This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

Chapter 842: Chapter 842: Mind’s Trial

Serena’s lips trembled as she sat in her dorm room, the communicator’s dark surface reflecting her pale face. She wanted to laugh off Kain’s warning, call him paranoid, but the steel in his voice—conviction, fear, urgency—choked her denial. The Abyss wasn’t a distant threat that would only occasionally threaten the empire when an outbreak occurs a couple times a year. It was coming in full force in ten months, and the Eastern Continent was already experiencing the full extent of such an invasion.

“I’ll… ask my father,” she whispered, the words sour with treason. Her father, a high official in the Celestial Empire, held secrets even generals couldn’t touch. If anyone knew, it was him. But the thought tightened her chest. A part of her didn’t want to receive confirmation. To move from the doubtful state to one of certainty due to the truth. Not if the truth is that.

Her communicator sat on the desk, sleek and dark, waiting for her touch. Normally, it carried routine updates to her father—her progress at Dark Moon College, small victories. Tonight, it felt like a loaded weapon.

Her fingers hovered. Asking directly—Father, is the Abyss invading in ten months?—felt daunting. She drew her knees together, forcing slow breaths. In, out. Calm. Then, trembling, she pressed her fingertips to the device. Spiritual power pulsed, runes glowing as the projection flickered to life.

Her father’s face appeared, older than she remembered. Fine lines carved deeper around his eyes, gray streaking his black hair. Fatigue clung to him, a shadow she hadn’t noticed before. Her chest twisted.

“Serena?” His voice carried authority, but exhaustion bled through. “It’s late. What’s wrong?”

Her throat closed. She nearly lied—nothing, just missed you—but Kain’s words echoed: Ten months. It’s already begun in the East. “I need to ask something,” she said, hands clasped tight. “It’s important. Please, be honest.”

His brows furrowed. “Go on.”

Her heart hammered. “Rumors. About the Abyss. Eastern Continent cities… gone. Swallowed. Is it true?”

For the first time, she saw her father hesitate—a flicker, his eyes narrowing, mouth thinning. Then he sighed, leaning back, the communicator’s glow casting stark shadows. “Where did you hear that?” he asked quietly.

The evasion chilled her. “Doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “Is it true?” Follow current ᴏᴠʟs on NoveIꜰire.net

Silence stretched, broken only by the device’s faint hum. He pinched his nose, exhaling sharply. When he looked up, his face was stern, but his eyes held a weight—fear, perhaps, or anger at unseen enemies. “Serena, some things aren’t for you to worry about. Focus on your studies. Your training. Let the Empire handle what needs handling.”

Her stomach dropped. No denial. An admission, cloaked in deflection. “Father—” she began, but he cut her off.

“No more.” His voice was sharp now. “Asking questions like this is dangerous. If word spreads, panic will do more harm than the Abyss.” He leaned closer, voice a whisper. “The Empire knows of… certain developments. Measures are in place. But this is classified. Even speaking of it puts you at risk. Promise me you won’t repeat it.”

Her fingers twisted her robes, nails digging into fabric. “So it’s true,” she breathed.

His silence was damning. Finally, he nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Promise me, Serena.”

“I… promise,” she said, lips trembling. But she didn’t understand. Her father, her rock, a national symbol of security, was hiding the truth—not just from the citizens of the Empire, but from her. The call ended, the communicator dimming, plunging her into silence. His tired face lingered—evasive, haunted. The Empire knew. And they were burying it.

Serena buried her face in her hands, a choked sound—half sob, half laugh—escaping. “What am I supposed to do?” she whispered. Kain’s voice echoed: I can’t do this alone. I need allies. You’re the one I trust. Her father’s assurances crumbled against the future described by Kain. If the Empire was hiding this, countless people were blind, unready. Ten months. Only Kain seemed ready to fight, to scream the truth instead of smothering it.

Her fists clenched. Trust her father, or trust Kain? Loyalty to the Empire felt hollow against loyalty to humanity. Doubt took root as, for the first time in her life, as she questioned her father.

———————–

Two days later, a masked Kain stood in a dimly lit chamber within an abandoned factory, arms folded, gazing at his masked recruits. Incense and ozone hung heavy, runic wards humming in the walls. These were his initiates—broken, desperate, but proving themselves. Most had completed their tasks, earning points through Darius’s reports. Two had failed, their excuses weak—illness, bad timing. Kain hadn’t hesitated. Bea’s splits had scrubbed their minds clean, leaving them alive but empty of any memories related to him, Darius, or what they’d experienced. Mercy for failure would poison the foundation of his organization.

