Chapter 72: Eskil’s Misfortune Turns Into Opportunity

In the meantime, Eskil trudged along the desolate path, each step heavier than the last. His once-proud gait was reduced to a shuffle, his body wracked with pain and exhaustion. Hunger gnawed at his insides, a relentless reminder of his dire circumstances. The world around him seemed eerily quiet, the usual bustle of travelers and merchants conspicuously absent. It was as if the very earth had turned its back on him, leaving him to wander alone in his misery.

“Damn it all,” Eskil muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse and weary. He had never felt so utterly defeated, so utterly alone. The humiliation of his defeat at the hands of Alaric Steele burned like a brand on his soul, a constant reminder of his failure.

He had been so sure of himself, so confident in his abilities. He had believed himself to be the most prodigious martial talent in the kingdom, invincible and unstoppable. But reality had proven to be a cruel mistress, humbling him in the most brutal of ways.

“What was I thinking?” Eskil berated himself, his fist clenching in frustration. “I let my pride and arrogance cloud my judgment. I thought I could take on Alaric, thought I could protect Yvonne and her foolish vendetta. But look where it’s gotten me.”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “A million gold coins. That’s what my freedom cost. How will I be able to repay the Martial Institute for this favor? How long would I have to work for them to repay these million gold coins?”

His steps faltered, and he leaned against a nearby tree, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The world spun around him, his vision blurring as weakness overwhelmed him. He hadn’t eaten in days, his body pushed to its limits by the ordeal he had endured.

“I can’t go on like this,” Eskil whispered, his voice barely audible. “I need to find help, need to find someone, anyone, who can aid me.”

But the path remained desolate, the silence unbroken save for the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. Eskil’s heart sank as he realized the futility of his situation. He was alone, truly alone, with no one to turn to and no one to rely on.

“This is all Yvonne’s fault,” Eskil growled, his anger resurfacing. “If not for her, I would never have been in this mess. I would never have challenged Alaric, never have been humiliated so thoroughly.”

He pushed off from the tree, his steps unsteady as he continued along the path. His mind was a whirlwind of regret and self-loathing, each thought a dagger twisting in his heart. He had been so foolish, so blinded by his own arrogance and desire.

“I should have known better,” Eskil muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I should have seen the truth, should have realized that my pride would be my downfall. But I was too blind, too caught up in my own delusions of grandeur.”

His steps grew heavier, his body swaying as weakness threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel his consciousness slipping, his vision blurring as darkness encroached on the edges of his sight.

“I can’t… I can’t go on…” Eskil whispered, his voice barely audible. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his body wracked with pain and exhaustion.

As darkness claimed him, Eskil felt a shadow loom over him, heard a chuckle that seemed to echo from the depths of his mind. “So, this is your limit?” a voice said, the words laced with amusement and something darker, something more sinister.

When Eskil next opened his eyes, he found himself in a dimly lit cave, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint flicker of a flame. He blinked, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light, and realized he was lying on a bed of furs, his body covered in a thick blanket.

He sat up slowly, his muscles aching in protest, and looked around. The cave was sparsely furnished, the walls adorned with crude drawings and symbols that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. In the center of the cave, a fire crackled merrily, casting long shadows that danced across the walls.

Beside the fire sat a man, his robust form silhouetted against the flickering light. He was tall and muscular, his body honed by years of training and battle. His hair was dark and shaggy, framing a face that was both stern and handsome. His eyes, when they met Eskil’s, were a piercing green, like the depths of a forest at twilight.

The man noticed Eskil’s gaze and turned to face him, a small smile playing on his lips. “Ah, you’re awake,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever stir.”

Eskil blinked, his mind still foggy from sleep and exhaustion. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice hoarse and uncertain.

The man chuckled, a sound that was both warm and slightly menacing. “I am Gideon,” he said, his voice filled with an undercurrent of power. “And you, I presume, are Eskil, the once-heralded martial prodigy of the Lionheart Martial Institute.”

