The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice-Chapter 148: The Final Trial – The Abyss of Dominion

Caspian stepped into the fifth and final chamber.

The air was thick, heavy with an oppressive weight.

The walls were gone, replaced by an endless black abyss stretching infinitely in all directions.

And in the center of it all—

A throne.

It stood on a floating platform of obsidian, twisted spires of black stone curling around its base like frozen tendrils.

And upon that throne sat a man.

No—a King.

His presence alone was suffocating.

A cloak of shifting darkness flowed around him, and his face was obscured by a helm made of jagged steel.

But Caspian could feel his gaze.

It was absolute.

A presence that demanded submission.

And then—

The King rose.

The ground beneath Caspian trembled as the King took a step forward.

His voice echoed, deep and commanding.

"Kneel."

A force crashed down on Caspian like an unbreakable tidal wave.

His knees almost buckled, his very bones vibrating from the sheer weight of the King's will.

But he gritted his teeth.

And he stood.

The King tilted his head.

Then he raised a single hand.

And reality shattered.

The abyss exploded into motion.

Swords—hundreds of them—manifested in the air, each one glowing with a malevolent red hue.

And in the next instant—

They all came raining down.

Caspian moved.

He twisted, barely dodging the first wave.

The second came in an arc, forcing him to roll. The third—

Too many.

Too fast.

Bloodmoon burned in his grip as he parried, deflecting blade after blade, but for every sword he avoided, ten more took its place.

This wasn't a battle.

This was judgment.

A trial of dominion.

The King wasn't just testing his strength.

He was testing whether Caspian could stand against a force greater than himself—without breaking.

And then—

The King moved.

In a single stride, the King was before him.

A fist, shot forward.

Caspian barely had time to react—he blocked, but the sheer impact sent him skidding backward, his bones rattling from the force.

The King did not stop.

A second strike came—Caspian ducked. A third—a flash of movement, a blur of speed, and Caspian barely managed to counter with a slash of his sword.

But the King didn't even flinch.

And then—

The world cracked.

The King raised his hand. The swords in the air froze.

Then—they turned.

All at once, the hundreds of blades shifted direction—toward Caspian.

A death sentence.

There was no time to dodge. No time to think.

Only instinct.

Bloodmoon pulsed in his grip. Caspian's vision narrowed. He raised his blade—

And unleashed everything.

A single, sweeping strike.

A force so sharp, so overwhelming, it tore through the abyss itself.

The incoming swords shattered.

The King stopped.

For the first time—

He looked amused.

Then King stood before him now.

Sword in hand.

And this time—

The First Clash

The King moved first.

No wasted motion. No unnecessary flair.

His sword cut through the air with a speed that should have been impossible.

Caspian barely raised Bloodmoon in time—

And the impact sent him sliding back.

His arms throbbed. His grip nearly faltered.

The strike wasn't about strength. It wasn't even about technique.

It was flawless execution.

A swordsman who had mastered every fundamental so perfectly that there was nothing to exploit.

Caspian's mind raced.

There had to be a way through.

Find an opening.

Break the rhythm.

He dashed forward, testing angles, feinting, shifting his weight unpredictably.

But each attack was met with the exact response needed.

The King never overcommitted. Never hesitated.

It was as if he had already fought this battle a thousand times.

And Caspian realized—

He wasn't fighting a person.

He was fighting the very concept of mastery itself.

Caspian exhaled.

His mind had been stuck in dueling logic—searching for weaknesses, countering technique with technique.

But that was exactly why he was losing.

This was not an enemy to be outplayed.

This was a wall.

And walls do not have weaknesses.

There was only one way forward.

He had to break through.

Caspian stopped hesitating.

He lunged—not with a calculated attack, but with pure instinct.

No thoughts. No overcorrection.

Just absolute intent.

Their blades met—

And this time, the impact did not push him back.

Because Caspian did not resist it.

Instead of trying to match the King's perfection, he allowed his body to flow with the motion.

Each exchange blurred into the next—

And for the first time, Caspian was not thinking about winning.

He was just moving.

And then—

His blade found its mark.

A single, clean cut across the King's shoulder.

The first and only strike that landed.

The King stepped back.

And then—

He smiled.

Not in defeat. Not in disappointment.

But in acknowledgment.

"You understand now," he said.

The trial collapsed around them.

And Caspian—

Understood.

He had spent so long trying to force a path forward that he had forgotten something fundamental.

Sometimes, mastery was not about dominating an opponent.

It was about understanding the flow of battle.

Not every wall could be broken.

But every wall could be surpassed.

And that was what made a warrior truly complete.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

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Caspian stepped out of the tower, the crisp morning air hitting his skin.

The academy grounds stretched before him, bathed in the soft light of dawn.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

So this is one of the Five Towers…

He had read about them before. A system designed to push students to their limits, each tower harder than the last. If this was the lowest one, the others would be far more dangerous.

His gaze flickered toward a familiar presence in the distance.

Orien.

The vice principal stood with his arms crossed, watching him with his usual unreadable expression.

Caspian approached, but before he could speak—

"One hour and forty-five minutes," Orien said, glancing at his pocket watch. "Not bad."

Caspian wasn't sure if that was praise or just an observation.

"Now go. Eat. Get ready for your classes."

Caspian gave a slight nod, turning to leave—but then he stopped.

"Sir."

Orien raised an eyebrow.

"How do these towers work? How were they made?" Caspian asked.

Orien tilted his head slightly. "Why?"

Caspian shrugged. "Curiosity."

For a moment, Orien studied him, as if deciding how much to say. Then he spoke.

"They're created and maintained by void magic."

That caught Caspian's attention.

Void magic.

A rare, almost mythical branch of magic. Unlike elemental or divine arts, it didn't manipulate the world—it rewrote it.

"And how exactly do they function?" Caspian asked.

Orien let out a short breath. "That… I don't know."

Caspian narrowed his eyes slightly.

He wasn't sure if Orien was lying or if even the vice principal wasn't privy to that information.

Still, it was an answer.

"Understood. Thanks, sir."

Without another word, he turned and left.

By the time Caspian returned to his dorm, his body had cooled from exertion.

He let the water run hot as he stepped into the bath, his muscles relaxing under the steady pressure.

Their next match was against Team Saga...