Chapter – 68 – Blood and Boredom
Celbeth opened her eyes to a sprawling mountainous valley that stretched endlessly before her. Towering peaks rose on all sides, cloaked in dense forests of ancient trees, their leaves shimmering with an ethereal silver-green hue under the harsh sun. But the valley floor itself lay utterly barren—a vast expanse of cracked earth and dust, as though some great force had scoured all life from it. The contrast was jarring, almost unnatural.
She scanned the terrain, searching for the entrance to her trial of the ancient guardian. Nothing. No markings, no structures, no telltale signs of the trial grounds. A flicker of irritation crossed her features.
As soon as she took her first step forward, the ground trembled. From behind rocks, from within crevices, from beneath the very earth itself, monsters emerged in the hundreds. They were mostly animalistic in form—twisted amalgamations of beast and nightmare—with matted fur, jagged claws, and fangs dripping with viscous saliva. Their movements were erratic, predatory, driven by pure instinct rather than any semblance of strategy.
Celbeth sighed, unimpressed. Her hand moved in a fluid motion, and the blood moon katana materialized in her grip—its blade gleaming with a crimson sheen that seemed to drink the sunlight. She didn't even pause to brace herself. In one effortless arc, she swung the blade, and a crescent wave of astral energy erupted from it, tearing through the horde in an instant. The monsters didn't even have time to scream. Their bodies disintegrated into ash, scattering on the hot wind.
"It seems like these monsters can't use astral energy," Celbeth muttered to herself, twirling the katana before sheathing it with practiced ease. "Their level would be body tempering realm at best. Pathetic."
She placed her hands on her hips and scanned the now-empty field, her expression one of profound boredom. "Well, I can understand they wouldn't want disciples to die during the trial, but still..." She kicked at a pebble, watching it skip across the barren ground. "Whatever."
A rustling sound came from a nearby cave, hidden behind a curtain of dried vines. A head peeked out—a young girl with wide, nervous eyes and disheveled hair.
"Miss Celbeth? Is that really you?" The girl's voice was trembling, hopeful.
Celbeth turned, her brow arching with mild curiosity. She strolled toward the cave, her boots crunching against the dry earth. The girl flinched as Celbeth approached, then scrambled out to meet her.
"Oh, missy, what are you doing here all alone?" Celbeth asked, her tone casual but not unkind. "Where are the others? And what's your name?"
The girl bowed hastily, nearly tripping over her own feet. "I'm Una, Miss Celbeth. I haven't found anyone else yet—maybe they haven't woken up from the teleportation. Should we wait for them?"
Celbeth waved a dismissive hand. "Just call me Celbeth. And waiting? I don't care about waiting. Let's just go."
"Y-yes!" Una squeaked, scurrying after her.
They walked for nearly an hour under the blistering afternoon sun. The valley around them began to shift, the barren earth slowly giving way to patches of sand as though the region itself was transitioning into a desert. Yet the mountain peaks still loomed in the distance, creating an eerie juxtaposition of climates. Una filled the silence with nervous chatter, speaking about everything and nothing—her hometown, her family, her dreams of becoming a powerful mage. Celbeth nodded along, offering the occasional grunt or short reply, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.
"If I had known I'd have to walk in this heat, I wouldn't have bothered enrolling in the Astral Academy," Celbeth muttered, shielding her eyes from the sun's glare. "Maybe I should learn to fly as soon as possible. Or at least learn some skill that can block this fucking sun."
Una's eyes widened. "Can realm masters really fly, Miss Celbeth? I mean... Celbeth?"
Celbeth glanced at her. "Yeah, but only those who have the right skills for it. We're in the human realm, so flying isn't common. I've heard that in the heaven realm, everyone can fly. Here? Only higher realm masters manage it."
"Wow..." Una's voice was filled with wonder. "That sounds so fascinating. Do you know anyone who can fly?"
Celbeth considered the question, her gaze drifting upward as if she could see the figures she mentioned dancing across the sky. "I've seen very few. Marson Mordric from the Mordric family used to fly before Lucien killed him. Lucien Vale can fly as well. I also heard Queen Cynthia has the ability. I think that's about it."
"Only three?" Una's head dropped slightly, as though processing the weight of that information. "It means flying is really rare. And Lucien Vale can fly? Wow... I didn't know that."
Celbeth caught the strange tone in Una's voice but dismissed it. Before she could respond, her eyes narrowed. "Something's there. Looks like some sort of hole."
In front of them, a massive crater had formed in the earth, and at its center, a stone staircase descended into darkness. It looked like the valley had been torn open, revealing an ancient structure buried beneath. The heat seemed to intensify as they approached, radiating from the crater's edges.
Celbeth and Una stepped closer, peering into the depths. Then the ground shuddered.
A giant centipede erupted from the rocks beside the crater, its body a horrifying fusion of insect and metal. Scales of burnished steel covered its segmented form, and its legs—dozens of them—were sharpened blades that scraped against the stone with a deafening shriek. Its maw gaped wide, rows of jagged teeth spinning like a drill, capable of swallowing anything in its path. The creature coiled itself around the entrance, blocking the stairs completely, and fixed its countless eyes on the two women.
"Well," Celbeth said, drawing her katana once more, "seems like we need to kill this thing."
She took a step forward, her blade gleaming with anticipation. But before she could strike, a spear whistled through the air, crashing into the centipede's armored side. The impact was substantial—enough to draw the creature's attention—but the attack barely scratched its metallic hide. The centipede's head swiveled, its gaze shifting from Celbeth to the newcomer.
Celbeth turned, her expression flat. A man stood on a nearby rock outcropping, his chest puffed with self-importance. Another disciple. Great. A third member of her random assigned team had arrived.