Eskil’s eyes widened in recognition. Gideon was a name known throughout the kingdom, a name synonymous with strength and skill. He was one of the strongest martialists in all of Eloriath, a man whose talent with the spear was legendary.

“Gideon, the Iron Blood Spear?!” Eskil rasped, his voice tinged with disbelief and awe. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on the man by the fire. His heart pounded, though whether from exhaustion or the weight of Gideon’s reputation, he couldn’t tell. “What are you doing here? And why… why would you save me?”

Gideon tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His green eyes glimmered with amusement as he poked the fire with a stick, sending embers swirling into the cave’s dim air. “Save you? That’s a bit generous.” His voice was a deep rumble, laced with a casual confidence that made Eskil feel small. “I found you lying on the road, half-dead and muttering nonsense. Figured you might still be useful alive.”

Eskil flinched at the bluntness, the bite of Gideon’s words stoking a flicker of indignation in his battered chest. “Useful?” he echoed, his tone sharper than he intended. “I don’t even know why I’m still breathing. Why not leave me there?”

“Because,” Gideon said, leaning back against the wall of the cave, “a man doesn’t reach where I am without knowing when fate hands him a rare opportunity.” He tossed a bundle of food and a canteen toward Eskil, who caught them clumsily, his weak fingers barely holding on. “Eat. Talk later.”

Eskil hesitated, eyeing the food suspiciously. Dried meat and fruits—simple, unassuming, but it smelled heavenly. His stomach twisted with hunger, overriding his wariness, and he tore into it, devouring the provisions like a starved animal. The water was lukewarm but clean, soothing his parched throat with each gulp.

As Eskil ate, Gideon watched him with a detached intensity. The man’s presence was overwhelming, his aura of authority suffocating even in silence. Eskil could feel those green eyes boring into him, dissecting him, weighing him.

“Comfortable?” Gideon’s voice broke the silence, his tone dripping with sardonic amusement. “Or do you need another blanket to go with your meal?”

Eskil swallowed his last bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not ungrateful,” he said carefully, his voice firmer now that some of his strength had returned. “But I need to know—what do you want from me?”

Gideon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he scrutinized Eskil. “Direct. Good. Saves us both time.” He gestured at Eskil with the stick he’d been using to stoke the fire. “I know who you are. Eskil, the pride of the Lionheart Martial Institute. Or at least, you were.”

Eskil flinched, the reminder of his defeat hitting him like a slap. “Were,” he repeated bitterly. “I suppose you’ve heard how that ended.”

“I have,” Gideon said, unflinching. “Word travels fast, especially when someone like Alaric Steele humiliates a so-called prodigy. Beaten, despite your Battle Aura. Beaten, even after you pulled the Blood Burning Technique.”

Eskil’s fists clenched, his body tensing as shame bubbled to the surface. “You don’t have to remind me,” he said through gritted teeth. “I made a mistake. I underestimated him.”

“And?” Gideon prompted, raising an eyebrow. “What did you learn?”

Eskil blinked, taken aback by the question. “Learn? I—” He faltered, his throat tightening. “I learned that magic can be… more powerful than I thought.”

“That’s it?” Gideon scoffed, leaning back with a disdainful snort. “You learned that Alaric’s magic beat your martial prowess. Bravo, prodigy. Such insight.”

Anger flared in Eskil’s chest, momentarily overriding his exhaustion. “What do you want from me?” he snapped. “You didn’t drag me here to mock me. Get to the point.”

Gideon’s expression shifted, the smirk fading into something colder, more calculating. He reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a small, dark object.

Holding it up to the firelight, he revealed a seed no larger than a pebble, its surface gleaming like polished obsidian.

Faint, otherworldly energy pulsed from it, casting eerie shadows across the cave walls.

Eskil’s breath hitched. He recognized the object immediately—had heard rumors of it. “That’s…” His voice trailed off, the words catching in his throat. “A Dark Seed.”

