Chapter 21

As the ceremony continued, the fervour surrounding pawn 666's extraordinary spiritual roots gradually subsided, replaced by a sombre acknowledgment of the vast disparity between her exceptional talents and the mundane abilities of the majority of pawns in attendance.

Despite the initial spark of hope ignited by her revelation, the harsh reality of their own limitations soon cast a shadow over the aspirations of those gathered in the courtyard.

With each successive pawn whose spiritual roots proved to be of the ordinary variety, the figure's interest waned, his demeanor growing increasingly indifferent and dismissive.

Where once there had been anticipation and scrutiny, now there was only a palpable sense of resignation, as if the revelation of pawn 666's unparalleled aptitude had rendered the accomplishments of the others inconsequential in comparison.

The figure's terse assessments and curt dismissals left no room for ambiguity, his words cutting through the silence like a knife as he labeled each pawn with a perfunctory designation of "ordinary" or "commonplace."

To him, they were nothing more than interchangeable components in the grand machinations of the Order, their individual aspirations and ambitions of little consequence in the face of 666's unprecedented potential.

For the pawns who found themselves relegated to the ranks of the ordinary, the sting of disappointment mingled with a bitter sense of resignation, underscoring the harsh truth of their existence within the Order of the Shadows.

This disappointing routine carried on until another pawn with a rare spiritual root was found.

“Pawn 754, come forward!”

As pawn 754 stepped forward, his appearance seemed to belie his true potential, his frail frame and pallid complexion standing in stark contrast to the formidable aura of power that emanated from within him. With a sense of trepidation, he approached the towering statue, his trembling hand outstretched as it made contact with the cold stone surface.

In an instant, a sinister dark green hue enveloped the courtyard, suffusing the air with the acrid scent of an unknown substance. 621 found himself instinctively recoiling from the noxious odor, a sense of unease settling over him as he recognized the familiar sensation that accompanied it.

The atmosphere grew tense as the surrounding pawns exchanged apprehensive glances, unsure of what to make of this ominous development.

the figure's gaze sharpened with keen interest, his eyes alight with a newfound curiosity as he surveyed the scene before him. With a subtle nod of acknowledgment, he gestured for silence, commanding the attention of all those present.

"Poison," he intoned, his voice carrying with it a weight of authority that brooked no dissent.

"A rare and formidable spiritual root, one that aligns closely with the Order's own expertise."

The pronouncement elicited a stir of murmurs from the gathered pawns, their hushed whispers blending with the ominous hum of envy that hung heavy in the air. Every pawn knew the use of poison as well as it’s effectiveness in dealing with targets, one could only wonder in actually having a spiritual root for it.

Sensing the gravity of the moment, the figure's tone took on a note of solemn reverence as he continued to address the assembly.

"Such an aptitude is a testament to the darkness that resides within us all," he declared, his words infused with a mixture of reverence and caution.

"But wielded with care and precision, it can be a potent weapon—one that strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies and secures our dominance over the shadows."

“Good, Next!”

However, another round of ordinary pawns were revealed next causing the fervour to decline once more. It was a series of ups and downs, mostly downs with the ups only being the revelation of rare spiritual roots.

And of course, another one was soon revealed.

“Pawn 889, step up!”

This pawn stepped forward into the spotlight as a palpable hush fell over the courtyard, the air thick with anticipation and curiosity. His arrival seemed to command attention, his striking appearance and confident demeanor setting him apart from the other pawns in line.

The disappointment in the atmosphere were mere nothingness to him it seemed like.

With each measured step, he exuded an aura of quiet authority, his movements fluid and purposeful as he navigated the space with effortless grace. His silver hair caught the light in an ethereal halo, framing his chiseled features and piercing hazel eyes with an otherworldly brilliance.

There was an undeniable magnetism to him, a raw charisma that drew the gaze of all those present, their eyes lingering on his figure with a mixture of awe and intrigue. And as he approached the statue with a sense of quiet determination, the atmosphere seemed to crackle with a newfound energy, the anticipation building to a fever pitch as he reached out to make contact.

His touch was deliberate, his fingers tracing the contours of the statue with a reverence that belied his outward indifference. And as the figure at the front observed his actions with keen interest, a sense of anticipation hung heavy in the air.

As pawn 889's hand made contact with the statue, a profound shift seemed to occur in the very fabric of reality. The once clear skies above the courtyard darkened with alarming speed, as if a shroud of darkness had been drawn across the heavens, enveloping the space in an eerie gloom.

Within moments, ominous clouds began to coalesce overhead, swirling and churning with an almost palpable sense of foreboding. The air grew heavy with anticipation, pregnant with the promise of imminent change.

Then, without warning, the heavens erupted in a deluge of rain, the downpour cascading down in sheets of icy water that drenched everything in its path. The courtyard was transformed into a sodden landscape, the relentless rain beating against the earth with unrelenting force.

