The last light of Solaris stretched long behind them as Lars followed Osbin down the stone trail that led away from the kingdom gates.
The golden glow of the city slowly dimmed, replaced by the cooler tones of evening. Lanterns along the outer road flickered to life one by one.
Lars looked down at the gauntlets in his hands.
He slid one on carefully.
The leather hugged his palm snugly, the inner metal reinforcement resting comfortably against his knuckles. He tightened the straps, then slid the second one on.
He clenched his fists.
The metal plates shifted softly.
They felt… right.
Not heavy.
Not flashy.
Balanced.
Osbin noticed without looking back.
“Weapons are only as deadly as their bearer,” he said calmly.
Lars looked up.
“A common mistake among nobles,” Osbin continued, “is believing that because their weapon is rare, expensive, or crafted by a master, that makes them strong.”
He scoffed lightly.
“If the wielder isn’t prepared, the weapon loses its value.”
They reached the final stretch toward the outer gates.
“Take care of those,” Osbin added, nodding toward the gauntlets. “They may not look like much. But the more you understand them… the deadlier they become.”
Lars felt something warm settle in his chest.
Was that encouragement?
Hope?
He tightened his fists again.
“I will,” he replied quietly.
?
The Outer Gates
The night shift guards stood at attention near the large iron doors embedded into the massive stone walls of Solaris.
The torches beside them burned steadily, casting long shadows across the ground.
“Halt,” one of the guards called out.
Then he recognized the silhouette.
“…Sir Osbin.”
Both guards straightened and bowed respectfully.
Osbin gave only a small nod.
“We’re on a special training assignment,” he said simply. “We’ll be exiting the kingdom.”
The guards exchanged brief glances.
“The outer trails are more dangerous at night,” one warned.
Osbin didn’t respond immediately.
He didn’t need to.
They knew who he was.
An S Rank.
A warrior whose name carried weight even among soldiers.
“Proceed,” the guard said finally.
The gates creaked open just enough for them to pass.
Lars stepped beyond Solaris’ walls for the first time since his rescue.
He didn’t say anything.
But he admired Osbin silently.
Respected.
Trusted.
Feared, even.
He wondered what Gallant was like outside the guild. He had barely seen him since arriving. Tobi was present often enough—but Gallant remained distant.
Maybe he’s the type who works in silence, Lars thought.
The road stretched on.
The sound of civilization faded behind them.
They walked for what felt like hours.
Osbin’s pace never slowed.
Lars adjusted his breathing to match the rhythm.
His mind drifted.
He remembered his conversation with Rin earlier.
Ranks. Ceilings. Growth.
He had forgotten to ask her about Dragon Slayer Rank.
Are there any in Solaris?
He made a mental note to ask when he returned.
The forest line slowly appeared in the distance.
Dark. Dense. Silent.
Osbin finally broke the quiet.
“Lars.”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to be honest with you.”
Lars straightened.
“You’re not what you seem.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Lars’ heartbeat quickened slightly.
“I don’t think you understand your own power yet,” Osbin continued. “But I’ll tell you this now.”
He stopped walking.
“You’re dangerous.”
Lars froze.
“To yourself,” Osbin added. “And to others.”
The memory of the training ground flashed in Lars’ mind.
The impact.
The cracked wall.
Osbin flying backward.
“When we started this morning,” Osbin said, “I was going easy. I thought you were just talented.”
He turned fully toward Lars.
“But when you struck back… my body reacted before my mind did.”
He tapped his chest.
“That instinct only triggers when the threat is real.”
Lars swallowed.
Osbin’s gaze sharpened.
“I think you’re an S Rank Ki user.”
The words struck harder than any punch.
“S… S Rank?” Lars repeated, stunned.
Osbin nodded firmly.
“The way you dodged. The way you read my movements. The precision of your strike. That power wasn’t beginner-level.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Even noble children your age rarely exceed B Rank. And that’s with elite training.”
He stepped closer.
“You’re different.”
Lars’ thoughts spiraled.
S Rank…?
He didn’t feel like one.
He felt confused.
Uncertain.
Almost afraid of himself.
“Lars.”
He snapped back to attention.
“That’s why we’re heading to the forest.”
His breath caught.
“The forest?” Lars blurted.
Fear surged through him.
The cave.
The Feral Gray.
The chaos of his rebirth.
“What about training?” he asked.
Osbin’s expression didn’t change.
