As Jacob stepped out of the chamber, he gave no thought to his surroundings. His eyes moved, but they saw nothing. His feet carried him forward, but his mind remained behind, still entangled in the strange and weighty conversation he had just had.

There was something undeniably odd about Yggdrasil. Jacob could not, even for a moment, believe that the figure he had spoken to was the World Tree itself. The reasoning was simple, almost disappointingly so.

There were records, sparse but consistent, of interactions with the World Tree, and none of them had ever described it possessing a distinct personality. Yes, it was powerful, so powerful that even the strongest mages approached it with reverence, but it was power without agency, a deep reservoir that could not act of its own will. A tree, after all, was still a tree, no matter how ancient or infused with mana. It could not think, could not speak, could not choose.

But Yggdrasil had chosen to speak. Had reasoned, argued, bargained, and even teased.

And then there was the mention of an old friendship with Jacob's ancestor. That had confirmed his suspicions. No, the being he had met wasn't the World Tree, it was something else entirely.

If Jacob had to guess, he would say it was likely an elf. A very old elf, perhaps one of the first. A being that had lived for so long that it had become something more than what it once was, something that could dwell within and perhaps even manipulate the will of the World Tree.

As these thoughts turned lazily in his mind, Jacob lifted his right hand and stared at it. There was no visible change, no scar or mark, no blemish to suggest that anything had occurred. He couldn't feel anything either, no pain, no weight, not even a tingling sensation. Yet he knew, with absolute certainty, that something had taken root within him, something subtle and buried, something he would not be able to touch or remove.

And if Yggdrasil had indeed reached the divine rank, as he so casually claimed, then it stood to reason that no one in the kingdom would be able to detect it, let alone extract it.

"It's probably nothing bad, right?" Jacob muttered aloud, voice low and dry. Then, after a pause, he sighed. "I hope it's nothing bad."

He let his hand fall and forced himself to lift his eyes, to look beyond himself for the first time since leaving the chamber. As for the things Yggdrasil had told him, the secrets of the great houses, the question of his own ancestry, he chose to shelve those for now.

Thinking about them would not bring answers. He would wait. Either Yggdrasil would explain more in time, or Jacob would seek out the answers himself, in libraries and archives, among the forgotten scrolls that even the kingdom's scholars had long overlooked.

But for now, there was something more immediate to consider.

The hallway was empty.

Not quiet, empty. There was no Henry pacing nervously nearby, no attendants waiting to usher him along, no guards, no priests, no one. Just silence and the long corridor ahead of him, lit faintly by the moss-glow embedded in the wood-panelled walls. He had expected someone, anyone, to be waiting for him. Especially Henry, who should have been worried that he might not return alive.

"Where am I even supposed to go?" he asked aloud, frowning as he slowly turned in place. The World Tree of Elvheim was no ordinary structure. It was alive, vast, labyrinthine. How was he meant to navigate such a place without guidance?

Instead of wandering aimlessly through a place he couldn't hope to navigate, Jacob lowered himself to the floor and sat with his back against the wall, legs stretched out, arms resting loosely by his sides. He didn't try to call for help or explore further. There was no rush. Not yet. If Yggdrasil truly intended for him to play some sort of game, then the rules of that game would unfold whether he sought them or not. For now, he had time, time to think, to reflect, and to plan.

His thoughts drifted, as they inevitably would, to the so-called quest Yggdrasil had given him: defeat Arthur in a sparring match.

At first glance, the task seemed laughable, not in its absurdity, but in its impossibility. He didn't need to dwell on how Yggdrasil knew of Arthur's existence or his role in Jacob's life; it was already clear that the being could dig through his thoughts and memories as easily as one might leaf through a book. There were no secrets where Yggdrasil was concerned.

But the real question wasn't why the quest had been given. It was how he was supposed to accomplish it.

Because beating Arthur, at least as he was now, felt impossible.

Arthur was faster. Stronger. Sharper. His movements were efficient in a way that only came from hundreds, maybe thousands of hours spent training with blade in hand, and beyond raw physicality, there was a kind of mental calmness to Arthur's style, a quiet confidence that made every one of Jacob's desperate parries feel childish. There was no part of him, as he was now, that could pose a threat to Arthur in a proper duel.

