The Oracle Paths

The pagan temple loomed like a monolith of dark, weathered stone. Its sinister facade bore an unsettling mosaic of bones—arcane patterns formed by skulls of disparate creatures, while spines and ribcages twisted into macabre ornamentation. The walls themselves seemed to pulsate with a malevolent aura, as if steeped in the unholy essence of innumerable dark rituals.

Yet it was the temple's interior that set it apart from other nefarious sanctuaries. No sooner had they approached the looming edifice than their imposing officer wheeled around, shooting them a contemptuous glare before barking,

"All you worthless grunts, hustle! I want everyone inside in under thirty seconds. Latecomers get ten lashes and a front-row seat in tomorrow's battle. Make your choice!"

Their regiment numbered around 2,500 recruits, and the building's entrance wasn't exactly accommodating... The conscripts blinked in confusion for a split second before reality slammed home. Their eyes dilated in panic, pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

The next second, a frenzied mob of barbarians stampeded toward the narrow chapel entrance, jostling with sharp elbows and even more vicious low blows to muscle their way through.

Witnessing this textbook example of a devolution to primal instincts, Jake stood his ground like an unyielding boulder in a river's current, chuckling softly. In contrast to the frantic barbarians, he meandered toward the entrance long after the last recruit had made it inside.

The officer, who'd so effectively galvanized them with his grim threats, narrowed his eyes at Jake, his expression a stormy blend of irritation and curiosity. What the hell gave this pretty boy the audacity to saunter so casually? Was he deaf?

Now that he'd captured the veteran warrior's attention, the officer couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Jake's skin was unnaturally smooth and fair, almost glowing in the pallid sunlight. Though his mid-length, raven-black hair was unkempt, it cascaded over his forehead with a captivating, effortless flair.

This was, by far, the most striking Underworld Barbarian he'd ever encountered, transcending gender. Were it not for Jake's diminutive stature and slender build—by their race's standards—he would have been the epitome of male perfection.

The term "foreigner" flashed across the officer's mind, recalling one of the latest reports he'd received. The presence of Players was no longer a secret among the higher echelons of the Dusken Throne, and even mid-ranking generals like himself were now in the know.

They had standing orders to merely observe and report if they suspected any of their recruits to be one of "them," but not to take any action. Right now, the officer was wrestling with that very decision—whether to report Jake or let him be.

Ultimately, his lingering doubt that Jake might just be a pint-sized Underworld Barbarian with shocking beauty made him hesitate. After a brief internal struggle where he shook his head repeatedly, he decided to let it slide.

'But, make no mistake, deaf or not, you're fighting front and center tomorrow,' the officer thought, his lips curling into a hideous grin. 'And for your punishment, I'll personally administer the lashes.'

Jake was blissfully unaware that his unearthly allure had not only raised the general's suspicions but stoked his jealousy as well. Not that he'd have given a fuck about it if he'd known.

As Jake was about to enter the chapel, a shadow crossed his field of view. Looking up, he met the severe gaze of their irritable 3,000-man commander, a glint of malice flickering in his eyes.

"Hmm? Need something?" Jake asked nonchalantly. "If it's about the whipping, I'm ready. Do your worst."

Now, the burly officer was downright flabbergasted. This pretty boy must have a screw loose. But on the bright side, he wasn't deaf!

Grinning savagely, revealing his sturdy yellow teeth, he ominously informed Jake,

"Feeling confident, huh? You're the only one who didn't make it into the chapel on time. Not only will you fight on the front lines tomorrow, you'll be the only one on that line. As for your lashes, consider yourself lucky. They'll have to wait until after your baptism—if you survive it."

Far from seeing the cocky recruit crumble under the weight of this bad news, Jake stroked his chin thoughtfully before politely responding, "Thanks for the intel."

Then he sauntered into the temple, casually brushing aside the hulking mass of muscle and armor that was the officer. The commander was so stunned, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

At first, rage surged through him, and he was tempted to behead Jake on the spot for insubordination. But a moment later, rationality returned, replaced by a chilling sweat that broke out across his skin.

"How terrifying… How could such a monster even exist?" he thought.

The moment the barbarian had unleashed his killing intent, forged through countless deadly battles, he had felt the acute forewarning of his own demise. The sensation was so lucid it rattled his bones. This was no mere hunch; it was an unvarnished glimpse of his impending future.

Drenched in sweat beneath his armor, the officer remained paralyzed for a few more seconds, weighing his options, before exhaling a heavy sigh.

"Haha, I'm done for... He got me bad," the barbaric officer muttered, laughing awkwardly to dispel the dread constricting his muscles.

Only he knew that from this point on, he'd never summon the courage to report Jake's existence to his superiors. He thought he was a fearless warrior with an unwavering sense of duty, but now he knew he was far from infallible. The specter of this enigmatic pretty boy would haunt his nightmares for years to come.

Inside, Jake suppressed a sigh of his own, aware he had played a dangerous hand. He could've easily mimicked the anxious and glory-hungry demeanor of the other conscripts, but playing by the rules never won you an Ordeal. Of that much, he was certain.

Just seconds prior, when the commander had zeroed in on him with his hybrid killing intent, laced with evil souls, Jake had instinctively unleashed a alteration of his Original Spell: Morphic Grasp.

Soul-Crushing Intent!

By releasing a thread of will, Jake could mobilize his Soul Power to overwhelmingly crush not just the physical form but also the Spirit Body and Soul of his target. Although his abilities were constrained by the world laws of Twyluxia, what little had leaked out was enough to scare an officer with a supposedly tough mind.

In fact, the barbaric officer hadn't escaped unscathed. To ensure the officer wouldn't regain his audacity once the fear faded, Jake had crushed something tangible: his dignity. Not metaphorically, but quite literally.

His Original Spell, Morphic Grasp, was far more frightening than anyone, not even his master, could fathom.

With the issue of the officer settled, Jake cast his eyes around the chapel's interior and was immediately struck by its misleading spaciousness. From the outside, the chapel seemed modest, but that was merely the tip of the iceberg. Most of the edifice was buried underground, the chapel itself housing only the entrance and a descending staircase.

Once he reached the bottom of the hundred-step stairwell, a massive rectangular pool reminiscent of Olympic swimming pools from his former planet, but much bigger, filled his field of vision. The water itself appeared unremarkable—clear and translucent—but the spectral aura of death accumulating on its surface betrayed its unnatural nature.

A dense, suffocating atmosphere saturated the air, tinged with the pungent scent of burnt herbs and something far more indiscernible, far more sinister. Shadows clung to the corners as if they were indelible marks, refusing to be banished by the flickering light of ceremonial pyres. As shamans circled a central altar, their chants mutating into unsettling echoes, it was evident that this temple was a nexus for evil energies and unutterable intentions.

Naturally, such hocus-pocus was for these uninformed conscripts. When Jake saw the chapel's interior and the pool, his first thoughts were of Lumyst River and Underworld Cascade. What the commander meant by 'baptism' couldn't have been clearer.

If he wasn't mistaken, they were about to take a dip...

Jake was close to the mark, but not quite on target. Subjecting these green recruits with their lackluster constitutions to a swim in a pool filled with pure Spirit Lumyst Water would have been a death sentence. They'd have been drained of vitality in the blink of an eye.

What awaited them was far less ostentatious.

One of the shamanesque figures, his face daubed in black and clad in a robe made entirely of crow feathers—or those of some other ill-omened bird—knelt reverently by the pool, cradling a small black earthenware vessel in both hands.

Moments later, he approached them, vessel now full, and inquired,

"So... Who wants to go first?"