“Training will happen there.”
He resumed walking.
“You’ll train with me first. Once I’m satisfied… you’ll test your strength against monsters.”
Lars’ stomach tightened.
The forest loomed closer.
Osbin spoke again, voice steady.
“If I didn’t believe in you, I wouldn’t bring you.”
That simple sentence grounded him.
Lars inhaled slowly.
He had survived once.
He wasn’t the same boy anymore.
They approached a checkpoint at the outer forest boundary.
Two guards stepped forward immediately.
“Permission required,” one said.
Osbin reached into his cloak and revealed a special authorization badge—engraved, official.
The guards inspected it carefully.
Then stepped aside.
“Proceed, Sir Osbin.”
The barrier lifted.
The forest awaited.
The air changed instantly as they crossed the threshold.
Colder.
Heavier.
Alive.
Lars felt it again.
That same energy from before.
Mana.
The trees stretched high above them, blotting out much of the moonlight.
Osbin glanced back briefly.
“Stay close.”
Lars tightened his fists inside the gauntlets.
Fear still lingered.
But beneath it—
Excitement.
This was the beginning of something greater.
And he would not run from it.
Not this time.
The deeper they moved into the forest, the more the world changed.
The air grew thicker.
Cooler.
Every breath carried the scent of moss and damp bark.
Branches tangled high above, allowing only thin streaks of moonlight to pierce through the canopy. Shadows shifted constantly, distorted by the wind.
Lars could hear everything.
Leaves rustling.
Insects humming.
Something distant moving across bark.
His shoulders stiffened.
This was nothing like the forest edge where he had awakened.
This felt alive.
Watching.
He tightened his fists inside his gauntlets.
The leather creaked softly.
“Relax your shoulders,” Osbin said without turning around.
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“I am relaxed,” Lars replied automatically.
Osbin grunted. “No, you’re not.”
They continued walking.
Lars couldn’t help but wonder why they were heading deeper instead of stopping somewhere open to train.
Wasn’t this dangerous?
Before he could ask—
CRACK.
The sharp sound of bark splintering echoed above them.
Both of them stopped instantly.
Osbin’s posture shifted.
Loose.
Ready.
Lars’ heartbeat quickened.
Another crack.
This time closer.
Above.
Lars’ eyes snapped upward just as a large shadow shifted across the tree branches.
A creature leapt from one trunk to another with unnatural agility.
Moonlight briefly revealed it.
A massive, ape-like beast—its body lean but powerful, covered in dark bark-like armor fused into its skin. Long arms. Clawed hands capable of gripping tree trunks effortlessly.
Its eyes glowed a faint green.
“Timberfang Stalker,” Osbin muttered calmly.
The creature screeched—its voice sharp and echoing.
It was a mid-tier forest predator.
Known for ambushing prey from above.
Its claws dug into the bark, leaving deep grooves as it crouched on a thick branch.
Lars’ breathing slowed instinctively.
He remembered Osbin’s words.
You’re dangerous.
Stay close.
The Timberfang launched itself downward without warning.
It descended like a falling shadow.
Lars reacted instantly.
He saw it—
Not just its body.
But the faint energy flowing through it.
Small nodes pulsing beneath its chest and shoulder joints.
Vital Sight activated without him realizing.
Osbin stepped forward.
“Don’t attack yet,” he ordered firmly.
The beast swiped at them midair.
Osbin shifted slightly and let the claws scrape harmlessly across his Ki-hardened forearm.
The impact cracked loudly.
The creature rebounded off the ground and sprang back into the trees with terrifying speed.
Lars tracked it easily.
It was fast.
But not faster than the Feral Gray had felt.
“Good,” Osbin said calmly. “Keep tracking it.”
The Timberfang circled above them, claws tearing bark as it moved from trunk to trunk.
It was testing.
Waiting.
“Most monsters in this forest use mana instinctively,” Osbin explained. “They don’t think like we do. They react. They adapt.”
The beast lunged again—this time from behind.
Lars pivoted before Osbin even moved.
He raised his gauntleted arm and deflected the strike.
The force rattled through him, but his Ki absorbed most of it.
The Timberfang hissed and leapt back again.
Osbin glanced at him.
“You didn’t freeze.”
Lars shook his head slightly, eyes still locked upward.
“I can see where it’s moving.”
Osbin narrowed his eyes.
See?
The creature descended once more—this time aiming directly for Lars.
Its claws extended.
