The Primordial System-Chapter 32: The Mask Fall

We stared at each other for a moment. His sentence had been meant as a warning, maybe even a threat, but there was no pressure behind it. Not really.

Then Zuran continued.

"A few days from now, the duel will be held. Each of you will face one of the Chosen. Alone. No interference."

"Chosen?" Jackal asked, voice curious, not yet wary.

The two figures behind Zuran stepped forward.

One of them was massive. Towering. His presence alone seemed to weigh down the air. And unlike every other Yuxina we had seen, he wore no mask.

Zuran kept his eyes on us as he spoke.

"The Yuxina do not wear masks. They grow them. At a young age, naturally. The mask is part of them, a physical and spiritual layer that shapes with time."

He paused briefly.

"As they grow stronger, the mask begins to crack. Not all at once, not visibly at first. But piece by piece. Strength deepens. Spirit matures. The mask breaks. Slowly."

Zuran nodded toward the tall warrior.

"When it falls completely, without force, it means one thing. They have reached their potential. That is what it means to be Chosen. But for the rare few who continue to grow, the path does not end there. In time, if they are worthy, a new mask begins to form. Slowly. Layer by layer. Each one harder to crack than the last."

Zuran's voice grew quieter.

"It is a cycle. One that can repeat infinitely. Breakthrough after breakthrough. Mask after mask. Until there is nothing left but will."

The unmasked warrior's face resembled a human's, but only loosely. His eyes glowed faint yellow, steady and ancient. His features were sharp in a way, but different. Hair long and black hung around his shoulders, barely moving. His silence was heavier than most shouts.

The second figure beside him stood calmly. Older. Robed in armor etched with patterns that pulsed softly. Around his head curled a wooden crown, almost alive, not crafted but grown. It sat upon him with the gravity of history.

"He is the Chief," Zuran said. "The voice of their people. He does not fight. He watches."

Then his voice lowered.

"But the one without the mask, that is the one you should fear."

I was not delusional. I saw it immediately, we had no chance against the unmasked warrior. He was beyond us. Stronger than anything I'd faced since The Trial.

"Do not worry, he is not the one who you will fight. The Deities require a worthy battle, he, Xhan, would just murder you."

Jackal let out a soft whistle, seemingly with relief. He must've sensed it too, the sheer mana coming off that warrior.

Then he tilted his head, confused. "So Xhan's mask fell off completely? What's that around his jaw, then? At first I thought it was a beard, but it looks... bone-like."

Zuran's eyes didn't leave us.

"He is the strongest in the city. As such, he broke through the plateau. What you see forming is not bone. It is the beginning of a new mask."

There was a silence. Not the awkward kind. The kind that felt like reverence.

"A new cycle," Zuran said. "A second mask. Forged by everything the first could not contain. And if he breaks through again... there will be a third."

Jackal muttered something under his breath. I didn't ask what.

"Regardless, it is time for you to go to the chambers. You will stay here for the next few days as our guests. You will train, prepare, and when the time comes... you will fight," Zuran said, sounding almost bored now.

The guards stepped forward without a word and motioned for us to follow.

When we arrived at the chambers, food was already waiting for us on the table. Not scraps either. A full spread, still warm.

Thick slices of dark, lean meat steamed on one side of the platter, smelling of smoke and wild herbs. On the other, pale mushrooms glistened with oil, laid over chunky root slices wrapped in vine. The scent was sweet and earthy.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

Jackal let out a low whistle.

"Well, they sure know how to dress things up before a death match."

I didn't smile.

"Jackal, we have a bigger problem. We sent the report, said everything was going well."

He looked at me, the humor fading.

"If they come out here and stumble into this civilization, they'll die."

"I know. Personally, I couldn't care less. You don't either, not really. So what's the problem?" Jackal said, casually.

I do care. Why wouldn't I?

"I care. Those are people."

Jackal scoffed, looking away as he picked up a piece of meat. "Keep telling yourself that."

Silence followed, tense and lingering, until the sound of soft footsteps drew our attention.

A woman stepped into the chamber.

She wore a robe woven from something light but layered, shifting as she moved. Her mask was smooth and narrow, marked with curling lines like branches or veins. It didn't resemble an animal like the others, it was more like a crest or a sigil than a face. Long black hair fell behind her, longer than any I'd ever seen.

And then she spoke.

"Welcome, guests," she said, her accent smooth, as if she'd been speaking the human language for years.

"You know the language of humans?" I asked, surprised.

"Straight to questions," she laughed, a soft, amused sound. "You're a cautious one."

Then she nodded. "Yes, I know your tongue. I learned it from the other human guests who came before you."

Jackal raised an eyebrow. "You mean prisoners?"

She shook her head gently. "Guests. You are not in chains. You are free to walk, eat, rest, train. And now," she added, stepping aside and motioning toward the open hall beyond, "you will be clothed in something more fitting."

We followed her through the winding corridors of stone and vine until they opened into something I hadn't expected, a market.

Soft, glowing fungi lit the wide clearing, where robes and gear hung from branches and woven frames. Vendors stood silently behind their stalls, masked, each mask slightly different. Some long and thin, others sharp and geometric, marked with paints or carvings I didn't recognize. It seemed every house, every family, had their own design.

"You may choose your robes from these," the woman said, gesturing lightly.

Jackal said, a touch of arrogance in his voice, "Fancy for a fight to the death."

She smiled. "Dignity does not die in battle. It is revealed."