Echoed Lands

With a sigh, Colm approached the pillar. Just like in the previous temple, the stone shifted as he neared, text etching itself across its surface. Those who offer blood unto the stone will be tested. If deemed strong, they will be rewarded.

Reading the notification, Colm noted it mirrored the text of the previous trial. Before offering his blood, he carefully surveyed the room, searching for any defensible positions. The space was barren—just the skeleton slumped in the corner, the stone pillar at its center, vines and flora clinging to the walls. After a moment's thought, he positioned himself in a corner, instructing his phantoms to stand guard in front of him as a defensive line.

Satisfied with his plan, Colm steadied himself, used his newly crafted spear to make a small slice across his palm, and headed to the stone pillar. He held his hand over the pillar, letting the blood drip onto the stone.

The moment his blood pooled on the stone, the atmosphere shifted. A loud slam echoed through the chamber as the entryway slammed shut, extinguishing the light. The remaining light flickered, casting erratic shadows across the walls, and an eerie sense of foreboding settled over the room. The door had sealed behind him, and the trial had begun.

Colm smirked, gripping his spear tightly while moving to his defensive position. "Let's see what this temple throws at me," he said, his voice laced with anticipation.

After several tense minutes of waiting, nothing happened. By now; monsters should've swarmed me, Colm thought, recalling the last temple. Maybe this trial is different? He sent his Phantom Warrior to circle the room, scanning for any signs of movement or hidden threats. Nothing happened.

He waited a few more minutes, peering around the dimly lit chamber. The only light came from the faint glow of the pillar and the softly luminescent flora clinging to the walls, casting weak, uneven shadows across the space. The darkness seemed impenetrable, heightening his unease. Yet, the silence persisted.

With a shrug, Colm moved cautiously through the room, keeping his phantoms on high alert for any potential threats. When no attacks came, he turned his attention back to the skeleton slumped in the corner, hoping it might hold some clue about what had transpired here.

Crouching beside the brittle remains, he carefully brushed at the decayed bones, but time had long since reduced nearly everything to dust. There were no belongings, no clothing, no pouches—nothing. Whatever this person had carried, if anything, had either been lost to time or scattered long before Colm ever arrived.

No markings. No clues. No explanation.

His brow furrowed as he studied the empty remains. Maybe… you were one of the ones chased from the campsite, he mused. Maybe whatever you had was left behind in the panic.

But there was no way to know.

Just an empty skeleton, abandoned and forgotten.

"How long ago were you here?" Colm muttered aloud, his voice tinged with curiosity as if the skeleton might somehow answer him.

Hours passed. Colm's patience wore thin as he remained on high alert, searching the room repeatedly. Nothing attacked him. No sounds hinted at approaching danger. No changes occurred in the chamber.

Days blurred together in maddening stillness. Colm paced the room endlessly, tracing the walls with his hands, running his fingers over every inch of stone, and trying to find a way out of this cramped cavern. Colm examined the skeleton in the corner so many times that he could picture every brittle bone in his mind. He pulled vines from the wall, discarded them in heaps, and reread the inscription on the pillar until it was burned into his memory and the words lost all meaning. Each repetition hammered home the same grim reality: he was trapped, and the trial stubbornly refused to reveal its purpose.

The oppressive darkness, coupled with the lack of food and water, gnawed at Colm's sanity. Only his enhanced body prevented him from dehydrating or starving, since he had finished the last of the Celestial Blooms he stored in his pocket days ago. Leaning against the cold stone wall, he broke the silence, calling out to his Phantom Warrior—whom he had casually dubbed "Carver" long ago. The name resurfaced now, a tiny flicker of comfort in the depths of his dark isolation.

"Hey, Carver," he began, his voice cracking from disuse. "I'm sorry I stopped treating you like a friend. I mean, when he came along—" Colm gestured toward the Phantom Spearman—"I didn't want to cause any drama."

