"Do you wish to know their names, boy?" Azhar's voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"Yes," Leon replied, his chest tight, his voice firm.
A low hum vibrated through his soul.
"Very well. The Path of Transcendence stretches farther than mortals can dream, but we will speak only of the first five realms—the foundation. Each realm is divided into ten smaller stages, the mini-realms. Crossing even one is like climbing a mountain; crossing ten is like walking across an abyss. Few ever touch the peak of even a single realm."
Leon's palms grew damp. His heart beat faster.
"The first five realms are these—" Azhar's tone dropped lower, each word striking like a hammer blow.
Spirit Warrior
Spirit General
Spirit Grandmaster
Spirit King
Spirit Emperor
The names reverberated through Leon's mind, searing themselves into his soul.
"If the Spirit Warrior is a mortal," Azhar declared coldly, "then the Spirit Emperor is a god. That is the gulf between the first and the last. To rise from one to the other is to crawl across eternity itself."
Leon's breath quickened. A god…
Azhar's laughter followed, dark and merciless.
"Do not think the climb will bring peace. Each step will draw blood. The higher you rise, the more blades will be aimed at your throat. This path is not one of comfort—it is war unending. Do you still dare to walk it?"
Leon's fists trembled on his knees. Images of his father's lifeless body and his mother's severed head flashed before his eyes. His chest burned, his vision blurred, but his voice did not falter.
"Yes," he said, his tone sharp as steel. "Even if it breaks me, I'll walk it."
Azhar's presence pressed heavier, as if daring him to crumble.
Leon gritted his teeth, lifting his head.
"I was weak before. I wasted everything—my life, my parents' love, their sacrifices. But this time, I will not waste a single breath. I'll carve a new path, one that no blade, no man, no god can shatter."
His obsidian eyes glimmered with fierce resolve.
"I swear—I'll rise to the peak of the Path of Transcendence, no matter how much blood it takes."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Azhar chuckled, dark and cold.
"Good. At least your tongue can roar. Now… let us see if your body and soul can endure the weight of your words."
As Azhar's words faded, the world around Leon shattered. His room dissolved like smoke, and in its place stretched an endless wasteland.
....
The ground was littered with the husks of broken buildings. Roofs caved in, walls cracked and scorched. Streets that once carried life now lay torn and blackened, as though a war of gods had ripped the town apart.
Leon stood on the roof of a crumbling structure, the wind cold against his skin. His breath caught as he gazed out.
From every corner of the ruins, monsters swarmed.
Thousands of them.
Some crawled on all fours, their jagged limbs scraping against stone. Others towered over shattered houses, hulking beasts with maws that dripped with hunger. Their roars shook the ruins, their eyes gleamed with bloodlust, and every one of them looked as if it would rip him apart in a heartbeat.
Leon's throat went dry. He swallowed hard, his body trembling uncontrollably.
Then the world itself trembled. The skies split with thunder, and a voice poured down from the heavens—not inside his mind this time, but shaking the air, the ground, his very bones.
Azhar.
"Listen carefully, little one," the dark god's voice boomed, vast and merciless. "This is the trial ground I have forged for you. It will measure your determination, and in the process, temper your flesh and soul. If you fail… you will die. If you endure… you will be reborn stronger."
Leon's knees weakened, but he forced himself to stand, eyes darting back to the swarming tide of monsters.
"You will face three trials."
Azhar's voice rolled across the ruins like thunder.
"The first is endurance. These creatures—every single one of them—is stronger than you. Even the smallest will crush you if you falter. But do not despair. With each kill, your body will grow tougher, your strength sharper. This is the forge that will begin shaping you."
Leon's eyes widened. Stronger than me… even the weakest?
His heart pounded in his ears.
"The second trial…" Azhar's voice deepened, echoing with something colder, crueler. "…is of the mind. Psychological. I will not tell you more. You will learn when you arrive at its gates."
Leon's stomach twisted.
"And the third," Azhar thundered, his words shaking the skies, "will be a trial of the spirit. A test that breaks most before they ever glimpse true power. Survive the first, and you may face the rest."
Leon's breath quickened. His entire body trembled with both terror and anticipation.
"You have one year to endure this trial," Azhar declared.
Leon gasped. "One… year?"
Before panic could consume him, Azhar's voice rumbled again, sharp and final:
"Do not fear. One year here is but one hour in your world. Time flows differently in my domain. To you, it will be agony eternal. To others… you will be gone for no more than a breath."
Leon's lips trembled. "B-but—"
"Enough." Azhar's voice cut him down like a blade. "Do not waste breath on fear. Waste it on survival. Now go—show me if your vow was worth uttering."
