Chapter 44: The Trail of Courage

  So, the Trial of Courage, Darek thought as he walked along the Bear Path together with Seraphis, Iris, and Pow-Pow. They had just said their farewells to the guard and were now heading toward the gate that led to the middle ring.

  The wide road carried them deeper through the bustling heart of the city. Merchants called out their offers, children ran between the stalls, and even the Silvarian bears moved through the crowd with such natural ease that it felt as though all of this had been everyday life for centuries.

  Iris floated beside Darek and slowly turned in the air again and again, as if she wanted to take in every detail of the place at once.

  “Iris, what do you think of it?”

  “Think of what?” she replied distractedly, without taking her eyes off a young bear passing by, who was currently helping a merchant carry baskets.

  Darek raised an eyebrow. “Were you not listening at all?”

  “No,” she replied honestly. “I was simply fascinated. I’ve never experienced this much life gathered in one place. And they all seem to be doing something. Walking around, talking, trading. What could they all possibly be doing at the same time?”

  Darek shrugged lightly. “Shopping, taking a walk, working, maybe just enjoying the day. Everyone is probably doing some version of that. They’re simply going about their daily lives.”

  Iris was silent for a moment.

  “Daily life? Really?” she finally asked, as if he had just explained a completely foreign concept to her. “Wow.”

  Pow-Pow yawned demonstratively. “Boring,” he muttered, folding his arms behind his head. “And honestly, how brave can a human really be? Trying to test something like that with a trial or a game makes little sense. True courage only reveals itself in a real extreme situation. Everything else is theater.”

  Seraphis, on the other hand, seemed unusually quiet. He glided silently behind the group, his body moving smoothly over the ground, yet his attention did not seem to be on the city.

  Looks like he misses Ursula, Darek thought.

  And the moment the thought formed, he felt the familiar pull in his chest again. Votaria’s farewell. Her calm voice. The resigned smile. He had not forgotten.

  His gaze turned forward, toward the place where the Bear Path grew darker in the distance and the next gate slowly came into view.

  “Let them test my courage,” he finally muttered quietly, though with growing determination. “I’ll show them what courage really is.”

  They walked straight ahead for about twenty minutes, passing countless market stalls that seemed to offer almost everything one could imagine. From simple everyday items to highly specialized creations, everything was there. One stall sold sturdy tools made of dark wood, the next displayed finely crafted jewelry made of resin and metal. One merchant advertised armored gloves for left-handers with only three fingers, while another presented, with a conspiratorial smile, a sword that supposedly only cut when no light fell upon its blade.

  Between the stalls, humans and Silvarian bears pushed through the crowds. Voices blended into a constant murmur, occasionally interrupted by laughter or the clinking of metal. The scent of roasted mushrooms, fresh wood, and sweet berry pastries drifted through the air.

  “Wow, they really have something here for everyone and every occasion,” Iris said, slowly spinning once in the air as if she didn’t want to miss a single corner of the commotion. “Too bad we can’t take any of it with us.”

  “They really are offering useful things here,” she added admiringly. “And their craftsmanship seems exceptional.”

  But Darek had only one thing in mind at that moment: to understand the dream as quickly as possible, overcome it, and obtain the Dream Essence. Everything else faded into the background, even the impressive variety around him.

  “Hey, I think that’s the gate up ahead,” Pow-Pow said, pointing down the Bear Path.

  Darek lifted his head.

  “Then I’m curious to see what they have to offer there.”

  The gate to the middle ring rose before them, and it looked even more imposing than the entrance to the city itself.

  The wall had to be at least fourteen meters high, perhaps even taller. The trunks from which it was formed appeared more massive and far older than those at the city entrance. Their wood was darker, marked by deep grooves, and in some places thick layers of moss had gathered in the recesses, as though even decades had not been able to weaken them.

  Within the city it had already been possible to see how it had developed over time. The closer one moved toward the center, the older and more original the buildings appeared. It was as if one were walking backward through the history of Silvara simply by observing the condition and age of the structures.

