A light, cool breeze swept the cliffside, rustling tender grass and wildflowers. Birdsong and beast calls echoed from the canyon depths. Today, the grounds before the Aether Spire stood deserted—the vast meadow held scarcely another soul.
The sky remained brilliant blue, clouds fully dispersed. Dawn light descended like golden ribbons from heaven to earth.
The Aether Spire, standing tall for over nine centuries, still pierced the heavens. Even beneath this boundless, cloudless sky, the secrets of its highest floor remained beyond mortal sight.
Four figures halted before the snow-white Spire. After a few laughs, white light flashed—enveloping them—and swiftly transported them to the fifth floor.
At that moment, a young man in a deep green coat and hood emerged from the woods.
York lifted his head, gaze fixed on the distant Spire. The face hidden in shadow turned cold and merciless.
The fifth-floor trial was a nightmare for incompetent climbers—those who, having achieved nothing, recklessly sought fame and fortune by scaling the Spire. Most were swiftly deterred.
The Spire existed as the Mediator’s memory. Each floor reflected a chapter of a Mediator’s past glory; every fifth floor marked a battle—long or short, but always grueling.
York never imagined the Azure Round Table would reach this far.
In the past, had Anna claimed they’d reach the fifth floor in two days and challenge this brutal trial, York would have laughed outright at her audacious delusion.
But the truth now stood before him.
Seconds ago, Noah—the Azure Round Table’s new guildmaster—had led three members to officially commence the Aether Spire’s fifth-floor trial.
This signaled the guild was finally getting back on track. Soon, they might repay every debt, reducing York’s scheming to gutter sludge.
York clenched his fists, gritted his teeth—then, hearing voices from the nearby teleporter, ducked back into the woods, cloak and hood concealing him.
Four climbers stepped from the array. One wore a witch’s hat, gripped an ornate staff, and wore a relaxed smile.
Seeing her, York felt as if staring at *that* woman.
"Anna… Anna Carole…"
He averted his gaze with gritted teeth, resentful eyes locking once more on the Spire. He stared unblinkingly at its entrance, silently hoping Anna and the others would return in disgrace.
...
...
Southern Continent, Grand Duchy of Alvia.
Aether Spire, Fifth Floor.
Ancient Battlefield Trial.
Dark clouds hung low. The sky, heavy with impending rain, lay deathly silent.
The air reeked of rotting flesh and thick, salty blood. A chill wind swept through wails and sobs, stirring dust and ash.
Swords clashed incessantly. A distant structure collapsed with a thunderous roar. As the earth trembled, a taut rope snapped with a sharp twang—a boulder shot skyward, then plummeted like a cannonball, shattering a hillside amid screams.
A piercing wail jolted Noah awake.
He opened his eyes to a suffocating sky, towering earthen walls encircling him like a fortress, two shovels relentlessly digging at the rim above.
Hard soil clumps rained down, burying his rope-bound body inch by inch, stealing breath, stealing hope.
The disorientation faded. Noah’s mind sharpened. He realized—this was bad.
He was being buried alive.
Sturdy ropes bound his limbs tight. He watched, helpless.
He wasn’t alone.
Countless cries filled the air—old, young, male, female—hoarse, desperate, choked with pleas.
Noah turned his head. Those buried beside him weren’t human.
Small figures, under a meter tall, tawny skin, human-like yet distinct features. Slender tails hung limp. Frail limbs thrashed wildly; sharp claws tipped fingers and toes—but stiff joints made escape impossible.
Spaced half a meter apart, none could aid another.
Noah recognized them instantly: the Rockrat Clan.
Strangely, Anna and the others were absent. Teleported elsewhere, perhaps.
Soil piled higher, burying torsos. The smallest Rockrats gasped, shaking dirt from their faces, fighting for seconds more.
Yet struggle meant nothing. The outcome was sealed.
More shovels appeared above. Burial accelerated. Despair spread. Pleas faded into hollow sobs.
Burying the Rockrat Clan—the masters of the underground—was pure humiliation.
Noah watched calmly. Some were already silent, struggles slowing.
He made no move to stop it. There was no point.
This was the Spire’s trial—a Mediator’s memory. Saving them wouldn’t rewrite history.
At that moment—
A sobbing Rockrat turned its head with effort, tears streaming, staring at Noah’s impassive face. *How could he stay so calm… while dying?*
Noah met its despairing eyes. "What," he asked softly, "first time?"
...
...
Wailing in the pit halted for a heartbeat.
Even the shovels above froze mid-swing.
The Rockrat blinked dazedly. Despair deepened. *He’s lost his mind.*
Noah ignored the misunderstanding. Ignored the renewed cries. Lay perfectly still. Unbothered.
It wasn’t his first time.
More importantly—he wasn’t worried.
This was a Mediator’s memory. Right now, *he was the Mediator*.
He was living history.
And from ancient texts, he knew: this burial would fail.
A sudden roar erupted nearby.
Dust, splinters, scalding blood splattered across his face.
Shovel-wielders froze, stared—then swapped tools for iron weapons and charged.
Armor shattered. A bloody wind carried soldiers’ screams and Rockrat war cries.
Flaming arrows rained like fiery hail, igniting the gloom over the camp.
Horns blared. Heads flew. Corpses tumbled—burly humans, two or three light-armored Rockrat warriors.
"Lord Aether!"
Amid chaos, a panicked female voice cut through.
A dust-and-blood-streaked face appeared at the rim. Bright eyes locked on Noah. Relief softened her features as tension faded from her gaze.
Noah almost corrected her—but remembered: *This is the trial.* He’d play along.
"Hold on a moment."
She vanished. Battle cries ceased. The assault was over.
She leaped back down, rope in hand. A fine dagger gleamed in her palm. She cut his bonds, voice trembling with relief: "Thank goodness we were fast… Your plan succeeded, Lord Aether."
"You arrived just in time."
Noah rose slowly, brushing off dirt. Recalling last night’s text, he spoke her name: "Well done, Aelia."
Aelia smiled, then called upward: "Everyone—come free your kin!"
Light-armored Rockrat soldiers dropped into the pit. Knives flashed. Tearful gratitude met comforting words and gestures.
Watching them, Noah murmured, "How goes the battle?"
Aelia snapped to attention, saluting sharply. "Dire, Lord Aether. The Grand Duchy’s mages teleported an entire mage tower onto the Great Plains battlefield."
"It’s close. We must destroy it."
In her eyes, Noah saw resolve—and fire.
Indeed.
This was the trial.
Noah would embody Aether—a Rockrat hero of nine centuries past—who waged war against the Grand Duchy of Alvia to secure his people’s rights and shatter generations of enslavement.
Destroy the mage tower. Win the Battle of Hiddle Plain.
Complete the trial. Ascend past the fifth floor.
