Chapter Fifteen – The Core's Whisper
Darkness pressed down like a shroud.
Jesse drifted between consciousness and nothingness, his body weightless yet burning with pain. Every muscle screamed, every bone ached, yet deep inside him something pulsed with cold power.
His eyes snapped open.
The clearing was silent now, the storm of ash and fire long gone. Shattered bones littered the ground, glowing faintly before crumbling into dust. The air was still thick with death qi, but it no longer clawed at him with the same hunger.
He was alive. Barely.
Jesse pushed himself upright with trembling arms. His chest heaved, every breath sharp with pain. His robes hung in tatters, his skin blistered and cut, but his grip on the fractured sword had not loosened. The blade lay across his lap, faint silver lines flickering in its cracks like veins of lightning.
At his feet, the black core pulsed.
It was fist-sized, smooth as obsidian, yet within its depths swirled endless shadows. Jesse's hand hovered above it. He remembered the moment before he fainted—how its cold surface had drawn him in, how the fractured sword had roared in hunger.
Now, as his palm brushed it again, the core flared.
Agony seared through him.
The shadows surged into his veins, devouring his qi and flooding his meridians. His body convulsed, his teeth grinding. For a moment, he thought his bones would shatter under the pressure.
But then, something shifted.
The fractured sword pulsed in resonance, its cracks glowing brighter. The invading energy was no longer wild—it was being guided, devoured, refined. Jesse's qi surged, his meridians expanding, his dantian trembling as though on the verge of collapse.
Then—like a dam breaking—his cultivation leapt forward.
From the fractured edge of Mortal Core, seventh stage, he crossed into the eighth. His body felt both heavier and lighter, his senses sharper, his blood roaring with newfound vigor.
Jesse gasped, collapsing onto his side, drenched in sweat. His entire body trembled, but for the first time, the exhaustion no longer carried despair.
He had stepped further than anyone had expected.
The black core dimmed, its light fading until only a faint ember remained. Jesse stared at it with cold eyes, his grip tightening on the fractured sword.
"What are you?" he muttered.
The sword's whisper brushed against his mind. A key… a beginning… deeper.
Jesse's gaze lifted toward the forest ahead. The Obsidian Bone Forest stretched into endless shadows, its trees groaning with unseen weight. And somewhere, deeper within, the black core's faint ember resonated, calling to him.
He rose unsteadily to his feet. Blood still dripped from his wounds, but his stride did not falter. Whatever awaited him deeper in the forest, he would face it.
Far above, on the ridge.
The disciples had not left. Fear had stolen much of their bravado, but curiosity anchored their feet. They stared at the forest, still shrouded in black mist, still trembling faintly from the aftershocks of Jesse's battle.
Ken Miles leaned against the balustrade, jaw tight. His sneer was gone, replaced by something darker—a gnawing unease he refused to name.
"That flame… it's gone," one disciple whispered.
"Maybe the beast devoured him."
"Or maybe…" another voice hesitated, "…maybe he killed it."
The thought spread like wildfire, faces paling. The idea that Jesse Jordan—trash, orphan, cripple—could have survived what had just happened was unthinkable. And yet the tremors had ceased, the flames had vanished, and silence now ruled the forest.
Daisy's hands clutched her satchel so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Her heart hammered. She couldn't see him, couldn't hear him, but deep inside, something told her he still lived.
"He's not done," she whispered.
Ken turned to her with narrowed eyes. "You speak as though you know him."
Her gaze snapped to him, steady and unflinching. "I know enough. Enough to say he won't die here."
Ken's lip curled. The words stung like poison, though he didn't understand why. He looked back at the forest, his fist clenching until his knuckles cracked.
"Then I'll be the one to finish him when he crawls back out."
In the Grand Hall, the elders gathered in tense silence.
Scrolls lay scattered across the table, ancient records of the Obsidian Bone Forest. Diagrams, warnings, faded ink about "remnants of the old wars" and "cores of abyssal beasts."
Elder Morris stood apart from the others, his eyes fixed on the valley below.
"That boy," he said finally, his voice heavy. "The forest has chosen to test him. And he has not fallen."
Another elder scoffed. "He has stumbled upon power he does not deserve. If he crawls out alive, we should crush him before he becomes a threat."
Morris's gaze was cold. "Or we can forge him into a weapon the sect cannot ignore."
The debate raged, voices clashing like swords, but outside the hall, the earth trembled once more. All eyes turned toward the forest, where the mist thickened, the trees groaning as though something vast stirred within.
Jesse Jordan was not finished.
Deep inside the forest, Jesse leaned against a shattered tree, his breath slow and ragged. His wounds still burned, but the new strength in his veins kept him standing. The fractured sword lay across his knees, its cracks glowing faintly, calm for the first time since he had entered the forest.
The ember of the black core pulsed once more in his hand. Ahead, deeper in the shadows, a faint echo answered it.
Something darker waited.
And Jesse Jordan, cold and unyielding, stepped forward to meet it.