Gideon’s grin returned, sharper now. “You’re not as clueless as I thought. Yes, it’s a Dark Seed. And yes, it’s exactly what you think it is.”

Eskil shook his head, his pulse quickening. “You’re… you’re with the Phantom Assembly,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The evil organization led by Lord Vorthan.”

“You say that like it’s a dirty secret,” Gideon said, his tone unfazed. “The Phantom Assembly is misunderstood, boy. The kingdom paints us as monsters because they fear us. Fear what we represent—freedom from their precious, stagnant traditions.”

Eskil’s thoughts raced, colliding with a thousand conflicting emotions. “Why would you offer that to me? You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Gideon replied, his gaze steady. “I know you’re hungry—for power, for redemption. I know that humiliation burns in your gut like acid. And I know you’d give anything to stand over Alaric Steele and watch him beg for mercy.”

The words hit Eskil like a hammer. He wanted to deny them, wanted to claim he was better than that, but he couldn’t. The memory of Alaric’s smirk, of the way he’d been humiliated in front of everyone—it consumed him.

“What’s the catch?” Eskil asked, his voice quiet but firm. “You don’t just hand over something like that.”

“The catch,” Gideon said, holding the seed up between his fingers, “is simple. You take this, and you join us. The Phantom Assembly will train you, shape you, turn you into something the world fears. But you’ll carry our mark. There’s no going back.”

Eskil hesitated, his eyes fixed on the seed. The air around it seemed to hum, promising strength, power, everything he had ever wanted. But the whispers of his upbringing clawed at the edges of his mind. The Phantom Assembly was evil. Dark magic corrupted. The kingdom’s warnings echoed in his ears.

“Remember that evil is a matter of perspective,” Gideon said, as if reading his thoughts. “The kingdom calls us monsters because they cannot force us into accepting their orders. But tell me, Eskil, what would the Kingdom do after this defeat of yours? Do you think they are going to take vengeance for you against Alaric Steele or do you think they are going to curry favor with Alaric Steele?”

Eskil’s jaw tightened.

He knew that although the Lionheart Martial Institute is still supporting him, however, Eskil knew that it was only because of how much they had invested into him. He knew that this defeat to Alaric would greatly impact his political power.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Gideon said, placing the seed on a flat stone near the fire. “But know this—power doesn’t come free. You can claw your way back to the top the hard way, if you think you have it in you. Or you can take this, and become something greater. Know this that this dark seed is infused with the power of the Iron Fanged Tiger, one of the most formidable beasts in all of Eloriath Kingdom. Ingesting it would allow you to gain the strength and senses of one of the most formidable beasts. Combining it with your martial talent, you would be unbeatable in close combat amongst your age.”

Eskil stared at the seed, his chest tight with conflict. He thought of Alaric, of the humiliation, of the hunger for strength that gnawed at his soul. The choice loomed before him, vast and terrifying.

After what felt like an eternity, Eskil reached out, his fingers trembling as they closed around the seed. Its energy pulsed against his skin, resonating with something deep within him.

“Good choice,” Gideon murmured, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

Eskil brought the seed to his lips, swallowing it in one swift motion. Heat surged through him, molten and all-consuming. Pain tore through his body as the dark energy fused with his being, reshaping him from the inside out. His muscles burned, his veins felt like they might burst, but through the agony, he felt it—strength, raw and unyielding, coursing through him.

After roughly ten hours when the pain finally subsided, Eskil lay back, his chest heaving.

It would take Eskil days to recover from this body transformation, but…he could feel it. He could feel the strength of the Iron Fanged Tiger coursing through his veins, the power of the beast merging with his own. His senses heightened, his strength increased, his Battle Aura transformed.

In fact, his Battle Aura had changed—darker, fiercer, more alive than ever before.

“You’ve taken your first step,” Gideon said, his voice almost gentle. “Rest now. The road ahead will be brutal. But if you survive, you’ll be unstoppable.”

As exhaustion overtook him, Eskil allowed himself one thought, ’I will never be weak again.’