Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 63: Congratulations on Surviving What Others Could Not

Chapter 63: Congratulations on Surviving What Others Could Not

00:00:00

The timer popped up violently in Leon’s vision.

Circling him, five of the canis surged forward as one. Their claws tore through the air, almost reaching his face, neck, chest, waist, and legs.

His heart heaved like a frantic drum in his ribs, his back pressing hard into the wall. There, he had no time to think, to move, or to dodge, only to imagine the torment being revealed in his brown eyes.

His eyes closed for a second, and when they cracked open, the bright light stabbed through his eyes and into his skull. He didn’t see himself in the virtual world; instead, he found himself in the very room where his body lay.

After realisation struck him, the metallic helmet encasing his head shattered with a sound like a giant bell cracking.

The restraint belt around his waist, wrists, and legs all exploded outward. Shards of alloy, some the size of knife blades, others as needles, blasted from the chair and formed a deadly cloud.

At the far-right side of the chair, the pale-haired proctor’s arms snapped up, crossing before her face in an instinctive ’X’.

Shards pinged and screeched against the reinforced polymer of her sleeves, denting the material.

Behind her, screens turned into a spiderweb of cracks, their vibrant data feeds dissolving into static glitches.

By the door, at the far-left side, Mr Lee’s left arm shot out, palm facing the storm of debris.

All twenty jagged pieces of shards froze two feet from him in mid-air and hung as if an invisible string had clung onto them.

With a sharp exhale, he lowered his hand, but the cords of his neck showed signs of strain.

The shards lost their defiance and clattered to the obsidian floor in a conflicting, ringing chorus.

Cling. Cling. Cling.

In the centre of the room, where the chair was, a wet, ragged sound burst out of Leon’s lungs as he gasped.

Sweat poured from his brow and traced clean lines through the grime of the virtual dust on his skin.

His legs trembled as he shoved himself up from the ruined chair and took two unsteady steps forward.

Though the world of the simulation was gone, the phantom fire still burned along the left side of his neck and legs, where the Canis’s claws had grazed him.

A strange smile touched the lips of the pale-haired proctor when she lowered her arms.

Her heels clicked calmly on the scattered debris as she stepped over them. She halted just right at Leon’s front and placed a steady hand on his damp shoulder.

Leon could feel the coolness of her skin through the fabric of his black shirt.

"Congratulations on surviving what others could not," her voice echoed in a low hum of genuine pleasure.

Leon stared into her pale blue eyes and saw not pride, but a voracious curiosity, the same look his father had had the day before his demise.

She tried to speak, but a rattling cough seized her, causing her to turn her head aside while her hand flew to her mouth.

Cough. Cough. Cough.

When she pulled her hand away, Leon’s eyes caught sight of blood dotting her palm. A few droplets splattered like tiny red stars and clung to his black shirt.

He took an involuntary step forward while his eyes opened wide. "You’re—"

"Don’t worry. It’s okay," her voice regained its composure as she interrupted. She wiped her hand on her white coat, leaving a faint smear.

Mr Lee rushed to them in an instant. His gaze swept from the ruined chair to the proctor’s stained coat, and to Leon’s face.

He placed a firm hand on Leon’s other shoulder. "You need to get back and rest. You have a long day ahead."

He gave the proctor a brisk, meaningful nod, which she returned with a slight incline of her head.

Leon allowed himself to be guided away, while his mind remained numb. He kept looking back at the ruined chair and the cracked screens until they exited the room.

Even in the hallway, the image of the room burned itself into his memory. Leon’s steps slowed as they passed the new, gleaming frame.

He stopped, turned to Mr Lee, and pointed a finger at Lieutenant Hayes’s portrait. "You said I would get to know. But I didn’t."

A smile tugged on Mr Lee’s lips as he followed the direction. "He created the virtual grounds with his mind. Forged the core architecture of the simulation you just experienced."

"He what?!" Leon’s hands flew to his ears.

"The terrain, the initial threat parameters... they were all shaped by his consciousness. A legacy system."

’If he could control a virtual world with his mind... does that mean the land in my dreams... the sentinels, the gate... could I one day control that?’

The thought boomed in Leon’s mind like a lightning strike. A faint smile tugged at Leon’s chapped lips.

The late afternoon air, full of damp earth and sweet decay from the fruitful trees, splashed on their faces.

Leon inhaled once, twice, and on the third breath, a surge of wild, defiant energy broke through him. He spread his arms wide and jumped in a silent leap of unadulterated relief.

Mr Lee stopped and looked at the boy with an unreadable expression. Leon’s jubilation died in an instant and was replaced by a more pressing need when he stared back at Mr Lee.

"Sir," Leon said, swallowing hard. "Will I be able to join the next match bracket? Am I cleared?"

Mr Lee smiled faintly, pulled the scuffed datapad – Vera’s old one – from his own pocket. His fingers danced across the screen for a moment, then extended it to Leon.

Leon took it respectfully and stared at the screen. On the screen was the updated roster for the combat trials in stark, official font.

ACTIVE PARTICIPANTS: 1001

And at the very bottom of the list, the last entry at the top of the name marked with "OUT" was:

STORM, L. (Grade E) – CLEARED FOR COMBAT TRIALS.

NEXT MATCH: PENDING.

’1001. I KNEW IT.’ A fiercer, quieter joy ignited behind his eyes. At that moment, he knew he was no longer just surviving tests. He was back on the board.