Chapter 402: The Second Trial begins
When Elion’s consciousness finally began trickling back to him, he had no idea what the fuck was going on.
First of all, he could not see anything.
Despite knowing that he was awake, or at least conscious enough to think, his vision remained completely dark. He could not feel anything either. Not his body. Not the cold. Not the warmth of the air against his skin. Not even the faint discomfort one might normally feel simply from existing.
He did not feel awake, but he did not feel asleep either.
’How odd.’
Elion frowned inwardly, or at least imagined himself doing so. He had no way of knowing whether he still possessed a face to frown with.
There was nothing around him but darkness, assuming he could still see at all.
[Welcome to the Second Trial, Aspirant.]
The familiar chorus of layered female voices echoed through the darkness.
That confirmed one thing, at least.
He had successfully entered the second trial. Nothing strange had happened to him after his consciousness faded.
A brilliant light suddenly engulfed his vision.
Elion instinctively narrowed his eyes.
Then, before he could understand what was happening, he found himself standing atop a grassy hill overlooking a wide, beautiful landscape.
His eyes trembled.
Not because the scenery was overwhelmingly beautiful.
Because he recognised it.
"How did I get here?"
He stepped forward, only to stop in his tracks when the sound of laughter reached his ears.
Elion slowly turned toward the large oak tree standing a short distance to his left.
Two figures rested beneath its shade.
One was a young boy, perhaps seven years old, with a cheerful expression and grass stains covering his simple clothes.
The other was a decent-looking middle-aged man with a rough beard, broad shoulders, and a thin scar running across one cheek.
Elion’s eyes narrowed.
It was him and his father.
The younger version of himself laughed loudly as his father said something beneath his breath, earning an offended response from the boy. His father merely grinned and reached over to ruffle his hair, causing the child to complain even more loudly while trying unsuccessfully to push his hand away.
Elion remained where he stood. He watched the pair laugh and bicker for a long while without saying anything.
He released a quiet sigh, "What is this trial playing at?"
This was Resden, his home, and the village where he had grown up.
It was a small settlement built along the route connecting Westmere City and Silvergrove City, close enough to the fringes of the Great Forest that danger had always been an unavoidable part of daily life.
But that was not what occupied Elion’s thoughts. The trial was showing him memories from his childhood.
Why?
What was the purpose?
He looked down at himself.
His body was faint and incorporeal, little more than a translucent silhouette drifting above the grass. He looked almost like a ghost watching the past unfold before him.
Before he could dwell on that thought any further, his vision suddenly blurred.
An invisible force seized him.
Elion felt himself being pulled inward.
The world around him stretched into streaks of light, and when everything finally settled again, he found himself standing somewhere else.
A familiar scene played out before him.
His younger self stood near the small gates leading out of the village, laughing and bickering with his father once again. The older man reached down and ruffled his hair before finally turning away.
He wore a set of simple leather armour and carried a common-grade sword at his waist.
Nothing impressive or unusual. He looked like any other village adventurer heading out for an ordinary day of work.
The gates opened, and his father walked away while waving goodbye.
Time passed.
Elion watched his younger self spend the day running around the village with the other children, playing games, laughing loudly, and occasionally glancing toward the gates.
Eventually, his father returned.
The boy ran toward him as his father smiled, and then the scene changed again. The same thing happened the next day, and the day after that.
Time began moving faster.
The memories blurred together as the same routine repeated itself again and again. His father would leave through the gates in the morning, dressed in light armour with his sword at his side. The younger Elion would remain inside the village, playing with the other children or helping with small chores until the man returned in the evening.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Then months.
Elion watched himself grow older in small increments, barely noticeable at first. Until one day, something changed.
His father left the village as usual, but he never returned.
Elion’s expression soured.
He remembered that day as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Perhaps he had already moved past it. At least, that was what he told himself.
His father had ventured out almost every day, and there had always been a chance that he would not come back. Such was life in a small village built near the fringes of the Great Forest.
People died.
It happened often enough that no one could afford to pretend otherwise.
Every other week, some hunter, adventurer, or ordinary man trying to earn enough coin to feed his family failed to return from the forest.
Sometimes, there would be a body to bury, and sometimes, there would be nothing at all. That day, it had simply been his father’s turn.
A beast far stronger than usual had wandered beyond the forest’s boundaries, and several men died. His father was among them.
It was a common tragedy, nothing unusual. Nothing that had not happened to countless families before his own.
And yet, as Elion watched the younger version of himself sit quietly near the village gates long after the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, waiting for footsteps that would never come, he felt something tighten faintly inside his chest.
Elion could see the confusion in the little boy’s eyes when the others returned, but his father did not.
He watched the disbelief appear first, followed by horror. Then the despair that followed when someone finally knelt before him and broke the news.
The weeks that came afterwards were filled with tears, grief, and hunger. For a long time, the younger Elion refused to accept what had happened. Some small part of him remained convinced that his father would eventually walk through the village gates again with his battered sword at his waist, laughing as though nothing had changed.
But he never did. Eventually, the old man who usually maintained his father’s equipment took him in. Elion still remembered the slow, painful realisation that his father was truly gone.
