Five grovetenders wandered through the second floor. Along with them was every goblin in the dungeon. They had to traverse a 100-metre slope downwards just to get from one floor to another, and when they did, all they could see were vast plains with nothing more than dirt.

Their progress was slower than Devourer’s. There was only so much a goblin could cut itself before it died of blood loss, and, compared to other species, they didn’t have much blood in the first place. Still, every goblin was thankful for one thing - they weren’t Zagon. When they bled, he died, and he did so often.

Zagon’s eyes were empty today. The first few times he died, he couldn’t stop shaking. Every time he wanted to run away, a different death would pursue him. It wasn’t so bad when others killed him, but when he had to do it himself, it was a completely different experience.

Today, he had to cut his wrists. He was desensitised to the pain, and as he slowly bled to death, he cursed the wretched master that resummoned him every time. He felt his life slipping away, but it didn’t matter, he was cursed to never truly die.

He dropped to the ground, weakness seeping into his body. His head was spinning. “I’m going to die again,” he thought to himself, and the thought kept looping in his head, repeating itself until he could think of nothing else.

Then, everything went dark. It was almost comforting - as soon as he died, all of his pain would fade away. Time didn’t exist for a few moments, and when it began anew, he was back in the first room, the so-called goblin arena.

There was no one here today. Previously, he hated this place. Every day, he would have to get beaten up by others while not being able to properly fight back. At least now everyone was scared of fighting him. They also couldn’t beat him up now, he had won every fight since he lost something important. Now that he thought about it, he must’ve been stupid back then. It was only pain and discomfort, nothing compared to what he was feeling now.

Zagon made his way through the hallways until he arrived at Xeel’s room. The room was pitch black, which reminded him of dying, but it was also calm and serene. Xeel rarely spoke, the two of them didn’t converse much. Instead, on some days, Zagon could feel the link between him and Xeel. It felt like fire, a warm sensation in his heart. No matter what happened, at least someone would be here to protect them.

He relaxed, sinking into his thoughts. He noticed himself doing that more often now. Before he started dying, he felt like his head was muddled - he barely spent any time thinking. His brothers were busy with their tasks from the cruel one, which meant no one would disturb him for hours. But this time, someone did disturb him.

“It’s a shame that you’re a goblin. If you were a human, you’d turn out to be a wonderful demon, but alas, it’s not going to be so easy. Instead, we’ll have to turn you into a monster bit by bit. Go to Lyn’s room.”

The abominable voice invaded his mind, giving more orders. Still, he had himself to blame for this torture - he said he wanted to get stronger. All the others received bits of mana and transformed into something horrifying. For some reason, he didn’t get the same treatment. He had to suffer just so he could beat some weak goblins.

He stepped through the darkness into a separate room. It reeked of blood, the cave walls were stained entirely red, and there were pieces of organs lying everywhere. Despite this, Lyn remained his usual aloof self.

“Here, the master said you have to eat this,” he pointed at a cut off arm. It was a mix of blue, red, and black.

Zagon looked at the still twitching arm. His eyes darted between the arm and Lyn, sensing a correlation. He let out a deep sigh and picked it up, not hiding his disgust for what he needed to do.

“Stop your whining. You better thank the master for his gift. He could’ve just as easily left you to rot. That’s what you were doing - you were rotting, cowering in your weakness. He’s going to make you strong.”

Once upon a time, Lyn was different. He changed when he was granted the purple flame, and changed once again after he learned magic. Now, he was cold towards his brothers, worshipping master at every given opportunity.

“Must be nice. He gave you the power to stand above everyone else. He must have felt you were wasting it. He gave Xeel greater power, and now he protects us all. You use it to stand above everyone else and brag.” Zagon didn’t wait for the reply. He left with the arm, once again feeling disgusted.

So continued his life. His body started to change as he consumed more of the flesh, but it would take more time for any meaningful changes to happen.

Meanwhile, Artorius was struggling in a different manner. Every day, as long as he was not sleeping, he was swinging his sword. He shifted his feet, fighting against the warchief in his mind. No matter how hard he trained, he couldn’t imagine himself dodging the warchief’s skill.

Master told him that aura manifested in true life or death situations - it was a crystallisation of one’s soul, the essence of a person. They were such abstract concepts that Artorius couldn’t even imagine them. So, he did what he knew best. He fought.