  Darek stopped before the gate and slowly let his gaze wander up along the enormous wall. It rose like a natural fortress into the sky, not built but grown, as if the forest itself had decided to draw a boundary here.

  “And that must be the legendary bell,” Pow-Pow said with a faintly condescending tone.

  On the gate, which was firmly set into the immense wall, hung a bell on the right side that was far larger than Darek had imagined. It looked old and massive, its metal darkened with age and marked by fine irregularities that revealed it had once been forged by hand. A long, thick rope hung down from it, roughly braided and visibly worn at the places where countless hands had touched it.

  Darek studied the bell for a moment, then stepped closer.

  “Well then, let’s see,” he said energetically as he grabbed the rope.

  With a powerful tug he set the bell in motion.

  Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

  The sound was bright and yet oppressively heavy at the same time. It vibrated through the air, rolled across the city like a wave, and echoed between the houses. It was a sound that was not only heard, but felt. Even inside Darek’s chest it seemed to resonate, as if the tone were passing directly through his body.

  People at the market stalls clapped their hands over their ears in alarm and turned abruptly toward him. Residents who had just been calmly going about their business stopped in place. Even Darek winced and pressed his hands against his ears, despite the fact that he himself had rung the bell.

  Within only a few moments, humans and Silvarian bears gathered around the group. It happened so quickly that Darek barely noticed where they had all come from. In less than a minute a dense crowd of hundreds had formed around him. Their voices blended into an excited murmur that was impossible to ignore.

  “A challenge?”

  “Someone really wants to take the Trial of Courage?”

  “Is he suicidal?”

  Darek blinked in confusion and looked around.

  Wasn’t this supposed to be just a trial? Why are they reacting as if I just signed my own death sentence?

  The gate before him began to open slowly. It did not happen abruptly, but with a deep, creaking groan, as if the wood itself were protesting under the movement. The massive doors pushed apart only with difficulty, and from the dark gap behind them stepped two guards.

  Unlike the guards at the city entrance, these wore significantly heavier armor. It was made entirely of wood, but not in the form of sawn plates or carved pieces. It looked as if it had grown. As though the forest itself had chosen to take this form. Thick, dark bark layered itself around their bodies, rough yet sturdy, with natural bulges at the shoulders and chest that looked like reinforcements. The surface was uneven, crossed by fine cracks that resembled ancient tree trunks more than crafted armor.

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  Darek examined them carefully.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say the Hunter Order,” he said casually, though there was clear analysis in his voice.

  Pow-Pow folded his arms and nodded slightly while he calmly observed the situation as well.

  At that moment a horn suddenly sounded.

  The note was long and deep, spreading across the entire city as if carried through every street, every alley, and over every rooftop. The conversations in the crowd did not stop immediately, but something changed. The murmuring grew more tense, more focused.

  Darek felt his stomach tighten slightly.

  “Is this Trial of Courage really such a big deal?” he muttered.

  “Looks like it,” Iris replied calmly.

  From between the two guards stepped a man who, like them, belonged to the Hunter Order, yet immediately stood out by his appearance. He was slightly taller than the two beside him and wore a sword at his belt. Yet it was less his size than his presence that made him stand out. There was a natural authority in his posture, as if he did not need to prove it because it was already obvious.

  The moment he stepped forward, most of the voices in the crowd fell silent. Only scattered whispers remained, quiet and uncertain. His footsteps echoed clearly across the firm ground, and with every step the tension in the air seemed to grow thicker.

  He stopped a few meters in front of Darek and let his gaze wander calmly across the group. Nothing about his movements appeared hurried or careless. His eyes brushed over Seraphis, lingered briefly on Iris, examined Pow-Pow, and finally settled on Darek.

  “I am the third leader of the Hunter Order,” he said in a calm, clear voice. “And I am responsible for the Trials of Courage. It has been some time since I was called to one.”

  His eyes now rested directly on Darek.

  “So you wish to undertake the Trial of Courage, young friend. Your face is unfamiliar to me. That means you are a guest. Am I correct?”

