Chapter 22

As 621 returned to the fold, his mind buzzed with questions and uncertainties, each one vying for his attention like a cacophony of discordant voices.

The revelation of his metal spiritual root had caught him off guard, a twist of fate that he had never anticipated. He had always considered himself to be just another pawn in the Order's grand design, nothing more than a cog in the machine of war.

Yet now, with this newfound knowledge, he couldn't help but wonder what it meant for his future.

“What does it mean to have a metal spiritual root?”, he mused, his thoughts swirling in a tumultuous whirlwind of uncertainty.

“Is it a blessing or a curse, a gift or a burden? And more importantly, how would it help me?”

He couldn't deny the irony of it all. Here he was, bearing a spiritual affinity for metal, yet he had never wielded a weapon in his life. Unlike his fellow pawns, who liked to brandish swords, daggers and other weapons with practiced ease, he himself relied solely on the strength of his fists in combat.

It was a contradiction that gnawed at him, a puzzle with no clear solution. And yet, despite his doubts and misgivings, he knew that he had to embrace this new aspect of himself, to explore its potential and discover what secrets it held.

For in the shadows of the Order, where every advantage could mean the difference between life and death, 621 knew that he couldn't afford to ignore the power that lay dormant within him.

As the silver hue had enveloped him, 621 felt a strange sensation wash over him in that instance, like a surge of electricity coursing through his veins. It was as if the metals themselves were reaching out to him, whispering secrets that only he could hear.

Similarly, he found himself drawn to the nearby metal objects, his gaze lingering on them with an intensity that bordered on obsession, it was an instinctive feeling. The glint of polished steel, the dull sheen of rusted iron—each piece seemed to pulsate with a life of its own, resonating with a hidden power that beckoned him closer.

He could almost feel the weight of the weapons in his hands, the cold touch of metal against his skin, as if they were already an extension of himself.

In that fleeting instant, he experienced a profound connection unlike any he had felt before, a bond that transcended the boundaries of mere physicality. It was as if he could call upon their presence.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, the odd sensation vanished, leaving him feeling disoriented and bewildered. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had glimpsed something out of the ordinary, something that hinted at the true extent of his dormant power.

Even as of now 621, tried to recall that same feeling, he stared at the nearby metal objects hoping to garner that same connection but it was useless; no matter how hard he tried to condense a bond between himself and the objects; it was lost to him, he couldn’t quite grasp the enigmatic concept.

As he continued to reflect on the events of the revelation, his mind returned to that fleeting moment of strangeness at the start. It was as if something deep within him had stirred, like something awakening from his inner self.

It had been so brief, so fleeting, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it held some sort of significance, some clue to the mysteries of his newfound abilities.

The strange crimson hue that had pulsed from him only added to his confusion. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, a sensation that was both exhilarating and unnerving in equal measure. Was it a manifestation of his metal spiritual root, or something else entirely?

He thought seriously about it, but he couldn't say for certain, and that uncertainty gnawed at him, fueling a sense of unease that lingered just beneath the surface of his thoughts.

“What did it all of it mean?”

Up ahead, 621 watched the last pawn in line step forward to touch the statue, he couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu wash over him. The ground beneath the pawn's feet trembled and shook, a small fissure opening up beneath him as if in response to his earthen affinity.

It was a sight that 621 had seen countless times before, a testament to the power of the elemental affinities that coursed through each pawn's veins.

But despite the dramatic display, there was an air of disappointment that hung heavy in the air. The pawn's shoulders slumped; his expression crestfallen as he awaited the inevitable verdict. Like so many others before him, he had hoped for something more, something extraordinary to set him apart from the rest.

But alas, it seemed that his earth spiritual root was just like that of so many others – ordinary, unremarkable, mundane.

As the figure at the forefront pronounced the verdict, there was a collective sigh of resignation that rippled through the crowd. This was also a familiar scene, one that had played out time and time again in the courtyard.

