Atticus’s Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground - Chapter 1556

Capítulo 1556: Fifth Trial

Atticus opened his eyes to a world of endless darkness.

‘This is… the katana’s world?’

The darkness receded almost instantly, and he found himself inside an expansive dojo whose walls stretched beyond sight.

‘Isn’t this…’

Atticus glanced around at once. This was the same dojo he’d entered the first time he stepped into the katana. The place where he had met the Ravenstein elder. Cedric.

‘Is he back?’

The thought was snuffed out instantly. Cedric had sacrificed himself to give Atticus the strength to survive. He was gone.

The last time he’d been here had been after countless deaths, after enduring the first art.

Back then, his purpose in this dojo had been peaceful. Now, he wasn’t sure the same could be said, especially when he hadn’t learned a thing.

Atticus curled his fingers slightly, then paused.

He clenched his fist tighter, staring at it in silence.

He repeated the motion with his other hand. Atticus frowned, then broke into a brisk run, punching the air as he moved. When he stopped, he pinched himself hard.

His frown deepened.

‘I can’t feel anything…’

At the very least, he should have felt something when he thought of Cedric, a tightness in his chest or a sting. But there was nothing. And it wasn’t just his emotions. He hadn’t felt the run, the rush of air, or even the pinch.

Nothing at all.

‘Why…’

Atticus shook his head. If the past four trials had taught him anything, it was that answers wouldn’t be given. He would have to uncover them himself. Time would tell.

He set the thought aside and focused inward. His attire had changed to a simple white and black kimono, his katana resting naturally at his waist.

He examined his powers, frowning slightly.

Nothing was restricted.

‘Not even my bloodline…’

It was completely unlike the other trials. There was only one reason the katana wouldn’t bother suppressing his powers.

‘It’s not needed…’

Atticus reached for his katana. The fifth trial would be different.

Almost immediately, a bright light ignited ahead of him, dimming a second later. An imposing man emerged from it and stood in silence.

‘The avatar…’

Atticus instinctively took a step back, drawing his katana an inch from its sheath.

The last time he’d faced the avatar was during the third trial, where he’d lost count of how many times he’d been torn apart. The first two trials hadn’t been any kinder.

Its presence had never meant anything good.

Atticus swallowed as the man’s lips slowly curved into a wide, unsettling smile.

That smile had killed people. He was sure of it.

“What separates us?”

Atticus frowned. First was the fact that the avatar had spoken at all when it never had before. And second…

‘What separates us?’

Was he asking about distance? The number of steps between them? The ground itself? Atticus shook his head. None of it made sense.

The walls of the room began to distort, the space rippling until numerous screens blurred into existence. Atticus furrowed his brows as he realized what was being shown.

‘That’s me…’

Well… the past him. The screens displayed different scenes from his katana trials, from beginning to end, looping endlessly.

“What separates us?”

The avatar spoke again.

Atticus frowned.

‘Are they clues?’

First the cryptic phrase, now footage of past events. Was there any connection at all?

‘Distance… from the present to the past? Time?’

Atticus squinted. That didn’t feel right. Katana arts had always been physical, arts rooted in movement and the blade itself. Something as abstract as time was unlikely.

He was about to form another assumption when his gaze caught the katana resting silently at the avatar’s waist.

‘There’s no choice.’

He could keep deliberating, but the fifth art still had to be performed.

The avatar’s words were clearly a clue. The footage was too. But Atticus doubted that was all, especially when neither led to any clear conclusion.

Still, the clues felt too trivial to justify the avatar’s presence. A disembodied voice repeating the phrase would have sufficed. The avatar wasn’t needed just to show memories.

Which meant its presence served another purpose.

‘Another clue.’

His katana slid from its sheath as he slowly settled into a stance. The fourth trial had taught him that losing his life in the trial meant losing it in the real world.

Whether the same rule applied to the fifth remained to be seen, but Atticus had no intention of finding out the hard way.

‘I can’t die…’

He narrowed his eyes as the avatar mirrored his movements and spoke once more.

“What separates us?”

Atticus let a moment pass, then blurred forward, closing the distance. He drove his sword ahead in a sharp thrust, and his eyes widened when the avatar did the same.

‘He mirrored my attack…?’

He felt nothing as the tips met, but the sparks had barely faded before he slashed toward the avatar’s leg, only to be met by an identical low slash that halted his mid air attack.

Atticus flowed in from the block, sending his katana toward the avatar’s head. Like clockwork, the avatar mirrored the motion, their blades colliding in a burst of sparks.

He leapt back, creating distance, staring intently as the avatar did the same.

The earlier assumption had been wrong. The avatar hadn’t just mirrored his attacks, it had mirrored him in his entirety. His movements, his strikes, even his breathing.

‘Is this the clue?’

Movement mirroring… a reflection of himself? Did that mean the fifth art was related to copying an opponent’s movements?

Atticus frowned. In that case, the other clues made no sense. He had half expected the avatar to reveal the fifth art through its actions, but that had been a fool’s hope.

Atticus exhaled slowly. The life weapon had always made the trials difficult, but this was something else entirely. Just… how was he supposed to form the fifth art from this?

He tightened his grip on the katana.

‘I have to keep fighting.’

What he knew so far wasn’t enough. He needed more.

He began slowly moving sideways, watching as the avatar mirrored him perfectly. They circled for a moment before surging toward each other at the same time, colliding in a flurry of clashes.

Atticus felt nothing from each exchange, only the incessant sound of steel striking steel, flashes of silver cutting through the air.

The avatar mirrored his every move, meeting every attack with an identical one. As they fought, Atticus noticed more details.

Not only did it copy his movements and attacks, it mirrored the force behind them as well. The power. The intent.

And it followed him without exception. When he paused mid attack, it paused. When he attempted to stab himself, it followed through.

The only difference was the constant repetition of the same phrase.

At some point, Atticus began to feel irritation. The unending repetition. The endless clang of steel. The sparks. The emptiness. It felt as though the katana had stripped away everything he loved about fighting and left only the shell behind.

Still, he forced his focus back onto the battle, searching for an answer.

Time slipped past unnoticed, and before long, a sickening realization settled in.

If the avatar mirrored his every move, then this battle could continue forever, without a victor.