The Oracle Paths Chapter 1225: No Longer a Burden

The echo of Jake's grave inquiry lingered in the stands, pounding like a battle drum over the hushed expressions of his allies. His tone, steady yet laced with an uncommon gravity, revealed only a subtle hint of disquiet—a mere shade across his otherwise firm gaze.

He had no intention of mocking them.

Rather, the control he exerted made the anxiety that leaked out hit even harder. He examined his companions' visages—not in disdain, but with a concealed dread that, no matter what, he might fail to protect them from the threats ahead.

This subtle hesitation hit deep. For the proud, steadfast Myrmidian fighters, and for Will and Asfrid—who relied on eloquence and instinct—Jake's quiet skepticism felt like a tiny thorn beneath the flesh. It stung not from volume or flair, but from its rarity, from being so unlike the man who'd always shouldered the load alone.

Indeed, Jake remained their pillar—immovable, mightier than all of them, a truth none would dispute. Yet over four grueling years, they'd poured their all into bridging that divide, spilling blood and toil to demonstrate they were no mere burdens. Learning that, to Jake, the distance persisted cut like a blade, piercing the core of their self-respect.

Still, that resentment ignited a flame. Rejecting his somber 'truth' kindled a fire within each of them. Barely two seconds ticked by before—

'I'll fight first.' Will, typically the group's most tactful and gentle voice, advanced with surprising firmness, his jaw set in an icy determination they'd never witnessed in him.

As his words rang out, the green jewel embedded on his forehead throbbed with a dark, iridescent light, casting twisted shades over his face. From him emanated a presence both timeless and overwhelming—undeniable, wild as a raging storm.

Dragon Aura. Or Dragon Might, the name given in myriad realms where such myths endured.

This inborn dominance of Spirit and Soul Power could evoke both reverence and terror, a power so real it made the atmosphere hum with electricity. When mastered further, it enhanced not only bravery but also brute strength and senses. Its similarity to the notorious Lumyst Aura was strikingly odd—yet another puzzle for experts to debate.

However, Will's burst of might was quickly engulfed by the collective psychic forces churning in the spectator area. In this gathering of elite Players and locals, his emanation scarcely lingered before numerous opposing wills burst forth, clashing above like a barrage of thunder.

'No, I'll be the one to fight.' Asfrid interrupted, her voice flat and composed, though her vibe hummed with a sharpness that undercut her calm. She hadn't faced such dismissal in ages, and it burned.

The Myrmidians burst into clamor, shouts blending in a chaotic uproar as each scrambled to claim the spot. To them, it went beyond ego—it was the essence of their dignity. Their leader doubting their grit was the gravest offense, a slash at their core being.

Yet no one felt it more keenly than the twin sisters, Enya and Esya—particularly Esya. More than the others, Jake had rescued her repeatedly, each rescue etching a mark on her confidence that she'd labored years to mend.

Esya thought she'd overcome that choking feeling of powerlessness, that persistent worthlessness. But now, with Jake's skepticism slamming into her, she saw those past injuries had never truly healed.

The individual she most yearned to impress still viewed her as a fragile ornament, forever requiring rescue. The shame felt tangible—a flush rising along her throat.

'I'm fighting first, and nobody's stopping me.'

Her declaration cut the strain like a knife, firm and relentless, halting the group in their tracks. Even Enya stared in astonishment, stunned.

Esya's gaze met Jake's—intense, nearly challenging, as though provoking him to argue. She uttered with a hushed bitterness, every syllable carrying defiance:

'I won't lose.'

For the first time, a fissure showed in Jake's rigid facade. His worry lingered, but an inner change occurred, yielding to her determination.

Now, the onus of demonstration had transferred. She needed to prove his error—to rise above being a risk, to transform into a asset for the Myrtharian Nerds rather than a protected observer.

Jake regarded her freshly. The evolution was undeniable.

