The Verdant Demon Forest had changed.
The once-playful chirping of birds vanished. Not even the rustling of leaves remained. Wind no longer danced between the trees. Sunlight, filtered through the canopy, turned a sickly green—an omen rather than a blessing. The trial had shifted into something far darker.
This was no longer a competition. It had become a hunt.
Rael stood still as a statue. His hand brushed against the forest floor—feeling it hum beneath his palm, not with life, but with something older. Something watching.
"The forest... it's reacting," he muttered. "It's alive."
He rose, eyes narrowing. Around him, the terrain had begun to twist. Roots curled unnaturally. Vines pulsed like veins. Traps emerged from the undergrowth, like mouths opening to feed.
His senses—honed by years of secret training and study—were sharp. He had practiced alone in the forest near Elowen Village, where his adoptive parents lived. This wasn't nature anymore—it was mana twisted by will. A test not just of strength, but of spirit
He closed his eyes. Let the noise die. Let memory surface.
The Sword Library. Thousands of books burned into his photographic memory. The time he'd forged those ancient secrets into a technique all his own—Echo of the Afterlife. A sword style born from a sea of forgotten legends.
But there had been one book he hadn't merged. One that defied categorization. A cursed volume—obsidian black, warm to the touch, its cover inscribed with crimson runes that shimmered like blood in moonlight.
"Bloodshade: The Final Dance."
He had feared it. Not because he couldn't understand it—but because he could.
Now, he no longer hesitated.
The time had come.
Mana surged through his veins. He reached within and let the forbidden knowledge join the others. The fourth form was born—Bloodshade. A sword form not meant to kill, but to end. It was art. It was sorrow. It was carnage woven with elegance.
---
The forest tore the remaining contestants apart, scattering them into nightmares shaped for each soul.
Eris stepped cautiously into a frozen ravine. The temperature plummeted instantly, biting through her robes. Ice spirits hovered silently in the mist, their forms flickering between beauty and malice. The trees here were crystalized—glowing faintly under an aurora of mana.
Her ice spell from earlier fizzled into steam. These spirits were immune to basic elements.
She drew in mana, her breath fogging the air.
Her magic surged—Ice against ice.
She didn't fight with brute power. She sang to the cold. Her fingers moved with fluid precision, glyphs blooming around her like snowflakes.
"Let the frost answer frost," she whispered, eyes glowing pale blue. "Fracture the balance—Glacial Bloom."
Shards of enchanted ice burst from the ground, piercing the nearest spirit. It let out a scream like shattering glass.
More surrounded her. Dozens.
Her body trembled—not from fear, but strain.
Her father's voice echoed in her mind:
> "Three–circle isn't just power. It's control. Clarity. Cold judgment."
She planted her feet.
"Adapt. Overwhelm. Survive."
The spirits rushed her. Her mana swelled. The entire ravine lit up as she unleashed a blizzard shaped by will, a dance of death cloaked in snow.
---
Elaria gritted his teeth as a roar thundered across the clearing. Before him stood a Flame-Drake—its molten scales pulsing with heat, wings wide, tail lashing with fury. But it wasn't just a beast.
It mimicked him.
Every swing of his flame-coated sword was mirrored with near-perfect precision.
"It's copying my technique…" he muttered, stepping back. "No—it's testing me. Mocking me."
He lunged forward, his blade igniting mid-air, cleaving a path of fire. The drake dodged, responding with the same arc, the same timing—only larger, hotter.
Elaria felt his pride burn.
"I'm not just a flame wielder… I'm not just a reflection!"
He switched stances—Infernal Fang, then into Blazing Lotus. The drake adjusted instantly. No hesitation.
Elaria closed his eyes for a heartbeat. Then... opened them with clarity.
"If it copies... then I'll give it something original."
He let his flames turn wild, breaking form. Reckless swings. Off-beat movements. Unpredictable footwork. His flame danced like chaos.
The drake hesitated.
That was his moment.
He roared, blade exploding into a geyser of fire—Sunfire Bloom, a move he had been developing in secret, unfinished until now.
The drake shrieked, engulfed. The heat warped the air. When the smoke cleared, only Elaria remained—panting, but victorious.
Rael exhaled slowly.
"Shadow priests use breath suppression…" he recalled. "I must become less than air."
He closed his eyes. Slowed his breath. Slowed his thoughts.
Then—he moved.
Not with speed, but with absence. No footsteps. No edge. Just motion.
The ogre swung blindly, sensing something, but too late.
The fourth form—Bloodshade—unfolded.
Rael danced. A spiral of crimson. A ghost cloaked in beauty and dread. Each cut bloomed like petals—fragile, fleeting, final.
The ogre shuddered. It didn't scream. It didn't fall. It simply… ceased.
And the forest, for a moment, seemed to bow.
From a distant cliff, Eris stood still—her breath caught in her throat.
She'd sensed the mana shift. Felt it in her bones. When she saw Rael move—no, disappear—her grip on her sword tightened.
"That... wasn't just swordsmanship."
He moved like no one she'd ever seen. Not a noble. Not even a trained assassin. And his mana—it vanished when he fought, like mist in dawn.
She remembered her father's warning:
> "If you meet someone you cannot understand—don't dismiss them. Watch. Learn. They are the ones who change the world."
So she did.
For the first time, she didn't look at Rael as a commoner.
She looked at him as a threat.
And... something else.
---
Nightfall Duel
The moon hung high—silver and indifferent.
Rael stumbled across a small grove, drawn by the faint sound of crying.
Liana lay near a tree, her leg twisted unnaturally. Her face pale, her voice weak.
"Rael... please... I can't move…"
He rushed over, kneeling beside her. "You're hurt?"
She nodded, tearful. "Help me… I don't want to die here…"
Her hand trembled. He reached out—then stopped.
A flicker of movement. Her smile—too sharp.
A dagger gleamed in her sleeve.
She lunged.
Fast. Precise. Venom in her eyes.
But Rael was already behind her.
She froze.
"No one's watching anymore, are they?" he asked, voice empty.
She turned, blood running down her chin. "You… you're not a good person…"
"No," he said softly. "I never claimed to be."
He drove his blade forward.
Liana gasped. Her final breath was not a curse—but a question.
Rael said nothing.
He took her points.
And left her beneath the cold moon.
That night, under the starless sky, Rael slept.
In his dreams, the forest melted away, revealing a cliff above a sea of stars.
A woman stood there.
Barefoot. Hair like night. Eyes like distant suns.
She smiled—not with pity, but with love deeper than any memory.
She whispered, voice echoing with ancient sorrow:
> "You are loved. More than the stars. Live… even if I can't."
Rael awoke—breathless. Eyes wide.
His hand clutched the hilt of his sword like a lifeline.
He looked toward the forest beyond the firelight.
And for the third time…
He felt truly love.