more.
The dry grasses rustled against one another, whispering as though the place itself were murmuring mories of the past.
Zaber opened his eyes.
Larden already stood several paces away. The old man’s hands were clasped behind his back, his breathing calm, yet his gaze—sharp. He was not looking at Zaber, but rather through him, as though staring into the emptiness beyond.
"Do you understand now?" he asked quietly.
There was no answer.
Zaber did not rise.
Sothing inside him had settled into place.
The chain. And the darkness.
None of this was coincidence.
"This world..." Zaber said at last. His voice was low, yet firm. "I finally understood—it owes ."
The corner of Larden’s mouth twitched. It was not a smile. Nor was it pity.
"Do not concern yourself with what you can take from the world," he said. "Concern yourself with what you will not give up. On this path, boy, you must not be strong—you must be dangerous."
Zaber looked down at his hands.
Around his wrists there was an invisible yet heavy pressure. Every ti he moved, it felt as though sothing inside him was being torn away.
"I am ready for this path."
Larden gave a slow nod.
"At first, boy, I opposed your descent into darkness. But you are already walking it. I no longer stand against it."
Zaber lifted his head.
"Yes, old man."
A mont of silence fell.
Even the wind seed to pause.
"You must beco a resource only for yourself," Larden said softly.
"If I consider even myself a resource," Zaber replied, "then I will use myself until nothing remains."
For the first ti, Larden looked straight at him.
"Now you are beginning to please , Zaber."
In that instant, sothing cracked open in Zaber’s chest.
Not pain.
Not joy.
The spiritual chain tugged—briefly. Very briefly. Very faintly. But this ti Zaber did not retreat.
Instead... he resisted.
The chain answered.
The air in the field grew colder.
The grasses seed to darken in hue.
Zaber’s shadow stretched across the ground in the wrong direction, as though it belonged not to him.
Larden took a slow step backward.
"Interesting..." he murmured. "You are not yet strong. Yet darkness is pleased to have a child like you."
Zaber drew a deep breath.
The question returned to his mind. But this ti it rang differently.
Not "Where will this path lead ..."
But "Where will this path lead those who cross it?"
He slowly raised his hand.
I am pleased that even darkness has a father... yet one day I will devour even him.
Larden walked slowly from one edge of the field to the other, then began to speak. His steps were unhurried, yet each carried the weight of years.
"So, boy..." he said quietly. "You walk the path of artifacts. But understand this clearly: the spiritual chain is not an artifact."
Zaber listened intently.
"You called it an inheritance," Larden continued. "But this inheritance did not co from bloodline. You are neither on the path of ancestors nor on the path of blood. Mark this well."
The old man stopped and glanced sideways at Zaber.
"The spiritual chain is a living being. Never forget that. When you weaken, when you think of surrender... it will take you. It waits. Always."
A cold shiver passed through Zaber inwardly, though his face betrayed nothing.
"You are walking the path of power," Larden said. "And this path must be walked in the manner of the golden swamp."
Zaber looked at him in puzzlent.
"What golden swamp?" he asked.
Larden’s lip curved in the faintest, almost imperceptible smile. It held no warmth. It was the smile of long experience.
"The golden swamp," he said. "It ans this: from the outside you must appear golden. Talented. Powerful. Wealthy. But never excessively so."
He resud walking.
"You will remain average. Precisely at the level where everyone envies you. They will approach you. They will co seeking benefit. They will co full of hope."
Larden’s voice dropped lower.
"And then the swamp begins. No matter how hard they struggle, they cannot escape. The more they try to free themselves, the deeper they sink."
Zaber’s gaze darkened.
"You must beco such that you remain hidden. Dangerous. Dangerous enough to devour even those who co to help you. Because on this path, rcy to others is cruelty to yourself."
Zaber slowly rose to his feet. The wind lightly stirred his clothes.
"Very well, old man," he said quietly. "I will beco that."
He fell silent for a mont. Inside, his thoughts were settling into order. Every word, every warning, was finding its proper place.
Old man... he thought.
One day I will place you beneath my feet.
His gaze turned cold.
You attacked the thing most precious to . That is—you. Not now. But I will.
Though Zaber appeared calm on the outside, inside the swamp had already begun to take shape.
Larden stood regarding him; his eyes were deeper and colder than before. Despite his age, there was no wasted movent in his body. Every breath was asured, every step deliberate.
"The talk is over," he said. "Now the training begins."
Zaber remained silent.
He did not ask. He did not protest.
That silence was answer enough.
Larden raised his hand.