Teeth bared.
“Now,” Osbin said.
Lars stepped forward.
He didn’t hesitate.
He pulled Ki into his legs first—reinforcing them.
Then into his right fist.
Not excessive.
Controlled.
The world slowed slightly in his perception.
The glowing point beneath the monster’s rib cage flared faintly.
There.
He shifted his weight and struck upward.
The gauntlet connected cleanly.
A burst of force erupted outward.
The Timberfang was launched backward into a nearby tree trunk with a heavy crash.
The bark shattered.
The creature fell to the ground, stunned.
It tried to rise—
But Lars was already there.
He stepped forward and delivered a second, precise strike to another glowing node.
The beast went still.
Silence returned.
Leaves slowly drifted down around them.
Lars exhaled.
His Ki flickered but remained stable.
Osbin stared at the fallen monster.
He had not intervened.
He had not needed to.
After a moment, he spoke.
“Good.”
Lars turned slightly.
“You didn’t overextend. You didn’t panic.”
He walked toward the fallen Timberfang and nudged it with his foot.
“One clean engagement.”
Lars looked down at his gauntlets.
They were scratched.
But intact.
He felt… steady.
Not drained.
Not dizzy.
Osbin crossed his arms.
“This forest isn’t just for training your body.”
He looked at Lars carefully.
“It’s for testing control.”
The trees creaked softly in the night wind.
And deeper within the forest—
Something else moved.
Watching.
The forest settled into an uneasy quiet after the Timberfang Stalker fell.
Leaves drifted slowly to the ground, disturbed bark still cracking as fragments dropped from the damaged tree trunk.
Osbin stepped closer to the corpse.
“Listen carefully,” he began.
Lars stood straight, attentive.
“In battle, your mind won’t always have time to think. Plans fall apart. Conditions change.”
He tapped his temple.
“If you rely only on thought, you hesitate.”
Then he tapped his chest.
“But if your body understands what to do… instinct carries you.”
Lars replayed the moment in his head.
He hadn’t thought.
He had reacted.
Osbin continued, voice steady but serious.
“That’s why I say you’re stronger than you realize. Your body reacted correctly. Not lucky. Correct.”
Lars swallowed quietly.
Osbin had purposely held back information. He had not warned him how Timberfang Stalkers fought.
And that was intentional.
“These beasts,” Osbin said, nudging the creature with his boot, “specialize in precision strikes.”
He crouched beside it.
“They don’t go for the strongest member of a party. They circle. They test. Then they strike the weakest.”
Lars’ eyes shifted slightly.
“That’s why groups struggle against them. Protecting weaker members while tracking something that fast from above isn’t easy.”
Osbin stood.
“And they rarely travel alone.”
Lars stiffened.
Osbin scanned the trees briefly.
“We were fortunate. This one was a stray.”
He then looked at Lars.
“Pick up its mana core.”
Lars blinked.
He had completely forgotten.
He knelt beside the fallen beast, carefully parting the hardened bark-like armor across its chest where the Ki-infused strike had cracked through.
After a moment of searching, he found it.
Embedded deep within its torso was a glowing orange crystal about the size of his palm.
It pulsed faintly.
He carefully pried it free.
The warmth surprised him.
Orange.
“Stronger side of forest monsters,” Osbin confirmed. “Not purple-tier. But not weak either.”
He held out a leather sack, and Lars handed it over.
Osbin placed the core inside.
“These creatures are more dangerous in groups. Three or four attacking from different angles can overwhelm even experienced parties.”
Lars imagined that scenario.
He felt a chill.
Osbin tightened the sack and secured it at his waist.
“Normally, the Wilds Guild would harvest everything. Claws. Hide. Core. Materials are profit.”
He glanced at Lars.
“But tonight isn’t about profit.”
Lars nodded.
This was training.
Not a hunt for resources.
As they began walking again, Osbin’s eyes subtly scanned the forest.
Something felt off.
The air was too still.
He couldn’t pinpoint it.
But years of experience told him—
They weren’t alone.
He ignored it for now.
“Not much further,” he said.
Lars followed, careful with his footing.
He couldn’t help but notice how confidently Osbin navigated the forest.
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
The scar across his face caught the faint moonlight.
Lars wondered how he got it.
A dragon?
A war?
A rival?
He wanted to ask.
But something told him not yet.
The forest slowly began to open.
Trees grew taller but more spaced apart.
