The Oracle Paths Chapter 1237: The Cost of Staying

Before the looming Judgment Day could even arrive, they were tasked with the impossible: simply staying alive. If the Throsgenians and Kintharians—universally acknowledged as the premier Players in this Ordeal—were being strained to their absolute breaking point, then for the rest, it was nothing short of an earthly hell.

Jake had commanded the gathered Myrtharian Nerds to prioritize the defense of Dusken.

While grouping provided a vital lifeline through , the heart of the Duskwight Lands remained a primary target for both the Blade Spirit and Anthace. Although Gerulf and his kin fought valiantly to intercept the hostiles, their reach was limited.

Monstrosities infused with dark, corrosive Lumyst burst forth everywhere. For every thousand entities suppressed or annihilated by the Kintharian vanguard, millions more breached the defenses across the continent at the same instant.

Every military camp, city, fortress, and enclave throughout Twyluxia had been consumed by flames. The piercing shrieks and agonizing death throes of noncombatants had largely fallen silent—a grim testament that their end had already come.

Every patch of land that once nurtured life had become a theater of the grotesque. Severed heads of small children lay discarded beside those of their parents who had fought to their final breath to protect them.

At times, the reality was even more depraved.

This apocalypse stripped away the pretenses of humanity, revealing its most shameful depths. To ensure their own survival, some were ready to maim their own kin just to create a momentary distraction. Others sacrificed their spouses or offspring to the maw of the beasts without hesitation. Innocent pets were left chained and abandoned, denied even the desperate hope of fleeing.

Yet, karma remained unforgiving.

Those who stooped to such depths rarely possessed the cultivation or fortitude required to endure this purge. Their snatched second of survival almost invariably resulted in a lingering, excruciating demise. Ultimately, they were left with nothing but unbridled terror and the bitter sting of regret before the darkness finally claimed them.

Within Jake’s Mirror Universe, established factions like the King’s Idol Alliance or the Myrtharian Nerds maintained organized resistance through superior individual prowess and seamless coordination. However, for the average independent Player, the reality was hardly better than that of the untrained natives. Their only hope was to scramble toward the nearest stronghold, clinging to the desperate prayer that other survivors shared their destination.

In truth, that slim hope was already faltering. Strongholds like Grimstone Keep acted as the ultimate defensive barrier for the rear lines, yet most of its hardened protectors were gone; the garrison was filled with wounded survivors and green recruits.

A number of Myrtharian Nerds found themselves in this exact predicament. Siraye and Arryn lay on makeshift hospital cots, their skin waxen and pale, stained by filth and sweat. For Rank 9 Players, it was a miracle they hadn't been eliminated from the Ordeal entirely.

Both women had stood their ground in the heat of battle, performing well enough to fulfill their Main Mission and clinch a few Side Quests. Of course, their achievements paled in comparison to the scale of Jake’s own insanity.

Arryn, the brunette who favored the attire of a tomb raider, had discovered a hidden ruin while rotating between frontline duties, housing the forgotten tomb of a nameless Soulmancer.

The artifact recovered from within—a nut-shaped apparatus—was a collapsible, single-person transport vehicle. It could be shrunk to stow within her Space Storage, and its primary composition was an indestructible alloy.

At least, nothing she could access had the power to damage it.

Her companion, Siraye—once a sheltered noble struggling with her physique—lacked a taste for such danger. Her Side Quest focused on optimizing frontline supply chains and advancing the gastronomy of the Duskwights. While it sounded trivial, she had found her true purpose in this Ordeal.

Neither woman had intended to quit—until consecutive injuries sustained during a brutal clash involving millions of combatants forced their retreat.

Their Main Mission was straightforward: survive a week on the frontline and neutralize a Light Warrior on par with a Pulsar—a squad leader managing ten recruits in the Lustra Plains army. It was a rigorous task for lower-ranked Players battling local gravity, but perfectly achievable with steadiness.

Paradoxically, the task had been simple, thanks to their Permanent Passive Faction Skill: , which significantly boosted their physical and mental attributes while providing elemental resistances. This was a boon exclusive to the Myrtharian Nerds—a gift entirely provided by their leader.

This was exactly why, despite their wounds, they had opted to remain and seek a higher Ordeal Rating.

Now, they faced the consequences.

"Damn it. If we hadn't been caught in that clash between a General and a Radiant Lord, we would have been healed," Arryn hissed, sliding off her cot to hide beneath it as a hairy, obsidian monstrosity sought to disembowel her.

The beast resembled a mangled wolf fused with a dripping octopus. Wrapped in a veil of Black Lumyst that corroded its surroundings and blurred its form, the subterranean horror was even worse than it appeared.