  Before Darek could answer, Pow-Pow spoke in his thoughts.

  How does he even know that you rang the bell?

  Iris blinked in irritation.

  Darek replied dryly in thought. Iris and Seraphis don’t have arms. And you can’t even reach it.

  For a brief moment there was silence in his mind, then Pow-Pow’s voice returned with its usual slightly mocking undertone.

  Of course I know that. I just wanted to see if you knew it too. You’re a human, after all.

  A tiny pause followed.

  And just casually mentioned, I could reach it if I wanted to.

  Darek suppressed an eye roll.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” he finally said aloud, inclining his head politely. “My name is Darek. And I wish to take the Trial of Courage.”

  Darek was accustomed to the direct tone of men like this. For a fleeting moment it felt as though he were once again standing before a superior, someone who did not merely project authority but embodied it.

  The third leader regarded him silently, as if weighing him internally.

  “You have already rung the bell,” he finally said. “But are you certain you do not wish to flee dishonorably after all? I doubt that a young man like you, who is not even a citizen of Silvara, has what it takes to be considered brave.”

  His tone was not loud, yet sharp enough that the words felt like small stabs.

  “And besides,” he continued, “what possible motive could you have for wanting to become an adult Silvare?”

  Darek answered without hesitation.

  “I want to meet the Oracle. What else?”

  The effect was immediate.

  A heavy silence fell over the crowd, sudden and absolute, as though someone had cut the city’s sounds in an instant. Even the distant murmuring faded away. For a moment the only sound was the faint brush of wind passing over the wall.

  Humans and bears stared at him.

  Not because of his volume.

  But because of his audacity.

  The third leader cleared his throat briefly, as if arranging his thoughts before continuing.

  “Nevertheless, it is unusual for an outsider to attempt the trial. Normally it consists of only one part—the part of courage itself. In this case, however, I consider a basic qualification appropriate.”

  He deliberately paused between his sentences, allowing every word to carry weight.

  “As far as I know, nothing forbids guests from taking the trial. Whoever possesses the necessary courage possesses it. That is what matters.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “However, every citizen of Silvara has invested greatly in both themselves and this city before even attempting the trial. It is therefore only appropriate that a guest first prove themselves worthy.”

  He let the final sentence hang deliberately in the air.

  “Any objections?”

  His gaze moved first to the two guards beside him, then to Darek and his companions, and finally to the steadily growing crowd of spectators that now completely surrounded the square.

  For a moment it remained quiet.

  Then the first people began to nod. At first hesitantly, almost cautiously. But soon others followed. Before long it seemed as if the agreement spread through the crowd like a wave. Humans and Silvarian bears nodded slowly and firmly, as if the third leader’s proposal were not merely reasonable, but obvious.

  The decision had already been made before Darek could say anything.

  Wow. This guy really deserves to be a leader.

  Darek studied the third leader again, this time not as an opponent, but as a strategist.

  He didn’t just adapt the trial spontaneously. He reframed it politically and cleanly. He knew there could be resentment among the population if an outsider were allowed to participate just like that. And before anyone could even voice doubt, he presented a solution that seemed fair while also preserving order.

  It was de-escalating.

  Controlled.

  Foresighted.

  And this is only the third leader.

  Darek felt his gaze briefly drift toward the massive wall of the middle ring.

  And this is “only” the Hunter Order. If even they act with such structure and foresight, what must the Vanquisher Order be like?

  The thought alone made him swallow.

  He was no longer entirely certain that ringing the bell had merely begun a simple test of courage.

  “No objections?” the third leader said calmly. “Then I suggest we begin the qualification immediately.”

  He stepped slowly toward Darek, his movements firm and controlled.

  “Defeat me. Whoever touches the ground first loses. If I win, you are eliminated and may not participate in the Trial of Courage. If you win, you will be granted entry.”

  His tone remained matter-of-fact, almost sober, as if this were nothing more than a simple formality. Yet there was no doubt in his posture that he knew exactly what he was offering.

