SWDnovel Chapter 7 The Unfading Flower
Chapter 7 The Unfading Flower
Arthur had no idea how long he had been in the Land of Shadows.
The number of engravings on the wall increased from four to eight, and then from eight to sixteen.
Each line represents a "training cycle," and each cycle is approximately two hours in the real world.
But the word "approximately" becomes unreliable here.
The flow of time in the Land of Shadows is different from that in the real world, and this difference is not constant.
Sometimes, after a training cycle, Arthur feels like he's trained for a whole day.
Sometimes, he felt like he was woken up as soon as he lay down.
He has learned to stop thinking about questions like "What time is it now?"
Here, time isn't something to be looked at, it's something to be endured.
"Stand up."
Scáthach's voice came from ahead, as cold and emotionless as ever.
Arthur used the sword in the stone to prop himself up from the ground.
His knees were trembling, and there were several new bloody marks on his arms. His armor was torn to shreds, but he didn't complain or even frown.
He simply stood up and raised his sword again.
Scáthach looked at him, a barely perceptible glint in her wine-red eyes.
"That concludes today's training," she said.
Arthur paused for a moment, then said, "But I just..."
"You've already completed four cycles." Scáthach turned and walked out of the training room.
"Your body has reached its limit. If you continue training, you won't get stronger; you'll just be courting death."
Arthur looked down at his hands.
The area between my thumb and forefinger was worn raw, and blood was stuck to the hilt of the sword, making it impossible to tell whether it was new or old.
He really couldn't feel his fingers anymore.
It wasn't numbness, but pure exhaustion.
He followed Scáthach out of the training room.
As Arthur walked down the corridor, he noticed something he hadn't noticed before.
Along both sides of the corridor, there is a stone flowerpot every few steps.
There were some plants he had never seen before growing in the flowerpot.
Some flowers are deep purple, with the edges of their petals shimmering with a bluish light.
Some of the flowers are dark red, like congealed blood.
There were also a few pure black flowers, with faint scarlet veins showing through their stamens.
These flowers have no fragrance, or rather, they don't emit a fragrance, but rather a... cold aura.
It tastes like the first snow of winter, or the bitterness of decaying leaves in late autumn.
"What kind of flowers are these?" Arthur asked.
Scáthach slowed her pace, her gaze sweeping over the flowerpots.
"Demon Flower, Flower of the Underworld, call it whatever you like," she said.
"They don't grow with sunlight and water, but with magic and the scent of death."
Arthur crouched down and carefully examined a deep purple flower.
The petals are covered with a layer of fine down, which shimmers in the grayish-white light.
The flower stem has no thorns, yet it exudes a chilling aura that makes one hesitant to touch it.
When will they bloom?
"Not necessarily." Scáthach stood behind him, arms crossed.
"Blooms when magic is abundant, withers when magic is depleted."
When someone dies in battle and their soul dissipates, nearby flowers may bloom briefly, then wither just as quickly.
She paused for a moment, her wine-red eyes gazing towards the end of the corridor.
"There is no spring, no autumn, no sunrise, and no sunset here. Flowers bloom and wither, not following the passage of time, but following the cycle of life and death."
Arthur stood up and looked at the row of flowerpots.
These flowers bloom year-round around Scáthach's dwelling.
It wasn't because time had stopped, but because she was the mistress of the Land of Shadows, and her magic continuously nourished these flowers.
As long as she lives, these flowers will not wither.
And her immortality is eternal.
Arthur suddenly understood.
These flowers that never fade are not a symbol of life, but proof of imprisonment.
They are bound here by Scáthach's magic, just as Scáthach is bound to the Land of Shadows by immortality.
"What are you looking at?" Scáthach's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"It's nothing," Arthur stood up. "I just think... these flowers are beautiful."
Scáthach glanced at him, said nothing, and continued walking forward.
Arthur followed behind, passing through one stone gate after another, until they finally arrived at an area he had never been to before.
This is not a room, but a courtyard, an open-air courtyard.
The sky over the Land of Shadows remains an eternal deep purple, but here, the sky seems lower, as if it might press down at any moment.
There is a dead tree in the center of the courtyard.
