As soon as the thought finished forming in my mind what I felt wasn't relief. It wasn't triumph, or clarity, or even pain fading.

It was the soundless sensation of something breaking inside my mind, an internal fracture so clean and sudden that it stole my breath. Not shattering, not collapsing, but cracking, like ancient chains finally giving way after being pulled taut for far too long.

I couldn't see them, couldn't touch them, yet I had always known they were there: invisible constraints wound around my thoughts, my instincts, my very sense of self. Limits I had mistaken for caution.

Barriers I had called discipline. Locks I had believed were simply part of who I was. And now they were failing, one link at a time, splintering under the accumulated pressure of everything I had endured.

I knew instantly what it meant. There was no need for explanation, no internal debate, no doubt creeping in afterward. Enlightenment—real enlightenment, not the sanitized, academic version people liked to talk about—had brushed against me.

Not fully. Not yet. But close enough that my entire being rang with recognition. This was the threshold. The moment before the door opened. The understanding required to reach C-rank and unlock Dualflow.

I had felt growth before, gradual and earned through repetition, discipline, and bloodshed, but this was different.

This was not something gained by grinding effort alone.

This was insight carved directly into my soul, paid for with pain so severe it had rewritten the way I perceived myself.

It was almost laughable, in a bitter sort of way. All this time, all my planning and preparation, all the careful calculations and conservative progress, and it turned out that enduring something truly unbearable—something that forced me to confront every weakness I'd tried to bury—had pushed me closer to my goal than months of controlled training ever had.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

Of course, the path forward would demand suffering.

Of course, the universe wouldn't grant me the tools I needed without first demanding proof that I wouldn't flinch when it mattered.

And yet, beneath the exhaustion and lingering ache, I felt something dangerously close to hope.

The reflection still stood before me.

It was unmistakably me, down to the smallest detail, yet it carried itself differently. Straighter. Calmer. As if it had already accepted truths I was only beginning to grasp.

Its eyes, my eyes, were clear in a way mine had never been, not empty, not cold, but sharpened by understanding rather than dulled by fear.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The cave was silent except for the faint, omnipresent hum of energy threading through the glassy walls, but even that seemed distant, irrelevant, like background noise to something far more important.

Then the reflection raised its hand.

Slowly, deliberately, it unclenched its fist.

Three fingers extended outward.

I frowned, confusion flickering through me before my thoughts could fully settle. The gesture felt ceremonial, symbolic in a way that made my chest tighten.

I watched, uncertain, as the reflection held the pose for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if ensuring I was paying attention. Then, just as slowly, one finger curled inward, folding back into the palm until only two remained.

Understanding hit me like a quiet thunderclap.

Trials.

Three of them.

The realization settled deep, locking into place with chilling clarity. I had completed the first. Not merely by choosing the harder path when presented with a false paradise and a hellscape, but by enduring what followed without breaking, without begging for escape, without surrendering to the temptation to shut my mind down and wait for it to end.

Choice and consequence.

Will and endurance.

The cave hadn't been testing my strength—it had been testing my resolve. And in doing so, it had rewarded me, not with comfort, but with progress.

I had chosen to believe in the honesty of hell, then the false promises of divinity and divine chicken,s and it had brought me closer.

A step closer.

Just one, but it mattered more than anything I had gained in weeks.

Dualflow. The ability to circulate and wield what came when the body and soul synchronized simultaneously without collapse or backlash.

Something still theorized about, studied, and warned against in equal measure.

Something that demanded not just control, but comprehension, a mental framework capable of holding contradictions without tearing itself apart.

For me, it would be Life and death.

Creation and destruction.

Order and chaos.

I had always known I was close, hovering just beneath the threshold, but now I could feel it. The pathways forming. The mental architecture rearranging itself to accommodate something larger, something more dangerous.

And with that realization came another, sharper one.

Belle.

Her curse wasn't a simple affliction. It wasn't something brute force or conventional healing could touch. It was layered, parasitic, bound into her existence in ways that defied normal restorative logic.

Ever since Bastard told me that healing her would require something beyond standard life mana, beyond even advanced restorative techniques.

It would require balance. Counteraction. A flow capable of unraveling what had been woven into her without destroying the fabric beneath. Dualflow wasn't just an upgrade, it was the key.

If my guess was right, and the cave had done nothing but reward correct inference so far, then completing the remaining two trials might be enough to push me fully into C-rank.

Not eventually.

Not months from now.

Here.

Now.

Far earlier than I had planned for, far earlier than any of my projections had dared to suggest. The thought sent a tremor through me, sharp and electric, cutting through the exhaustion like a blade.

I could heal her.

Not someday. Not after another long stretch of preparation and delay.

Soon.

The emotion that surged up was sudden and overwhelming. Ecstatic didn't even begin to cover it.

Relief tangled with urgency, hope sharpened by fear of failure, determination burning hotter than anything the profane path had thrown at me.

For a moment, I had to force myself to breathe, to keep my composure, because the temptation to laugh, to scream, to break down entirely was dangerously strong.

Every step I had taken, every compromise I had made, every lie I had told myself and others in the service of this goal suddenly felt validated.

Pain had not been meaningless.

Suffering had not been wasted.

I looked back at the reflection, my reflection, and this time there was no confusion in my gaze.

"Take me," I said, my voice colder than intended but steady, the words carrying more weight than they should have. "To the next one."

I didn't ask what it would cost. I didn't ask what form the next trial would take, or whether I would survive it intact.

Those questions felt irrelevant now.

The path had been revealed, and hesitation would only cheapen everything I had already endured.

If the remaining trials demanded more pain, more loss, more sacrifice, then so be it. I had already crossed the point where turning back was an option.

The reflection inclined its head, just slightly, as if acknowledging not just my request but my understanding.

The glassy air around us shifted, the cave responding to something unseen, and I felt the space itself begin to rearrange. Whatever awaited me next, I knew one thing with absolute certainty as the world prepared to move again.

I was closer than I had ever been.

The reflection moved, each step deliberate, measured, echoing through the void of the cave like crystal against crystal.

With every footfall, a sharp, mirror-like crunch rang out, vibrating against the walls of reality and leaving ripples of tension in the air.

The sound was unnerving, a reminder that even here, even in this surreal trial, every motion had weight, every presence left a trace.

I followed my own footsteps ,swallowed by the reflection's eerie rhythm, yet somehow the resonance seeped into my bones, a reminder that I was still tethered to the world around me.

The cave itself seemed to acknowledge our passage, the glassy walls warped subtly, reflecting my own uncertainty, flickering with faint echoes of previous trials and visions of places I hadn't dared go.

The reflection led me with unerring certainty, moving through spaces I hadn't noticed before, corridors bending impossibly, angles folding in ways that defied geometry, yet somehow, I felt the path was meant to be followed.

My own heart thudded in response, nervous and anticipating, a mix of excitement and dread curling together in my chest.

Eventually, we arrived at a new room. The threshold itself was marked not by doors or arches, but by the subtle distortion of the air, a shimmering ripple that hinted at what lay beyond.

Even without stepping inside, I could feel it, a weight, a presence, the unmistakable tension of something designed to challenge everything I thought I knew about strength, pain, and myself.

The reflection stopped. Its three-finger signal lingered in my mind, a reminder of the trial completed and the trials yet to come. It turned to me, expression unreadable, as if silently asking: Are you ready?

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