And yet, despite the disappointment that lingered in the air, there was also a sense of acceptance, a recognition that not everyone could be extraordinary, that some were destined for mediocrity.

While 621 observed the figure at the forefront pronouncing the verdicts on each pawn's spiritual root, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than met the eye. The figure's outward display of judgment seemed almost performative, as if he were broadcasting the results to the entire courtyard with a deliberate intention.

And then it hit him – the true purpose behind the figure's actions. It wasn't merely to inform the pawns of their spiritual roots; it was a calculated move to provoke them, to stoke the flames of rivalry and competition within their ranks.

By publicly announcing the results, the figure was sending a clear message to all the pawns: there were rising talents among them, individuals whose potential threatened to disrupt the established hierarchy.

He felt that this was the case as 621 observed the other pawns exchanging wary glances and measuring each other up with newfound scrutiny. The presence of the lingering shadows in the periphery only added to this theory.

As 621 mulled over the implications of the figure's actions, a sense of frustration gnawed at him. It was no secret that the Order of the Shadows operated on ruthless doctrines, where strength was valued above all else and weakness was swiftly culled. But even within this brutal framework, there was a certain logic that seemed to be missing.

The idea of squandering the potential of talented individuals within the order struck 621 as profoundly shortsighted. After all, in a world where power dictated everything, nurturing and harnessing the abilities of rising talents should have been a top priority.

Yet here they were, openly broadcasting the strengths and weaknesses of their own ranks for all to see, inviting discord and division where unity should have reigned.

It was a grim reminder of the order's callous disregard for anything but its own agenda. In their relentless pursuit of power and dominance, they were willing to sacrifice the very individuals who could have bolstered their ranks and ensured their continued ascendancy.

But perhaps, 621 thought bitterly, there were ulterior motives at play. Perhaps the figure at the forefront had contingency plans in place, schemes and machinations that extended far beyond the courtyard walls.

After all, in a world where betrayal was commonplace and alliances were fragile, one could never be too careful.

The only thing 621 was sure of was that he must be cautious at all times more so now since his own spiritual root was revealed garnering even more unwanted eyes upon himself.

..

The figure's commanding presence seemed to silence the courtyard as he turned his gaze upon each pawn, his eyes piercing and authoritative. His deep voice echoed through the air, resonating with a weight that demanded attention.

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"Silence," he commanded, his voice carrying a potent authority that brooked no disobedience. As the courtyard fell hushed, he continued, his words carrying the weight of the order's decree.

"Those whose spiritual roots have been revealed may now proceed to the 1st floor of the Alexandrian Pavilion," he declared, his tone brooking no argument.

"There, you will choose your first martial skill, courtesy of the order."

The announcement sent a ripple of murmurs through the crowd as the pawns exchanged eager glances and whispered conversations. The opportunity to receive martial training for free was a rare one indeed, and many eyes gleamed with anticipation at the prospect.

But the figure's next words sobered their excitement, reminding them of the gravity of their choices.

"Choose wisely," he cautioned, his voice carrying a note of admonition.

"Your first martial skill should align with your spiritual root. This is a one-time opportunity, and it would be a folly to squander it."

His words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the importance of their decisions. For many of the pawns, this would be their first step on the path to mastery, and the weight of their choice settled upon them like a mantle of responsibility.

The courtyard seemed to hold its breath as the figure's words hung in the air, a heavy silence settling over the gathered pawns. Some shifted anxiously on their feet, eager to seize the opportunity presented to them, while others remained stoic, their expressions betraying no hint of emotion.

For 621, the atmosphere was charged with an unsettling tension. He watched with keen observation as his fellow pawns hesitated, their excitement tempered by an unspoken restraint.

It was as though an invisible force held them in place, compelling them to wait until the figure's presence had dissipated entirely. He found their restraint strange, he felt that there was more to it.

As the figure's form began to waver and distort, a sense of unease washed over the courtyard. The air crackled with latent energy, and 621 felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched the figure vanish from view, leaving behind only a lingering echo of his presence.

