ONLINE: Blades of Eternity
Chapter 333 - 333: THE PATH OF ETERNAL FLAMES

The Circle of Resonance stood quiet again, its edges faintly glowing with residual earthen Qi from the previous trial. Kaelen, Kelvin, and Ethan sat nearby, their gazes distant and minds heavy with newfound stillness.

But the silence was soon broken by determined footsteps.

Guinevere stepped forward, red hair flowing behind her like a burning comet. Her amber eyes burned with pride, impatience, and a touch of defiance.

"I'll go next."

Lila looked up sharply. "Are you sure? You saw what it did to them."

Guinevere didn't flinch. "I was born with fire in my veins. This is my path."

Naena raised a brow but didn't stop her. "Very well," she said, motioning toward the Circle. "Then face the flame and see if it recognizes you."

Guinevere stepped into the Circle of Resonance. The statue at the northernmost edge was different from the others—a twisting flame-shaped monument, scorched black at its edges, with embers glowing faintly in its center.

As soon as she set foot on the central rune, the statue's eyes opened, pulsing with red light. The air grew hot. Not just warm—but suffocating, blistering, devouring.

The Path of Eternal Flames had begun.

At first, Guinevere stood her ground.

Her palms flared with fire, and her aura shimmered with fierce heat. Her body welcomed the burning pressure like an old friend, her breaths deep and defiant.

But then—

The flames turned black.

The moment they did, her body stiffened.

A high-pitched ringing invaded her ears. She could no longer hear Naena or the others. The Circle was no longer moss and stone—it became an ocean of fire, stretching infinitely, its heat not only burning her flesh but searing her spirit.

Screams. Laughter. Ashes swirling like whispering ghosts. Her clothes began to smoke. Her hands trembled.

"This is too fast—too much—"

Her knees buckled.

And then it came.

Amataresu.

The core of the Endless Flames.

A spiraling, formless black inferno that descended like a divine punishment, eyes unseen but watching, judging. Its voice wasn't a voice—it was the weight of sorrow, the pressure of a dying sun, the wail of ten thousand burning souls trapped in eternal agony.

Guinevere opened her mouth to scream—

But before she could be consumed—

"ENOUGH."

Naena's voice rang like a gavel from heaven. She sliced the air with two fingers, her silver Qi flashing like a scythe of clarity. In a blink, she appeared behind Guinevere inside the Circle of Resonance and pulled her out, just as tendrils of black flame reached for her spirit.

Guinevere collapsed to her knees outside the circle, coughing violently, her eyes wide, body trembling uncontrollably. Her clothes were scorched, her hair damp with sweat, and her flame—a once proud aura—was now smoldering faintly, flickering in fear.

Lila rushed to her side, clutching her hand. "You're alright! It's over! It's over now…"

Naena stood beside the statue with her arms folded. Her face, usually unreadable, was grim.

"She barely lasted five minutes…"

---

As Guinevere lay recovering, wrapped in a cloak and sipping bitter medicinal water, the group gathered around the slowly fading glow of the Circle. The forest had grown darker, even though it was still day—like the shadows of the flames had clung to the air.

Naena faced them, her voice solemn.

"The Eternal Flames are not a gift. They are a curse born of tragedy."

Everyone turned to her. Even Kaelen, silent and still, gave her his full attention.

Naena turned toward the blackened statue. "Do you know who the first Juggernaut of Flames was?"

No one answered.

"His name was Ashen Verion, the Flameheart. He was a saint of fire, born in an age when the world still danced with primordial spirits and the sovereignty of Eternals. He wielded the Crimson Dawn—a flame so pure it could cleanse corruption. He healed villages, defended cities, and scorched invading monsters into dust."

"But heroes... don't remain untested."

She knelt, picking up a piece of burned bark and letting it crumble in her hand.

"Ashen was betrayed. By the ones he trusted. By the realm he protected. His beloved was slain before his eyes. The kingdom he gave everything to turned against him, fearing his growing power."

"And so, in his despair... he walked into the Great Pyre alone."

'The Great Pyre?' Kaelen thought in curiosity but he never bothered to ask what it meant as the conversation continued.

Kelvin furrowed his brow. "He died?"

Naena shook her head slowly. "No. He transcended. His spirit refused to vanish. His sorrow fused with his flames—and in that union, something… wrong was born."

She pointed to the smoldering center of the statue.

"The Amataresu."

"It is flame that feels. Flame that grieves. Flame that remembers. The Eternal Black Fire."

Ethan swallowed. "Even as I wasn't the one taking the test, I could still feel the flames. It felt… alive. Like it was screaming."

Naena nodded. "It was. That trial is not merely a test of resistance—it's an attempt to understand pain through fire. If you cannot harmonize with its sorrow, it will consume you."

Guinevere, still trembling, looked up. Her voice cracked. "Why… did I fail so quickly?"

Naena knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Because you were brave. But not prepared. The fire in your veins is strong, Guinevere—but it's proud fire. Joyous. Angry. Spirited. It has not tasted despair… not truly."

