. "You’ll need it."

Leon took it, but didn’t bite. He watched the gate in the distance. The crack in it had widened. Not enough to open. Just enough to whisper. And whatever it whispered made his jaw clench.

He felt it now—faint pressure on the back of his neck, like unseen hands dragging fingers across skin. Not physical. Not magical. Just wrong.

Beside him, the boy’s eyes narrowed. "It’s testing the air."

Tomas bristled. "What, like a beast?"

"Like a prisoner."

Below, one of the warriors—an older man with grey-banded armour and a halberd etched with ash runes—turned and looked straight at them. He didn’t wave. Didn’t speak. Just nodded.

Leon nodded back.

"Do they even know who we are?" Alden muttered.

"They don’t need to," Leon said. "They just need to know we made it through."

Mira gestured to the cracked valley wall. "That trail over there—leads to the centre?"

The boy gave a slight nod. "It winds down. No clear path. But it’s the only way."

"Then we take it," Elena said.

"Soon," Leon murmured.

He knelt, pressing his palm to the floor beneath the gate. It thrummed faintly. Like a drumbeat rising from deep underground. Four slow beats... pause... three quick ones. Then silence.

The same rhythm again.

"It’s not random," he whispered.

"What is it?" Mira asked.

Leon stared at the mist beyond the arch. "It’s a signal. A countdown."

Tomas cursed. "So it is waking."

"Piece by piece," the boy confirmed. "It’s not just one thing behind that gate. It’s many. Bound together."

Callen squinted toward the horizon. "So what’s stopping them from coming now?"

Elena answered. "Us."

The mist behind them thickened. Then began to draw inward.

Leon stood. "We’ve crossed a line."

The arch behind them shimmered—then closed. The way back was gone.

No one spoke.

For a long moment, only the distant throb of the valley echoed through the hollow.

Then Leon raised his sword—not in challenge, but in promise.

"We move in ten," he said. "Rest, drink, sharpen. When that gate opens..."

He looked to the valley again.

"...we make sure it closes behind us. One way or another."

The others drifted into silence. Tomas leaned against the wall, sharpening his blades. Elena crouched beside Leon, hands brushing over a cracked healing salve. Mira sipped from her flask and stared out over the broken valley.

Leon didn’t rest,He couldn’t.

He stood up.

The boy stood beside him. "They’ll follow you."

"They always have."

"And when the gate breaks?"

Leon’s grip tightened around his sword. "Then they’ll fight. Because that’s what we came here for."

Callen joined them, dragging a small piece of chalk along the stone, marking lines. "We make choke points. Formations. If it spills out fast, we don’t scatter."

Leon nodded.

No speeches. No rallying cry. Just planning.

And above all, the silence before the storm.

Because every breath from now on might be their last peace.

They all felt it—the shift in the wind.

The final war had begun to breathe.

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