In the dim light of dawn, creeping through the narrow window of his chamber like a hesitant whisper, Michael awoke to the subtle sounds of the waking barracks. The simple room, bathed in the early morning's soft golden hue, felt less like a cell and more like a quiet sanctuary from the bewildering world outside its walls.
A soft knock at the door heralded the arrival of a servant, a young woman whose gentle demeanor seemed almost out of place amidst the stark militarism of Aethel's barracks. She entered with a graceful step, carrying a modest tray that bore the morning's meal, alongside a set of clothes neatly folded – a beige shirt paired with brown pants, the fabric fine yet simple.
"Good morning, my lord," she greeted, her voice meek, setting the tray upon the small wooden table. "I’ve brought breakfast and a change of clothes. The guards will escort you to the Ritual Hall in thirty minutes for the oath ceremony."
Michael sat up, sleep quickly fading as he acknowledged the reality of the day ahead. 'Oath ceremony? Swearing a magical binding oath on my first day in a new world. This is off to a terrible start,' he joked in his thoughts, trying to stave off panic. He cast a curious glance at the servant, noting her fearful demeanor as she looked at him. "Thank you," he replied, his voice still hoarse from sleep. "I didn’t catch your name?"
The servant paused, her eyes briefly meeting his, revealing a flicker of curiosity, perhaps even surprise at the question, before she lowered her gaze. "Lysandra, my lord," she answered quietly. Her long, dark hair, tied back in a simple style, framed a face that spoke of youth yet carried an air of maturity beyond her years. Her bright eyes, betraying a keen intelligence, quickly shifted away, as if afraid of revealing too much.
Michael noted the subtle tremor in her voice, the way she seemed almost scared, a stark contrast to the resolute strength permeating the walls of the barracks. He wanted to ask more, to understand the life of those who served in this strange realm, but sensed her reluctance. "Well, Lysandra, thank you for your help," he said, offering a small smile that he hoped might provide some comfort.
As Lysandra bowed slightly and made her way out, Michael turned his attention to the meal. It was a simple porridge, bland yet nourishing, reflecting the world he now found himself in. His mind wandered to Elisabetta, to the diverse faces of the paladins he had dined with the night before. What thoughts occupied their minds on this significant morning? The weight of the oath they were about to take felt like a heavy cloak draped over his shoulders, laden with unknown promises and unseen chains.
Dressing in the provided clothes, Michael found the fabric comfortable, its earthy colors grounding him. But shedding his jeans and t-shirt felt daunting, like severing a bond anchoring him to his old life. He stood at the window, watching the military district stir to life under the burgeoning light of dawn.
As he reflected on his journey here, a sense of surreal anticipation settled over him. Today, he would swear an oath to a world he barely understood, under the watchful eyes of gods and warriors. Part of him feared becoming a pawn, forced to kill or worse for a cruel master. 'But hey, Aethelrion is a god of justice, right?' he thought, seeking comfort. Michael's mind returned to Captain Eldric's casual display of power the night before. That power was terrifying, yet alluring. For the first time, he had a chance at magic, power, and purpose. Yet, for now, his path was clear: he had no choice but to learn and try to stay alive.
The guards arrived promptly, their demeanor blending respectful firmness with unspoken authority. Michael noted how they treated each Paladin, balancing courtesy with strict adherence to protocol, underscoring the occasion's gravity. They were not mere escorts; they were custodians of a sacred tradition, each step resonating with purpose and solemnity.
As Michael and the other Paladins were led through the barracks, the architecture spoke volumes about its function. The vast, echoing corridors, carved from stone with precision and uniformity, suggested the use of magic in their construction. Michael marveled at the power required to shape such a structure, a silent testament to the might of Aethel and the investment in them.
The halls, eerily empty, served as a constant reminder that this place was exclusively for the chosen Paladins, a space of preparation, reflection, and transformation.
Descending deeper into the barracks, the air grew cooler, the stone walls transitioning to a more rugged, natural state. They were moving towards something ancient and elemental, a part of the world that existed long before the barracks.