  With every step he took closer, the tension grew thicker.

  For a moment complete silence hung over the crowd. Hundreds of eyes focused on the two men standing in the center, as if the city itself had stopped breathing.

  Then the murmuring broke loose.

  “The third leader is fighting?”

  “A sparring match? In person?”

  “Didn’t he just hunt a Grotto Salamander last week? Doesn’t he ever rest?”

  Voices overlapped. Excitement mixed with reverence. Some people moved closer while others stepped back slightly to create space. The crowd began to shift on its own, forming a circle around Darek and the leader.

  This was no simple qualification.

  This was a spectacle.

  Iris, Seraphis, and Pow-Pow slowly moved away from Darek, creating enough space between him and the approaching third leader for the coming fight.

  Iris floated several meters back, her attention fixed firmly on Darek. Seraphis glided silently across the ground and withdrew to the edge of the forming circle, while Pow-Pow positioned himself to the side with folded arms, clearly intending to observe every movement.

  The third leader approached with calm, even steps. The crowd automatically retreated, forming a broad circle around the two men. The murmuring faded until only the soft rustle of clothing and the distant creaking of the grown walls remained.

  Now only the two of them stood in the center of that circle.

  Darek.

  And the third leader.

  The crowd was tense. One man leaned excitedly toward his neighbor.

  “Is that true?”

  “Yes. Just last week the third leader killed a seventeen-year-old Grotto Salamander in its own grotto together with four hunters from his squad.”

  The word killed hung heavily in the air.

  “To call a Grotto Salamander a grotto worm—one should only be that arrogant if one has fought one at least once,” the third leader replied calmly to the whispering.

  Darek heard it.

  And he thought.

  Of course it sounds impressive. And it is impressive. But in groups like the Hunter Order, preparation plays the decisive role. No one there walks blindly into a fight. Planning, terrain, role distribution, and above all coordination determine the outcome of such missions.

  And besides, I’m not a Grotto Salamander.

  He was a human.

  A single opponent.

  More mobile. Less predictable. With entirely different strengths.

  There was also the factor of companions. For a hunter squad it was mandatory to be accompanied by a Silvarian bear in the early teenage range, somewhere between thirteen and nineteen years old. These bears were already strong, battle-tested, and still agile enough to operate in close formation.

  If even Ursula, before the complete symbiosis, had been able to seriously injure the Grotto Salamander, it was hardly surprising that five older bears together with a coordinated squad, operating in planned and familiar formation, could achieve such a result.

  That had not been a spontaneous feat of strength.

  That was structure.

  Darek let his gaze settle once more on the third leader.

  Iris’ voice spoke calmly in his thoughts.

  Darek, I think you shouldn’t use your pillow or the status changes here. They value courage and strength highly. I doubt they would consider your abilities brave within this context.

  I know, Darek replied quietly while beginning to warm up slowly.

  He rolled his shoulders, circled his arms, and loosened his wrists. His movements were calm and controlled, not hurried or nervous. There was no sign of intimidation. The excited crowd, the murmuring, the tension in the air—none of it seemed to burden him. On the contrary, it sharpened his focus.

  He took a deep breath and felt the firm ground beneath his feet.

  This is a good opportunity to test Pow-Pow’s abilities.

  Pow-Pow looked at him with his head tilted slightly to the side.

  “You seem rather confident. Is that confidence, or already arrogance?”

  Iris observed Darek carefully for a moment, as if analyzing not only his face but his inner state.

  “I see a slight arrogance,” she said calmly.

  Darek did not take his eyes off the third leader.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” he replied quietly. “My soul has already been torn apart. I have felt my own guts twisting inside me. And just yesterday I was swallowed and spat out again.”

  His voice remained calm, almost matter-of-fact.

  “Whatever he can do to me, it won’t even make my top ten.”

  For a brief moment it became quiet inside his mind.

  Then Darek lowered his gaze slightly, drew in a breath, and whispered so softly it was barely audible:

  “Forceform Conversion.”