"First understand this," he said. "The path of darkness is not about fighting. It is about control. If you cannot draw the enemy to you before striking, you have already lost."
He lowered his hand.
In an instant... the air changed.
The field remained the sa. Dry grass, flat earth, open sky. Yet Zaber felt it imdiately—the surroundings filled with pressure. Invisible pressure. Pressure that slowed the breath, that made every movent heavy.
"First exercise," Larden said. "Standing in the swamp."
Zaber frowned.
"You did nothing," he said.
"I did," the old man replied. "You are not yet sensitive enough to feel it fully."
Zaber took one step forward.
The mont his foot touched the ground, a strange pull seized his body. As though the earth itself were gripping him. As though the lower half of him were slowly being drawn downward.
He imdiately pulled back.
"I felt it," he said in a low voice.
"This is only the beginning," Larden said. "Now walk."
Zaber drew a deep breath and stepped forward.
The second step was heavier.
By the third, the familiar coldness returned to his wrists.
The spiritual chain.
The result did not co at once.
Not pain.
Pressure.
As though a stone had been placed on his chest.
"Do not stop," Larden said. "If you do not learn to walk in the swamp, the swamp will swallow you. You must understand what the swamp truly is."
Zaber clenched his teeth and took another step.
With each movent his body slowly adapted. The weight did not vanish, but he began to bear it.
"Now the second stage," Larden said.
He raised his hand slowly and flexed his fingers.
Across the field... a shadow stirred.
Zaber caught it from the corner of his eye.
Then another.
Then a third.
They were not human in shape. Nor were they alive. Thick, uneven, dark silhouettes. Things born between the earth and its shadows.
"What are those?" Zaber asked.
"For you," Larden said. "Resources."
One of the shadows twitched and began gliding toward him.
It did not run.
It did not leap.
It simply... approached.
Zaber took only one step forward.
The shadow slowed.
"Do you understand?" Larden said. "The swamp does not strike. The swamp waits."
Sothing stirred inside Zaber.
Not an enemy.
Prey.
He took another step.
The shadow seed to grow heavier. Its movent beca uneven.
Zaber continued walking.
Suddenly the shadow trembled and sank into the ground, as though the earth had swallowed it whole.
Zaber exhaled.
A cold current moved through his chest.
"Do not resist it," Larden said. "Control it."
Zaber closed his eyes.
The coldness flowed from his chest into his arms.
A second shadow approached.
This ti Zaber did not move.
As the shadow drew nearer, it slowed. The closer it ca, the heavier it grew.
At last it stopped completely.
Zaber raised his hand and touched the shadow.
For an instant.
The shadow cracked apart and sank into the earth.
Zaber felt the weight drop to his knees.
He sank down.
"Good," Larden said. "Now you are beginning to understand."
"This is too slow," Zaber said, steadying his breath. "In battle there will be no ti."
"That is why there is a third stage," the old man replied.
He raised his hand.
This ti three shadows moved at once.
One from the front.
One from the side.
One from behind.
Zaber opened his eyes.
For a mont thoughts of running, of attacking, flashed through his mind—but he rembered that in the swamp, haste ant sinking faster. He remained still.
"The golden swamp," Larden said. "They co from every direction."
The shadows drew near.
Zaber had to decide inside himself.
These were not real shadows. This was not even an attack. It was sothing on an entirely different level. Yet that did not stop Zaber.
The cold pressure in his chest surged sharply.
Pain appeared. As though sothing were biting.
The ground... trembled for an instant like a wave of water.
The shadows’ movents disrupted.
They converged toward one point.
When Zaber took a single step forward,
the shadows gathered in one place.
In the next mont—the earth swallowed them.
Zaber dropped to his knees.
His breathing grew labored, each inhale heavier than the last.
"Enough," Larden said.
The pressure vanished.
The field returned to stillness.
Zaber drew a deep breath.
"What... what kind of magic was that?" he asked quietly.
"This is spiritual pressure, boy," Larden answered. "Against beings weaker than yourself, you can exert as much pressure as you desire—and how they perceive it determines everything."
The old man stepped closer.
"You have begun—just barely—to understand what the swamp truly is. But know this: the swamp is not as simple as it appears."
Zaber raised his head.
Exhaustion showed in his eyes.
But not fear.
"This is only the beginning," Larden said. "In the next training the price will rise."
"What price?" Zaber asked.
Larden was silent for a mont.
"You already know," he said. "Greater strength always cos at a cost."
Friends, what do you think? Please share your thoughts in the comnts. Don’t forget to add this novel to your library. Power Stones and Golden Tickets help Chapters co out faster and give great motivation
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