Chapter Ten – The Trial Decreed
The Grand Elder Hall loomed like a temple carved for gods. Pillars of dark jade spiraled upward, etched with ancient runes that hummed faintly as if alive. The air was heavy, oppressive, every breath weighed down by the qi of those who sat in judgment.
Jesse Jordan entered alone, fractured sword strapped across his back. His body was still battered from the arena, but his gaze was steady, cold as always.
Rows of elders lined the hall, their robes gleaming in the light of hovering jade lanterns. Each elder's presence pressed on Jesse like a mountain. Even the weakest among them was a realm he had yet to glimpse.
"Jesse Jordan." Elder Ryn's voice was sharp, slicing the silence. His eyes narrowed like daggers. "You stand before us carrying a weapon that should not exist. Speak. From where did you obtain that blade?"
Jesse bowed stiffly, fists clasped. "I found it years ago… discarded in the abandoned courtyard. No one claimed it."
Murmurs rippled through the elders.
"Impossible. A relic of that resonance, left to rust in a courtyard?"
"He lies."
"Or the heavens chose him."
Elder Morris leaned forward, his long beard trailing over his chest. His eyes gleamed with an excitement few had seen in decades. "Perhaps the boy speaks truth. Not all relics reveal themselves to unworthy hands. If the sword awakened for him… then he is its master."
"That is exactly what makes him dangerous," Elder Ryn snapped. "This orphan has already humiliated two scions of the Miles line. The sect teeters on political faultlines. If we nurture him, we invite chaos."
"Strength is chaos," Morris replied coldly. "And strength is what sustains the sect."
The two glared, qi crackling faintly between them.
Jesse remained silent, gaze sweeping the hall. He felt their pressure, their judgment, but not once did he lower his eyes.
Another elder, robes of green silk flowing, spoke gently. "Child, what do you seek from this sword? From this path?"
The question struck Jesse harder than any blow in the arena. His lips parted, but no grand speech came forth. Only truth.
"I seek to never kneel again," he said quietly. "I seek power that none can strip from me."
The hall fell silent. Some elders sneered, others smiled faintly.
Elder Ryn slammed his palm on the armrest. "Arrogant! Do you see? Already he speaks like one who would defy sect and empire alike!"
Morris chuckled softly. "Or perhaps he speaks like one who remembers pain. Tell me, Ryn, do your pampered disciples hunger like this boy does?"
The debate grew heated, voices rising like storm winds. Jesse stood at the center, still as stone, though his hand unconsciously tightened on the hilt of the fractured sword.
Finally, the sect master raised his hand. Silence crashed through the hall.
The Sect Master was a man of middle years, his presence quiet yet absolute, like a still lake hiding unfathomable depths. His voice was calm, but it carried to every ear.
"The boy's fate will not be decided by words alone." His gaze swept the elders, then landed on Jesse. "If Jesse Jordan wishes to walk this path, let him prove it."
"How?" Ryn demanded.
The Sect Master's lips curved faintly. "Through trial."
The jade lanterns dimmed, shadows stretching across the hall. The Sect Master's next words were like thunder.
"He shall enter the Obsidian Bone Forest—a forbidden ground sealed since the last generation. If he emerges alive, he is fated to stand among us. If he dies, then the sword will choose again."
The elders stirred.
"The Obsidian Bone Forest? That place devoured full disciples!"
"To send him there is to kill him outright."
"Or to reveal if destiny truly shields him."
Ryn's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. "A fitting choice. Let him be tested by death."
Morris's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head. "If he survives, none shall deny his worth."
The Sect Master's gaze turned to Jesse. "Jesse Jordan. Do you accept?"
Jesse met that fathomless stare. His heart pounded, his body screamed in protest, but his voice was steady, sharp.
"I accept."
Murmurs rippled, disbelief spreading. No hesitation, no request for mercy—just cold acceptance.
The Sect Master nodded once. "Three days from now, you will enter the forest. Prepare as you will. The sect will neither aid nor hinder you."
He struck his palm against the jade armrest. "This meeting is ended."
As Jesse was led out, whispers followed him like shadows. Some were of awe, others of pity.
At the hall's edge, Elder Morris's voice brushed his ear, low enough that none else could hear.
"Hold fast to that blade, boy. It may yet remember more than you know."
Elsewhere, in a secluded chamber, Ken Miles sat cross-legged, his wounds wrapped, qi circulating furiously. His pride festered like a poisoned wound.
"Jesse Jordan…" His teeth ground together. "You think this victory means anything? The elders may let you live, but I won't. I'll see you broken—piece by piece."
The flame of vengeance burned in his eyes, hotter than his cultivation flame.
That night, back in his lonely courtyard, Jesse sat with the fractured sword across his lap. The moonlight reflected in the crack, a faint shimmer of jade.
The whisper came again, clearer than ever before.
Forward… into the void…
Jesse exhaled slowly. In three days, he would enter a forest where countless disciples had vanished, their bones turned to dust.
And yet, as he closed his eyes, he felt no fear. Only the steady pulse of resolve.