"Where are we going?" I asked Arthur—my original self—as he controlled my body, taking us further from the devastation of Vryndall toward the northern wilderness.
"Sowhere important," he responded simply, his pace never slowing despite the harsh terrain.
"You have to give sothing," I pressed. "Does this an you can save whenever I want? Just appear and take over when things get difficult?"
"Of course not," he said, a trace of annoyance in his voice. "My power is reaching its limits, but it is all going according to plan. Regardless, if you're in danger, even if I can help you, it ans you will end up sacrificing potential future growth."
We continued in silence for several minutes, the landscape growing progressively bleaker as we traveled north. The temperature dropped noticeably, and vegetation beca sparse, then nonexistent. Sothing about the air felt wrong—heavier, tainted.
"So you have planned more of this training beyond this ti," I deduced, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"Yes," he confird. "I don't want you to waste ti like I did trying to find a proper structure. This break is needed for training—I need to fix you."
"Do I need fixing?" I asked, sowhat indignant. "I've been managing well enough."
"Yeah, you are weak," he replied bluntly. "Even without Resonance, your current abilities should be enough to take down Lucifer and Jack. You should have co first in the Crown Challenge, and that's not considering the transcendent level of mana control I possess."
"Not possible," I shook my head, unable to accept his assessnt. "My fighting is perfect."
"Ha," he scoffed, the sound carrying genuine amusent. "Far, far from it, Nightingale."
We crested a ridge, and I suddenly understood our destination. Below us stretched a vast depression in the earth, perhaps a kiloter in diater. Unlike the barren landscape surrounding it, this pit was filled with churning darkness—not the absence of light, but sothing actively consuming it. Tendrils of miasma rose from the surface like spectral fingers reaching for the sky, only to be pulled back into the roiling mass.
"What is this place?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
"A miasma well," Original Arthur confird, his expression unreadable as he gazed down at the corruption. "One of several scattered across the Northern border. This particular one remains undiscovered by the Covenant—for now."
"And why have you brought here?"
"Because you lack desperation," he stated simply. "You've grown complacent in your knowledge, relying on your foreknowledge rather than pushing your limits. Lucifer is stronger than he was in your 'novel' because he fights with true desperation—he has no map to follow, no assurance of eventual success."
I studied the miasma well with growing unease. "What exactly are you planning?"
"I'm going to leave you here," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "At the bottom of this well, surrounded by concentrated miasma that will continuously spawn manifestations drawn from your own fears and weaknesses."
"That's suicide," I protested, watching as shapeless forms briefly coalesced within the darkness before dissolving again. "The corruption alone would—"
"Kill a normal person within hours," he finished for . "But you're not normal, are you? You have both Purelight and Deepdark affinities. You have Soul Resonance with Luna. You have Erebus. You have all the tools needed to survive."
"For how long?" I asked, my throat suddenly dry.
"Until next January," he replied. "That gives you eleven months."
I blinked in surprise. "Eleven months in that pit?"
"Yes," he confird. "If you fail to escape before then, you'll die. The Umbravale Covenant will discover this well around that ti—they're always seeking new training grounds for their Bishop candidates. Every new year, they send their prospective Bishops to miasma wells as a final test. If you're still there when they arrive, they'll kill you."
The casual way he described my potential death sent chills through . "And if I manage to escape?"
"Then you'll have grown strong enough to face what's coming," he said. "The world is changing faster than your 'novel' predicted. The threats are evolving. Adapting."
"You expect to beco stronger than Bishop Lyra in eleven months?" I asked incredulously. "She's Ascendant-rank! That's impossible!"
For the first ti, Original Arthur's expression softened slightly. "You don't need to reach the sa rank to surpass her strength. Ranks are generalizations, not absolute asurents. What you need is to transcend your current limitations—to stop fighting like you're following a script and start fighting like soone whose life depends on every move."
He stepped closer to the edge of the well, peering down into its depths. "Besides, I've already given you a head start by breaking through the Aspect wall. Sword Resonance is now within your grasp—you just need to fully integrate it."
I stared at the churning miasma, trying to process what was happening. Part of wanted to resist, to fight against this original self who had appeared so suddenly to upend my carefully constructed path. But another part—the part that had felt the overwhelming gap between myself and Lyra—knew he was right.
"The miasma beasts you'll face aren't like standard Dark beasts," Original Arthur continued, his tone becoming instructional. "They're pure manifestations of corruption, given form by your own fears and weaknesses. They'll evolve as you do, always presenting the perfect challenge to push you further."
"And you think this torture will make stronger?" I asked bitterly.
"I know it will," he replied with absolute certainty. "Because it's what I would have done, if I'd had the chance." His eyes t mine, and for a mont, I glimpsed sothing like regret. "I'm giving you the path I wish I'd had."
He stepped to the very edge of the precipice, our body now poised above the swirling darkness below. "One final piece of advice: don't resist the miasma entirely. Learn from it. Understand it. Only by comprehending corruption can you truly master its opposition."
"Wait—" I began, suddenly realizing he intended to jump.
"Eleven months, transmigrator," he said, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "Make them count."
With those words, he leapt forward, our shared body plumting toward the churning surface of the miasma well. As we fell, I felt his control slipping away, consciousness returning fully to just as we broke through the surface of the corruption.
The miasma closed over like liquid night, cold and burning simultaneously. It pressed against my skin, seeking entrance through every pore, every breath. Instinctively, I channeled Purelight to create a barrier, but I rembered Original Arthur's words about not resisting entirely.
With grim determination, I allowed a controlled amount of miasma to touch , to be processed through my dual affinities rather than rejected outright. The sensation was excruciating—like having my nerves scraped raw—but I maintained focus through the pain.
As I sank deeper into the well, vague shapes began to form in the darkness around —featureless at first, then gradually taking on more defined forms. I caught glimpses of claws, teeth, eyes burning with malevolent intelligence.
The miasma beasts had noticed my presence. The real training was about to begin.
Eleven months to beco strong enough to escape. Eleven months to surpass an Ascendant-rank Bishop. Eleven months to live or die by my own strength.
The hunt had begun.
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