The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 1929: Failure in the Trial of Will

The shock was so immense that Cain almost halted mid-step. His breath hitched, his limbs faltered, but with a clenched jaw and a growl deep in his throat, he forced himself forward.

"Your name is Cain Laurifer. You must move forward. Reach the light at the end."

He muttered the words again and again, his voice barely above a whisper. Each syllable was a lifeline, the only anchor he had in the collapsing world of his mind. The path stretched ahead, unseen and unknowable, shrouded in oppressive darkness that devoured everything—light, warmth, and now, his memories.

The fading began slowly, like ink drops dissolving into water. At first, it was minor: names, faces, dates. Then it escalated. Every second of his saga in the Crimson World, his journey across the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe, even his time in Aether—the places, the emotions, the people—they all began to evaporate from his consciousness. There were no warnings, no pain, just the terrifying realization that they were gone.

Confusion hit like a wave. Cain nearly stopped in his tracks, wide-eyed and trembling. What had he just forgotten? What was his purpose? Who was he?

Those questions arose in his mind. They should be easy to respond to, yet it seems they would fade at any second.

"Your name is Cain Laurifer. You must move forward. Reach the light at the end."

The mantra was all he had. A string of words spoken on repeat. It became the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his steps, the only truth in a universe of vanishing certainties.

But the darkness wasn’t just around him; it bled inward. It filled the cracks in his thoughts and tunneled into the architecture of his soul. His identity unraveled like an old tapestry, threads snapping one by one. And with each step, the sense of self eroded until he couldn’t even remember why he was walking. Yet his legs moved.

Time passed—perhaps days, perhaps years. In this void, time was meaningless. There were no stars, no sky. Only the chilling sensation of being suspended in something that wasn’t air, but emptiness itself.

"Your name..."

He stumbled.

Panic clawed at him as he realized he could no longer finish the sentence. Tears welled in his eyes. The most basic truth of his existence had been taken. He didn’t know who he was. The name had been erased.

But the mantra carried on.

"You must move forward. Reach the light at the end."

That fragment survived. His tongue repeated it, not from memory, but instinct. Something in his being screamed that it mattered.

So he walked.

The fear was absolute, primal. Like a child lost in a city of strangers, calling for a name they couldn’t remember, searching for a face they could no longer see.

And then even that shred of mantra began to dissolve.

"The light at the end."

He whispered it. Again and again. The words were frantic now, repeated without pause, as if by speaking them fast enough, he could stop them from vanishing.

"The light at the end. The light at the end. The light at the end."

But then—

Nothing.

Silence. Not just around him but inside him.

Cain Laurifer no longer existed. The identity, the memories, the desires, the reasons—all of it was gone. All he knew was that he existed in a place with no sound, no meaning, no light, and no memory. A husk in a void.

Terror, the kind that cannot be described, enveloped him. It wasn’t fear of death. It was fear of erasure, of becoming unmade. He opened his mouth, trying to scream, but no sound emerged. He didn’t know what screaming was.

Yet even in this state, something moved. Not thought, not strength. Something deeper. Something beneath even the soul—a fragment of essence, untouched by the corrosion.

He took a step.

Then another.

Until, at last, even walking became impossible. His body failed. Legs became numb and useless. He collapsed to the invisible ground.

But he did not stop.

He began to crawl. Scraping his knees against nothing, his fingers bleeding from friction that shouldn’t exist, he dragged himself forward. No direction. No reason. Just the faintest whisper of compulsion.

He crawled for months. Or was it centuries?

His mind was gone, and so was the concept of time. All that remained was forward.

And then—

Nothing.

He stopped. He had nothing left to give. His body, broken and inert. His mind, blank. His soul, quiet.

—

And then, in a flash, everything changed.

Cain’s figure faded from that realm of silence and shadow and reappeared in the Samsara Sacrificial Ground.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A scream tore from his lungs, an inhale that felt like it ripped through dimensions. His eyes flew open, and the memories returned in an instant—like a dam breaking, flooding a dry riverbed with the full weight of existence.

He trembled violently, body spasming under the weight of the recollection. His skin was slick with cold sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps. And his eyes—wide, tear-filled, haunted—stared at nothing.

The Trial of Will had not tested his power or knowledge. It had stripped him of self. Of name. Of purpose. And forced him to keep going.

It had reduced him to nothing and demanded that he move forward.

Cain could not stop shaking.

It did not demand he endure pain or face a nightmarish illusion. It only demanded that he move forward, yet it was the most horrible experience of his life.

He had lost himself.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Only after his willpower reignited was he able to sit up. Then, slowly, trembling, he stood.

He lifted his gaze and saw him.

The Samsara Lord’s flaming face was gazing upon Cain with solemn eyes.

Cain met that gaze. And, slowly, a sad, tired smile appeared on his face.

He had not reached the light at the end. Despite pushing harder than ever before, despite enduring the most horrifying experience of his existence, he had not made it.

He had failed the Trial of Will.