The Trial Boss hadn’t changed.Still wrapped head to toe in armor, still gripping that massive broadsword. But without the skeletal warhorse beneath it, the once-fearsome knight looked less like death incarnate and more like a lumbering swordsman in too much steel.Its speed was gone. All that terrifying swiftness had come from the mount. Now? Just a sluggish brute pretending to be dangerous.Bang!The impact shook the ground. Kaelen’s body jolted, numb for a heartbeat before strength came rushing back. The Trial Boss wasn’t so lucky.It staggered, boots scraping clumsily against the dirt. Step after step.Kaelen grinned, savage and sharp.He remembered too well how it had looked earlier—majestic on its skeletal horse, a death knight crashing into him with unstoppable force. One Death Charge had sent him flying like a rag doll.Now? Watching it stumble back in disgrace, he could taste the sweetness of payback.“Without your skeletal horse, you’re nothing but trash!” he barked.The Bos

The sky stretched wide and endless, a blazing sun hanging overhead like a golden furnace. A lone cloud drifted lazily across the blue, so small it looked almost embarrassed to be there.By afternoon, the heat was merciless. Sunlight poured down like molten gold, drenching the altar below until the stones practically shimmered. It was the kind of brilliance that made you squint, the kind that felt more like a trial from the gods than a blessing.Altars like this weren’t rare in Faust. When the gods’ presence was everywhere, places to worship—or beg—were inevitable.This one was shaped like a giant U, thirty-four meters wide, thirty-six long. Golden columns ringed the edges, so bright they hurt the eyes if you looked too long. At the center rose a platform six meters tall, its surface carved with reliefs so vivid they almost breathed: warriors mid-strike, hunters drawing bows, mages hurling fire into the faces of monsters. The stone seemed alive, like the figures might just peel themsel

The air around the altar was thick, almost suffocating.Everyone already knew the truth—Gallon had stumbled right into Kaelen’s trap.From the start, Kaelen had played it smart. He’d feigned weakness, chosen his words carefully, nudging Gallon into admitting what he needed: that the three of them had stood together against the Trial Boss. Step by step, he had tightened the snare.And Gallon? He walked right in. Too easily. He followed along with Kaelen’s version of events, dragging his own reputation through the mud. Kaelen didn’t even feel triumphant—it was too easy.When Gallon first saw Kaelen crawl out of Death Valley alive, he kept the same calm mask on his face. Not a twitch, not a crack. But under that mask? Panic. A man doesn’t just shake off the weight of guilt, no matter how composed he looks.Unless, of course, he’s rotted so deep inside that guilt doesn’t reach him anymore. Gallon hadn’t sunk that far. Not yet.In his mind, Kaelen was supposed to be long dead. His cowardic

The afternoon sun beat down like a hammer, the kind of heat that made the air itself shimmer.Kaelen walked toward the center of the altar. Not rushed, not hesitant—just steady, powerful steps, the kind of stride that made you think of a predator that had nothing to fear. Gallon watched him closely. Outwardly, he wore that same proud, untouchable look. Inwardly? He was rattled.Because this wasn’t the Kaelen he remembered. Something in him had shifted. Hardened.And yet, Gallon never once thought this was an imposter. How could he? The betrayal, the abandonment, the brutal fight against the Trial Boss—nobody could fake scars like those. If Kaelen had walked back grinning after all that, Gallon would’ve called him a fake in a heartbeat. But the fire in his eyes? The steel in his walk? No… this was Kaelen. The real one.For the first time in a long while, Gallon’s arrogance slipped. Just a flicker, but it was there. As Archbishop Aurelia began the oath, tension pinched his face.All eye

The crowd froze. Not a sound.Even the professional who had already started walking away stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn’t caught Kaelen’s words clearly, but the sudden blast of power from the altar rooted him where he stood. His body went rigid before he turned back, unable to look away from the blazing altar.The flames roared like a storm unleashed.Kaelen stood right in the center, swallowed by fire. From where the others stood, he was nothing but a silhouette—shifting, flickering, the shape of a man carved out of living flame.He didn’t look human anymore. He looked like fire given flesh.The inferno raged for what felt like forever—fifteen long minutes—before it finally began to fade.When the last embers died, Kaelen stepped forward. Not a single burn scarred him. His chest was bare, his veins standing out like cords, muscles flexing with a strength that hadn’t been there before. Stronger. Sharper. Deadlier.But his eyes were still closed. His body didn’t move.The process