And yet he had to do it.

Not because Yggdrasil had asked. Not even because the reward might be useful. No, Jacob wanted, needed, to succeed for his own sake.

The eight pillars were still meeting, but eventually they would return. Lazarus would return. And when he did Jacob could not be the only student to have learnt nothing.

It would be shameful.

From what he'd heard, their meeting would last at least two more months, maybe three. That gave him a deadline, vague, but fixed enough to pressure him. Three months, at most. That was all the time he had to turn the impossible into the merely unlikely. To make the gap between him and Arthur, if not disappear, then narrow enough that he could at least land a decisive blow.

Because if he couldn't...

If he failed...

Then he would have to go to Samuel. He would have to ask for help, not the kind of help that built you up, but the kind that tore something essential down so that what remained could move more cleanly.

He would have to use the rune. The one that erased emotion.

He had always kept that as a last resort, and not only because he hated the idea of depending on Samuel, although that in itself was reason enough. But even more than that, Jacob hated what the rune did to him. What it revealed about him.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Yes, in that state, he was better.

He thought more clearly. He fought more efficiently. He acted without hesitation or doubt. There were no distractions. No guilt. No fear.

But that same clarity came with something else, something cold and terrible.

He remembered, all too well, how it felt to see his sibling injured, to see her scream or bleed, and feel nothing. No panic, no concern, just calculations. He had watched, and his mind had simply moved on. Not because he was heartless, but because the rune had hollowed out the space where that instinct lived.

He had saved Jessica not because he loved her, or even liked her, but because letting her die would have pushed him over a line he could not afford to cross. It had been a self-preservation decision, not a moral one. There had been no image of Jessica in his head during that fight, no memory of her laugh or her voice. Just strategy. Just damage control.

And that terrified him.

Because it meant that in the moments that truly mattered, when those he cared about were in danger, he might not care at all. He might let them fall because it made sense.

And he wasn't that kind of person.

He didn't want to be.

It was only when a pair of polished black shoes entered the edge of his vision that Jacob realized someone had approached, and when he tilted his head upward, he was met with Henry's familiar face, grinning down at him with the kind of casual confidence that always seemed effortless.

"Told you you wouldn't die," Henry said, as though this were the most natural reunion in the world. "You really ought to start trusting your older brother more."

Jacob sat up slightly, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers as he asked, "Where were you?"

Henry scratched the back of his neck, his grin faltering just enough to reveal the edge of exhaustion behind it. "Well, you took longer than expected, and Evendor asked for a spar to pass the time. I figured it'd be rude to say no."

There was a strained laugh, followed by a shake of his head and a sigh that barely masked the weight behind it. "Those bastards who've mastered both aura and mana… they're something else entirely. Terrifying doesn't even begin to cover it."

Jacob's silence prompted more explanation, and Henry, never one to miss a chance to narrate his own suffering obliged. "He's a nightmare in close range. His body's enhanced by aura to the point that his reflexes barely register as human, and his mind's boosted by mana in ways I don't even want to think about. When you close the distance, he becomes this relentless machine, every swing of his blade is chained with spells, like the physical strike is just the beginning of the attack. If you block the sword, you get hit by the magic. If you counter the magic, the blade's already moved on to the next target. It's a constant choice between two equally lethal options."

Henry paused, rubbing his arm absentmindedly, a small shiver running through him. "There's never a right answer. Just different kinds of wrong."

Then, as if suddenly deciding he'd had enough of revisiting the experience, Henry clapped his hands together and stood straight. "Anyway. Let's get out of here. I've had more than enough of elves for the next hundred years."

Before Jacob could so much as voice agreement or protest, Henry placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and the world lurched into motion.

Just as before, the sensation was wholly unpleasant, an overwhelming rush of movement without direction, as if the very laws of distance and inertia had been temporarily suspended. Winds tore past him in deafening gusts, the surroundings stretched and twisted into streaks of colour, and Jacob, despite having experienced this before, still felt his stomach rebel as the teleportation concluded.

Within moments that somehow felt both eternal and brief, the motion ceased, and Jacob found himself crumpled on the familiar wooden floor of his room. The slightly warped ceiling above him, the narrow bed to one side, the sturdy desk covered with half-sorted parchments, it was all there. Ordinary. Reassuring. His space.