He ferociously fought every day for hours. It would take at least seven regular goblins to bring him down, and he could even fight Lyn evenly for a few minutes. The shield was lighter in his hands than before, and now he was properly blocking with it, but progress came too slow.

“Argh. Fight. Struggle. Kill.” He panted, his shield dropping from exhaustion.

“Come on, it’s time for lessons,” said Tamiel in Brevusian as he watched.

It was time for the worst part of his day - language lessons. It would take hours off his precious training time, and worst of all, he was lagging behind. He couldn’t grasp what all the words meant, and he would forget most of them the next day.

“No. I’m not coming. Battle soon. Still no aura yet. Going to die.” Artorius grunted, reaching down to pick up his shield again. His arm trembled from exhaustion.

“Why practice more? Your body is tired, your mind is too. You’re not going to get an aura this way. ” Tamiel looked at him with pity in his eyes.

“Stupid. I’m getting taught, not you. What do you know about aura?” He forced out words, trying to speak in a way Tamiel taught them.

Tamiel circled Artorius, poking him in various places. He had bruises and blisters, exhaustion wracked his body. Even death wouldn’t fix this. It fixed injury, but not training.

“I felt sad, so I asked the fairy. He said aura is different for everyone. Some get it from sitting and reading, some from fighting. It takes time.”

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

“I don’t have time. Master said he was stripping my name if I can’t master it. Stinky warchief will have a great name. Master said a very great warrior has it.” He sighed. He was doing his best already, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t grasp it.

“Come on, I’ll beg to master, maybe he will spare you. Pecan said it takes months, maybe years. Master is being unreasonable.”

Artorius stopped trying to get up, opting to sit instead. Everyone was disrespecting the master now. First it was Zagon, now Tamiel. The truth was that he was a disappointment. Every time he fought against his master’s enemies, he lost. Every time the master depended on him, he betrayed his trust. Maybe the warchief deserved his name better than he did.

But, for now, he listened to Tamiel. He had no more strength left in his body, and he wanted to be with his brothers before he died. Everyone was changing so fast that Artorius couldn’t keep up.

Arriving at the small space designed for quiet, he saw that everyone else had already arrived. Artorius sat down next to Blade, who gave him a playful jab. “You’re late,” was the only thing he said.

Lyn sat opposite Artorius, glaring at Zagon. Something had happened between them. Tamiel tried his best to resolve that, but Lyn held a grudge. As for Zagon, he sat further away from the rest. Artorius looked him in the eye, but as their eyes met, he felt like Zagon was not looking at him but at something far away.

“Big day tomorrow, don’t lose. You’re stronger than all of us.” Blade said.

“Don’t disappoint the master. The warchief is weak.” Lyn took offence at Blade’s last sentence but chimed in regardless.

Artorius kept silent, and after a few moments, Tamiel went to the centre. There was an elevated platform for him to stand on created solely for this reason. Although Artorius could die tomorrow, everything proceeded the same as it had. They spent two hours trying to learn difficult letters and squabbling with each other. He would miss them.

The next day, it was time for the fight. Similar to before, Viv gathered everyone to watch. It felt like it was just yesterday that Artorius got his head cut off. He nervously swung his sword in the air, hoping it would bring some comfort.

Similar to before, a goblin appeared in a flash of light. The warchief had the same two blades that Artorius dreamt about every night, and it had the same smug expression on its face. It roared as it looked around, feeling superior to everyone in the room.

Artorius was already in a battle stance, carefully observing the warchief’s every move. It was informed of what was going on by Viv and turned to face Artorius. “I am the leader, not you,” it roared.

He wanted to talk back, to say something, but he couldn’t afford any extra actions. Breathing deep, he calmed himself down, angling his shield to catch an attack from any side. His enemy got more and more agitated, spit flying everywhere from being ignored.

Finally, it had enough. It dropped into a low stance and sprinted, wanting to catch Artorius by surprise. Taking a step back, he blocked one sword and parried the other. The warchief was quick - as soon as its attack failed, it circled him.

Artorius was never going to be quicker than it, but he was more experienced with his weapons now. Unlike last time, he could properly wield his shield, blocking any frontal attacks. Once again, he stepped back, catching both the blades with his shield and slashing down at the goblin.

The leather armour it had was shoddy. Although he didn’t fully cut through, he made the warchief stagger with the sheer amount of force behind the blow. Taking a lesson from last time, he immediately went on the aggressive side, not letting the other recover.