The underbrush thinned.
The ground became flatter.
They stepped into a wide clearing.
It almost looked like a battlefield.
The bottom was open and expansive, earth worn and compact as if countless clashes had taken place there. Above, tall trees formed a natural canopy, their branches woven together, barely allowing threads of moonlight to break through.
The shadows felt deeper here.
The air heavier.
Lars felt it again—
Mana.
Thick.
Concentrated.
Osbin stopped at the center of the clearing.
“This,” he said quietly, “is where we train.”
Lars looked around slowly.
The space was large enough for full combat movement.
No obstacles to trip over.
No tight spaces.
Just open ground beneath a dark sky.
But it didn’t feel peaceful.
It felt… tested.
As if this place had witnessed violence before.
Osbin turned to him.
“From here on,” he said, voice lowering, “you don’t hold back.”
The wind moved through the canopy overhead.
And somewhere beyond the clearing—
Something watched.
The clearing fell into a tense silence.
Osbin stepped forward slowly, rolling his shoulders once more.
“This time,” he said, voice calm but firm, “I won’t hold back.”
Lars blinked.
“…What?”
Osbin’s eyes sharpened.
“I need to test your limits. Not the surface. Not the controlled version.”
He planted his feet firmly into the earth.
“I’m going to push you to a point where your body reacts before your mind has time to interfere.”
Lars felt something cold crawl up his spine.
His breathing grew shallow.
An S Rank warrior… wasn’t holding back?
His thoughts spiraled.
What if he’s wrong about me?
What if I miscalculate?
One mistake—
“Lars.”
Osbin’s voice cut through the panic like steel.
“Focus.”
The word snapped him back.
Osbin reached behind his back and pulled free a massive black axe.
The weapon was enormous—its blade darkened from countless battles. Dents and scratches marked its surface, but the edge gleamed sharply under the faint moonlight.
Not ornamental.
Used.
Earned.
In his other hand, he lifted a shield—black with gold trim. The Wilds Guild emblem engraved into its center. The paint worn from repeated impacts.
This wasn’t ceremonial gear.
This was battlefield equipment.
Osbin lowered into stance.
Then—
Ki surged.
A dark aura enveloped his body like heat rising from stone. It wrapped around his limbs, reinforcing muscle and bone. The glow spread into his axe and shield, coating them in a faint, ominous energy.
The presence alone felt suffocating.
“Don’t hold back,” Osbin said quietly. “This is life and death.”
The word death echoed louder than it should have.
Lars’ heart pounded violently.
He could feel the difference instantly.
This wasn’t the playful training from the morning.
This was real.
Osbin had withheld one thing—
He would not kill Lars.
But he would push him to the edge of it.
Lars swallowed.
If he hesitated—
He would lose.
He looked down at his gauntlets.
Osbin had augmented his weapons.
So—
Lars inhaled deeply and tried to imitate what he had seen.
He channeled Ki into his arms.
Instead of only reinforcing his body, he guided it outward—into the metal plating beneath the leather.
A faint glow shimmered across his gauntlets.
Osbin noticed.
Would you look at that…
His smile widened slightly.
This boy might be a real monster.
Lars braced himself.
Osbin moved.
It wasn’t just fast.
It was violent speed.
In the blink of an eye, Osbin disappeared from Lars’ frontal vision.
Wind pressure shifted behind him.
Behind—
Before he could fully process it—
Osbin was already there, axe raised high.
Lars barely reacted.
He twisted instinctively and raised his augmented fist.
The axe came down.
CLANG!
The impact exploded outward.
Shockwaves rippled across the clearing.
Lars’ boots dug into the earth, carving lines as he was forced backward.
But he had blocked it.
Osbin’s grin widened.
“Good.”
He didn’t stop.
The shield slammed forward.
Lars ducked.
The axe swung horizontally—faster this time.
Lars leapt back, narrowly avoiding decapitation.
The pressure from the swing alone cut leaves from nearby trees.
He’s fast.
No—
He was beyond fast.
He was precise.
Every movement efficient.
Lars could barely think.
He could only react.
Osbin pressed forward relentlessly—axe, shield, movement blending seamlessly together. There was no wasted motion.
Lars parried again with his gauntlets.
The impact rattled his arms.
His Ki flickered but held.
This… is different.
Morning training had been controlled.
Measured.
This—
This was overwhelming.
“So this is… S Rank…” Lars muttered under his breath.