Despite the tempest raging around them, the figure at the front remained untouched by the storm, a mysterious aura of dryness surrounding him like an invisible shield. His gaze bore into pawn 889 with a mixture of curiosity and recognition, acknowledging the significance of the torrential downpour that now engulfed them all.

With a voice that cut through the tumult of the storm, the figure declared pawn 889's spiritual root to be that of water, but not just any water—this was a special variant known as,

"Torrential Water."

As the torrential rain continued to batter the courtyard with relentless ferocity, a subtle shift in the atmosphere began to take hold. The sun’s heat that had momentarily receded now returned with renewed intensity, its stifling presence suffusing the air with a palpable tension.

Despite the sweltering heat, the storm showed no signs of abating, its fury unabated by the feeble attempt to quell it. The figure at the front, his expression a mixture of astonishment and excitement, could only watch in awe as nature's forces clashed in a spectacular display of power.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"It can't be!?" the figure exclaimed, his voice barely audible over the roar of the rain.

"Another one?"

The revelation sent shockwaves through the gathered crowd, their murmurs of disbelief mingling with the tumult of the storm.

“However, the second is an ordinary fire,” the figure seemed slightly disappointed, nonetheless he was still accepting of that fact that the youth was another dual cultivator.

With a sense of anticipation hanging in the air, the figure announced pawn 889's dual spiritual root cultivation to the crowd, his words carrying a weight of both reverence and respect.

Despite the secondary root being deemed ordinary in comparison to the first, it was still met with approval, a testament to the rarity and significance of pawn 889's unique aptitude.

As the storm raged on unabated, pawn 889 stood at the center of it all, a beacon of dual elemental power amidst the chaos of the elements.

However, a palpable shift occurred in the atmosphere, driven by primal instincts of male dominance and rivalry. Unlike the admiration that had accompanied 666's revelation, there was a stark contrast in the reception of pawn 889.

The male pawns, their eyes ablaze with envy and resentment, saw 666 as a coveted prize—a future conquest to pursue, to woo, and to bed. To them, she was seen as a symbol of desire, a woman to be coveted and admired—a trophy.

In contrast, pawn 889 was viewed through a lens of rivalry and threat because of his gender. The other male pawns saw him not as a potential partner, but as a competitor—a rival whose very existence posed a challenge to their own status and dominance within the Order.

The toxic energy that now permeated the courtyard was fueled by this instinctual drive for dominance and superiority. 889 became an object of scorn and derision, an eyesore that needed to be eliminated in order to assert their own dominance and claim their place at the top of the hierarchy.

For 621, the change in atmosphere was impossible to ignore. The malevolent energy that now permeated the courtyard sent a chill down his spine, the weight of the collective animosity almost suffocating in its intensity.

It was a sobering reminder of the baseless discrimination that often ran rampant within the Order's ranks. Despite possessing a rare and remarkable gift, pawn 889 found himself cast as an outsider, his achievements diminished by the narrow-mindedness of his peers.

As the tension in the courtyard reached a boiling point, 889 remained steadfast in his confidence, his demeanor unwavering in the face of the hostile glares directed his way. With the swagger of a tiger challenging the nearby hyenas, he met their envious stares with a defiant glare of his own, his smile bordering on provocation.

Despite the palpable animosity surrounding him, 889 seemed to revel in the attention, his confidence unshaken by the hostility that radiated from the other pawns. His hazel eyes gleamed with determination, a silent declaration of his refusal to be intimidated or swayed by their jealousy.

Amidst the tumultuous atmosphere, the figure at the forefront remained indifferent to the brewing conflict, his impassive gaze fixed upon the next pawn in line. With a casual wave of his hand, he called out yet another number, his tone betraying no hint of the tension that hung thick in the air.

..

“Pawn 621, Come up!”

As the spotlight shifted to him, 621 felt a surge of apprehension ripple through his veins, his heart pounding with anticipation.

621 slowly stood up amidst the swirling remnants of the storm, his short black hair tousled by the lingering wind that whispered through the courtyard like a chorus of ancient spirits. Each strand seemed to dance to its own rhythm, adding an ethereal quality to his already mysterious demeanor.

Despite the turmoil that had engulfed the surroundings, his pale complexion remained oddly serene, a testament to the inner calm that belied the chaos around him.

His sharp, silver eyes gleamed with a piercing intensity, reflecting the world around him with an almost supernatural clarity. They seemed to hold the secrets of the unknown, each glance a glimpse into the depths of his enigmatic soul. In the dim light of the courtyard, they shone like beacons of unyielding determination, cutting through the darkness with unwavering resolve.

His dark robes, which had been drenched by the torrential rain mere moments ago, now clung to him like a second skin, though remarkably, they were quite dry. The remnants of the storm had been no match for his newfound ability to manipulate Qi.

With a focused exertion of his will, he had channeled the energy within him, coaxing forth the flickering green flame that danced at his command. It had enveloped him causing the water to evaporate from his clothes, leaving them untouched by the rain that still fell around him.

