Chapter 48: An Impossible Trial (II)
Author’s Note
A huge thank you to Unbearable99 for the Golden Tickets! Your support truly means a lot.
And if some generous soul decides to send this greedy author a Castle, I’ll immediately release 4 bonus Chapters. 😈
Thanks again, and enjoy the Chapter!
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Rhazakar caught the flicker of shock crossing Malrik’s face and let out a short, dry laugh — the laugh of a man who found honest fear far more entertaining than forced composure.
"No need for that particular expression." He waved a hand, almost dismissive. "We’ve known she was a demon since the moment she returned with you from the hunt. Do you honestly believe this family is careless enough to let something like her wander our halls unnoticed?"
A pause, delivered with the faint edge of someone enjoying himself.
"Since she’s under your control, however, there’s no issue."
Malrik exhaled slowly, absorbing that.
I underestimated this family’s reach. Again.
"I got careless," he admitted. "I assumed no one would notice her that quickly." A beat. "Good to know I was wrong before it became an actual problem."
Rhazakar’s smile didn’t fade, but he moved past the moment without dwelling on it, settling back into the same unhurried, authoritative rhythm he’d used for everything else in this meeting.
"Your task is to command the soldiers and defend the Barony." He laced his fingers together atop the table. "Every guard, every defender stationed in that city, will answer to you. Including the Baron’s own children."
"This trial was chosen deliberately — to measure not only your strength, but your ability to command. You’re a Necromancer." "Which means your trial was always going to look considerably different from your siblings’."
Malrik said nothing, absorbing the weight of that distinction.
Rhazakar raised one hand, and a sphere of black condensed out of nothing above his open palm.
Mana poured into it — a slow, deliberate stream, thickening the sphere until it split apart and unfolded into a three-dimensional map, suspended in the air above the table.
This world hadn’t advanced the way Earth had. No engines, no screens, none of the technology Malrik’s past life had taken for granted. But magic had filled that gap in its own way — not for entertainment, not for convenience, but for exactly this kind of purpose. Precise. Functional. Terrifyingly practical in the hands of someone who’d had centuries to perfect it.
The map rendered every detail with unsettling clarity — houses, forests, roads, rivers, all glowing faintly in the same black-silver light as the sphere it had unfolded from.
Rhazakar began walking him through it.
"You’ll leave House Vesperion in an ordinary carriage, dressed as ordinary travelers. No banners. No escort worth noticing. Nothing that draws attention."
His finger traced a line across the glowing terrain.
"You depart from here, crossing through two territories before reaching the northern border." A pause. "Much of the route runs close to the Bloodmire Forest. Dangerous ground. I’d advise against straying into it."
Malrik filed the name away with the specific dread it deserved.
Bloodmire. Charming.
"Roughly two days into the journey, you’ll reach the first stop — the Marquisate of Ashmoor."
His finger settled on a cluster of light near the map’s northern reach.
"Governed by Saint Marquis Lucien Ashmoor. There’s an Advancement Temple there. If you manage to reach Level Fifty within those two days and meet the requirements, you can undergo your Class Advancement and reach Awakened Rank right there."
His tone sharpened slightly, precise as a blade being set down deliberately rather than dropped.
"That would help you considerably. Every step you take toward Awakened before the trial improves your odds of surviving it."
"But do not grow reckless. That road is not safe. Awakened-Rank Morveth have been sighted at the edges of the surrounding forests."
Malrik’s stomach dropped a little at the phrase.
Awakened-Rank monsters just casually loitering at the edge of the woods. If that’s what’s wandering the outskirts, what exactly is living in the depths of that forest?
Rhazakar continued without waiting for the question to fully form.
"After leaving Ashmoor, you’ll travel on to Redmont Barony."
His finger drifted further along the route, settling on a modest, peaceful-looking patch of the map — mountains framing it on one side, the very territory Malrik was being sent to defend bordering it on another.
"Redmont is known for its calm. Its position is excellent — mountains to the east, Blackthorn Barony to the north, the Marquisate of Ashmoor to the south. Very few Morveth threats ever reach it."
He paused, letting the geography settle before delivering the actual point.
"From there, you’ll continue on to your true destination — Blackthorn Barony."
His gray eyes fixed on Malrik with something close to finality.
"Simply keep Blackthorn from collapsing for the week you pass through it."
Malrik blinked.
"...Just that?" Malrik asked, a wry, almost helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Rhazakar’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. "Just that."
Malrik glanced back at the glowing route — Ashmoor, Redmont, Blackthorn, three names stacked one after another like stepping stones across a river that was actively trying to drown him. Then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes landed on the timeline again.
"The journey takes six days by carriage," Rhazakar said, before Malrik could ask. "Begin preparing."
"Your training here is suspended for the duration. Don’t concern yourself with that. Simply gather what you’ll need."
"No one will accompany you except the carriage driver and Eliza." A brief, deliberate pause. "Eliza is strictly forbidden from participating in any combat."
Malrik opened his mouth, already halfway to a question about that particular restriction, and Rhazakar spoke over him before it could fully form.
"I’d also recommend reaching Level Fifty and completing your Class Advancement requirements before Blackthorn, regardless of whether you manage it at Ashmoor or somewhere along the road after." His tone lost none of its calm, which somehow made the next line worse. "Otherwise, there’s a considerable chance you won’t survive the trial at all."
He let that settle for exactly as long as it needed to.
Malrik stood frozen for a moment, the words rearranging themselves slowly in his head.
A dangerous forest, Level fifty, A Class Advancement.
All of that had to be accomplished within six days.
After that, he was expected to travel to a barony on the northern frontier and keep two hundred thousand people alive for an entire week.
Without a single soldier from the duchy, Without any assistance from House Vesperion, even Eliza was forbidden from interfering.
In other words...Everything would depend entirely on him.
And if I don’t manage it, I don’t just fail. I die. In a family that treats "possible death of a relative" as an acceptable line item on a competency exam.
Then, after a long moment, a helpless smile appeared on his face.
Wonderful.
What a perfectly reasonable trial.
He glanced at Cedric, then Elder Eldric, before looking at the rest of the Council.
Every one of them looked perfectly calm, as though they hadn’t just handed him what sounded suspiciously like a very elaborate suicide mission.
Is this normal for this family? Is a genuinely unhinged pace of self-improvement just... expected here?
He thought Velrosa casually offering to erase an entire noble house over a single rude comment.
He thought the twins excitedly talking about watching his trial while eating popcorn and sipping drinks, cheering for him as though they were about to watch a football match instead of a battle that would decide not only his own life, but the lives of two hundred thousand people.
Yes. Apparently it is.
He straightened his spine, forced his voice level, and bowed properly.
"...Understood, Grand Elder."
Rhazakar casually tossed the black sphere toward Malrik."The map is stored inside."
Rhazakar leaned back slightly, his expression as calm as ever.
"Good luck, Youngest.""I do hope you return alive."