Osbin heard it.
He increased his speed.
The axe vanished from Lars’ sight for half a second—
Then reappeared from above.
Lars twisted sideways instinctively, feeling the blade graze past his shoulder, slicing through the air where his neck had been.
His heart nearly stopped.
I would’ve died.
Sweat dripped down his face.
His fear was real now.
And that fear began to burn into something else.
Instinct.
His vision sharpened.
The world slowed.
Osbin’s movements, though fast, began to separate into readable fragments.
Weight shift.
Shoulder rotation.
Breath control.
And—
There.
Vital Sight flared again.
Multiple glowing nodes across Osbin’s body.
But they were dimmer.
Protected.
His Ki was layered heavily over them.
Osbin lunged forward once more.
Lars didn’t retreat this time.
He stepped in.
Parried the shield edge.
Slipped past the axe arc.
And drove his augmented fist toward one of the exposed gaps in Osbin’s defensive flow.
Osbin’s eyes widened.
He rotated instantly, shield intercepting the strike—
BOOM.
The collision cracked like thunder.
The ground beneath them fractured slightly.
Both slid backward.
Silence followed.
Osbin laughed quietly.
Not mockingly.
Impressed.
“Yes,” he muttered. “That’s it.”
Lars’ breathing was heavy now.
His arms trembled from impact.
But he was still standing.
Osbin raised his axe again.
“Again.”
The forest trembled around them as two forces collided once more under the dim moonlight.
And deeper within the shadows—
Something powerful observed their clash with growing interest.
Steel and Ki clashed again.
The clearing trembled under repeated impacts as Osbin pressed forward relentlessly.
Axe. Shield. Step.
Every movement calculated.
Every strike purposeful.
Lars tried to read him.
Tried to find rhythm.
But there wasn’t one.
Osbin wasn’t repeating patterns. He adjusted constantly—changing angles, timing, distance. Every time Lars thought he understood the flow, Osbin shifted it.
Experience.
That was the difference.
Lars could feel it.
Osbin wasn’t just strong.
He was seasoned.
A warrior shaped by countless real battles.
Another heavy strike forced Lars backward. His boots carved deep lines into the dirt.
His arms shook violently from the accumulated impact.
His Ki flickered.
Breathing became ragged.
I’m getting tired…
Osbin didn’t slow.
He pivoted low and slammed his shield forward. Lars barely deflected it, the force rattling through his ribs.
Pain began to settle in.
Not sharp.
But constant.
His body was starting to betray him.
His legs felt heavier.
His reactions slightly slower.
Osbin saw it immediately.
“You’re thinking too much!” he barked mid-swing.
The axe descended again.
Lars barely twisted away, feeling the wind of the blade scrape past his cheek.
“You hesitate and you die!” Osbin roared.
The words struck deeper than the attacks.
Lars’ mind screamed at him to stop.
To rest.
To breathe.
But another thought rose louder.
Life and death.
Osbin wasn’t pretending.
This wasn’t practice.
This was conditioning.
If Lars collapsed—
A real enemy wouldn’t wait.
He gritted his teeth.
“I can’t quit,” he muttered.
Osbin advanced again, now almost taunting him.
“Is that all?!” he shouted.
The axe struck downward.
Lars parried.
Barely.
Osbin twisted and delivered a knee to Lars’ midsection.
Lars staggered back, coughing.
“Where’s that power from this morning?!” Osbin challenged.
Lars’ vision blurred briefly.
His arms felt numb.
He was reaching his limit.
And Osbin knew it.
The S Rank warrior stepped closer, lowering his axe slightly.
“If you stop now,” he said, voice cold, “you’ll die one day because you got tired.”
The words ignited something.
Not anger.
Not pride.
Resolve.
Lars’ breathing steadied slightly.
He closed his eyes for half a second—
Not to think.
But to let go of thinking.
The exhaustion didn’t disappear.
But he stopped fighting it.
Instead, he let his body move.
Osbin lunged again.
This time—
Lars didn’t track consciously.
He flowed.
His body shifted just enough.
The axe passed by harmlessly.
He stepped inside the arc without panic.
Osbin’s eyes sharpened.
There it is.
Vital Sight flared again.
The glowing nodes were faint beneath Osbin’s reinforced Ki—but not invisible.
Lars moved faster.
Not stronger.
Cleaner.
Osbin struck again, but Lars redirected the shield slightly, sliding along its edge and closing distance.