Arryn grimaced, the residual Light Lumyst in her wounds biting deep. She relied on her stockpile of Digestor blood and her bolstered stats to endure. In two more days, her passive would have purged the hostile energy, but right now, she operated at barely ten percent capacity.

Siraye fared no better; her legs were nearly severed, pinning her to the bed. In mere moments, they would both be devoured.

The tentacled creature prepared to drag Siraye into its throat—

—when a Black man with the physique of a professional heavyweight burst into the room, tearing the remains of the door from its frame.

Though his stature rivaled that of the most imposing Underworld Barbarians, his blood-slick plate armor and the unlit cigar clamped between his teeth made him appear even more savage.

The spawn turned, tentacles whipping as it released a screech intended to shatter eardrums. Arryn took the chance, hauling Siraye off the bed and ignoring her pained cries as she hit the floor.

A moment later, they gazed up at their savior—

—and stood motionless.

His arm was plunged shoulder-deep into the creature’s maw.

While the monster’s anatomy was built to consume large prey, it was never designed for an insertion with such overwhelming force. Its very stomach rejected the impact.

It detonated.

The explosion reduced the creature to a mangled head and neck, which remained wrapped around the man's arm like a hideous trophy.

"Drastan!"

The women sobbed in relief, ignoring the gore splatter. The troll hunter was, as ever, embodying his reputation.

*****

In another bastion, Secione and her sons, joined by the rebellious Canadian Kelly Graham and young Khal Lockert, faced their own demise. They were trapped in a blind alley, surrounded by Anthace buds on the verge of blooming.

At Rank 8, they possessed no hope of victory, regardless of their progress through the Ordeal.

Working in perfect tandem might net them a fighting chance against a Radiant Conclave Vitalist, but nothing more.

As death drew near, a woman of ethereal, haunting beauty descended, her long jet-black hair flowing behind her. A pendant at her collar swallowed all light, emitting an aura as tainted as the buds themselves.

With a listless motion of her hand, she ignited them in midnight-blue flames.

The fire consumed the buds instantly before racing along their roots, expanding at a speed far beyond the citadel’s defensive perimeter. Like Gerulf’s magma, the roots retreated with piercing hisses, recoiling from Grimstone Keep as if scorched by a natural predator.

This was the raw display of a Rank 16 Player.

"M-Maeve?!" Kelly gasped, immediately identifying Kyle’s younger sister. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in Dusken with the other elite guards?"

The woman’s skin was deathly translucent, revealing a network of pulsing black veins underneath. Her beauty had matured into something distinctly demonic, an aura of icy vengeance emanating from her. Her expression remained glacial—cold and resolute. Ever since her trauma and the capture of her brother, she had sworn never to let another suffer the same fate if it fell within her power to prevent it.

"Here, I am General Maeve," she corrected in a hollow tone. She paused, then added, "My choices are my own. I take no commands from that bastard Jake. Four years of silence. Four years without attempting to rescue Kyle. And he thinks he holds authority over me?"

"But if Dusken falls, the Ordeal is lost—and we forfeit half our holdings," Kelly reminded her, voice trembling beneath the weight of Maeve’s frigid presence.

Maeve stared at her with vacant eyes, drawing a scythe forged from luminous gray-green steel. The weapon’s dense energy proved it was a terrifying artifact.

With a single, effortless horizontal sweep, she silenced every monster within ten kilometers. Creatures hidden behind dozens of buildings were bisected instantly.

The most jarring element of the display?

Not a single stone of the citadel was scathed.

Even Jake might lack this level of surgical finesse in a weapon strike. He could replicate the slaughter, perhaps, but sparing the infrastructure and bystanders with such absolute precision? Weapon mastery had never been his forte in that manner.

His strategy had always been singular: develop the most overwhelming strike imaginable. Because only raw power allowed one to overcome enemies far greater than themselves.

"This stronghold is under my command," Maeve declared, her tone admitting no debate. "I will not abandon it. Should the others fail and Dusken fall, this citadel shall be our final redoubt. The rest of this world can burn to ash."

Her eyes glinted with resolve.

"But my territory remains inviolate."

Miraculous survivals like those orchestrated by Drastan and Maeve were the exceptions. For every Player rescued from the precipice, countless others were slaughtered in misery—their final memories filled with terror and regret for failing to leave the Ordeal in time.

And then, there was the most fortunate soul of all.

Lily Wilderth.

Not only did she have a father whose entire life focused on her security—

She also possessed a boyfriend who was essentially fortune incarnate.

Tim.