Five years prior, she'd been an innocent royal, with long pink locks, subtle cosmetics, and elegant gowns. Today, her tresses were uneven, cut short to her shoulders, her features unadorned and toughened, all former frivolity scorched out by trials. Dressed in a mismatched ensemble of Bronze Aether Artifact armor, weapon gripped, she exuded the calm skill of one who'd endured. The sole unchanged element—those signature pink irises, their purity swapped for a hunter's gleam.

In truth, both sisters had transformed in manners Jake struggled to comprehend. Perhaps it was time to truly trust in them.

'Very well... Esya, you'll fight first. Enya, you're up next if Mani can't find a worthy challenger. Will, you're third,' Jake announced at last, exhaling a breath he'd unconsciously trapped. 'As for you, Asfrid...'

'Yes?' She responded, hardly hiding her eagerness.

'There's no use pretending anymore. I know your Spirit Lumyst Core has reached the Saint stage. These duels between Radiant Lords aren't worthy of you.'

The ex-Eltarian priestess showed no irritation at the subtle sidelining. Instead, a slight, content grin tugged at her lips. All she'd sought was acknowledgment befitting her actual value.

'Understood,' she said, her stance lifting with quiet dignity.

Jake omitted that Will had almost attained that level with his Life Lumyst Core. The well of draconic might ran endlessly deep, particularly for one honing a lone affinity to perfection—unlike Jake, whose talents branched into various fields.

Will stood apart, though. He wasn't a dedicated combatant, and Jake lacked a precise measure of his boundaries without witnessing full release. Moreover, Will's wariness was famed.

Right when Jake sought volunteers, he'd come forth, even though his cultivation surpassed the needed level. To disguise it, he'd employed a covert suppression method, hiding part of his strength—a nuance Jake had caught. Such prudence merited admiration.

With the order decided, Esya moved swiftly. Her form tensing, she sprang over the stands' rim in one fluid, anti-gravity bound, soaring kilometers to touch down almost silently at the arena's core. Her descent mocked the flashy arrivals of Crunch and Lord Phoenix—pure grace in action.

In the arena's midst, her foe—called by the Radiant Conclave—waited still, his aura akin to a void. The Lumyst he emitted wasn't mere shadow; it was obliteration, devouring atmosphere and rock, leaching vibrancy from existence.

Esya offered a casual dip of her head.

'Please don't die too fast,' she whispered, clasping her hands in a quick, sarcastic prayer mimicry before assuming her combat pose.

The Light Warrior, rising nearly seven meters, regarded her with a vacant, lifeless gaze—so chilling she questioned if he truly lived as she knew it.

In an instant, chaos erupted. One second, Esya taunted; the next, a colossal warhammer hurtled toward her, its umbra so near she caught the scent of steel and scorched air.

Her grin stiffened. Reflex and discipline merged—she conjured a wall of crimson fire at the last moment as the tool smashed with meteor-like impact.

The blaze extinguished in a flash, quenched by a rush of ruinous, pitch-dark force that cracked the earth and unleashed a roaring blast through the crowd. The power was savage enough to nearly topple her; a weaker opponent would have evaporated.

From the viewers, Will, Enya, and the rest froze, terror etching their features as the blast rolled over them. Fear gripped their insides—had Esya perished right before them? For a moment, time suspended.

Yet there she stood, materializing at the arena's distant side—panting, bruised, perspiration beading on her forehead, yet intact. A surge of ease flooded her comrades, fists tightening over pounding chests. Briefly, they'd feared the end. But Esya proved tougher than that.

Paradoxically, Jake—the deepest doubter—remained utterly unmoved. If Esya had fallen so feebly at the start, all of Xi's teachings on faith and collaboration would have crumbled to nothing.

Unbeknownst to him, in the seclusion of his thoughts, Xi released a trembling, unseen breath. She'd nearly cried out when Esya executed her narrow dodge. No one would guess the arena's most anxious soul lacked a physical form.

Gratefully, Esya had endured the initial assault—validating Xi's confidence. But the true trial awaited: demonstrating to all, including herself, that she transcended the delicate aristocrat of old.

Yet fate delights in harsh twists. Certain truths arrive cloaked in suffering. This battle would force Jake's perspective wide—willing or not—and not all insights would bring joy.