The beam in the distance was a gap in a final wall, he saw, perhaps five yards wide. It shone with the same painful white glow of a heated blade drawn from a smith’s fire; it was too intense to gaze at for long, so Scorio approached with his eyes downcast, his heart pounding steadily.
He passed through the third gap just as his Igneous Heart guttered and went out. The sweet strength flowed out of his body, and for a moment he was tempted to summon it back, but then he let it go.
Best to summon it the second before he stepped into the light.
The last stretch was so encroached upon by the raw rock that it was but a narrow path winding between the cliff-like slopes. He walked slowly, steadily, attempting to master his nerves, and then stopped when he was but a few paces from the burning light itself.
There was no heat. His breath condensed before him with each exhalation. He squinted at the bright light and considered.
This was all wrong. So different from the Gauntlet the first time he’d gone through.
Was it a second Gauntlet, then? Or perhaps the true original? Abandoned when the Great Souls had left the old Academy to be consumed by the ruins?
A thrill of excitement ran through him. What if it was?
What if he was the first to attempt to run it in half a millennium?
He stepped right up to the burning light. Extending his hand, he then paused. Summoned his Heart, swirled the thick Coal mana about and into it, then willed it to ignite.
The moment his Cinder strength flowed into his body again, he stepped through.
All he saw for a moment was overwhelming light, and then he blinked and was in a rough hallway, broad and high ceilinged.
Scorio immediately sidestepped, hoping to avoid the expected bolt, but instead, he evaded a curved blade that swept down at an oblique angle. It hewed so close that he was forced to sway back as it skimmed down his length, a slash so vicious it would have severed his head and shoulder from his body.
It wasn’t the only attack.
A second blade hung in the air, pointed right at where he’d sidestepped. It slid forward, fast as thought, and into his side. Slid between his ribs and right out through his back.
Scorio’s eyes bulged as he gripped the naked blade with one hand, only to scream as a third weapon—a greatsword or ax, something—swept right through his shins, hewing them cleanly off below the knees.
The pain was immediate, all-consuming. He fell, his scream stifled by agony as the sword in his side tore free, ripping out in a welter of gore.
Scorio crashed to the dirt amidst his legs, gasping and staring, mind blank with pain, overwhelmed by the suddenness of the violence. Blood was pouring out of him in great, gouting pulses, and already the room was growing distant.
“Damn,” he whispered, gazing up where the three blades hung suspended in the air, his blood running down the length of two of them.
With effort, he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. Though the pain was terrible, though he felt as if he were genuinely dying, still his lips pulled into a grimace of a smile.
Won’t fall for that again, he thought, then the world went dark.
1
Scorio awoke atop the bier, his wounds healed but wracked in pain. With a grunt he sat up, his muscles clenching, one fist pressed to his side, his eyes screwing tightly shut.
“Scorio!” Lianshi was by his side, her hand on his shoulder, her concern palpable. “What happened? What is it?”
Beneath each knee, a line of fire burned, as if red hot coals had been thumbed under his skin and between the muscles. Sweat prickled over his brow, and he clenched his teeth so tightly he thought they’d crack.
“Something’s wrong,” he heard her say to Leonis. “He shouldn’t be in pain. We didn’t awaken in pain. What happened? What—?”
“Peace,” came Leonis’s rumble, then even through that ghastly pain Scorio sensed his friend step up on the other side of the bier. “Scorio? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Scorio managed to say, his chest finally unlocking so that he could inhale deeply, rapidly, as if sucking in air could quench the pain. “Ears are working fine.”
“You’re not hurt,” said Leonis quietly, calmly. “I don’t see any blood. The Gauntlet’s wounds don’t transfer to the real world. It’s in your mind.”
Scorio’s grimace turned into a pained smile. He wanted to say something wry, but it took all his focus to slow down his breath. The pain, however, continued, a tunneling well of agony in his side, oblivion beneath his knees.
“That’s better,” said Lianshi, hopping up to sit before him on the bier and placing both hands on his shoulders. “Breathe with me, Scorio. Slowly. Draw it in. Now hold. Now exhale. Slowly.”
Scorio lost himself to her guidance, forcing himself to pace his breaths with her instructions, and slowly, terribly slowly, the pain receded. It must have taken ten minutes of raw torment before at last he was able to blink away the sweat, slowly unclench his muscles, and look up to meet his friends’ concerned gazes.
“Better,” he said, lowering the fist he’d jabbed into his side. “Thank you.”
“You scared the hell out of us,” said Leonis, face grave. “What happened?”
Carefully, exploring how it felt, Scorio stretched, reaching up with one arm to pull at the muscles of his side. “It’s not the same Gauntlet.”
Lianshi placed a hand over her mouth. “An older version? Like this Academy?”
“Precisely,” said Scorio, reaching down to rub at his shins. “Same kind of layout, but everything appears worn, half-broken down. I entered this great beam of pale light and was slashed apart by a trio of blades.”
Leonis frowned. “Three blades? That’s some serious escalation from one crossbow bolt.”
“You’re telling me,” said Scorio. “But before I died, I memorized their attack pattern. Assuming they don’t change, I’ll be able to evade them next time.”
“Next time?” Lianshi’s eyes went wide again. “You’re going back in?”
“Of course,” said Scorio simply. “It’s the perfect resource. Don’t you see? We get to throw ourselves endlessly at it. If the best training is the most lethal, it won’t get better than this.”
“But the pain,” said Leonis, tone sober. “It lasted. This isn’t the same.”
“It’s not,” agreed Scorio. “But pain I can handle, as long as it’s not permanent. I’m not saying it’ll be enjoyable. But this is effectively our own private Gauntlet. We can run it as many times as we’ve got the resolve. Can you imagine what it will do for our training?”
His friends stared at him, and then Lianshi gave a curt nod.
“He’s right,” she said.
Leonis turned to stare at her.
“There’s no better training,” Lianshi said, drawing herself up tall. “I’ll take the pain if it means I can advance.”
“You’re both mad,” said Leonis in wonder, shaking his head. “But fine. If you think I’ll let the both of you wander around in there without me to take care of you, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Scorio grinned and reached out to clap Leonis on the shoulder. “Excellent. Now, let me show you the pattern.”
Swinging his legs over, he hopped off the bier and promptly collapsed to the ground.
“Scorio!” Lianshi was down by his side in a moment, Leonis hurrying around the bier a moment later. She grabbed him under one arm and helped him rise. “Your legs?”
The pain had flared suddenly, but worse was the sense that he’d simply been unable to direct them as he was accustomed. As if they’d forgotten they were attached to his body.
“Not a problem,” he said, leaning heavily against the bier. “Just need a little more time to recover from having them chopped off.”