A solid blow to the side sent the warchief flying through the air. It smashed against the wall, but recovered quickly, darting between the crowd. The match had gone outside the arena now, the others trying to scramble to not die.

When it attacked, Artorius was ready. This time, he tackled it to the ground without falling himself. It managed to hold on to both of its weapons, but it screamed in pain when his sword barely missed its heart, piercing its chest.

Another stab, another scream. Artorius didn’t dare to let his guard down and for a good reason. After the second stab, it let out a horrifying screech that made every regular goblin drop to the ground. For Artorius, it was worse than last time.

Instead of the wolves, this time he saw a goblin. It was the previous warchief - Xeel. He approached Artorius, his hand grabbing out and clutching Artorius’ throat. His heart began to pound as he could barely breathe, his mind was becoming foggier every second.

It was at the last moment that he snapped out of it. He had experienced this once, and this time, he was more resolved. Despite the horrifying ordeal, he held the conviction that he would be victorious deep in his heart. Every battle he lost made him crave victory that much more.

He managed to take a step back, which saved him from being completely eviscerated. Two swords with a blood-red glow went through his stomach, sending blood flying everywhere. Artorius was injured, but he wasn’t dead yet. Still, he was profusely bleeding, and he wouldn’t hold out for long.

This time, the warchief was satisfied to hang back and let Artorius bleed out, leaving him no choice but to go on the aggressive. He charged, aiming to run it through, but it was too agile. It barely dodged each of his blows, almost as if to taunt him.

Finally, Artorius stopped. He dropped his shield, leaving only a longsword to his name. The warchief cackled in delight, pointing at Artorius’ blood on the floor. He closed his eyes, which caused the warchief to holler and throw up his arms.

It was now or never. If there was some mysterious force inside of him, it had to emerge now, or so he thought in his last minutes. He couldn’t sense his soul - he had no clue what it even was. He had seen Lyn do magic, and Xeel’s darkness scared the crap out of him, so he was sure there was nothing magical inside of him.

The only thing he had was his determination to win, and even that was slowly fading. Replacing it was bitterness and disappointment. He wished he could be something more - someone with power, someone who would be remembered. Instead, he was plain and weak. Despite Blade being granted the average name, even he was much more interesting than Artorius.

So, he truly wished from the bottom of his heart. He was given another life, he wished he could have done more. With that in his heart, he made his last charge. He felt light-headed, and as a result, his body felt like it was floating as well. The distance rapidly shortened, and he had no idea why the warchief was moving so slow.

The sword felt like a feather in his hands. The warchief panicked, turning to flee, but it wouldn’t be enough. Holding both his blades, he desperately tried to block the charge.

“Silly, don’t you know that you’re supposed to block where the other is attacking,” Artorius said, feeling like someone else was speaking.

The sword sheared through its body, cleaving the warchief in two pieces. Its last expression was that of disbelief mixed with fear, and as it dropped, the goblins went wild. Blade tackled him to the ground, and soon enough, a giant goblin pile was created.

“Light blue aura. I wonder what that means,” Viv mused to himself, carefully observing Artorius. His aura was thick, which meant that his soul was equally impressive.

He wouldn’t die from blood loss now that he had an aura, though it would be easier to kill him to heal the wound. Still, Viv had no plan of severing their connection any time soon. The goblins kept impressing him, though it wasn’t hard when he expected nothing in the first place. Aura was a tool that every warrior needed to master. The higher rank an adventurer was, the more they developed their aura.

“Good job, you’ve reached the first stage in aura manipulation. I’ve only reached the fifth stage myself - soul transformation. Though if you manage to get that far one day, you’ll be considered an S class monster.” Viv had observed how maniacally Artorius had trained for all these days, some praise was much needed.

Artorius had plenty of soul searching to do to develop his powers. He was only one of many that Viv planned to pave the road for, all in the name of eradicating the horrible disease known as humanity.

All of his greatest foes used aura, even the hero that had slain him. Back in the day, warriors had a myriad of different techniques ranging from bloodlines to curses. It was only because of Viv that they all started to use aura. Anyone who couldn't protect their soul would instantly die, their life strings snapped by Viv's innate ability. No one could have expected that the relatively obscure technique of aura was the closest to divinity.

It was the same divinity that prevented demons from rising, from truly overthrowing humans. No matter how many times demons got eradicated, as long as there were humans, demons would follow.