Osbin attempted to adjust—
But Lars’ fist was already moving.
Not wild.
Precise.
He struck at a junction point between Osbin’s shoulder and chest where the Ki layering was thinner due to recent movement.
Impact.
The sound was different this time.
Not explosive.
Compressed.
Osbin was forced two steps back.
Not launched.
Not overwhelmed.
But displaced.
Silence filled the clearing.
Osbin lowered his axe slowly.
His chest rose and fell steadily.
Lars stood across from him, barely upright, breathing heavily.
His Ki flickered faintly around his gauntlets.
Osbin’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.
“You’re learning.”
Lars could barely respond.
His body felt like it was on fire.
Exhausted beyond anything he had experienced before.
But he was still standing.
Osbin adjusted his grip on the axe.
“One more round.”
Lars’ eyes widened slightly.
Osbin’s aura flared stronger this time.
The ground beneath him cracked faintly.
“Show me,” Osbin said quietly, “what happens when you truly stop thinking.”
And then—
He vanished forward again with killing speed.
The clash resumed.
But this time—
Lars wasn’t fighting to win.
He was fighting to survive.
Osbin’s axe tore through the air again and again, each strike heavier than the last. The shield followed like a wall of iron, crushing space, stealing breath.
Lars’ arms trembled violently.
His vision blurred at the edges.
His lungs burned.
He had no room to think anymore.
No strategy.
No planning.
Only reaction.
His body moved on its own.
Step. Twist. Block. Counter.
He didn’t remember deciding to do any of it.
He was just… moving.
Osbin saw it.
The hesitation was gone.
But something else had replaced it.
Lars’ eyes had changed.
They weren’t panicked anymore.
They weren’t focused either.
They were empty.
“Good!” Osbin shouted as he swung.
“Stop thinking!”
But there was no response.
Not even a flicker of expression.
The axe collided with Lars’ gauntlets again.
The impact should have forced him back.
It didn’t.
Lars absorbed it.
His feet barely shifted.
Osbin narrowed his eyes.
That’s not right.
He pressed harder.
Another strike.
Another clash.
And then—
Lars’ breathing stopped sounding ragged.
It became steady.
Too steady.
Osbin pulled back slightly.
“Lars?”
No response.
Sweat dripped down Lars’ face.
But as Osbin watched—
The droplets didn’t fall.
They shimmered.
Then hardened.
Crystallized.
Tiny frost-like fragments forming across his skin.
The temperature dropped.
Subtly at first.
Then noticeably.
Osbin exhaled.
A faint mist escaped his mouth.
“What…?”
The air around them shifted.
Leaves at the edge of the clearing rustled unnaturally—not from wind, but from pressure.
Lars stepped forward.
Not rushed.
Not frantic.
Controlled.
But he wasn’t there.
His eyes had gone completely dark.
No fear.
No doubt.
Just emptiness.
Osbin felt it then.
A presence.
Different from Ki.
Different from mana.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
He swung instinctively.
The axe descended with enough force to split stone.
Lars raised one arm.
CRACK.
The impact froze on contact.
Ice crawled along the blade for a split second before shattering outward in glittering fragments.
Osbin leapt back immediately.
The ground beneath Lars’ feet began frosting over.
Thin crystalline lines spread outward like veins through the soil.
The air grew colder.
“He’s not controlling this…” Osbin muttered.
He tried again.
“Lars! Snap out of it!”
No reaction.
Lars vanished forward.
Not as fast as Osbin—
Faster.
There was no telegraphed motion.
No preparatory shift.
Just presence—
Then impact.
Osbin barely raised his shield in time.
The blow landed.
The sound wasn’t explosive.
It was sharp.
Condensed.
Osbin was driven backward violently, boots carving deep trenches into the clearing.
The shield vibrated under pressure.
Frost spread across its surface.
Osbin’s muscles tensed.
His Ki flared to full output.
For the first time that night—
He felt danger.
Real danger.
“What’s happening…?” he thought.
The clearing trembled again.
But this time, it wasn’t just from force.
The temperature continued dropping.
Branches above crackled faintly as moisture crystallized along their edges.
Lars advanced again.
No expression.
No voice.
Only movement.
Osbin’s heart pounded—not from exertion, but from realization.
This isn’t just Ki.
Another strike came.
Osbin deflected and countered with a shield bash meant to stagger.
Lars absorbed it like a statue.
Didn’t even blink.