The room remained silent. Undeterred, Colm continued. "You know, we should probably name the other guy. What do you think, Carver? He's good with that spear; it reminds me of an old coworker I had back in the day. How about we call him 'Lance'?"

He chuckled to himself, a hollow sound that echoed faintly in the empty chamber. "Yeah, Lance. That's got a nice point to it, don't you think? I'll call you both by your names from now on."

But no response came, and Colm's laughter died away, replaced by a gnawing sense of isolation and despair.

Weary and frayed, he could feel exhaustion creeping over him, the relentless days of vigilance and inactivity taking their toll. The refusal to let his guard down—not even for a moment—had pushed him past his limits. His newfound strength may have reduced his need for rest, but it couldn't erase his body's desperate craving for sleep.

Colm's eyelids grew heavy as his thoughts drifted, slipping in and out of coherence. I can't keep this up. I can feel my mind slipping. This isolation is driving me crazy, he realized, the thought cutting through the haze like a blade. Whatever this trial is, it's breaking me in its own way.

Colm unwillingly slipped into an uneasy sleep, not for lack of vigilance, but because exhaustion had finally overpowered him. Fortunately, his phantoms stood guard, their silent presence offering some semblance of protection.

But his rest was short-lived. He jolted awake, a sharp notification flashing in his mind.

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You have been poisoned.

Panic surged through his hazy mind, but Colm took a steadying breath. He quickly looked to Carver and Lance to see them alert and looking around, but otherwise unaffected by the poison, and he scanned the room, his eyes darting to every shadow, every corner. Still, there was nothing—no movement, no sign of an attacker. Desperate for answers, he pulled up his status screen.

Health: 517 / 520

Mana: 290 / 290

His health was ticking down slowly—just a couple of points each minute. His heart pounded as he watched, waiting to feel the healing nudge of Lingering Vitality and replenish the lost health. But nothing happened. The numbers continued their steady decline, and the ability refused to kick in.

Colm's mind raced. Why isn't it working? He frantically recalled the ability's description.

Passive Ability: Lingering Vitality (Level 6)

Slowly regenerate health over time when out of combat, drawing on the presence of the spirit realm to sustain yourself.

"When out of combat…" he muttered, his eyes widening as the implication sank in. "That means I've been in combat this entire time."

The realization hit him like a blow. "Whatever creature is here," he whispered, "it's been waiting me out. Watching. And now it's trying to kill me—slowly, patiently—with poison."

Colm clenched his fists, a chill running down his spine. This wasn't just a test of strength—it's a test of endurance, of survival against an enemy I can't even see.

"I'm running out of time," Colm muttered, glancing at his health as it ticked down a few more points. His hand instinctively clutched the Fungal Charm in his pocket—the only loot he'd salvaged from the Fungal Goblins in the Grove. So far, it had proven invaluable, slowing the loss of his health during this trial to a manageable crawl. He could feel its subtle power at work, a faint reassurance against the otherwise relentless poison.

[ Loot Acquired: Fungal Charm ]

An eerie charm fashioned from twisted roots and fungi harvested from the Fungal Goblin. When worn, the charm slightly boosts resistance to poison and environmental effects, providing limited immunity to minor toxins and fungal spores.

Rereading the description, Colm couldn't shake the feeling that the charm was almost a warning, an omen of this trial. "What else could I have missed?" he murmured, running a hand through his hair. But he quickly brushed the thought aside—this wasn't the time to get distracted by hindsight.

With no other plan forming, Colm made a snap decision. "Attack everything. The walls. The pillar. The vines. Everything." he commanded his phantoms.

Carver and Lance responded immediately, focusing on the room. Carver's blade slashed at the walls with relentless fury while Lance thrust with precise, powerful strikes at the central pillar. Colm joined in, taking a few swings at the pillar, but it didn't so much as budge under their combined assault. The stone remained unyielding despite their efforts.

