Chapter 169: The system’s cruelty
DING!
~----~
[Congratulations for completing the core objective of Trial III]
[Verdant Warden Ascension Unlocked.]
[Before Ascension, you have received a final task.]
[Mission Update: The Battlefield Ruin]
>The portal back to Earth is located at the heart of the temple of the God of Memories (Echoes). Only after you pass through the Trial will you get full access to your Verdant Warden Rank Ascension.
>The war was fought between followers of Verdant God and the God of Mechanics, but the battlefield was in Memories God territory.
[Mission Objective: Find the battlefield, enter, locate the portal, and go home.]
[WARNING: The battlefield ruin is teeming with exceedingly powerful Behemorphs ranging from Verdant Warden Rank to Prime Synchron Rank. The weakest Behemorph there is a Verdant Warden.]
...
[System Remark: Goodluck.]
~----~
The words burned in the air, carved in emerald and scarlet across the empty chamber.
"..."
"..."
".....!"
For about a minute or so, no one moved, and no one breathed as they just stared incredulously at the new system notification that hovered before them.
Clayton’s brain was blank as he stared, unable to reconcile the excitement he was feeling a moment ago at completing the Trial objective with the emotion he now felt at this new system notification.
’Just what in the name of...!’
Torren was the first to curse out loud. "You’ve got to be kidding me!"
His Pyreaxe flared briefly, flames spitting as if echoing his rage. "B-b-but we finished the trial! We beat the Guardian! That was supposed to be it!"
Torren who was usually the stoic and calm one could no longer keep his cool as he lost it, venting his emotions out finally.
They may not show it since Clayton carried most of the burden of leadership since the Trial started, but every single one of them felt like they were out of their depths during the course of the trial, and it caused them so much anxiety.
To finally survive all of that, thrive and somehow prevail, to still think that it was not enough was driving them crazy, Torren especially.
Beside him, Veyra’s bow lowered.
Her face was pale, but her voice was steady. "Clayton was right. The Protocols don’t care about us, they never have".
"Heck, from this, it clearly wants us to die".
Kaelin gave a dry laugh, though it held no humor. "Of course, why end the trial clean when you can twist the knife? It’s just like a sadistic serial killer".
Mira didn’t laugh. She pressed her palms together, knuckles white, her lips moving in silent prayer, not to gods, but to herself to keep calm.
"The weakest... Verdant Warden rank," she whispered. "That means every step forward is death waiting to happen".
On one hand though, Torren’s eyes brightened. "My mentor was right afterall. Gods truly ruled Echoterra!" His voice bubbled with excitement, before quickly deflating as he processed their circumstances again.
That was when Soren finally reacted as he slammed his Emberblade into the ground, sparks hissing. "So what?" He said.
"We just fought a Guardian that could’ve ripped any of us in half, yet we’re still here." His jaw was tight, and fire burned in his eyes. "If the Protocols want to see us crawl through hell, then we crawl through hell."
Clayton hadn’t spoken.
He stood at the center of them, staring at the flickering glyphs until they faded into nothing as he seemed to be deep in thought. His roots twitched across the broken floor, feeling for stability, for meaning.
He found none. All that he found was silence.
Finally, he exhaled a slow and heavy exhale. His voice was low as he spoke, but it cut through the chamber.
"No, we don’t crawl," he shook his head.
The others turned to him.
Clayton’s eyes glowed faintly, green fire swirling in their depths. "We walk".
"We keep our heads up and walk, together. That’s how we’ve come this far, and that’s how we’ll finish this."
The chamber cracked.
The floor split into strands of light, unraveling beneath their feet. For a heartbeat, they all braced for freefall but instead, they were lowered, carried like seeds drifting in a breeze.
The chamber dissolved and what replaced it stole their breath.
They now stood on the edge of a vast plain, scarred beyond recognition. It was not just a battlefield, it was a graveyard of gods.
Colossal skeletons of roots stretched for miles, petrified into stone. Towering machines lay broken, rusted but still humming faintly with dormant power. The ground was cracked glass and blackened ash, soaked in the memory of war.
And everywhere around them... there was movement.
Shadows the size of towers stalked the horizon, wings blotted out what little light pierced the haze, and crawling figures with too many limbs skittered between the bones, their cries like broken horns.