Finally, they arrived at a massive cavern, its dimensions so vast that the ceiling disappeared into shadow. At the center stood a sight that took Michael's breath away – a massive spire of wood, a tree root, exploding horizontally across the room, emerging from a rift in the tapestry of space itself.
The root was monstrous, gnarled and twisted, its bark pulsating with a soft, ethereal glow. It appeared to breathe, shimmering with a kaleidoscope of colors that defied description. Michael felt its power, a gentle hum in his bones, an ancient song whispering of worlds beyond his understanding.
The Samurai, his face a mask of stoic reverence, bowed slightly towards the root. Though controlled, his eyes betrayed deep awe. Elisabetta stood beside him, her gaze transfixed, a stark contrast to her past life's refined elegance. Nearby, a Roman legionnaire, hardened by battles, crossed himself reflexively, looking upon the root with a mix of fear and respect.
Michael felt a mix of fear and fascination. He was no stranger to fantasy, but this was real. The power of the World Tree root was tangible, a force he could feel but not fully comprehend. Surrounded by people from times and places he had only read about, all united by this extraordinary moment in a new reality.
The guards led them to an altar where High Priest Idris Alaric stood, his presence commanding and mystical. "Paladins of Aethel," Idris Alaric's voice resonated through the cavern, "today, you embrace a destiny far greater than any of you might have imagined. The oath you are about to take is not merely a pledge of service; it is a sacred bond, intertwining your fates with Aethel and the cosmos itself."
Michael's heart pounded as he listened. The idea of being cosmically connected was exhilarating and terrifying. He glanced around, noting similar expressions of awe and apprehension on his fellow Paladins' faces.
"The oath binds you to uphold our realm's highest values and defend it against the looming darkness of the Swarm," continued Idris Alaric. "You are to become Paladins in the truest sense, granted the power of Aethelrion, our god of justice and order, to protect not just Aethel but all realms against a calamity of unimaginable scale. A calamity so fierce that Morta, the goddess of fate herself, has foreseen that Aethelrion alone cannot withstand it."
A shiver ran down Michael's spine at the mention of the god's name and the threat's scale. The reality of his situation, the weight of this newfound responsibility, began to truly sink in.
Idris Alaric motioned towards a branch of the World Tree, lying on an altar, pulsating with a living aura. Beside it, a set of scales, beautifully crafted and shimmering with divine energy, symbolized Aethelrion's presence. "To bind your oath, you will touch both the root of the World Tree and these scales. In doing so, you forge a connection with the very essence of Yggdrasil and Aethelrion."
Michael watched, fascinated yet nervous, as the High Priest explained the ritual's significance. The idea of touching something so ancient and powerful, and linking himself so absolutely, was overwhelming. His mind raced with questions and doubts, but a deeper part of him felt an undeniable pull towards this destiny. Selfless desires to protect and serve mixed with the selfish draw of power that this path would lead to.
"As you swear your allegiance," Idris Alaric concluded, "you accept not just the honor of this title, but also the immense responsibility it carries. The path of a Paladin is fraught with peril, but it is also one of great valor and purpose."
At this moment, the office from the day before spoke up. “I won’t swear any oath under duress not to this tree or any god that kidnaps me!” His voice was almost desperate.
Idris Alaric's patient demeanor faltered. "You must understand the full extent of your situation. A god, a being worth infinitely more than any number of beings like you, has chosen you from your mundane life and granted you a piece of his divine spirit. This is to protect every realm in existence from a threat greater than any the world has seen. This is not optional. You will each swear the oath."
In that moment, the atmosphere in the room shifted palpably, eclipsing even the otherworldly presence of the root. A towering figure emerged behind the high priest, his presence domineering. Clutched in his hands was a bright red battle-ax, glowing ominously. Dark brown hair framed his battle-scarred yet striking face, crowned by a smile that sent shivers down Michael's spine. "Greetings, whelps. I am Elias, the God of War. I'm overseeing things while the boss is indisposed, and he was adamant about you all swearing these oaths."