"How dare you try to score points in the eyes of our instructor!" the man snarled, his voice dripping with accusation. He pointed a finger at Celbeth, as though she had committed some unforgivable crime.
Celbeth stared at him, utterly baffled. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"He's right," a female voice chimed in. Another disciple stepped out from behind the rocks—a woman with sharp features and an air of superiority. "You didn't wait for us. You came here to kill that monster alone so you could make us look bad in front of the instructors."
Celbeth blinked, then let out a long, weary sigh. She sheathed her katana and crossed her arms. "Awww, you guys want to contribute so the instructors notice you?" Her voice dripped with mock sympathy. "You know what? Go ahead. Kill the centipede alone. I'm just going to rest now." She turned and walked toward a large rock shaded by a gnarled tree, lying down as though she were at a resort. "Don't bother me."
The male disciple—Wren Lockwood, as he would later introduce himself—sneered. "Yeah, we don't need your help. Didn't you see how I hurt that centipede with my attack?"
"Sure, buddy," Celbeth replied, not even opening her eyes. She reached into her spatial pouch and pulled out a crisp red apple, biting into it with a satisfying crunch.
Una hesitated for a moment, then scurried over to join Celbeth beneath the tree. She sat down quietly, wringing her hands.
Celbeth glanced at her. "You didn't help them?"
Una shook her head. "No. They insulted you, and they told me they didn't want me there. So I came here." Her voice was small, but there was a hint of defiance in it.
Celbeth took another bite of her apple, chewing thoughtfully. "Do you know me by any chance?" she asked, her tone almost lazy.
Una's eyes lit up. "You're very famous, Miss Celbeth. After you came out of the ancient breach, you became even more renowned. I admire you so much. I always wanted to be like you, but..." She looked down at her hands. "I'm weak."
Celbeth tilted her head, studying the girl. "Then be strong. Do things that only you can do." She paused. "By the way, what's your specialty?"
Una perked up. "I use magic. My primary attacks are fire-based."
Celbeth's lips curved into a small smile. "Oh, that's interesting."
"Miss Celbeth," Una said hesitantly, "what if they defeat that monster? Won't the instructors think we didn't do anything?"
Celbeth snorted. "Well, they aren't going to defeat it. It's quite impossible for them. Both of them are in the early vein-opening realm—I checked myself. And they're so retarded they don't even have the brains to use." She shook her head in amusement. "Some people aren't mighty, but they use their brains to defeat stronger opponents. These two are not among that number. As for my evaluation by the instructors..." She waved her hand dismissively. "I couldn't give a damn about that. I don't care what they think as long as I don't let down one certain person."
Una's cheeks flushed. "I-Is that your lover, Miss Celbeth?"
Celbeth's smile turned soft, almost tender. "We're more than that." She closed her eyes, settling deeper into her resting position.
Far away, Wren and Sable were locked in a desperate battle against the centipede. Sable—the woman who had arrived with Wren—blocked the creature's attacks with her staff, deflecting its blade-like legs with every ounce of strength she possessed. Wren, meanwhile, hurled spear after spear at the monster, each strike infused with astral energy. But the centipede's metallic hide shrugged off every blow.
The first attack had worked only because the centipede had been caught off guard. Now it was fully alert, and it was toying with them.
"What should we do, Wren?" Sable gasped, sweat pouring down her face. Her arms trembled as she parried another strike. "We've done everything we can, but nothing's working!"
Wren growled in frustration, his face reddening. "Those bastards left us here! Go tell them to help us if they want to get out of this place!"
"But you told them you didn't need their help!" Sable shot back, dodging as the centipede's maw snapped at her. "Why should I go?"
"Don't argue with me, you bitch!" Wren's voice was venomous. "Don't forget I'm your fiancé. If I tell you to go, you go. Understand, woman? Tell that other bitch that I allow her to help me."
Sable's face twisted with barely concealed contempt, but she was too exhausted to argue. She sighed—a long, weary exhale of someone used to this stupidity—and retreated from the battle, running toward the shaded tree where Celbeth and Una rested.
"Hey!" Sable called out, her voice strained. "My fiancé said he's allowing you two to help us!"
Celbeth opened one eye, then sat up slowly. A grin spread across her face. "Allowing? Big words for such small brains." She stretched leisurely. "Go tell your retarded fiancé that I'm not helping. I'm not in the mood anymore."
Sable's face paled, but she didn't argue. She turned and ran back to Wren, relaying the message.
Wren's face contorted with fury. He abandoned the fight, storming toward Celbeth while Sable was forced to hold off the centipede alone.
"Listen here, you little bitch," Wren snarled, jabbing a finger at Celbeth. "You're a woman. You do what I tell you to do. You don't know my father yet. Do you understand me? Get up and kill that thing! I don't care if you're weak—just go!"
Celbeth yawned, slow and deliberate. She rose to her feet, towering over Wren despite being shorter. Her smile never wavered.
"Listen here, you little fuck," she said, her voice soft and dangerous. "I'll kill that thing if you lick my boots and say you're an impotent man." Her eyes glittered with amusement.
Wren's face went purple with rage. Before he could respond, a sickening crunch echoed across the valley.
Both of them turned.
The centipede had Sable in its grasp. Its massive jaws had clamped down on her staff, and she was being lifted into the air, her body dangling helplessly. The staff creaked, on the verge of shattering. Sable's face was a mask of terror and exhaustion—she was pushing with everything she had, but the centipede's strength was overwhelming. It was only a matter of time before it overpowered her entirely and crushed her.
"Well, well, well," Celbeth said, her tone almost cheerful. She tilted her head at Wren. "Time is running out, Wren."
Author Note:
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