Every one of them radiated power, absolute... Verdant Warden. Yet the aura of some was heavier, denser... Prime Synchron!
The weakest here could crush half their team in an instant.
"This...!" Harrick’s voice cracked, his spear trembling in his grip. "This isn’t a trial field, this is suicide."
"It’s not suicide," Clayton said flatly, though his gut twisted. "It’s the Genesis Protocols". He smiled grimly as a familiar taste of spite began rising within him.
"The damned Protocols want us to bleed for every step," he snarled. "To prove if we’re worthy of what comes next."
"Worthy?" Torren barked.
His flames licked higher, teeth bared. "We already proved it! Atlanta, New Chicago, Korrath’s damned Nexus Engine! What more do they want from us?!"
Clayton met his fury with cold silence, then finally he said. "Everything."
Torren froze, his chest heaving, but the truth in the word cut him deeper than rage could.
The team fell quiet again, staring out at the endless ruin.
The temple of the God of Memories was nowhere in sight, hidden somewhere deep in that nightmare.
Veyra broke the silence. "We need a plan."
Kaelin smirked faintly. "We need a miracle."
"Both," Clayton said.
His roots spread across the ground, tasting the echoes, reading the pulse of life. He felt the weight of countless presences, each one monstrous. "Miracles don’t come on their own". He looked at them. "We make them."
He turned, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "This is what it means to survive the Genesis Protocols and their Trials".
"They don’t give us clean endings, they don’t hand out rewards. They throw us into the fire and see if we can climb out."
"And can we?" Mira asked softly.
Clayton’s jaw tightened. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to lie, if only to ease her fear. But lying had never been his way.
Instead, he said. "We don’t have to kill them all, we just have to reach the temple. That means using the field, not fighting it head-on".
Harrick frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Clayton said, his voice hardening, "we don’t meet a Verdant Warden in a straight fight. We pit it against something worse, we make the battlefield work for us."
Veyra’s eyes lit with sharp understanding. "Turn them on each other".
Clayton nodded once. "Exactly."
The air thickened, pressing against their lungs.
A shadow passed overhead, massive and lumbering. The ground shook with each step of something titanic walking not far off.
They ducked instinctively into the cover of a broken root arch. The light flickered, and for a heartbeat, Clayton thought the shadow might turn their way. But it kept moving, slow, deliberate, its form just out of sight.
It was their first taste of what stalked these ruins.
Kaelin whispered, his voice wry but thin. "That’s the weakest one around here?"
No one answered.
Clayton crouched, his roots weaving around his hands as he drew in the scents and vibrations of the plain. Already, his Aspect whispered possibilities.
He detected insects feeding on corpses, fungi clinging to broken machines, and minor echoes of Behemorphs circling in patterns.
He could feel it.
A map was hidden here, if only he looked deeply enough.
"We move in stages," he said finally. "We set anchors, Seedpikes. Each one gives us a fallback point if things go wrong."
Mirra frowned. "And if we’re pushed too far, too fast?"
"Then we bleed slower instead of all at once," Clayton replied. "That’s all the edge we need."
Torren still looked ready to spit fire, but he exhaled hard and nodded. "Fine. Anchors, distractions, and traps. If the Protocols want us to crawl through a graveyard, we’ll burn our way through piece by piece."
"Not burn," Clayton corrected softly.
His eyes lifted toward the endless ruin, cold and sharp. "Grow. That’s what they want to see. Not just survival, adaptation".
"It’s a crucible," he sighed, reminiscing some dark memories. "We’ll use everything this place gives us, and we’ll reach that portal."
He clenched Regalia tight in his hand, feeling its thrum.
"Verdant Warden rank? Prime Synchron? I don’t care," his eyes burned with determination. "We’ve beaten worse odds before. And if Echoterra itself wants to stop us, then it can choke on our roots."
The others stared at Clayton, their silence weighing heavy. Then, one by one, they nodded.
They were exhausted, they were terrified, but they were not broken.
And Clayton would make sure they never would be.
The battlefield stretched before them, vast and merciless even as shadows stirred in the distance.
The temple of the God of Memories waited somewhere beyond the ruin.
The system had given them cruelty, Clayton would answer with defiance.