The tree trunk was pitch black, and the branches were twisted, like hands reaching towards the sky.
Beneath the withered tree, deep red flowers grew in abundance.
That red was so intense, so intense it looked like blood seeping from the ground.
"This is..." Arthur frowned.
"The graveyard of the former ruler of the Land of Shadows," Scáthach said, her tone as flat as if she were introducing a piece of furniture.
"His bones are buried under that tree, and those flowers grew from his blood when he died."
Arthur remained silent for a moment.
Do you hate him?
Scáthach turned her head, her wine-red eyes looking at him.
"Why do you ask that?"
"Because you killed him," Arthur said. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have become the ruler of the Land of Shadows."
Scáthach stared at him for a few seconds, then gave a soft hum.
"I don't hate him." She turned her head and looked at the withered tree.
"He doesn't hate me either. In this place, 'hate' is a luxury. Most people don't even have the strength to 'hate'."
She turned and walked back.
"Finished watching. Let's go back."
Arthur followed her out of the courtyard, and the stone gate slowly closed behind them with a heavy thud.
As Arthur returned to the corridor where the training room was located, he noticed that the flowers in the pots seemed to be more vibrant than before.
He looked at Scáthach's back; her cloak fluttered gently behind her, and her deep purple hair gleamed with a cold luster in the grayish-white light.
She walks silently, like a ghost.
No, she is the queen here, more noble than a ghost, and more lonely than a ghost.
"Scáthach," Arthur called to her.
She stopped walking, but didn't turn around.
"What's wrong?"
"Thank you."
"What are you thanking me for?"
"Thank you for teaching me," Arthur said.
"I know... you don't absolutely have to teach me, you can just throw me out."
Scáthach remained silent for a moment.
Then, she turned her face to the side, revealing a delicate but expressionless profile.
"I'm not 'willing' to teach you," she said, her voice still cold.
"I 'need' to teach you, to teach disciples, it's one of the few things I can still do here."
Her voice was very soft, so soft that it sounded like she was talking to herself.
After saying that, she continued walking forward.
Arthur stood there, watching her figure disappear into the shadows of the corridor.
He looked down at the flowers.
Deep purple, dark red, pure black.
They bloomed quietly in the grayish-white light, without fragrance or warmth, simply existing.
"Like her," Arthur said softly.
He turned and walked towards his room.
There are already sixteen marks on the wall.
According to Scáthach, each mark represents approximately two hours... but "approximately" is an unreliable word here.
Arthur had given up on calculating how long he had been in the Land of Shadows.
All he knew was that his swordsmanship was improving.
From being completely unable to see Scáthach's gunfire, to being able to barely parry one or two shots.
From being knocked away by a single blow to being able to stand firm and retreat.
Every step felt like climbing a mountain without a summit, but he could feel himself rising.
Although slow, it is indeed rising.
He lay on the bed with his eyes closed.
The image of Scáthach standing in front of the withered tree flashed into my mind.
That withered tree, those flowers that grew from blood, and her words, "In this place, 'hate' is a luxury."
Arthur rolled over.
"I will become stronger," he told himself.
"It's not about killing anyone, it's about... making those flowers bloom meaningfully."
Then, he fell into a deep sleep.
At the highest point of the castle in the Land of Shadows, Scáthach stood on the terrace, her wine-red eyes gazing into the distance.
She raised her left hand, and a rune appeared in her palm.
The pale golden light pulsed steadily... second by second, and then again.
She stared at the rune for a long time.
Then, she put away the rune and her gaze fell on a window below the castle.
Behind that window was Arthur's room.
"Starlight..." she murmured, a slight smile playing on her lips.
"Can you really change anything?"
She didn't get an answer, but she decided to keep watching.
Anyway, she's already seen it for a thousand years, so it doesn't matter if she looks a little longer.
On the terrace, several deep purple magical flowers swayed gently in their pots, seemingly imbued with magic.
They will not wither, because Scáthach is still alive.
Scáthach is still alive because no one can kill her.
This is a curse, and also destiny.
But perhaps... just perhaps... the arrival of that blond boy will bring a little more warmth to this curse.