[Shadow Realm Spearmanship: 100/100]
Wayland felt a massive weight lift from his shoulders. After fifteen grueling days of being beaten senseless, the worst of it was finally over.
Last night, after the club performances, he had dived straight back into the Land of Shadows.
Having "died" seven more times, the deep night had finally given way to a mid-day sun. He had received the final reward for Scathach's training--the completion of his "Ghost Possessed" side quest.
Scathach stood in silence, her gaze distant as if she were looking back through time. She was likely thinking of another young man from countless centuries ago.
A man with the same unwavering effort, and perhaps, a similar spark of talent.
A small part of her still hoped that her own death would one day arrive.
"You have mastered the Shadow Realm Spearmanship," Scathach said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "According to tradition, I shall give you a gift."
Wayland looked up in surprise, only to see her hand reach out.
Her fingers were long and snow-white.
She gently tapped his forehead.
There was no warmth, only a faint, cool sensation--like the touch of morning dew on the grass after a long sleep.
He waited for a moment, his eyes wide as he looked left and right, but nothing happened.
His magical energy hadn't increased, the system hadn't pinged, and there were no signs of a new Concept Dress or Noble Phantasm.
'So... a tap on the forehead IS the gift?'
'You're the Queen of the Land of Shadows! The God-slayer who walked the line between life and death and brought the concept of death to the divine!'
'I remember you gave your previous student, Cu Chulainn, the Gae Bolg!'
'Wasn't the youngest student supposed to be the favorite?'
'What happened?'
Wayland felt a surge of indignation, but he kept a polite smile on his face.
"Thank you, Master."
He dispelled the projected spear in his hand and offered a deep, ninety-degree bow.
Scathach nodded, her expression remaining unchanged.
'She's such a stunning beauty, and yet she's as cold as ice all day long.'
For some reason, that thought echoed in Wayland's mind.
"Next is the trial of the Celtic warrior," Scathach continued. "I shall transport you into a certain memory."
'Another memory?'
'What is this? A memory within a memory? A dream within a dream?'
'Are we doing Inception now?'
Just as he was about to speak, Scathach's hand came down once again, right onto his head.
'It's over.'
'Is the trial of the Celtic warrior just surviving a direct hit from Scathach?'
That was his final thought.
The world plunged into darkness.
He felt himself sinking.
Sound vanished. Light died. It was as if he had been cast into a world of absolute nothingness.
He tried to scream, but the void swallowed everything.
His thoughts began to dissolve.
It was a journey without a sense of time, one that eventually reached its end.
Familiar voices--sounds that felt like they were from another lifetime--began to pour into his ears.
He opened his eyes and found himself standing in what felt like a crowded bus at eight in the morning. He was surrounded on all sides by men--the smell of sweat, rust, and damp earth filling his nostrils.
The crowd surged forward, and Wayland was carried along with it.
'Master, am I really your favorite student?'
Wayland felt a sudden crisis of faith.
"Ow! Who stepped on my foot?!"
He shouted as loud as he could, but his voice was drowned out by the thunderous roar of the crowd.
Thousands of voices were shouting the same thing.
"It's Merlin!"
"Merlin is here!"
Wayland looked around in confusion, but his vision was obscured by the tall, broad-shouldered men surrounding him.
'Merlin?'
'WHICH Merlin?'
The deafening noise was starting to give him a headache.
If Merlin was here, then this memory, this place...
Suddenly, the crowd came to a halt.
Wayland's gaze was immediately drawn to a massive stone sitting on a nearby hillside.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]