"To survive Amataresu… you must embrace fire as sorrow. Not weapon. Not power. But grief."

Silence lingered long after Naena's story.

The Circle of Resonance faded once again, but its impression remained. The forest around them now felt heavier—not with danger, but with history. With memory.

Kaelen looked at the blackened statue, then at Guinevere. Her eyes were still burning—but not with shame.

With resolve.

She hadn't conquered the flames.

But she had met them.

And she would return.

–––––

While Kaelen and his friends were about to begin their trails in the Sacred Statues, the early morning mist clung to the trees like silk as Eirana crouched behind a dense wall of moss-covered roots. Ahead of her loomed the boundary between the Deadroot Forest and the vast, enchanted territories of the Elves—a border rarely crossed without invitation, and almost never by outsiders.

Two Elven sentries patrolled the border. Clad in shimmering green armor that seemed to blend with the forest itself, they moved with eerie synchronization. Longbows strapped to their backs, eyes sharp with centuries of training, they scanned their surroundings with elven vigilance since they have been trampled upon already by Endless and his right hand man Dark Magi.

But they were not Nullcarvers.

Eirana's presence was like a whisper in a thunderstorm. Her Qi had long been restrained, her movements rooted in the Path of Silent Veins, one of the tribe's most secretive stealth disciplines.

She waited. A birdcall in the distance—a signal from Naena, still echoing in her mind—then silence.

The moment their patrol cycle overlapped—when both guards turned the same way—she slipped.

No sound.

No footprint.

No scent.

Just a shifting blur between the bushes, and she was through.

Eirana darted deeper into the Elven territory, carefully avoiding the natural traps and magical wards that littered the border forest. It wasn't long before she found what she needed.

A hunter's abandoned lean-to shelter sat half-rotten near a shallow stream. Inside, she found tattered Elven attire—a moss-green cloak, a simple tunic, and lightweight traveling boots. They bore the mark of a lesser clan, unimportant enough to avoid drawing questions but common enough to blend in.

She stripped swiftly, folding her Nullcarver robe and binding it in a scroll capsule that she buried beneath a hollow tree.

"If things go wrong, I'll retrieve it. If not… it will rot in peace."

With deft hands, she tied her silver-white hair into a braid and stained her cheeks with mud and sap. From her pouch, she drew a small illusion rune and pressed it against her collarbone. A shimmer passed over her skin, subtly altering her facial structure and giving her faint Elven features: sharper cheekbones, forest-colored irises, and even a forged clanmark etched faintly over her right eye.

Disguised and silent, Eirana stepped fully into enemy territory.

Although, the inner forest was no less hostile.

Unlike Deadroot's deathly silence, the Verdant Womb—as the Elves called their inner domain—was teeming with life. Too much life. Giant insects buzzed in clouds, thick vines moved like living serpents, and worst of all—Ferocious Beasts roamed unchecked.

The first beast lunged from above—a Crimson Fang Ape, its hide iron-tough, its fangs dripping venom. Eirana ducked its swipe, her fingers flashing into a hardened spear-hand Qi strike that shattered its windpipe. It died soundlessly.

The next came in a pack—Glade Striders, quadrupeds cloaked in phasing illusion, trying to trap her in a mirrored hunting formation. She reversed her movement, slid through the smallest gap in their encirclement, and cut them down with two swift palm strikes that exploded their hearts from within.

Then came the Skyscorcher Vulture, an Advanced Rank monstrosity with talons like daggers and a screech that sent Qi into disarray. It descended on her as she climbed a ravine.

But obviously, she didn't run. She didn't even decided to now use her sword.

Instead, she planted her feet, shifted into the Juggernaut's third stance, and let her Qi flow through her body like coiled stone.

When it struck, her fist met its beak.

A shockwave exploded outward, snapping trees like twigs.

The vulture's corpse tumbled into the trees below.

Eirana, panting slightly, wiped blood from her brow and whispered, "Too loud…"

She resumed her movement with even more caution, her path now lined with broken corpses and clawed foliage.

The sun had dipped lower by the time Eirana scaled a final steep incline and emerged atop a massive stone outcrop. Her breath caught.

Beyond the clearing below—partially obscured by vines and illusionary fog—stood an Elven settlement.

It was breathtaking.

A circular city wrapped around the base of a colossal mana tree, its leaves glittering with gold and sapphire hues. Suspended bridges connected wide platforms built into the branches, while thin towers spiraled upward like natural extensions of the tree itself.

Glowing runes danced through the air like motes of firelight.

The scent of mana here was overpowering—rich, ancient, intoxicating.

Eirana crouched low behind a fallen log and studied the city's structure. Her eyes scanned the guard rotations, the flow of trade, and the strategic weaknesses in the outer perimeter. But what drew her focus most was the central spire—a place radiating power and secrecy.

"That must be the Archive… or perhaps their council."

She exhaled, narrowing her eyes.

"Now… what are you planning, Elves?"

Her mission had just begun.

But already, the land whispered secrets to her.

And she was ready to listen.