And then, with a whispered promise, the figure's voice faded into the ether, leaving some of the pawns to ponder the weight of his words in the silence that followed.

"Good luck, pawns," he uttered, his voice carrying a solemn resonance that lingered in the minds of all who heard it.

Immediately, a palpable tension gripped the courtyard, electrifying the atmosphere with anticipation. In an instant, the stillness was shattered as a surge of movement rippled through the gathered pawns, a large portion of them moved with haste. They scattered like leaves caught in a sudden gust of wind, each driven by a singular purpose.

621 watched the frantic flurry of activity unfold before him, his sharp gaze scanning the chaotic scene with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. His instincts urged him to join the throng of rushing pawns, to heed the unspoken call to action that pulsed through the air like a silent command.

With swift, decisive movements, 621 propelled himself forward, his agile form cutting through the crowd with determined resolve. He felt the urgency of their collective momentum pulling him along, drawing him inexorably toward their shared destination.

Despite this, a handful of pawns remained rooted to the spot, their perplexed expressions mirroring the confusion that rippled through the courtyard like a silent tide.

Some exchanged uncertain glances, their brows furrowed in consternation as they watched the others vanish into the distance with a sense of urgency that left them bewildered. Others hesitated, their instincts warring with their uncertainty, unsure whether to follow the fleeing group or stay behind in the relative safety of the courtyard.

Among them, whispers of speculation began to circulate, each voice tinged with a hint of apprehension and doubt. They questioned the sudden exodus, puzzled by the urgency that seemed to grip their fellow pawns and uncertain of the implications for those who chose to remain behind.

However, in the near future they would know, and they would soon regret the consequences of their decisions.

As 621 closed the distance, a sense of foreboding settled over him like a heavy cloak, weighing down his thoughts with an uneasy sense of apprehension. There was a purpose to this sudden exodus, a hidden significance that stirred his instincts and set his nerves on edge.

He looked up ahead to witness the group’s fleeting direction and his eyes soon restricted themselves for he suddenly had an ominous hunch.

In the distance, the imposing silhouette of the Alexandrian Pavilion loomed against the backdrop of the order's shadowy base, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens like silent sentinels guarding a hidden realm. Even from afar, its presence commanded attention, casting a long shadow that stretched across the courtyard like a dark omen.

Recalling the figure's parting words—spoken with a cryptic blend of reassurance and strange portent—621 felt an increasing possibility arise. It was as if the figure's whispered blessing carried with it a weighty implication.

As the group neared the imposing silhouette of the Alexandrian Pavilion, tension hung thick in the air like a suffocating shroud, palpable and electric with anticipation. But just as they approached the threshold of their destination, chaos erupted with startling ferocity.

Without warning, one of the leading pawns at the front unleashed a vial of poison, casting it behind him with malicious intent. The vile concoction shattered against the ground, releasing a noxious cloud of toxic fumes that billowed outward, a sinister trap laid for those who followed in their wake.

Caught off guard, one unfortunate pawn stumbled into the toxic mist, the foul vapors seizing hold of his senses with merciless swiftness. Wracked with convulsions, he fell to his knees, retching violently as dark bile spilled from his lips, a grim testament to the potency of the poison's venomous embrace.

But the assault did not end there. Emboldened by the first strike, others among the group seized upon the opportunity to unleash their own arsenal of deadly implements. Flying daggers whistled through the air like deadly projectiles, their edges honed to lethal precision and coated with a lethal sheen of poison.

In the ensuing melee, chaos reigned supreme. Pawns clashed with frenzied desperation, their bodies a blur of motion as they fought tooth and nail for survival. Blood mingled with the toxic miasma that hung heavy in the air, staining the ground crimson with the echoes of their strife.

Amidst the cacophony of battle, 621 remained a steadfast presence, his resolve unwavering even in the face of overwhelming adversity. With practiced precision, he wielded his eerie green flame as a shield against the encroaching poison, each flicker of emerald light a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

Forced to rely on his instincts and his newfound powers, he pressed onward, navigating the treacherous terrain with a wary eye and a steady hand. Though the path ahead was fraught with peril, he refused to falter.