As Elias made his entrance, Idris, the high priest, collapsed to his knees, trembling with fear. Elias's gesture towards him was dismissive yet commanding. "Idris has done his utmost to clarify the situation, but it seems some of you haven't grasped the gravity of it," he said, his smile turning towards Jack and the defiant group around him. Michael understood their reluctance; swearing a magical oath wasn't his preference either. However, with the imposing metal mage and the menacing war god holding sway, Michael knew that compliance was his safest option.
Elias strode towards the resolute group. "Who here is most in need of a demonstration? Who refuses to swear in?" he asked. A tall, severe-looking woman with long black hair spat in his direction, "I will never swear."
"Ah, perfect. What's your name, dear?" Elias snapped his fingers, and in an instant, the woman was teleported into a glowing circle, about thirty feet across. Translucent walls of a whitish-red hue rose from the ground to the ceiling, encasing her. She stumbled but quickly regained her composure, her eyes defiant yet scanning the glowing barrier surrounding her. "I am Isabelle Dubois," she declared, her voice steady.
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Elias reached into a small bag at his waist and, against all expectations, pulled out what appeared to be a body bag. He tossed it into the glowing circle, then snapped his fingers again. The circle split in half a new barrier protecting Isabelle from the contents of the bag. A grotesque creature with a black carapace, six jointed insectoid legs, and two bladed arms unfurled, its stinger and gnashing teeth menacingly close to Isabelle. She recoiled in horror.
"This," Elias began, "is the weakest form of the Swarm. It's stronger than any mortal, swift both on land and in the air, and highly resistant to all forms of magic. And it's ravenously hungry. If I allow it to devour Miss Dubois, it will grow in strength, eventually evolving or dividing. Unleashed in the right place, just this one creature could devastate this entire city. Of this variant we estimate there are currently around 1.5 million individuals spreading on Yggdrasil. This, Miss Dubois, is the peril you consign the World Tree to, should you refuse to swear the oath. And coincidentally, it's the same threat you'd be subjecting yourself to. You see, we can't afford to entrust the weapons and tools designed to defend an empire to those who might misuse them."
Michael trembled, his mind a whirlwind of fear and helplessness. Was he really about to bind himself to these beings? Desperately, he sought a loophole, an escape from this dire situation. Yet, as his eyes fixed on the monstrous creature battering against its prison, two thoughts struck him hard: "I have to fight those?" and “Just 20 of us against that?”
But then, a realization dawned on him. He was already powerless, not yet having sworn the oath. By swearing in and gaining strength, paradoxically, he might actually gain more control over his fate. This was not merely about yielding to gods; it was a chance to harness power that could someday make him less a puppet and more a player.
Yes, he was scared. But if these gods believed they could grow stronger, even mightier than Elias, then maybe there was hope. Maybe this was his path to something greater, a way to break free from the constraints of his current vulnerability.
With this in mind, Michael's view of the oath shifted. It was no longer just a chain; it could be the key to unlocking a power that even these formidable beings respected. It was a daunting path, but one that promised growth and, ultimately, more freedom than he currently possessed.
As he prepared to make his choice, Michael felt a newfound resolve. This decision wasn't just about surviving in a new world; it was about seizing an opportunity to rise beyond his limitations, to turn fear into strength.
His own dilemmas somewhat resolved Michael returned his attention to Isabella and the barrier flickering between her and the disgusting creature. "So what’ll it be Izzy?" Elias taunted. She had remained pressed against the barrier away from the bug for as long as it had been free and she barely moved to say "I'm sorry. Release me, I will swear your oath." She spoke with some venom but also some resolve, perhaps having come to some of the same conclusions Michael himself had.
Elias, with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, snapped his fingers. The creature vanished, and the barrier dissipated, leaving Isabelle standing alone, her defiance now replaced with a grim acceptance. “Very good, you can go first.” She walked towards the altar, her steps measured but unyielding.
As Isabelle approached the altar, her steps measured but unyielding, the atmosphere in the cavern shifted subtly, reflecting the solemnity of the moment. High Priest Idris Alaric, having regained his composure after Elias's intervention, stepped forward to administer the oath.
