The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order - Chapter 1238

Chapter 1238: The key is not strength or endurance Chapter 1238: The key is not strength or endurance Cain continued marching forward, pushing his mind and focus to the limit to avoid the destruction around him.

The Molten Crucible was relentless; the further he advanced, the more chaotic the environment became.

Molten rocks cascaded from the ceiling like meteor showers, and pillars of lava erupted unpredictably from the fractured ground.

With each step, Cain had to anticipate the land’s violent reactions.

At one moment, he soared above a chasm that suddenly opened beneath him, molten magma bubbling at its depths.

In the next, he twisted his massive body mid-air to dodge a jet of superheated gas that burst from a fissure, its scorching heat palpable even to his resilient scales.

He used his wings not just for flight but as shields and weapons.

When a barrage of flaming boulders descended upon him, Cain folded his wings around his body, the tough membranes deflecting smaller debris.

Unfurling them with force, he created gusts of wind that altered the trajectory of larger rocks, sending them crashing harmlessly into the fiery rivers below.

At times, the terrain itself seemed to conspire against him.

Once, as he was forced to descend on what appeared to be solid ground, the surface crumbled, revealing a hidden pool of lava.

Cain launched himself upward just in time, the tips of his tail narrowly avoiding the searing liquid.

Despite his efforts to avoid serious injury, on the third day, his luck wavered.

As he navigated through a particularly dense field of falling magma spheres, one of them twisted mid-air, defying the natural arc of its descent.

Before he could react, it struck his side, leaving a smoldering wound on his scales.

The pain was sharp, a searing heat that penetrated deep into his flesh.

A deep frown appeared on Cain’s face.

He should have been able to dodge that attack.

The magma sphere’s sudden change in direction wasn’t random-it was as if an invisible force was guiding its movements.

“The power of the Oniric Truth of Destruction,” he muttered.

The realization unsettled him.

The very essence of this level was not just chaotic but intelligently malevolent, aiming to break him down.

The wound was more than superficial.

Dark energy lingered within it, hindering the scarlet dragon’s natural regeneration.

Cain focused inward, summoning his scarlet flames to flood the injury.

The fire consumed the destructive energy, purifying the wound from within.

It was a strenuous process, but gradually, the pain subsided, and his scales began to mend.

He looked ahead, eyes sharp with determination.

The journey would undoubtedly grow more dangerous, but there was no fear.

Steeling himself, Cain pressed on.

The environment seemed to respond to his resolve with increased hostility.

Pillars of flame erupted not just randomly but with apparent intent, twisting and coiling like fiery serpents that chased after him.

Cain dodged left and right, the heat searing his scales.

He took to the air, but the ceiling offered no respite.

Gale-force winds, hot and abrasive, battered his wings, threatening to throw him off balance.

More and more strange attacks occurred.

On the seventh day, a massive fissure opened directly beneath him, and from it surged a torrent of magma shaped like a colossal hand, grasping for him.

Cain barrel-rolled out of its reach, the fingertips grazing his underbelly and leaving scorched marks.

He retaliated with a blast of his own dark scarlet flames, but the overwhelming energy of the crucible swallowed the attack.

As the days wore on, more wounds appeared on his body.

Each injury carried the same hindering energy, slowing his healing and sapping his strength.

Yet, Cain pushed through.

The power of his scarlet flames was always in action, consuming the dark energy of the Oniric Truth of Destruction and healing him, allowing him to move forward.

By the tenth day, Cain had covered more than half the distance.

On the far horizon, he glimpsed a massive gate seemingly made of blood.

Though too distant to discern details, he was sure it was the portal to the next level.

The sight should have filled him with relief, but instead, a deep frown formed on his face.

“If the sole goal of this trial was to test our endurance, then what would be the point of the Mark of Wisdom?” The scarlet dragon pondered aloud.

There had to be more to this trial than brute strength and resilience.

A meaningful light sparked in his eyes as he made a decision.

Turning around, Cain began making his way back to the entrance of the Molten Crucible.

Interestingly, as he retraced his steps, the destructive forces that had relentlessly targeted him now seemed to avoid him.

The ground remained stable under his claws, and the air was free of falling debris.

“If you want to head back into the teleportation formation that leads to the exit of the Demon King’s Castle, nothing stops you,” Cain mused, a small smile rising on his lips.

The trial did not force anyone forward; the choice was always theirs.

This realization reinforced the idea that the only ones who perished here would be those foolish enough to misunderstand their limitations.

Since nothing was hindering his movement, Cain returned to the entrance within twenty-eight hours.

He took a deep breath and allowed his massive form to contract, shrinking from his gargantuan sixty-five-thousand-meter dragon form to a little over fifty meters in his dragonborn shape.

“The key is not strength or endurance,” Cain murmured.

Standing at the threshold of the devastated lands, he shut out all distractions.

He focused intently on the terrain ahead.

For over twelve hours, he didn’t move a muscle.

He attuned himself to the pulses beneath the surface, the subtle cues that preceded each eruption or collapse.

Through the Mark of Wisdom, he began to perceive the underlying patterns governed by the Oniric Truth of Destruction.

Finally, Cain opened his eyes, which now glowed with newfound clarity.

He stepped forward, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

With each step, he anticipated the land’s reactions.

On his twentieth step, the ground beneath him cracked.

Without looking, he sidestepped just as a pillar of lava burst forth where he had been standing.

He didn’t rely on reflexes or brute force but on precise awareness.

He could sense where and when the lava would rise, where the ground would give way, where the air would become laden with toxic fumes.

It was as if the Molten Crucible had transformed from a chaotic battlefield into a complex dance, and Cain was learning the steps.

“The key is perception.”