Soulforged: The Fusion Talent-Chapter 163— Bessia’s Stand

A Lesser Crawler emerged from the building entrance ahead—a grotesque monstrosity, that had the look of a quadrupedal hunter with an attuned build for killing.

His spatial foresight tracked the creature’s motion before it fully emerged. Danger sense added a microsecond of warning—which was more than enough.

He was still new to teleportation, but practice was the fastest teacher.

His body displaced three meters sideways. Not because he needed to evade—this threat didn’t demand it—but because repetition kept the skill sharp.

The Crawler lunged at the space Bright had occupied, finding nothing, exposing its flank to a counterattack.

Bright’s katana extended to its full four-meter reach, the blade finding throat of the creature with surgical precision, ending the threat before the Crawler could recognize its error.

Too easy, Bright thought, already moving forward.

He’d encountered three other students already—two outpost recruits who were clearly panicking, and one noble who was competent but exhausted.

He helped where he could, eliminating Crawlers that closed in on struggling students. They were grateful—if puzzled about where the help had come from.

He even gave quiet direction to an outpost recruit, steering him toward a less infested stretch of ruins where he could regroup and recover.

He wasn’t some unfeeling creature who abandoned his own. He was a soldier in the truest sense—someone who understood that collective survival mattered more than personal glory.

You protect your people. You use advantages to support team.

His spatial awareness pulsed—multiple signatures ahead, converging. Either a coordinated Crawler pack or a cluster of candidates.

Check it, Bright decided. If it’s students in trouble, assist. If it’s Crawlers, clear them and move on. Simple.

He shifted direction without hesitation.

But even as he moved to investigate, Bright recognized a larger truth: this deployment wasn’t a challenge for him anymore. Wasn’t trial that pushed his limits. It wasn’t a test that risked failure in his part.

He had exceeded the tier two shroud’s difficulty as his prowess made the dangerous environment feel routine.

By the same measure, it meant he wasn’t truly being tested. Not yet. He was just cutting down Crawlers as they appeared, not pushing into the deeper mastery his core abilities demanded.

But that was acceptable—for now.

He had only just integrated the Absolute Void Physique.

The real test will come later, he knew. When he faces something his current strength can’t simply overpower.

But for now—for these six hours—he was just an extra blade in the dark. A helping hand where it was needed.

He continued forward, spatial awareness guiding him toward the next encounter.

My frontline capability is solid, Bright evaluated. Absolute Void Physique makes close-quarters combat overwhelmingly effective. Teleportation grants superior positioning. The Dimensional Barrier covers most defensive gaps.

But—

I have no reach.

Anything beyond his katana’s range required one solution: close the distance. No projectiles. No ranged pressure. No way to threaten an enemy who controlled space better than he did.

A build gap.

Something to address. Something his Artifact Refining course could solve—a weapon that expressed spatial manipulation while extending his influence beyond the blade.

A future problem.

For now, the objective remained simple.

Survive.

And help others do the same.

The harrowing exercise the Academy’s higher-ups had designed to test first-years felt almost trivial to someone whose capabilities outpaced the trial’s intended difficulty.

That, Bright knew, was both achievement and caution.

Proof that his advancement had worked.

And a reminder that the real world wouldn’t stay this forgiving. Sooner or later, something would push him to his true limits.

But today—today he remained just a godly scout who made things look easy.

And he was okay with that.

-----

Bessia materialized in possibly the worst location in the entire Shroud deployment.

A Central plaza, she identified with sinking dread.

An open space with almost no cover. A convergence point where multiple tunnels met—prime territory for Crawler concentrations.

Exactly the kind of place you never wanted to enter alone.

Unfortunate luck, Bessia thought with wry amusement. Fucking random placement dumped me into a goddamn nightmare.

She could rail against the unfairness all she wanted but she had no choice but to adapt to the hand she was dealt.

Survival comes first. Always survival first.

Her mind raced, honed by lessons from Clear Light’s Eve—that night had taught her how to act under pressure, how to make decisions without perfect information.

Can’t run. Too many Crawlers between her and safety. She’d be caught in pursuit.

Can’t hide. The open plaza offered no cover. They’d find her regardless.

So—fortify. Make the current space defensible. Don’t try to relocate; make this ground survivable.

Bessia’s plant-manipulation core flared to life—her most versatile ability, one that had proven unexpectedly invaluable during Clear Light’s Eve.

Vines erupted from the plaza’s ancient stonework, bending to her will rather than following a natural growth. What had once been decorative greenery became an asset.

She shaped the vegetation into barriers, funneling the Crawlers along paths she controlled. Channels, kill zones, and segmented chokepoints—all designed so her limited offensive capability could actually matter.

The vines wove together into walls, dividing the plaza into defensible sections, restricting Crawler movement while giving her fallback positions she could hold and control.

Bessia’s vines weren’t impenetrable. Not by any means.

But they were enough—enough to shape the battlefield, manage the engagement, and prevent her from being overrun instantly.

Her bow came into her hands—a worn weapon, scarred from countless encounters. The wood and string bore the marks of constant use, but careful maintenance kept it deadly and reliable.

Trusty companion, Bessia thought, drawing an arrow and nocking it with practiced efficiency. You’ve kept me alive this long. Keep me alive six hours more.

The first Crawler slammed into her vine barrier—a Lesser variant, quadrupedal, chitinous armor glinting under the corrupted light, lunging at obstacles rather than seeking another path.

Bessia’s arrow found its mark through the creature’s eye. No enhancement was needed—just hundreds of practice sessions and a dozen real combat encounters.

One down, she counted. Fourteen visible. Unknown number still approaching.

This is going to be exhausting. This is going to push me to my limits. Exactly what I need if I want to finally reach Initiate.

She couldn’t avoid the truth any longer: she was the last of the original grim hollow group stuck at Fledgling rank.

Bright had advanced. Duncan had advanced. Silas had advanced. Even Adam had advanced.

Everyone except me, Bessia thought bitterly. Everyone else found opportunities, and managed their progression—while I stayed a Fledgling.

It wasn’t that she was weaker—or less capable. But as a healer, she rarely got the chance to fight on the frontlines.

And this—this constant battle—worked in her favor.

Her Healing soul talent flared automatically as a Crawler breached the vine barrier, claws raking her shoulder before she could fully evade.

The wound sealed itself slowly—flesh knitting, pain ebbing. The injury was temporary, an inconvenience rather than accumulating damage.

Sustained combat is my specialty, she reminded herself. She couldn’t burst down opponents like Bright. Couldn’t crush them with raw power like Duncan. But she could endure. She could fight when others tired. The word attrition didn’t exist in her experience—only in her opponents’.

Another arrow. Another Crawler down. Her plant manipulation redirected the third attacker into a kill zone where prepared vine snares immobilized it, making elimination effortless.

This is my stand, Bessia thought, confidence building with each precise strike.

This is where I earn Initiate rank.

The waves kept coming. Crawlers surged forward, but Bessia managed them with a careful blend of plant control, archery, and self-sustaining healing.

Six hours, she calculated, eyes sweeping the plaza. Survive six hours. Prove myself.

That’s exactly what this deployment is for.

And I will earn it.

One arrow at a time.

One Crawler at a time.

The plaza became a killing ground, every strike, every arrow, every vine snare a testament to her skill.

In the same moment she felt a subtle tug in her chest which told her something profound: she was standing at the precipice of Initiate rank.

The battle raged around her.

And yet Bessia held her ground.

Survival—the most fundamental victory—was within reach, even against the overwhelming odds.