Luckily, he was further away from the group so he did not need to face the full brunt of the sinister attacks, he also saw them before it could reach him due to his vantage point.

However, 621 knew he couldn’t falter at the back of the group thus he thrust his everything to surge forwards with maximum effort.

But his path was fraught with obstacles, as the pawns ahead sought to impede his progress at every turn. Yet 621 was no stranger to adversity, and he met their aggression with a ferocity all his own. With lightning-fast reflexes, he evaded their attacks with seamless grace, his movements fluid and effortless as he danced through the chaos with deadly precision.

But evasion was not enough for 621; he met aggression with aggression, each blow a thunderous declaration of his refusal to be deterred. With devastating punches and bone-crushing kicks, he laid waste to any who dared to stand in his way, his blows landing with the force of a sledgehammer and leaving a trail of broken bodies in his wake.

Blood mingled with the dirt beneath his feet, the chaos around him reached a crescendo of violence and desperation. But 621 paid it no mind, his focus singular as he pressed onward with unwavering determination. For him, there was only one goal: to reach the Alexandrian Pavilion, no matter the cost.

Despite his best efforts to evade the onslaught, 621 was not immune to the carnage that surrounded him. A flying dagger grazed his cheek, leaving a deep gash that oozed blood and obscured his vision. Ignoring the pain, he pressed on, his determination unyielding even in the face of adversity.

But as the battle raged on, 621 found himself beset on all sides by his enemies. A vicious kick to the ribs sent him sprawling to the ground, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs and leaving him gasping for air. He could feel the sharp sting of his injuries, a burning reminder of the danger that lurked around every corner.

Yet even as he lay battered and bruised on the ground, 621 refused to surrender to despair. With a steely resolve, he forced himself to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest with every movement. Blood trickled from his wounds, staining his dark robes a deep shade of crimson, but still he pressed on, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the distant silhouette of the Alexandrian Pavilion.

For 621, there was no retreat, no surrender. Despite the pain and the bloodshed, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of his goal, his every step a testament to his unyielding determination.

The violence around him escalated to a fever pitch. With each passing moment, the air grew thick with the acrid scent of blood and sweat, mingling with the metallic tang of fear and desperation.

He had already seen too many pawns enter the building; therefore, he gave it his all and propelled himself forwards with more ruthless means.

His movements were swift and precise, a whirlwind of ferocity and aggression. With a fierce growl, he seized the nearest pawn, his fingers digging into flesh as he hurled his opponent backward with bone-crushing force. The unfortunate pawn's body collided with the ground with a sickening thud, a spray of blood accompanying the impact.

Without hesitation, 621 launched himself into the fray, his fists and elbows becoming deadly weapons in his quest to reach the safety of the pavilion. With each blow he delivered, more injuries accumulated on his own body—a deep gash on his forehead, a bruised rib from a well-placed kick, and countless bruises and abrasions marring his skin.

But despite the pain, 621 fought on with unwavering resolve, his mind consumed by a singular focus. He sank his teeth into the flesh of another pawn, the taste of blood filling his mouth as he tore at his opponent's flesh with savage intensity.

He leaped up and stomped on another’s head propelling himself forwards before descending on another pawn like a lightning strike crushing their shoulders with brutal ferocity, he even dared to hurl a limping pawn forwards to clear his path before picking him up again as a makeshift shield.

With a final burst of energy, 621 pushed through the throng of bodies and propelled himself into the building, his breath coming in ragged gasps as adrenaline coursed through his veins. The sounds of chaos and violence echoed behind him as he disappeared into the darkness of the Alexandrian Pavilion, leaving a trail of blood and broken bodies in his wake.

In his hands was a battered pawn that he had used to shield multiple attacks, it was unknown whether the individual was alive at this point; he simply threw the poor bastard behind him, content that he himself had made it into the building.