He raised his hands, and the cavern seemed to respond, the ambient light dimming slightly as if to give center stage to the ritual. "Isabelle Dubois," Idris Alaric began, his voice echoing with a deep, resonant authority, "you stand before the sacred root of the World Tree and the scales of Aethelrion. Do you swear to serve Aethel, to protect the World Tree, and to uphold the ideals of justice and order?"
As he spoke the massive, gnarled root of the World Tree began to produce an ethereal swirl of light, a dance of prismatic energy that combined with a golden radiance pouring from Idris. The lights spiraled towards Isabelle, wrapping around her in a mesmerizing display.
Isabelle's eyes, reflecting a myriad of emotions, met the High Priest's gaze. "I swear," she declared, her voice reverberating with a newfound strength and conviction. As she spoke, the lights spiraled towards Isabelle, wrapping around her in a mesmerizing display coalescing and being absorbed by her all at once.
Elias, his expression now softened with a genuine smile, nodded in approval. "Congratulations, Isabelle Dubois, the first Paladin sworn in today. You are now bound to Aethel and its destiny. Hopefully this is the first step in great things to come."
The paladins were summoned forth one at a time, and as Michael observed each ceremony, he found himself swept up in the magic and ritual of the moment. Despite the undercurrent of being railroaded, of potentially consigning himself to what could be seen as slavery, there was a part of him that couldn't help but feel like he was finally finding a glorious purpose. He remained skeptical, yet the grandeur and solemnity of the ceremony made it difficult not to buy into the pageantry. It reminded him of the feelings he experienced when attending Catholic Church – a mixture of skepticism and awe, a balance between doubt and belief in something greater than himself.
Michael continued to observe ceremonies, a complex blend of awe and introspection washing over him. The spectacle of the oath-taking stirred something deep within him. It was a reminder of the gravity of the path he was about to embark on, a path that intertwined destiny, duty, and the undeniable allure of newfound power.
Following the transformative ceremonies of his fellow Paladins, the moment finally arrived for Elisabetta and Lex. Their oath-taking mirrored those before them, each ceremony a solemn testament to the commitment they were making. The cavern was filled with the same mystical light and energy, enveloping each of them in turn, symbolizing their binding to this new, extraordinary destiny.
Then, it was Michael's turn to step forward. As he approached the altar, a palpable sense of anticipation filled the air. As he swore his vow the radiant light from the priest and the world tree flowed toward him. As it reached him an unusual sensation enveloped him, he felt the light connect with his spirit, a sensation that was entirely new and almost indescribable. It was akin to gaining an additional sense, a perception beyond the physical realm. Strangely, the connection between the oath and his spirit felt somewhat misaligned, as if it didn't fully integrate. This left Michael briefly disoriented, but he quickly composed himself and resolved to investigate both the vow and his new sense in the future. To the others in the cavern, his ceremony proceeded seamlessly, its mystical aura undiminished by the anomaly he experienced.
Once the ceremonies were concluded, Elias, with a demeanor that blended satisfaction and authority, made his parting remarks. He acknowledged the significance of what had transpired and the gravity of the path that lay ahead for the newly sworn Paladins. His words resonated with a sense of solemn duty and unspoken expectation.
The group of Paladins, now officially inducted into their new roles, was then led from the cavern. They were ushered into a large classroom, presenting a stark contrast to the otherworldly environment they had just departed. The room, echoing the barracks' barren aesthetic, featured a simple board at the front and a series of unadorned desks, ready for their new journey of learning and preparation. This classroom, despite its plain appearance, marked the beginning of their journey as Paladins, where they would forge their identities and skills in service of a destiny that was now irrevocably theirs.
The mood in the room was a blend of contrasting emotions. Some Paladins looked terrified, others defiant, and a few seemed hopeful. Michael felt a mix of these feelings himself. Glancing at Elisabetta, he noticed her usually vibrant demeanor had dulled under the weight of deep contemplation.