The ruins shook beneath his feet as the first wave of monsters turned toward him. Their eyes burned crimson, their snarls echoing like the cries of demons.
Leon's breath caught in his throat. His entire body trembled, every instinct screaming at him to run. But where could he go? The swarm filled every street, every alley, every shadow.
"Do not freeze, boy," Azhar's voice thundered from the heavens. "The trial has begun."
Then silence.
Leon stood alone.
A shadow leapt from the swarm. With a sickening THUD, a hulking hound landed on the rooftop, stone cracking beneath its weight. Its flesh was mangled, bone spikes jutting from its back, and its six glowing eyes fixed on him with murderous hunger.
"GRRRRRRRRRR…" the beast growled, low and guttural, saliva dripping from its fangs.
Leon stumbled back, heart hammering. Even the smallest one is stronger than me…
The hound's growl rose into a shriek.
"RRAAAAUUUUGHHHHHH!"
It lunged.
Leon dove to the side on instinct. Claws slashed through the stone where he'd stood, tearing chunks from the rooftop. Dust exploded into the air.
Coughing, scrambling, Leon's hands clawed through rubble until his fingers closed around a jagged shard of broken iron. It cut his palm as he gripped it, but he didn't let go.
The beast's six eyes flared. It crouched, muscles bulging, before springing again.
Leon's throat ripped with a scream as he thrust the shard forward.
The metal sank into its shoulder—not the heart.
"RRRRAAAAUUUUGHHHHH!" The hound shrieked in fury, slamming into him with bone-crushing weight. Pain exploded through Leon's ribs as he was driven into the stone. His vision blurred. Blood sprayed from his lips.
The beast's rancid breath washed over him. Jaws opened, fangs inches from his throat.
Leon roared back, a broken, desperate sound. "AAAHHHHHHHH!"
He twisted the shard, ripping it deeper. Again. Again. Over and over, until blood gushed hot over his arms, his face.
The monster thrashed violently. "GUHHHHRRHHHHH!" Its shriek warped into a gurgle. Finally, its massive body convulsed, then collapsed beside him with a THUD.
Leon lay beneath its weight, gasping, trembling, drenched in blood—his own and the beast's.
And then… something strange.
A faint warmth coursed through him, seeping into his veins. His muscles twitched. His chest eased just slightly. The pain dulled, if only a fraction. His ragged breathing grew steadier, as though the beast's death had fed him some tiny fragment of its strength.
Leon shoved the carcass aside, panting hard. His arms shook, but his gaze sharpened.
The swarm had noticed him.
Leon stood on the rooftop, chest heaving, blood soaking his hands. The corpse of the monstrous hound lay still beside him, its six eyes dulled at last.
He did not notice it at first—the faint warmth trickling into his body. His wounds did not close, yet the burning in his ribs dulled slightly. His trembling hands steadied. His breath grew less ragged.
But the trial itself noticed.
This was no ordinary battlefield. It was Azhar's forge, crafted from will and law. Every kill fed the challenger—not out of kindness, but to keep them fighting, to ensure they could not escape by death's mercy alone.
Each beast held fragments of spirit energy within its body, crude and wild. When they fell, that energy did not fade into the void. It surged into the slayer, knitting flesh, tempering bone, sharpening the edges of a fragile soul.
The effect was subtle now, almost imperceptible. The hound had been among the weakest in the swarm; thus, the gift it left behind was meager. A spark, nothing more.
But sparks could build into flame.
Leon staggered to his feet, still drenched in blood, still trembling. He did not yet understand what had happened. To him, it felt like madness—that by killing, he could move again when moments ago he could not.
Yet this was the very design of the trial.
Azhar's silence was no accident. No instructions would be given, no mercy shown. The trial was made to force instinct, to strip away hesitation. Only by killing would Leon learn, and only by surviving would he understand.
Already the next monsters were climbing the broken walls below him. Some were small, their twisted limbs dragging across the stone with screeches like nails on iron. Others loomed larger, shadows blotting out the ruined streets as they pulled themselves upward with grotesque strength.
Every one of them carried a different weight of spirit energy within their bodies. The stronger the beast, the greater the energy it left behind. And so, the cruel paradox of the trial revealed itself: the enemies most likely to kill Leon were also the ones that could make him strongest.
But he did not know this.
All Leon knew was fear—the swarm closing in, the tremor in his arms, the blood stinging his eyes.
And yet, somewhere beneath the terror, a thought pulsed in his chest.
'One down… thousands to go.'
The ruins groaned as the next beasts reached the rooftop, jaws snapping, claws slashing. The trial of endurance had only just begun, and Leon stood at the first step of a path carved in blood.