Chapter Twelve – The Obsidian Bone Forest
The morning broke with no warmth.
A chill mist rolled down the mountain slopes, swallowing the sect's outer training grounds in veils of pale silver. Disciples gathered along the ridge where the old path descended toward the valley of shadows. Their laughter and chatter rang sharp against the still air, anticipation mixing with malice.
Jesse Jordan walked among them in silence.
He wore his tattered robe, patched from countless fights. His hair was bound loosely, streaked with dust, his expression as cold as the blade of ice. In his hand, the fractured sword hung at his side, its cracks glimmering faintly like frozen lightning.
As he passed, disciples whispered.
"Look at him. They're really sending the cripple."
"Not even worth betting on. He'll be a corpse before noon."
"Hah! Maybe the forest spirits will choke on his bones."
The laughter swelled, but Jesse's pace never faltered. His eyes were fixed forward, cold and unyielding.
At the edge of the ridge stood an elder, robed in black with a silver insignia of the sect's punitive division. His eyes were narrow slits, his voice sharp as he declared:
"Jesse Jordan. You have been sentenced to enter the Obsidian Bone Forest. Survive ten days, and you will be absolved of your debts. Fail, and your corpse will feed the soil."
A hush fell. Ten days. Even seasoned outer disciples rarely lasted three.
The elder gestured toward the mist-drenched valley below, where jagged black trees rose like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. Beneath their twisted branches, bones gleamed faintly, scattered in heaps like fallen leaves.
"The choice is yours—walk forward, or kneel here and accept execution."
Dozens of eyes turned to Jesse, hungry for humiliation. They wanted to see him kneel. To break.
Instead, Jesse stepped forward without a word.
The fractured sword whispered in his mind, a voice like distant thunder. Forward.
And so he walked.
The air shifted as soon as his foot crossed into the valley.
It was colder than winter, yet heavy with the stench of decay. Shadows clung to the trees like cobwebs, and the bones underfoot crumbled into ash at his touch. Every breath carried with it a taste of rust and blood.
Death qi.
It slithered into his pores, trying to gnaw at his flesh and spirit. Jesse's meridians burned in protest, his veins trembling. For a heartbeat, darkness clawed at the edges of his vision—until the talisman Daisy had given him shimmered faintly against his chest.
The silver runes flared, pushing back the corrosion. His breath steadied.
He moved deeper into the forest.
The deeper he went, the heavier the silence became. No birds. No insects. Only the sound of brittle bones breaking beneath his steps. The trees seemed to lean inward, their bark blackened and twisted, as though they drank from the bones buried at their roots.
Then came the whispering.
At first, faint. A chorus of voices, indistinguishable. Then louder, closer, weaving between the trees.
"Leave… leave… leave…"
Jesse tightened his grip on the fractured sword. His eyes narrowed, but his pace did not slow.
The whispers swelled until they became screams, and then the first apparition appeared.
It rose from the earth in a plume of black mist, coalescing into a figure clad in broken armor. Its face was hollow, its hands grasping a rusted spear. Empty sockets burned with ghostly fire.
A corpse soldier.
It shrieked and lunged.
Jesse sidestepped, his fractured sword flashing. Steel met rust, sparks scattering in the gloom. The soldier's spear shattered under the blow, but its clawed hand struck Jesse's chest. Pain seared through him, the talisman flaring once more.
He coughed blood, staggered, then twisted low, his blade slicing through the soldier's torso. The apparition dissolved into ash, its scream fading into the soil.
Breathing hard, Jesse touched the talisman. Its glow was weaker now. One use gone.
The fractured sword pulsed faintly in his grip, its voice whispering. Deeper… forward…
Hours passed. Jesse carved his way through the forest, each step met with resistance. Corpse soldiers rose from the earth, skeletal beasts prowled from the shadows, and every battle drained his strength.
His robes were torn, his arms laced with shallow cuts. Blood dripped freely down his fingers. Yet his eyes remained cold, unwavering.
When his legs threatened to collapse, he leaned against a tree. When his wounds burned, he forced his qi to flow, stitching flesh with willpower alone. He had walked alone for years. This was no different.
And yet, sometimes when the pain grew sharpest, he remembered Daisy's words.
"Don't forget… someone is waiting for you now."
The memory kindled a faint ember deep within him, pushing his feet forward once more.
At dusk, the trees thinned, revealing a clearing littered with shattered weapons. Spears, blades, halberds—all broken, rusted, and half-buried in bone dust.
But in the center of the clearing stood something different.
A sword.
Unlike the others, it was whole—its blade black as obsidian, its edge gleaming faintly in the dying light. The air around it rippled with pressure, thick enough to choke.
Jesse's heart pounded once. The fractured sword in his hand trembled violently, its whisper rising into a roar. Mine… mine… mine…
The forest grew still, as though holding its breath.
Jesse stepped forward.
But before he could touch the blade, the earth split open.
From the fissure rose a colossal beast—half-skeletal, half-flesh, its ribcage glowing with ghostly fire. A wolf, its fangs dripping black ichor, eyes blazing with hunger. Its howl shattered the silence, shaking the clearing.
The ground itself trembled.
Jesse tightened his grip on the fractured sword, his chest heaving. His body screamed for rest, but his spirit blazed with defiance.
This was no ordinary trial.
This was the forest itself testing him.
And Jesse Jordan never kneeled.
He raised his sword.