Henry didn't linger. He gave a short wave, voice already halfway gone as he stepped into a fading shimmer. "I expect payment for my heroic service soon. Don't keep me waiting."

And then he vanished.

Jacob remained on the floor for a moment longer, allowing the nausea to pass. "Belemir," he called out, his voice rough.

In the space of a heartbeat, a soft ripple in the air beside him coalesced into the figure of his attendant.

"You called, young master?" Belemir said, materializing with the ease of someone deeply familiar with existing unseen.

Jacob sat up with a sigh. "Did you follow me into the World Tree?"

Belemir tilted his head slightly, his expression calm and vaguely amused. He was a mage, one whose mastery over shadow runes gave him an uncanny talent for appearing exactly where and when he was needed.

He normally resided within Jacob's shadow, a place which, according to his own occasional grumblings, was surprisingly comfortable, even preferable to most physical accommodations. Something about 'ambient darkness' and 'dimensional space' that Jacob had stopped questioning a long time ago.

Naturally, Jacob found himself wondering whether Belemir had followed him all the way to the roots of the World Tree, whether the mage, ever watchful and resourceful, had managed to eavesdrop on his conversation with Yggdrasil from the veil of shadow he so comfortably inhabited. But it was a fleeting suspicion, one Jacob did not put much weight in, and Belemir's next words confirmed his doubts.

"In the presence of something as ancient and revered as the World Tree," Belemir said, folding his hands neatly behind his back, "I would not dare to intrude without explicit permission. The moment you crossed into its domain, I remained outside, in the outer shadows, where I belonged."

Jacob nodded slowly, the answer expected yet still oddly reassuring. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Alright… please gather as many pain-suppressing potions as you can, strong ones, as much as my body can reasonably handle. I don't care what they cost, even if it puts me in debt."

The words left his mouth without ceremony or dramatics, just the quiet resolution of someone who had already made the decision long before he voiced it. He needed to become stronger than Arthur, there was no avoiding that, no shortcut that bypassed that single, immovable fact.

Training was the traditional path, of course, but training required time, and time was in short supply. The meeting of the Eight Pillars would not last forever. If he wanted to stand on equal ground with the others, if he wanted to stand at all he needed results, not promises.

There was a method, of course. A shortcut, though one not taken lightly.

Knight's Glory.

He had always applied it in a diluted bath, absorbed through the skin to gradually toughen the body and strengthen the spirit. But that was too slow. Too measured. If he consumed it directly, drank it, it would work far more quickly, and with far greater effect.

But it would also bring pain. Pain beyond the ordinary threshold. It was said that such a method tore the body apart before rebuilding it again, and though the reward was real, the cost was always personal.

That was why he needed the potions.

Not to cheat the process, not entirely, but to dull the worst of it, to make it bearable enough to survive. It would slightly lessen the efficacy of the Knight's Glory, yes, and in that sense, it was a coward's move. But Jacob didn't care. He had no pride in pain. He did not believe there was virtue in suffering for its own sake.

What was the point of chasing power to avoid pain, if pain became the very currency you paid to acquire it? At some point, the dream would lose its meaning, swallowed in agony. That, to him, would be failure not strength.

With a sigh, Jacob rose to his feet, brushing dust from his trousers as Belemir glanced at him with what could only be described as quiet concern.

"Young master," the mage said carefully, "there's no need to go into debt. Your father would gladly fund any resource you require, especially for something like this."

Jacob's expression did not change, but his voice softened as he replied. "Belemir… after indirectly causing the death of his son… after wasting two years wallowing in failure… after disappointing him by abandoning the sword he once believed I could master… do you still think I don't owe him enough already?"

He wasn't angry. He wasn't bitter. It wasn't that kind of response. It was simply an acknowledgment, a quiet reckoning with debts that couldn't be measured in coin or favours. He didn't like his father; he feared him. He feared the man's scorn, his rage, the impossible weight of his expectations. But he also respected him, in a distant, difficult way. He accepted his father's disappointment, just as he accepted his own failures. And because of that, he could not allow himself to owe anything more.

He had taken enough.

And perhaps, in some small way, that refusal, this single boundary drawn in a life where so many lines had already been crossed was the only real pride Jacob still allowed himself.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.