It was a testament to his efficient nature, an instinct that he continued to hone with each passing moment, even in that small moment, 621 found himself experimenting with his internal Qi, trailblazing the limits of his control over this new type of energy.

He moved with a deliberate grace that bordered on the otherworldly. Every step he took seemed to echo with the weight of purpose, as if he carried the knowledge of countless lifetimes within his very being. The fabric of his attire rustled softly with each movement, a whisper of power that hinted at the depths of his hidden strength.

Passing by 889 who was on his way back, he did so with an air of nonchalance that belied the keen awareness that lay beneath the surface. Although 621’s gaze seemed to remain fixed forward, his senses on the other hand, were actually hyper aware of every subtle shift in the atmosphere, every whisper of danger that lurked in the shadows.

With each step, he moved with the confidence of one who knew his own strength, yet beneath the surface, a quiet intensity burned, a fire that fueled his unwavering lethality.

As he made his way towards the towering statue at the center of the courtyard, the air crackled with an electric tension, charged with the anticipation of his arrival. The hostile glares of the surrounding pawns bore down upon him like a tangible weight, yet he remained unaffected, his focus unwavering amidst the storm of emotions that raged around him.

Finally, he came to a stop before the imposing statue, its weathered features looming over him like a silent sentinel of ages past.

He wasted no time as his hand made contact with the cold stone of the statue. It was then that a sudden surge of energy seemed to emanate from him, an intense and instantaneous burst of a dark red hue rippled outward like a shockwave, briefly disturbing and distorting the air around him.

The figure at the front stiffened in response, his senses alert to the unexpected disturbance, his gaze sharp and probing. Yet, just as swiftly as it had appeared, the crimson hue vanished, leaving behind only a lingering sense of unease in its wake.

Then, a silver radiance began to suffuse the courtyard, casting everything in its ethereal glow. It seemed to emanate from 621 himself, reflecting the brilliance of his sharp, silver eyes as his irises glowed brightly. The sudden shift in atmosphere drew the attention of all present, their eyes fixed on the enigmatic figure standing before the towering statue.

But it wasn't just the visual spectacle that captivated their senses. As the silver hue enveloped the surroundings, a strange and otherworldly sound filled the air, a symphony of metallic whispers that seemed to echo from every corner of the courtyard.

Especially the weapons of the nearby pawns, once silent and still, now trembled with life, emitting a chorus of clinks and clangs that vibrated with an eerie harmony.

Each blade and bladelet sang its own unique song in response to 621's presence, their melodies intertwining in a hypnotic dance of sound and light. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the reverberations of their metallic voices, creating a palpable sense of tension and anticipation that hung heavy in the air.

But amidst the cacophony of sound and shimmering silver light, there was something else, something more elusive yet equally captivating. It was as if the very essence of the courtyard had come alive, pulsing with an energy that defied explanation.

Every metallic object seemed to throb with an unseen power, responding to the subtle shifts in 621's aura with a symphony of colour and movement, it was almost as if they wanted to get close to him.

In that moment, 621 stood at the center of it all, a solitary figure bathed in the radiant glow of his own power.

As the figure struggled to find the right words to describe 621's spiritual root, a furrow formed on his brow, his expression a mix of confusion and intrigue. He cast his mind back, searching for any semblance of familiarity with such an occurrence, but it was as if the memory eluded him, slipping through his grasp like smoke.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, he admitted defeat, acknowledging that this was a phenomenon he had never before encountered. Yet, even in his uncertainty, there was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, a realization that this was no ordinary spiritual root. It was rare, perhaps even a special variant, and its significance was not lost on him.

Turning to address the assembled pawns, the figure's voice carried a weight of authority as he announced his assessment of 621's spiritual root. His words were measured, each one carefully chosen to convey the gravity of the situation.

"It seems," he began, his voice commanding attention, "that we have witnessed something truly extraordinary here today. 621 possesses a rare Metal spiritual root, one that I have never before encountered in all my years."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd, each pawn processing the significance of this revelation in their own way. Some exchanged incredulous glances, while others regarded 621 with newfound hostility.

But the powerful figure was not done yet with 621’s assessment. With a sense of anticipation, he deliberately released his aura once more forcing the surroundings to quiet down, his senses keenly attuned to any sign of a second spiritual root.

Yet, despite his efforts, there was only silence that followed suite, the silvery light of 621's aura was the only force casting a pall over the courtyard.

The figure had hoped that 621 would be another dual spiritual root cultivator but alas.

For a split moment, the figure's disappointment was palpable, a fleeting shadow that passed across his features before being replaced by a steely resolve. He may not have uncovered a new possibility, but he recognized the value that this enigmatic pawn held for the Order.

"Nevertheless," he declared, his voice ringing out with authority, "You have proven to be a rare talent indeed.”

“Very good!”