The only noticeable progress was on the walls, where the vines, weakened by the relentless assault, fell away in heavy clumps, landing with soft thuds on the ground. Realizing this might be his only chance at uncovering something useful, Colm redirected his efforts.

"Focus on the vines!" he barked, stepping away from the pillar alongside Lance to join the Carver. Together, they slashed furiously, blade and spear rapidly tearing through the clinging roots and foliage. Each swing carried a sense of urgency, a desperate attempt to find a clue, an exit—anything.

The poison continued its slow, insidious drain on his health, fueling Colm's desperation with every passing moment. Yet, with each clump of vines that fell to the ground, a flicker of hope reignited. There has to be something here, he thought, willing his arms to keep moving despite the growing fatigue. There has to be.

After frantic minutes of relentless swiping from his phantoms and himself, the room dimmed as a light was snuffed out, and a loud screech pierced the air. Colm's eyes widened as a new notification flashed before him.

Toxic Lurebloom (Level 30) Defeated. Experience Gained. Bonus experience granted for defeating a higher level enemy.

"What?" he muttered in disbelief, his gaze darting to another glowing petal on the wall. Quickly, he cast Analyze.

Toxic Lurebloom (Level 29)

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. These things look just like Sunlit Petals. I assumed they were harmless. Colm inwardly cursed himself for his carelessness. I can't assume anything in this world.

Shaking off his frustration, he refocused and roared orders to his phantoms. "Destroy the creatures!"

One by one, notifications filled his vision, and screeches filled the air as the slaughter commenced.

Toxic Lurebloom (Level 29) Defeated. Experience Gained.

Toxic Lurebloom (Level 28) Defeated. No Experience Gained.

Toxic Lurebloom (Level 27) Defeated. No Experience Gained.

Toxic Lurebloom (Level 29) Defeated. Experience Gained.

Toxic Lurebloom (Level 30) Defeated. Experience Gained. Bonus experience granted for defeating a higher level enemy.

Huffing with exertion, Colm and his phantoms eradicated the creatures swiftly. The room plunged into darkness, except for the faint glow from the central pillar. He felt his Lingering Vitality kick in and saw his health tick up. Then, a welcome notification appeared in his vision.

You are no longer poisoned.

[ Skill Acquired ]

Poison Resistance (Level 1) - Due to continuous exposure to a lethal poison that failed to kill you, your body has adapted, granting you an inherent resistance to many poisons. Poisonous effects are now significantly less effective against you.

Poison Resistance (Level 1) is now Poison Resistance (Level 2)

Relief washed over him as he watched his health stabilize, accompanied by a flicker of satisfaction at the newfound skill. No longer was his health slowly ticking down, a constant reminder of his peril. Yet, the exhaustion from days of sleepless vigilance pressed heavily on him, dragging his body and mind toward their limits.

He clenched his fists, berating himself for breaking his habit. He'd grown complacent after becoming familiar with the Grove, dismissing countless duplicate Analyze results as mundane. But in this unfamiliar trial, his overconfidence had nearly cost him everything. Lesson learned, he vowed, his resolve hardening. Never assume. Never let your guard down.

His eyes drifted to his healed palm, where he'd cut himself to drip blood onto the stone. Lingering Vitality must have healed it before the trial even fully started. The thought gnawed at him as he pieced it together. Maybe they were Sunlit Petals at first, harmless and inviting. But the moment the trial began, the system twisted them into those creatures, luring me into a false sense of security.

He clenched his jaw; the realization settled like a weight on his shoulders. The trial wasn't just about strength—it was about deception.

After catching his breath, Colm glanced at the skeleton and muttered, "I guess you never figured it out, huh? I got lucky." His mind replayed the start of the trial—the slam of the door, the flicker of the lights, the dimming glow. It was all a distraction, he realized.

He paused, his gaze lingering on the brittle remains, a flicker of determination sparking in his tired eyes. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I'll finish this trial—for both of us."