The Oracle Paths

1044 Chalice Of Nethershade

After that initial breakthrough, the curse hanging over the anxious recruits seemed to lift, allowing the next wave of volunteers to survive their baptism at the cost of shaving a few years off their lifespan.

Sure, there were always the hard-luck cases who bit the dust now and then, but the success rate had crawled back into alignment with the whispers: a touch over 60%. The true average across all regiments clocked in closer to 65%, leading the overseeing officer to deduce that his latest batch of recruits left something to be desired. The hope was that their battlefield prowess would prove less underwhelming.

In case you're wondering why the probability leaned more towards 65% instead of a coin flip, chalk it up to the quality of the men. They weren't all conscripts dragged from the fields.

If it weren't for the war's tremendous scale, the new blood usually hailed from various tribes of young, battle-hardened warriors. They'd been steeping in the arts of war since they were old enough to hold a sword. Be it body, mind, or spirit, these recruits were made of sterner stuff, slashing their odds of kicking the bucket during their initiation.

With each baptism averaging about a minute, nearly two grueling days passed before every barbarian in the regiment had taken their turn. All the while, the officer remained stoic, forcing them to stand at attention and bear witness to the death or rebirth of each of their comrade.

According to him, it was a way to pay respects to the courage of the fallen. The Lumyst Baptism was a sacred ritual, after all.

By this point, sleep-deprived, unfed, and for those who hadn't thought to fill their canteens, parched, the motley crew of peasants looked even more ragged and miserable than before. They leaned heavily on their makeshift spears and rusted swords to keep from collapsing. Their legs ached so much they could hardly even stand.

When it was finally the last conscript's turn, his feet were hurting so bad that his fear had long since numbed over. Death or vegetative state, he just wanted it over with.

Tough luck. The Dusken Throne wasn't done with him, and his baptism turned out to be a winner, capping off the series of rites on a high note.

Disbelieving, he pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Confirming he was very much alive, he let out an involuntary cackle of joy.

"Finally, back to me... Jake yawned without bothering to cover his mouth, his patience stretched to the breaking point.

He was so bored he'd almost jumped into the pool-not to retake his baptism, but just to swim. Unlike the recruits, he was neither tired nor suffering from aching limbs. If he'd wanted, he could've stood stick-straight for another century or two.

As the last conscript joyfully rejoined the crowd, silence settled back into the chapel hall. The Spirit Enchanter, who miraculously lacked any dark circles under his eyes despite two days of vigilance, turned back towards Jake, wearing a solemn expression.

"I honestly don't know how to give you a baptism that'd do you justice, but I'll give it my best shot," the shaman declared before gesturing to the enormous pool filled with clear water. "You could try bathing in that, but the water is the same as what I used for your first baptism. It's likely too diluted for your needs."

Jake agreed with the reasoning. If he used his mental sense to forcibly extract the spiritual energy from the entire pool, it would show off a mental prowess too alarming. He had already revealed far too much.

"So, what's your play?" Jake asked, his brow furrowed deeply.

"Simple," the Spirit Enchanter chuckled teasingly. "Just use a more concentrated Lumyst Water."

"Great. What are we waiting for?" Jake exclaimed impatiently.

"Hold on. We need to clear out any unauthorized personnel first," the shaman halted him. "Spirit Lumyst Water is a tricky resource to contain and transport, and I can't let everyone in on how it's done."

'An artifact? Or maybe a relic? Jake thought instantly, picking up on the man's reverent demeanor as he stood in his robe of black feathers.

No wonder he didn't want to display it in front of a crowd. Protecting it in case shit hit the fan would be a tall order.

The officer, who had been standing at attention for almost 48 hours, gave the shaman's request a green light without batting an eye but asked to stick around. Given his rank, it wasn't exactly easy for the low-level Spirit Enchanter to say no, so he begrudgingly complied.

A few minutes later, only the shaman, the officer, Jake, and a select group of clerics remained. The rest had been evacuated out, along with the new recruits.

Once everyone was gone, Jake expected the Spirit Enchanter to unveil some hidden passage leading to a fortified chamber or at least an ultra-secure vault, but nothing of the sort happened. To retrieve the "relic," the guy actually used the most straightforward method Jake could think of a method he hadn't expected to see in this context.

"A Space Storage!" Jake's eyes flashed with exhilaration as he saw a peculiar golden goblet, adorned with a single blue sapphire the size of a quail egg, materialize out of thin air in the shaman's hands.

He immediately sifted through the collective memories of the other conscripts for any info about a similar object but came up empty- handed.

"Now I get why he was so keen on clearing the room," Jake smirked inwardly, maintaining a façade of curiosity.

"What the hell is that?" Jake inquired bluntly.

"Is this what I think it is?" The gruff officer quivered as he spoke, staring at the goblet with almost reverential awe, as if merely looking at it was sinful.

"Yes and no," the Spirit Enchanter answered cryptically. "This is indeed a Chalice of Nethershade, but it's just a replica. The real one is in the hands of the Soulmancer King"

Noting Jake's lack of reaction, both the shaman and the officer silently reaffirmed that this recruit was alien to their world. Anyone hearing the term Chalice of Nethershade would have had an immediate attitude adjustment.

But they were wrong. The moment the relic materialized, Jake had already scanned it with his bracelet, his eyes widening at the intricate web of shimmering Aether Runes that seemed to dance when glimpsed out of the corner of the eye.

To the uninitiated, this golden cup might seem ordinary, but with his Aetherist knowledge, how could he possibly overlook it?

[Bronze Aether Artifact: Chalice of Nethershade +3 (Replica): This mystical chalice is forged from an elusive and ancient material called "Naetherium," a mineral that exists in both the physical and spiritual realms simultaneously. Intricate runes are etched into its surface, acting as a magical barrier to contain the dualistic properties of Spirit Lumyst Water.

The authentic chalice is rumored to have been forged in the molten core of a dying star by a clandestine order of cosmic monks attuned to the duality of life and spirit. The outer layer of this sacred container is imbued with Life Element spells, rendering it impervious to the vitality-draining properties of the water it holds. Conversely, the inner sanctum is enchanted with Spirit Element spells to retain the water's soul-nourishing potency.

The lid of the Chalice of Nethershade is crowned with a blue sapphire crystal known as the "Soulgem," which shifts hues based on the purity of the Spirit Lumyst Water it contains. This serves as a litmus test for whether the water is suitable for consumption or too potent, even for ethereal beings.

This replica has survived three spiritual enchantments, significantly awakening its latent spirituality and reinforcing all its attributes. The cup can hold up to 150 milliliters of pure Spirit Lumyst Water, but it's also versatile enough to contain substances that exist across different planes of reality.]

Beyond the artifact's captivating properties, it was the '+3' that piqued Jake's interest, instantly recalling the equipment enchantment systems in the role-playing games he used to indulge in. Many pay- to-win mobile games thrived on such mechanics, where each successful enchantment demanded increasingly scarce resources while the triumph rate plummeted.

The most cutthroat of these pay-to-win games even destroyed equipment upon a failed enchantment, compelling these spoiled whales to shell out ludicrous sums of money just to feed their egos. The description clearly stated that the replica had 'survived' three enhancements, which instantly made him think of the baptism's fixed 50% triumph rate.

Could he infer that succeeding in this baptism was akin to enchanting his very soul?