My mind was confused, trying to understand its meaning because the writing was unclear compared to what I was seeing now.

My eyes narrowed as I told Farel to come closer to me.

“Give it to me,” I said.

He handed me the candle, and slowly I lifted it, moving closer to the door to examine it carefully.

The writing on the metal door was extremely worn, and I struggled to remember every single word.

“So what does it mean?” Farel asked again, his face filled with curiosity. My lips hesitated to answer his question.

“It cannot be touched, yet it helps those who are wounded?” I stammered.

“Can you really read it?” Farel asked, squinting his eyes. I rolled my eyes lazily.

Farel stepped closer and snatched the candle from my hand. He leaned toward the steel door while I tried to think of the answer.

“It cannot be touched, yet it helps those who are wounded. Is it an object, or merely a metaphor?” I wondered aloud, glancing at Farel, who was still feeling along the surface of the door.

“If it’s a question, then there must be something that answers it,” he said seriously.

The water had receded, allowing us to think more clearly. Farel immediately moved toward the wall to check if there was any hidden clue.

“If it’s truly a question, then it should have an answer,” I murmured softly.

Suddenly, Farel screamed loudly, and I rushed toward him.

“Why are you shouting like we’re in a forest?” I asked, staring at him.

He pointed with the corner of his eye.

“Xanders, you must answer correctly.”

My eyes widened. It seemed this was the second trap. My mouth stiffened. There had to be something worse than the rising water.

I returned to the door and prepared to write upon the surface marked with the Elven Clan script.

“Don’t get it wrong,” Farel said, stepping closer and patting my shoulder lightly.

My hands trembled as I began writing a sentence I had once heard before.

After I finished writing, nothing changed. The door did not open.

So where was the second trap? I asked myself silently while scanning the surroundings.

Brakkkk.

Brakkkk.

Brakkkk.

Brakkkk.

Suddenly, a swarm of venomous snakes fell from above. Farel screamed in terror as they lunged toward us.

I immediately drew the sword at my waist and slashed at the snakes that tried to bite us.

Crash.

Crash.

Crash.

Some of them aimed for our legs. The more we killed, the more kept coming.

“Xanders, how do we kill them?” Farel shouted as he swung his sword wildly.

They kept attacking without pause.

“We’re only making them angrier!” he yelled.

“Do you want to die?” I shouted back.

“Then how do we stop them if they keep coming?”

“I don’t know if this will work,” I said through clenched teeth. “Hold them off. I’ll find the answer to the ancient script.”

I stepped back, deflecting strikes, buying time while moving toward the steel door.

Several snakes lunged at my legs. I kicked them away, even crushing one beneath my boot. A foul stench filled the air, making my stomach churn.

“Hold on. I’ll rewrite the riddle,” I said. He nodded.

“Throw the fire!”

He hurled the candle toward me. I caught it quickly.

As I raised the flame, my mind drifted back to the past—

to the day someone gave me a book whose meaning I did not yet understand.

Flashback

“Do you understand this script?”

I was sitting in class. Every teenager was required to attend school, though some skipped and others attended merely to prepare for future politics.

I stared at the teacher before me. Though I had only just met him, curiosity forced me to focus on the board.

“If you think modern writing is the only way to write, you are mistaken. In ancient times, people used this script. Many students today no longer understand it.”

He explained its history at length, but I barely listened. My eyes remained fixed on the symbols written across the board.

“So our ancestors used this writing?” someone asked.

“Yes. But as time advanced and the clans united, many stopped teaching the ancient script.”

“Copy and memorize it. Next week, I’ll call each of you forward.”

“Any questions?”

No one responded.

I raised my hand. The teacher looked surprised.

“Yes, Xanders?”

“Will history repeat itself?”

The entire class turned to stare at me.

The teacher studied me carefully.

“We cannot predict that. But study seriously. One day, this knowledge may save you.”

I nodded.

Two days later, I was still memorizing the script when I heard the news—

the teacher had died.

“You heard? Teacher Dion passed away,” Farel said in the garden.

“What?”

“Didn’t he just teach us two days ago?”

“Who said he died?”

“He did. Yesterday. They only announced it today.”

My breath faltered.

I went to his home. His body lay in a coffin. His wife wept. A small child clung to her, asking where his father was.

“You are Xanders?” the woman asked softly.

“Yes.”

“My husband wanted you to have this.”

She handed me a letter.

“He said not to bury him until a student named Xanders came to see him one last time.”

My hands trembled as I took it.

Later, I ran toward the lake to read the letter alone.

Lightning flashed across the daytime sky.

The wind roared.

Thunder cracked loudly.

Birds shrieked in the distance.

And I stared at the letter in my hands.

Slowly, I opened the letter. My heart was pounding, and at the same time, I felt afraid as I unfolded it.

Once I had opened it, I read it carefully.

For you, Xanders,

I know what will happen to me after this, but I also know that your choice is difficult. In fact, perhaps more accurately, you have no other choice but to fight and walk a path you never wished to take.

A badge will remain on your shoulder.

Growing pain will make you feel the coldness of true life.

You will not remain still; instead, you will keep moving, sweeping through one after another.

No matter how much you want to stop, your feet will continue to walk, and your hands will keep swinging steel that makes you feel intoxicated, even if only for a moment.

I know the risks I will face after this, but promise me that you will study what I have taught you before.

Your gaze is empty, but when you look more closely, it is not empty—there is a hope buried deep within your conscience.

A desire you do not want.

A hope you do not wish to become reality.

Study diligently, and you will find something that will meet me again in the future.

If in the end you continue to fight, you will stand on a path that is neither wrong nor right. Then follow your heart, which will carry you wherever it leads.

A pair of orchids will make you drift away, and it is too painful to remember.

Yes, they grow between hope and illusion, making you feel worse than before.

It must not be touched, yet it helps those who are wounded.

If you think that is all the meaning, then it is a flower that symbolizes this: if you take it, it will move forward; but if you do not take it, you will be hurt by it.

Guard that flower, and you will gain something precious in your life.

I can only hope in you.

“What does it mean?” I asked myself after reading the contents of the letter. What did he mean, and what fate will I face in the future?

Flashback off.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep