Oath of the King-Chapter 52 - 51: Wilderness of the Phoenix

The moment Alden stepped through the portal, the air changed.

It was like stepping into a different world — one where the sky burned red and the trees groaned like old beasts. The moment the last contestant crossed over, the portal behind them snapped shut with a thunderous boom. The battlefield was no colosseum sand pit.

It was a living, breathing wilderness.

Tall, blackened trees arched over narrow paths. The earth was uneven and cracked, jagged stones poking from the dirt like broken teeth. The wind howled without direction, carrying with it scents of blood, rot, and something far older. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

"This... isn't normal," Alden muttered, eyes narrowing.

It wasn't just the terrain. The very air felt heavier. Time itself seemed to distort — the sun moved faster overhead, shadows stretching unnaturally long in just an hour. Alden remembered Leonhardt's voice right before the portal took them:

_"Time flows faster here. A day inside may only be minutes outside. Be smart. Be ruthless. And stay alive."

He had no intention of dying. Not here. Not before reaching his goal.

Alden moved swiftly, away from the group scattering in different directions. The rookie fools were going to try and hunt each other immediately — waste energy, break alliances, get picked off one by one.

He, on the other hand, had been training for this kind of chaos all his life.

Day 1 - Shelter

He found a high ridge just past a stream, defended by a natural barrier of thorned underbrush. Perfect visibility. One entry point. He sharpened two branches into stakes and planted them into the soft soil, setting rudimentary traps using vines and pressure tension.

Next, he carved a narrow trench for water runoff. Then he built a simple lean-to shelter using thick leaves and branches. Within an hour, he had protection from both the environment and potential sneak attacks.

He buried his scent by rubbing crushed herbs and ash on his clothes. It was old wilderness training. Out here, everything had a nose. Everything was a predator.

He didn't sleep.

He sat against the wall of his shelter, eyes open in the darkness, hand on his blade.

The forest sang strange songs that night.

Day 2 - Fire and Food

The second day, he moved at dawn.

He found wild root vegetables near a patch of blue moss. Poisonous to most — harmless if you boiled them thrice. He used his knife to gut and roast two scurrying lizard-things he caught beneath a flat stone.

The fire was low, nearly smokeless. He made sure of it. He used oil from ground beetle glands to keep the flame steady. Something most wouldn't even consider.

He took a small bite, chewed slowly, eyes constantly flicking toward the trees.

"Eat like you might run in the next second," he whispered. "Rest like you'll fight the moment you wake."

It was what his old instructor had told him, back in the forgotten woods north of the Ironvale. Where monsters hunted for sport.

Out here, there were no rules.

And Alden had never felt more at home.

Day 5 - The First Kill

He watched two contestants fighting down in the clearing below. Both were skilled, but loud. Reckless.

He didn't care who won.

He waited until the survivor stumbled away, bleeding and limping.

Then he descended the ridge like a shadow, quick and silent. A strike to the back of the knee. Another to the neck.

He left them alive — barely — but took their supplies.

Three dried meat strips. A firestarter flint. A clean waterskin.

He whispered a quiet thanks, then vanished back into the forest.

Day 7 - The Trees Speak

Time was moving faster. He had already noticed how the sun looped across the sky twice within the span of one conversation. Was this magic? Some divine illusion?

He didn't know. But he adapted.

He measured time now by pulse. One hundred slow breaths meant an hour. Fifteen heartbeats, a minute. It wasn't perfect. But it was enough.

He spoke to himself sometimes — not from madness, but to stay sharp. To keep thoughts from turning in on themselves.

"You're not a beast. You're not prey. You are a blade. The wilderness is your forge."

Each night, he dreamed of her.

That girl. The first Phoenix.

He never knew her name. No one did. Just a commoner. An elf who had worn bandages around her ears and shame in her eyes.

But she fought like no one else. Like she had already lost everything and wasn't afraid to burn with the world.

He remembered watching her back then — when he was nothing more than a nameless kid sitting in the dirt, looking up at legends. She had taken down knights twice her size with nothing but speed and fury.

She had been executed shortly after her victory.

For being a heretic.

For being an elf.

He clenched his jaw at the memory.

He had vowed to never forget her.

And now, in this second chance, he wouldn't let her die.

Not again.

Day 12 - Visitors

He heard footsteps before he saw them.

Three. One heavy. Two light. Trained, but not enough to hide from someone like him.

He moved into a tree, waited like a panther. When the first stepped close, Alden dropped like a hammer.

A shout. A clash of metal. Then silence.

He didn't kill them.

He let them run. He had no interest in unnecessary fights.

But his presence was known now. Word would spread among the smart ones.

Stay away from the ridge.

Let the others hunt and be hunted.

He had one goal:

Survive.

Day 20 - Change in the Wind

His beard had grown out slightly. His muscles were leaner, but harder. His eyes sharper. He had moved three shelters now, always keeping distance between himself and the major skirmishes he heard echoing through the land.

Each day was a new test.

And each day, Alden passed it.

He spoke less. Moved faster. He was learning the forest's moods. When it was about to rain. When creatures were near. When the wind carried blood.

He felt stronger now than ever before.

And yet...

He missed their voices.

Leonhardt's annoying yawns. Althea's sharp jabs. Even the orc's gentle humming as he repaired armor.

They were somewhere. Maybe watching. Maybe not.

He allowed himself a single whispered thought:

"Hope you're still betting on me, Leonhardt."

Because Alden wasn't planning to lose.

Not to the forest.

Not to the tournament.

And not to fate.

The Phoenix would rise again.

And this time, it would carry the name of those the world tried to bury.