The Oracle Paths

After his no-nonsense speech, the Soulmancer resumed his aloof stance, and the officer leading the procession commanded the regiment to resume the march toward Grimstone Keep. They covered the final kilometers without incident, soon approaching an archaic-looking medieval fortress that loomed about a hundred meters high.

"Halt!"

A mere half-kilometer from the gates, a guard in plate armor, stationed on the battlements above, bellowed at them with a thunderous voice, compelling them to slow their pace. The guard's voice was imbued with a palpable killing intent, making the knees of the fresh recruits buckle.

Jake also arched a surprised brow. His cosmic vision allowed him to clearly see the thick murderous aura shrouding the guard's burly, menacing figure.

If the guard had intentionally filled his voice with this aura, all the newcomers would have dropped dead right there. The lucky ones who could withstand it would have inevitably fainted or been paralyzed with fear, which on a battlefield was a death sentence.

'Even a mere sentry here is stronger than 90% of the Players participating in this Ordeal,' he mused with a deep frown.

For Jake, it was inconsequential; that level of killing intent had no more impact on him than a gentle spring breeze. But for the majority of other Myrtharian Nerds, this was undoubtedly a serious issue.

[The setting of the Ordeal is fair,] Xi, quickly noted, trying to boost his spirits. [If they don't do anything stupid, the odds of encountering such trained warriors on the battlefield are low in the early stages of the war. However, those who merely survive without scoring any kills won't be able to cultivate that elusive killing intent, or whatever they call it. And that, when the real battles begin, will make them as vulnerable as helpless lambs.]

Jake inwardly nodded at Xi's final words. 'That's exactly what bothers me.'

Not all Myrtharian Nerds were bloodthirsty killers at heart. Given a choice, many would opt to contribute to the war effort in ways other than on the battlefield. But this would mean forgoing the cultivation of that unfathomable intent and, consequently, the only means to lift the restriction imposed by Twyluxia.

On the one hand, he didn't want to see them risk their lives needlessly—the mortality rate in such a war was horrifyingly high. On the other, he hoped that these four years of adversity without him would have purged them of that limiting mindset.

Naturally, Jake's worry was for Lily, Tim, Khal, and all the other less-seasoned members of the group. What he didn't realize was that his view of them was outdated. Ever since the collapse of the Aether Network and the ensuing Digestor counteroffensive, they had been forced into a crucible of rapid maturation.

After the guard's booming order to halt, the Soulmancer—hovering high in the clouds—remained silent. In stark contrast, the armor-clad officer spearheading their procession roared back, his voice equally thunderous and laced with untamed spiritual power.

"3000-Man Commander, Sank-uk," the barbarian bellowed, clasping his hands in respect but not bowing. "I bring with me the last recruits drafted under the orders of His Majesty, the Soulmancer King."

'So he's 3000-man General' Jake noted, listening to the audacious proclamation. 'Not too shabby.'

From reading the brains of the newcomers in his regiment, he'd gleaned everything he needed to know about Twyluxia's military hierarchy. Mirroring ancient China's setup during the period of conflict era, soldiers in the Dusken Realm started in squads of 5 to 10 men. They'd climb the ranks—squad leader, section chief of a hundred men, company commander of a thousand, and so on—each level comprising multiple lower-level units, up to a corps commander or Great commander who oversaw multiple divisions.

In practice, squad leaders were often called lieutenants, section chiefs captains, company commanders colonels, and those commanding a regiment went by the title of commander. Only officers overseeing a division or more were legitimately eligible for the title of 'general' in the formal sense.

Rather than complicating things with intermediate ranks like corporal, sergeant, or lieutenant colonel, this simplified nomenclature was commonly used. An officer leading two squads would simply be referred to as a 'twenty-man commander.'

Jake's own regiment numbered just over two and a half thousand, so it was evident that the guiding officer wasn't yet fully qualified for the next rank up.

This structured system seemed oddly disciplined for the Duskwight Lands, which just a few years earlier had been a chaotic patchwork of warring, primitive barbarian tribes vying for scant resources.

Comparatively, the more civilized Radiant Conclave had long adopted this system, leading many to suspect that the enigmatic and charismatic Soulmancer King behind the Dusken Throne hailed from the Lustra Plains—or at least had spent considerable time among them. After all, no one had ever heard of him until he ascended to power, virtually overnight, by unifying the fractured Duskwight Lands.

Soon enough, the officer finished his identification. The intimidating, scarred guard towering from the ramparts gave the signal to lift the gate and lower the drawbridge, which, honestly, was more symbolic than functional. Moats were dug around the walls, but the water meant to fill them was conspicuously absent.

As for the ramparts, they might impress humans, but fifteen meters was just a flight of stairs for the elite warriors of this world.

Moments later, Jake and his regiment marched through the weathered gates of Grimstone Keep, their boots sinking into the mud that formed the fortress's courtyard.

Compared to the other recruits, Jake couldn't summon the awe to marvel at the historic masonry or the tattered banners limply hanging from the battlements. Like his own jaded perspective, they bore the grime and soot of endless battles and worn-out soldiers.

The dried blood on its ramparts here and there indicated that the place wasn't as safe as one might assume.

His fresh-faced regiment swarmed around him, a vibrating hive of naivety and nerves. Their eyes, wide with awe and trepidation, gawked all along at the towering walls of Grimstone Keep—a monolithic structure that once stood as a vigilant sentinel, now a crowded hive groaning under the weight of the sprawling war at its gates.

As they shuffled through the maze of muddy streets, rows of tents, and various makeshift establishments, Jake caught snippets of frenzied conversations—a cacophony mingled with the clashing of swords and drill officers' shouts.

The air was heavy, laden not just with the stench of sweat and stale ale, but also with a palpable sense of desperation. Vendors barked their wares, vying for attention against the din of soldiers haggling for supplies and prostitutes offering brief escapes into oblivion.

For these young men, most of whom had never ventured beyond their tribal lands, the experience was nothing short of eye-opening. Grimstone Keep stood as a relic of ancient splendor, something their native tribes could never hope to replicate. Yet for all its past grandeur, the fortress was now a crumbling echo of a world long upended.

"I can't believe our ancestors built a fortress like this," a recruit muttered, his voice tinged with shame as he thought about his own rickety village and the hut he used to take pride in.

Jake glanced at him but stayed silent. What could he say? To him, this place was just a hellhole.

Keeping his snide remarks to himself, he continued to follow the officer alongside the other draftees. As they trekked on, his opinion of the city shifted. After walking for miles, they still hadn't reached the heart of Grimstone Keep. For all its faults, he had to admit: it was colossal.

The fortress itself wasn't awe-inspiring by Jake's standards; any Earth skyscraper would dwarf it. But the surrounding city, teeming with hundreds of millions of tribespeople and opportunistic merchants, was truly commendable.

As they marched through the labyrinthine streets, maintaining a loose formation, they crossed paths with many soldiers on leave as well as on-duty patrols.

These guards donned daunting black armors, and their scarred faces wore expressions of stern vigilance—clear indicators that they were not here for leisure. If any recruit thought landing a guard gig was a golden ticket, they were in for a rude awakening.

Jake initially thought the officer was leading them to their encampment or perhaps through Grimstone Keep en route to the frontline Havocspire Citadel. However, his expression soon changed when a looming, dark edifice adorned with bones emerged after the final turn. Meanwhile, the eyes of other newcomers widened in excitement.

"A Netherwell Chapel!" a barbarian shouted first, quickly followed by other ecstatic exclamations.