I Awakened A Divine Curse

The question, however, still remained.

How was he going to cross the Garden of Grief? Did he even know where he was heading? And how was he supposed to locate the red and black entity he was tasked to kill?

Auren's jaw tightened as bitter curses for Asenya escaped through clenched teeth.

That twisted, narrow-minded witch had hurled him into this nightmare with barely an explanation beyond its nature. Not a word about where to find the red and black creature.

Even the creature itself lacked proper description. Yet Auren sensed he would recognize it instantly upon sight—not every time one got to see a creature walking around in red and black skin. So it was strangely specific while lacking.

And what of his escape? He suspected the old hag had some solution waiting for the moment he claimed the heart of this mysterious being.

For one, he didn't even know if it was a soul heart or a body heart. Though Auren suspected the latter. People, after all, had a habit of calling the physical heart simply "heart," only emphasizing "soul" when referring to a soul heart.

Or perhaps the inhabitants of this trial knew nothing of soul hearts at all.

'That wouldn't be surprising...'

So, how exactly was he going to proceed?

A grin spread across Auren's face as he contemplated the question. Not just any grin—one that twisted his features, bordering on demented, like a man teetering on the edge of sanity.

He positioned the strange sword as if hanging it at his waist and widened his stance slightly. One hand held the sword at his side while the other gripped the hilt firmly.

The peculiar weapon had been crafted from metal that appeared to be a deliberate fusion of obsidian and burnished gold. The sheath bore intricate designs in muted metallic gold. Even the cross-guard—which hardly deserved the name, being too subtle to truly protect the pommel from the blade—displayed the same sleek elegance, etched with dull golden patterns. The hilt itself was fashioned of obsidian metal, cold and unyielding to the touch.

Auren's fingers tightened around the hilt as he began to draw the blade. A hollow, metallic ring pierced the silence—like a sinister entity announcing its presence with a cold, menacing whistle.

The blade, in stark contrast to its sheath and hilt, revealed itself as a breathtaking canvas of blue. It seemed as though the very essence of ocean depths had been captured by some master smith and forged into magnificent steel.

A pale azure radiance spilled from the blade, casting an ethereal glow across Auren's features. For a heartbeat or two, he stood transfixed, unable to look away from its hypnotic beauty.

Even the grieving branches seemed to sense its power, recoiling slightly as the blade's luminescence danced among them, pushing back the gloom of the garden with its cold, beautiful light.

Auren observed this reaction and felt a surge of confidence within him. He flipped the sheath in his grip, wielding it as a second blade alongside the ocean steel itself.

His gaze locked forward. The garden's edge lay nearly invisible in the distance. Yet in this realm of true darkness, Auren had discovered heightened perception since his arrival, which was both a blessing and a Curse.

Through the web of grasping branches that clawed toward the ground, he could discern a black fog in the distance—identical to the mist that had first unveiled this sorrowful garden to him.

All he needed was to reach it.

Auren wasn't one for arrogance. But he would not grieve his mother... not yet. Too much remained unaccepted, too many emotions unprocessed, and so he refused to surrender to sorrow.

Death seemed less a finality and more an acquaintance now—almost tempting to consider. After all, he kept awakening after each demise. What if it worked again? His struggles wouldn't be in vain.

These deranged thoughts crept through Auren's mind like poisonous tendrils, fueling his resolve with dangerous logic.

His crimson eyes narrowed with deadly focus. Then he lunged.

As he burst into motion, the branches twisted with renewed vigor, spinning like drill bits and rippling with such force that the stagnant air around them trembled.

Auren hurtled forward, legs pumping at their limit. His hands lashed out in perfect rhythm as the wooden spears crashed toward him from all directions.

His movements flowed with purpose and precision. The sheath became an extension of his will, redirecting forces rather than meeting them head-on. He didn't waste energy where deflection would suffice, simply sliding attacks aside before cleaving through them with the glowing blade.

Yet this technique addressed only a fraction of the spears charging his way.

Auren never broke stride. His legs blurred beneath him while his hands snapped forward—slicing spears apart with the blade while the sheath redirected their momentum.

Some projectiles still managed to slam into him, threatening to send him reeling backward. But Auren had developed a peculiar footwork that transformed these impacts into advantages. Each collision caused him to pivot, stagger briefly—gathering the force like coiling a spring—then explode forward with renewed speed. Every powerful crash against the spears paradoxically gifted him a momentary burst of acceleration.

This strategy, however, exacted a heavy toll on his metallic body. The framework was already yielding, approaching its breaking point with each impact absorbed.

Auren knew with mounting desperation that he must reach the fog. Though he had been running for barely a minute, time stretched like an eternity, and the distant mist seemed no closer than when he began—as if the garden itself were extending to trap him in perpetual flight

Auren clenched his jaw and drove himself forward nonetheless.

'Don't think about the distance, just keep going!'

The onslaught of spears against his metallic body intensified, bruises blossoming across his form like dark flowers, yet Auren paid them no heed.

He surged ahead, swinging the ocean steel with newfound ferocity. Each arc of his blade carried a primal force, as though his very desperation had transmuted into raw strength.

The twirling spears split apart as his blade passed through them—like a celestial flame through gossamer—none able to withstand the otherworldly sharpness of the edge.

This was precisely why his strategy worked. No matter the opposition, he never needed to halt his advance. The blade's slice was more than sufficient to cleave through the grieving branches that sought to entangle him.

Yet with each step forward, the forest's sorrow seemed to press heavier upon him, its collective grief thickening the air, making each breath more laborious than the last.

Without warning, Auren's vision began to swim.

He continued his relentless charge, dismissing the disturbance. But as seconds evaporated beneath his racing feet, clarity abandoned him in increments.

Until Auren could perceive nothing but indistinct shadows and smears of motion—the world dissolving into a kaleidoscope of blurs.