Now, only the resolute and competent remained. The air crackled with tension as Kain’s voice cut through. “Circumstances have changed. The slow grind of tasks, points, trials—it’s over. We have decided to expedite the recruitment process.” He paused, letting the weight settle. “You will now undergo a series of trials, the first of which is worth up to a maximum of 50 points alone, depending on your performance. But failure in any of these trials or an inability to reach 100 points after all of three of these trials means removal. Permanently.”

Masks shifted, nervous glances flickering. Ronan, near the back, felt his heart lurch. Fifty points? With his fifty-two, this could push him past a hundred—the threshold for his “cure” in one go, his chance to escape his frail body. His throat went dry, hands clenching beneath his mask. ’I won’t miss this.’

Kain raised a hand. “The trial begins now.”

No warning, no ritual. Bea unfurled, her splits dissolving into every recruit’s mind like mist. Bodies stiffened, eyes rolled back, mouths slackened. In the chamber, they were frozen. In Bea’s illusion, the trial roared to life.

Ronan blinked, and the world twisted. Stone walls vanished, replaced by Dark Moon City’s streets, choked with smoke and screams. The sky bruised purple, split by jagged lightning. Insectoid Abyssals clawed from deep cracks that had appeared at some point in the city streets, their tar-slick hides glinting, mandibles snapping. Buildings groaned, collapsing into dust as the swarm surged. It was like last year’s Abyssal outbreak in Dark Moon City, only magnified—endless, apocalyptic.

Ronan’s lungs burned, his weak legs trembling as he staggered through the chaos. Screams pierced the air—a man clutching a bleeding arm barreled past, followed by a flood of terrified faces. A gas line ruptured, flames roaring skyward, searing his face. He veered, nearly trampled by the mob, his atrophied body screaming with every step.

Then he saw it—a child, no older than three, sprawled on the cobblestones, ankle twisted at a sickening angle. The boy sobbed, tiny body shaking, ignored by the fleeing crowd. A woman nearly crushed him, swerving at the last second, her eyes wild with panic. The child looked up at Ronan, eyes pleading, wet with tears.

Logic roared: Run. You’re too weak. You’ll die. His body could barely hold itself up, let alone carry another. But his feet stopped. I can’t leave him. “Up!” he wheezed, crouching. “On my back. Now!”

The boy’s arms looped around his neck, his weight crushing Ronan’s frail frame. His knees buckled, fire shooting through his thighs. Too heavy. Even a 3 year old was too much for the current Ronan.

But an Abyssal’s screech tore the air, claws scraping stone behind him. Ronan lurched forward, stumbling into a run, each step jarring his spine. The boy’s sobs muffled against his shoulder, his small hands clutching tight.

Shadows swelled, buildings crumbling, people dragged screaming into the black tide. Ronan’s vision blurred, lungs shredding with each breath. A cart blocked the street, flames licking its sides. He scrambled over, chest slamming into wood, ribs bruising. He nearly dropped the boy but hauled him closer, rolling to his feet with a gasp.

Lightning cracked, the ground quaked. Ronan’s legs gave out once, the boy slipping. He caught him, sobbing, “Don’t cry—we’ll make it!” His body didn’t believe it, but his heart did. A faint light gleamed ahead—safety, maybe. His muscles screamed, spirit fraying, but he pushed on, claws closing in behind.

—————————

The Eastern Continent’s memory haunted Kain, bleeding into the trial’s design. He’d seen it through the Knight’s mind: a vibrant city, its lacquered roofs and stone towers alive with banners in looping script. People with pale skin and straight black hair, draped in silks embroidered with cranes and lotuses, fled as a black ocean—oil and starlight, pulsing with life—surged over the horizon. Insectoid Abyssals swarmed, devouring all. A merchant fell, his robe torn, swallowed mid-scream. A girl with braids clutched her doll, dissolving into shadow. Parks, vibrant with cherry blossoms and koi ponds, turned silent, their beauty churned to sludge. The city’s heart—markets, temples, laughter—died in minutes. From above, a violet eye opened, its abyssal pupil swallowing the city whole, leaving barren earth. That silence, that absence, fueled Kain’s urgency.

In the chamber, Kain watched the recruits twitch under Bea’s illusion, sweat beading behind masks. Ronan jerked violently, lips moving soundlessly, determination carved into his trembling frame. The trial tested not strength, but character and will—would they break, or push through? Would they sacrifice their humanity to save their own skin. Ronan, carrying a child in a collapsing world, was answering.