Under the watchful, indifferent gazes of countless animal masks, the blue towers surged toward Vera like a relentless tidal wave, aiming to swallow her whole.
She narrowed her eyes, carefully studying the towers' attack pattern. Every strike was aimed not at her limbs or core—but at her face.
Her instincts kicked in.
Without hesitation, Vera raised the glass-like dragon mask she had been holding and slipped it over her face. The cool surface of the mask pressed against her skin, concealing her gaze beneath gleaming, crystalline scales. The assault faltered momentarily, the towers now failing to land their brutal blows.
She planted her feet firmly.
Her blade sliced through the air, emanating a commanding presence.
With each swing of her sword, mist billowed out like waves on a turbulent sea. It was as though she weren't fighting on solid ground, but dancing through the depths of an unseen ocean, her sword currents trailing with flowing, ethereal energy.
Dozens of bizarre animal masks cracked beneath her devastating strikes.
"Tch… So you've got some skill after all," a voice echoed mockingly from one of the masks. "But do you really think that's enough to defeat us?"
Even as her sword left marks across their surfaces, the masks began to twist and reshape themselves. The cracks vanished, their forms mending as if they had never been harmed to begin with.
Vera's expression tightened.
The towers advanced again, faster than before, like a raging storm, forcing her several steps back. Her foot slipped. She nearly collapsed—only managing to stay upright by leaning against one of the towers, sword in hand, kneeling and gasping.
Are they regeneration-type enemies? she wondered, biting her lower lip. Can they heal themselves mid-battle?
Or… is this just an illusion? Maybe they're not actually regenerating—but want me to believe they are?
Her mind raced through every lesson, every tactic her master had ever taught her. Every breath she took, she was calculating—evaluating. Even in exhaustion, her focus was razor-sharp.
I can't afford to be careless, she thought, glancing upward into the night sky. Especially not now. I still don't know where Master is… or if he's safe.
Under the dim, yellowish moonlight, the towering blue structures loomed over her like emotionless archers, their attacks constant and mechanical. Around her, the strange animal-faced masks wore sinister, mocking smiles—as if they were simply waiting for the right moment to devour her.
Her body was already worn out from earlier.
Making masks with her master had drained her spirit energy more than she expected. But just then, a whisper from memory surfaced in her mind—her master's voice, soft yet firm:
"Creating a mask can restore the spiritual energy you've lost."
That memory flashed through her like lightning.
Vera's breath caught.
Is this all part of Master's design? she wondered. Is this… another trial he's hidden from me? Just like when he used to sneak attack me with flying daggers when I wasn't paying attention…
She clenched her jaw, straightened her back, and raised her sword once more—this time toward the heavens.
Moonlight spilled down upon her as she whispered her vow into the wind:
"Whether this is Master's doing or not… I will not falter. I will face every trial. I will pierce through all illusion. I will break every lie. I will protect others, protect my master… and protect myself."
A surge of strength ignited within her.
With renewed resolve, Vera charged forward, her sword blazing. One by one, the blue towers shattered beneath her onslaught, fragments scattering like falling stars. Her form blurred with motion, the air itself seeming to ripple with each swing.
But the animal masks—those unsettling, jeering faces—remained untouched. Their grins grew wider, more twisted.
"So brave…" one of them hissed.
"But tell us, little girl—what would happen if you lost the one you cherished the most? Could you still stand so tall? Could you still call yourself righteous?"
"Could you still be… you?"
Vera didn't hesitate.
"I won't be shaken by your cheap tricks," she declared. "My heart is clear—always has been. I am as unwavering as the tallest tower beneath the sun."
She sprinted across one of the still-standing towers, leaping into the air with the grace of a predator. Her sword cleaved through the hovering masks in one clean sweep, splitting them in half—once, twice, again and again. Every strike was a refusal. Every blow, an answer.
The battlefield echoed with the shattering of porcelain and bone-like material. The once-jeering masks fell one after another, disintegrating mid-air.
And yet, even in their destruction, they whispered from the dust:
"What if one day… you lose everything?"
"Your memories… your master… even yourself."
"Would you still be the same person standing here now?"
The final echo faded into silence. The moon dissaperaed into clouds.
The illusion around her shattered. The spiritual barrier that had encased her dispersed like morning fog, melting into nothing.
But Vera did not rejoice.
She stood frozen, her arms limp by her sides, her sword lowered. The trial was over—yet she had never felt more trapped.
A familiar warmth approached.
Her master Jin Xiu reached out, gently placing a hand on her head, voice soft with concern.
"You did well. I know this trial was harsh. I'm sorry for putting you through that."
Vera said nothing.
She only stepped forward—slowly, almost mechanically—and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly.
As if the moment she let go… he would vanish.
She buried her face into his robes, breathing in that familiar scent—faint sandalwood, ink, and a trace of the masks they had just finished together. Her fingers trembled as they clutched his sleeves, the battle's weight crashing down on her all at once. It wasn't just exhaustion. It was fear—the kind that clung to the soul.
For a moment, she wasn't a warrior, wasn't a disciple—just a girl who had come far too close to losing the one person she couldn't bear to lose.
The night was silent. In that one embrace, countless unspoken words were exchanged.
But this peace was fleeting. Danger still loomed—waiting, watching, and drawing ever closer.