Commander Eldric, standing at the front of the class in simple attire accented with an elegant vest, presented a less intimidating figure than in his armor. Yet, Michael vividly remembered his stark readiness to resort to lethal force the previous day.
Eldric cleared his throat, addressing the recruits with a pragmatic tone. "Alright, I know this start has been anything but smooth, but the urgency of our situation required quick action. I'm in charge of your training, and our aim here is clear: to prepare you to face a threat so grave it has even the gods concerned."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "You've all been chosen for the potential you carry within. And it's my job to ensure that potential is fully realized. We're in a race against time here, and it's going to require everything you've got."
As murmurs filled the room, Eldric continued, "I'm sure you're brimming with questions. We need to dive into training and unlock your Mana as soon as we can. But first, I'll take one question from each of you."
Elisabetta, excitement shimmering in her eyes, grabbed Michael's arm. "Michael, think about it – our own Mana! We're going be wizards!" Her enthusiasm was a brief but welcome distraction for Michael, who found himself momentarily imagining magical battles before snapping back to reality to ponder his question.
Eldric looked over the room. "If you have a question, raise your hand." Michael, along with most of the others, raised his hand, his mind a whirlwind of uncertainty and curiosity, struggling to focus on just one question amidst the multitude that raced through his mind.
Eldric methodically moved through the class, gathering questions from each Paladin. When he reached Michael, Michael impulsively asked, “Why is this building so big?” Eldric cast him an amused look, replying, “Now that's an interesting question. I'll make sure to address it.”
After collecting all the questions, Eldric returned to the front of the classroom. “I apologize for shortening this Q&A session, but I must emphasize the urgency of our situation, and frankly, I dislike wasting time. A lot of you asked about magic and mana. To simplify, mana emanates from the World Tree and is absorbed by almost every living being into their mana core. It strengthens the body through mana channels, enhancing strength, intelligence, and speed. Mana can also be harnessed for more dramatic effects, like the knife demonstration I gave, which involves infusing it with your spirit. This is a basic overview, and I promise we'll delve deeper into this in the coming days.”
“Regarding the Gods,” he continued, “the World Tree has always been a realm of chaos. Humans, with naturally smaller mana cores and lower maximum levels, were low in the hierarchy until the Gods’ arrival. Ten in number, led by Aethelrion, they allied with humans, creating an empire larger than any before. The Gods’ powers are not well understood, but they don't rely on mana. Instead, they wield a more potent, different kind of energy.”
“Did he just mention levels? Maximum Levels?” Michael thought, alarm mingling with a dawning realization. This world’s mechanics eerily mirrored those of video games, a concept he'd seen in fiction but never imagined as reality. Eldric’s words, though laden with terms like 'mana cores' and 'divine energy,' which Michael now understood to refer to the innate magical capacity and a mysterious, more potent force, respectively, only extended his list of questions.
“Many of you have asked, ‘Why me?’” Eldric continued, his tone suggesting he, too, grappled with the enormity of their situation. “The designs of Aethelrion are enigmatic, even to me. He chose you because your realm is devoid of both mana and divine energy, making you anomalies in this world. Imbued with Aethelrion’s essence, we will soon initiate the awakening of your dormant mana cores. This convergence of mana and divine energy, previously thought impossible, is Aethelrion’s gamble – a fusion he hopes will prove potent enough to save Aethel.”
“Finally, about the size of these barracks – yes, they're utilitarian and not the most comfortable,” (Michael’s aching backside silently concurred), “but this building is perhaps the most elaborate and costly ever constructed. You’ve only seen the first floor; as your training progresses, you'll understand its true value.”
“What kind of answer is that!” Michael thought angrily. “I will unravel your secrets giant building” He looked suspiciously at the walls as Eldric continued.
“I know you have more questions, but we must initiate the awakening of your mana cores now. We’ll have more discussions in the future, and other instructors will help you acclimate to this new world. For now follow me to your magic.” He opened a door in the back of the classroom and stepped through beckoning for the paladins to follow.