Crownless Reincarnation: New World? Nah I'd win-Chapter 16: Priest of Doubt.

"Huff..."

Akamir exhaled a misty breath as he looked up at the huge ancient tree.

Hundreds of bottles dangled from it, colliding with each other to make a rhythmic sound.

Akamir's gaze lowered to the pitch-black hole that led further inside the tree.

'How does this thing even work?'

Akamir wondered, taking a step into the hole.

The entire place turned pitch black, and only a light shone on the other side.

Akamir walked further toward the light and arrived at a different place.

'Same as always.'

The palace loomed over him, its massive stone walls stretching high into the mist, worn down by time yet still standing proud.

Vines as thick as a man's arm wrapped around broken columns.

Ghostly blue light seeped out from the cracks in the structure, bathing everything in an eerie glow.

Unsheathing his sword, Akamir walked further into the palace.

Just as he entered, a soft voice echoed.

"Trial of the faithless has been initiated."

"Trial One: The Priest of Doubt."

As the voice finished, the place Akamir was standing began to change.

The palace shifted around him, alerting him as all the furniture and displays were pushed away.

Now, only a long, enormous hall remained, with a small door at the very end of the house.

There was a second floor but no stairs to access it.

"The trial has been adjusted to the faithless' strength."

Ding!

A gold coin rolled down the hallway and then tumbled in the air before landing in front of Akamir.

For a split second, Akamir's gaze lowered to the coin.

And... in the next instant, a man stood at the end of the room.

He wore a dark red bishop robe with no insignia.

His head was bowed, and his face was pale. He was wheezing as he staggered while walking.

"Child?" the middle-aged man whispered, making him alert. "What are you doing here?"

At that moment, Akamir took a step back instinctively.

"Who are you?" he whispered, raising his sword toward him.

"I am?" the middle-aged man whispered, lowering his head. "Who am I?"

Akamir tilted his head in confusion as the man's body began to tremble.

"I... I was a priest."

The man whispered, grabbing his hair until it tore off his scalp.

"I... was trying to find? Find?"

"...."

Akamir's instincts screamed danger as he looked at the middle-aged man who was growing old before his eyes.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

The man whispered, his voice filled with grievance and pain.

"What have you turned me into?"

'Shit.'

A strong gale blew out of the man's body, lifting up his dark blue robes.

The gale hit Akamir's body, throwing him back.

He didn't fight the wind but let it take him away, creating distance between them.

Crack! Crack!!

The rods decorating the second-floor railings twisted until they began to levitate in the air.

The levitating rods began to spiral like thrown javelins, as if guided by unseen hands.

One by one, they pointed toward Akamir like needles preparing to burst.

'Is this telekinesis?'

No.

Akamir himself could use telekinesis, and he could tell it wasn't anything like that.

The priest—no, the thing that had once been a priest lifted his face.

It was no longer human.

The skin had sagged and stretched unnaturally, revealing a skull-like face with a mouth that looked like it was crying.

His voice was no longer a whisper but a thunderous roar.

"I was faith. You turned me into doubt!!"

The rods screamed through the air.

Akamir stepped to the side as one embedded into the wall behind him with enough force to shatter the stone.

"Huff..."

Taking in a deep breath, he readied himself as two more spinning rods burst at him.

[Foxdrift.]

Akamir's body left an afterimage as he moved forward.

His body leaped up above the spinning rod. Using it as a foothold, Akamir jumped toward the second rod.

He twisted mid-air.

Steel met steel as Akamir's blade clashed with the second rod, merely deflecting it.

He landed smoothly on the ground before rushing at the priest once again.

The priest raised a hand, and from the air itself, a barrier formed.

Not of stone or light, but of invisible hands, rotating and interlocking like clockwork.

Akamir's blade struck the wall of hands—

Clang!

—and was repelled with a deafening sound, like a bell ringing through hollow bones.

The priest laughed.

It was a horrible, fragmented sound, like he had already drowned in madness.

The ground beneath Akamir cracked.

Dozens of pale arms, translucent and weeping ink, shot out from below, trying to grab his legs.

[Foxdrift]

Akamir's body blurred once again as he moved toward the priest, ignoring the hands coming out of the ground.

But the priest was waiting.

From his sleeves, chains moved out, writhing like serpents through the air.

"I abandoned my faith for this..." the priest whispered, voice fractured like broken glass. "...Yet the altar never remembers me."

The chains lashed toward Akamir.

He slashed one away, sparks flying in the air, but it coiled back like a living thing.

Another wrapped around his ankle mid-dash, halting his step.

The inked hands below surged up.

[Emperor Sword Art: First Form.]

Akamir's body turned and tensed as he sensed a minute chi surging within him.

He raised his sword and slashed downward.

BOOOM!!!

The chain snapped into pieces while the inked hands burst away.

[Foxdrift]

His body blurred once again.

Akamir appeared right in front of the priest, his blade drawn back.

But the priest opened his mouth, and from within poured not words—

—but a scream.

It was layered with a thousand broken prayers, shouts of the forgotten, chants that ended mid-plea.

The sound struck Akamir like a storm.

He staggered back, his eyes flashing, memories briefly muddled in his mind.

A child praying for her sick brother. A soldier weeping at a ruined temple.

A younger Asher turning his back on faith.

But it wasn't enough to stop him.

Akamir moved, raising his sword into the air.

[Emperor Sword Art: First Form.]

He came down, blade cleaving through the priest's body, cutting him in half.

"I... I was... the last to believe..."

The priest crumbled like ash in the wind.

The hall grew silent.

Akamir drew in a deep breath as he fell to his knees.

"Argh, fuck."

Adrenaline left his body, leaving him to deal with the pain that came after.

The sword art had pushed his body far more than he'd like to admit.

"How is this body so weak?"

Akamir grumbled, standing back to his feet—albeit painfully.

Akamir exhaled, lowering his sword.

And then—

Ding!

A second gold coin rolled across the floor.

Akamir stared at it, chest heaving from the last fight.

His muscles ached, and his breath still misted in the cold air.

"...Just great," he muttered, gripping his sword tighter. "Can't even get a minute."

The small door at the end of the long hall creaked open, like it hadn't been opened in decades.

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Akamir stepped forward slowly, keeping his senses on high alert.

The next room was... quiet.

It was nothing but a circular chamber.

Stone walls carved with murals too faded to understand.

A single slab stood in the center—an altar, covered in old, dried blood.

And in front of it, kneeling, was a woman in white.

She wore no shoes. Her long hair was silver, trailing behind her like a veil. Her hands were clasped in prayer.

And she said nothing.

Akamir stopped at the edge of the room, keeping his presence as low as possible.

Click.

He barely dodged the dagger that flew toward his throat from the side.

"Trial of the faithless has been initiated."

"Trial Two: The Martyr of Obsession."

Akamir's back tensed.

Suddenly, his ears were ringing not from sound—but from the absence of it.

Every motion he made was muffled, every breath dulled.

The room had swallowed all noise.

The woman who was praying stood up.

Akamir's body tensed as she turned.

Her face...

...Wasn't there.