The fall was long, dizzying, and ended with a sickening crunch.
Roran woke up slowly. The air was cool and silent. He was lying on a soft pile of dry leaves, the darkness absolute. He reached out and felt cold, damp stone. He had fallen into a cave.
He managed to stand, his body feeling like broken glass, but his brave heart skill had protected his vital organs enough for him to move. He used the wall as a guide and limped deeper into the cave, seeking a safe place to rest and recover.
After what felt like hours, he came to a dead end. But this was no natural wall. It was a huge, perfect door carved from a strange, blue-black metal.
The door was protected by a single, simple shield symbol etched into its center. The shield radiated a cold, ancient power that made Roran tremble. He pushed on the door with all his weak Strength 12 remaining, but it didn't even shake.
Locked, he thought bitterly.
Frustrated and bleeding from his hand, a wound he sustained in the fall, he slammed his fist against the door in anger. His blood smeared across the cold metal of the shield symbol.
The moment the blood touched the metal, the shield symbol on the door flashed a brilliant gold. The light was blinding, and the ground trembled. The massive door slowly, silently, swung inward.
Roran stared, completely stunned by this impossible reaction.
He stepped inside. This chamber was vast and unlike anything he had ever seen. The air here felt clean and pure. In the center, dominating the cavern, was a colossal dragon statue, carved from pure, shining gold.
He tried to walk toward the magnificent statue, but a violent, invisible wind force pushed him back. It was a relentless barrier of energy protecting the dragon. He was thrown back repeatedly, flying across the cavern floor.
Roran had no magic, and his physical strength was tiny. But he remembered his promise to his father and grandfather: I would rather die trying.
He tried again. And again. And again. The days blurred. He lived on tiny bits of water dripping from the ceiling.
On the 21st day, Roran was exhausted, starved, and covered in bruises. He could only make it within a hand's gap of the statue before the wind force smashed him away.
But Roran was not the boy he was before. He had the spirit of the ox beast, the stubbornness of the mana-breathing grind.
On the 25th day, Roran made his final attempt. Every muscle screamed, every bone hurt, but he stepped forward, pushing into the roaring, invisible wind with pure will. He fought the force inch by inch. Finally, his outstretched, trembling hand reached out and touched the gold statue.
As his hand connected, he suddenly understood: My blood opened the door. It must be my blood it needs.
Roran gritted his teeth, took the sharp edge of his sword, and sliced open the palm that was touching the statue, letting his blood flow freely down the ancient, cold gold.
The statue reacted violently. It stopped being a statue and became a blazing source of light. The massive dragon image glowed, and then the light focused into a single, human-like figure made of golden energy.
The figure spoke, not with its mouth, but directly into Roran's mind, the voice booming and ancient.
"So, you're the chosen one, the one meant to rise when everything else falls apart."
The golden figure raised its hand. Its long, shining finger reached out and touched Roran's forehead.
In that instant, a terrifying, incomprehensible wave of data, energy, and knowledge the entire Heavenly Dragon Technique and its immense powers slammed into Roran's mind.
Roran felt like his skull was going to explode. The power was too vast, too strong for his weak, shattered body to hold. He clutched his head and screamed a long, desperate, soul-shattering cry of agony as the Grandmaster's test began to change his very destiny.
The scream tore itself out of Roran for what felt like an eternity, ripping his throat raw. Then, as quickly as it began, the agony vanished.
Roran crumpled to the ground, unconscious. He didn't know how long he lay there, but when he slowly opened his eyes, the world was silent. His body felt heavy, but no longer broken. The searing pain in his chest, where Tarian had destroyed his Mana Core, was gone replaced by a strange, pulsing warmth.
He was still staring at the ceiling when the blue screen, which hadn't shown him anything since he fell, suddenly slammed back into existence.