Shadow Slave

Sunny stared at the wooden knife, suffocating pain still radiating from the spot where Solvane had hit him. The Transcendent was so fast that he had not even seen or sensed her strike… not that it mattered anymore.

As he studied the familiar blade, different pieces of knowledge suddenly clicked together, revealing a chilling truth. Stunned by the grim revelation, Sunny shuddered.

‘Of course…’

Finally, the purpose of the Red Colosseum made sense to him. The cruelty of the Trials, the perverse faith of the zealous warriors, their worship of struggle, battle, and death… the tale of a wooden blade that granted the champion a chance to win their freedom.

When he looked back, it all seemed so obvious.

The strange cult of War that had blossomed on the ruins of the Kingdom of Hope was built around the tenet of glory. Glory was both the highest virtue and the highest of honors, and it could only be won by prevailing against overwhelming odds, through mortal struggle — which was the essence of life, and war, as far as these zealots were concerned.

So, they enslaved a horde of abominations and threw themselves against it, fighting to the death against their slaves in the arena. With each battle, the weak were slaughtered, and the strong got to live and fight against more powerful enemies the next day. All under the beaming gazes of the jubilant crowd.

Those who died perished in the pursuit of glory, and those who lived came closer and closer to earning it… that was the sacrificial ritual the followers of War performed every decade or so, spilling blood in the name of their glorious dream.

…However, there was one problem with this demented arrangement. A glaring flaw that made the Trials of the Red Colosseum seem futile, hollow, and senseless.

What was the end of all this?

Was everyone participating in the battle destined to die? Would there be no victor? What happened to the person, or creature, left standing at the very end, devoid of enemies to struggle against? Where was their glory?

Now, looking at the wooden knife that contained Solvane’s death, freely offered to them by the immortal Transcendent herself, Sunny finally understood everything.

That last champion would indeed be gifted a wooden blade, and a chance to fight for their freedom — just like Elyas had learned from the fairy tales in the Ivory City. They just had to overcome one last enemy…

To fight against Solvane herself.

This whole feverish hell — the Red Colosseum, the bloodsoaked arena, the cult of murderous glory she had built — existed for one single purpose. To find, or rather create, a warrior capable of killing their Saint.

Eternal Solvane… undefeated Solvane… wanted to die. The madness of this nightmare was born out of the thousand years of immortality the beautiful priestess had endured, out of the desire to be free of her eternal duty as Hope’s warden.

…However, Solvane didn’t just want to die. She wanted to die a glorious death, one worthy of a true servant of War. Or rather, she simply could not allow herself to give up. Giving up without struggle was a sin against her faith, her god, and her conviction.

So the beautiful Transcendent could only allow herself to die if she was defeated. That was her goal…

Finding someone valiant enough to kill her was Solvane’s most ardent hope. Her deepest desire.

Feeling a hint of vague suspicion, Sunny frowned. He was certain that he was right, that his reasoning and insight were correct… but at the same time, there was still something out of place. Something still didn’t make sense… he just couldn’t say what.

And there was no time to think.

Solvane was still offering them the wooden knife and a chance to save their lives. All they had to do was to take it… and win.

But he wasn’t fooled.

Her offer might have seemed like a gift, but it was just a death sentence. Sure, the knife contained a death… Solvane’s death… and would be able to slay her with one strike. At this point, Sunny was certain that there had been seven knives once, each meant to kill one of the seven immortals created by the Lord of Light. And this one, the wooden knife, was meant to kill Solvane.

However, taking it was only going to spell their doom.

Wooden blade or not, the beautiful priestess was still a Transcendent. A servant of War with a thousand years of battle experience, an ancient warrior who had fought and triumphed in battles too many to count. And despite her desire to be defeated, she would not throw this fight. Giving in without struggling with all her might was against Solvane’s conviction.

Fighting against her was suicide.

By his side, Elyas pupils widened dangerously.

Feeling a small change in his partner’s posture, Sunny shifted and glanced at him.

‘What… what is this fool trying to do?’

The youth gritted his teeth, and then slowly rose to his feet. His tattered tunic had long ago lost any remnant of its once pure white color, and was now hanging like rags on his gaunt, emaciated body. Despite that, the young Awakened looked full of resolve and determination, his eyes glinting with grim purpose.

‘What are you doing? No! You fool!’

Despite the pain in his throat, Sunny growled loudly, trying to warn Elyas of how fatal his actions were. But his call fell on deaf ears.

‘Damn! Damn it! Why, why can’t I talk?!’

For the first time since he had entered the Nightmare, Sunny felt really desperate to speak. But he couldn’t… the demon’s body robbed him of the ability to converse with humans in any meaningful way.

Panicking, he made a motion to stand up, hoping to grab the youth before the fool made a lethal mistake. But the pressure Solvane had exerted on him was back, paralyzing the body of the four-armed shadow creature. He groaned, suddenly unable to move, and struggled to even keep his head up.

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