The frost creeping along his skin had begun to resemble thin crystalline patterns.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
“Lars!” Osbin shouted again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
His body was moving.
But his consciousness—
Was gone.
Osbin’s thoughts raced.
Is this overexertion? Mana overload? A hidden ability?
He couldn’t analyze further.
Lars attacked again.
This time, Osbin didn’t just defend.
He struck back—hard.
The flat of his axe slammed into Lars’ side with crushing force.
The impact should have launched him.
Instead—
Lars slid backward only a step.
The frost shattered and reformed instantly.
The clearing had grown visibly colder now.
Breath fogged heavily.
The forest beyond the canopy felt disturbingly silent.
Osbin adjusted his stance.
His smile was gone.
This was no longer training.
He needed to stop this.
But how do you stop something you don’t understand?
Lars’ head tilted slightly.
Almost inhuman.
Then he disappeared again.
Osbin braced.
The next collision shook the entire clearing.
And deep within the forest—
Something ancient stirred.
The clearing trembled beneath their clash.
Osbin could feel it now.
This was no longer training.
This was survival.
Lars moved without thought.
Without hesitation.
Without mercy.
Ki wrapped around his body in violent currents—but that wasn’t all.
Mana bent around him.
No chants.
No catalyst.
The forest responded to his presence.
Ice crystallized along the ground beneath his feet.
Leaves hovered midair before snapping into frost.
Osbin swung his axe with full force.
Lars caught it barehanded.
The metal froze on contact.
Shattered.
Osbin’s eyes widened.
“He’s using mana…”
And Ki still reinforced his body.
Both.
At once.
Impossible.
Lars advanced again.
Each step heavier.
Colder.
Osbin blocked with his shield—
It split.
Cracked clean down the center.
Osbin staggered backward, ribs splintering from the impact.
Blood filled his mouth.
He dropped to one knee.
Lars raised his hand.
Mana spiraled violently around his arm.
Ki condensed at his knuckles.
This next strike—
Would kill him.
Osbin saw it.
And accepted it.
“…So that’s what you are,” he muttered.
But just as Lars stepped forward—
His body jerked.
The frost cracked.
The mana shattered outward violently.
Lars’ eyes flickered.
Then rolled back.
His body collapsed forward into the dirt.
The clearing fell silent.
Osbin blinked.
“…Lars?”
No response.
The aura vanished.
The frost began melting.
The forest exhaled.
Osbin tried to stand.
He couldn’t.
His body was broken.
Ribs fractured.
Internal bleeding.
He leaned against a shattered tree, struggling to breathe.
Then—
A slow clap echoed from the darkness.
“Well… how fascinating.”
A tall figure stepped from between the trees.
Elegant black coat.
Silver-threaded embroidery.
Gloves pristine.
Crimson eyes glowing faintly.
Curved horns swept back neatly from his temples.
A demon.
He bowed slightly.
“Vernon.”
Osbin’s eyes sharpened.
“…Underworld.”
Vernon smiled politely.
“Correct.”
He glanced at Lars’ unconscious form.
“I was contracted to observe.”
“By who?” Osbin demanded, voice hoarse.
Vernon tilted his head.
“You truly don’t know?”
He stepped closer, boots silent against the frost-melted ground.
“Gallant.”
The name hit harder than any blow.
“Your dear guildmate,” Vernon continued pleasantly. “He suspected the boy might be… unusual.”
Osbin’s mind raced.
Spy.
Observation.
So that’s why Gallant had been distant.
Vernon crouched beside Lars.
“I was not instructed to interfere,” he said casually. “Only to watch.”
He looked at Osbin.
“But this opportunity…”
His smile widened.
“…is too exquisite to ignore.”
Osbin tried to rise again.
Failed.
“Coward…” he muttered.
Vernon stood and approached him slowly.
“You are far too injured to defend yourself.”
He knelt in front of Osbin.
“You fought well.”
Dark energy gathered in Vernon’s palm—thicker than mana. More sinister.
Osbin understood immediately.
“You’ll blame him,” Osbin said weakly.
“Of course,” Vernon replied smoothly. “It aligns beautifully.”
He leaned closer.
“Such tragedy. A boy losing control. An S Rank falling to unforeseen power.”
Osbin exhaled slowly.
“…Lars… Make your own path…”
Vernon drove his hand through Osbin’s chest.
Clean.
Precise.
Osbin’s eyes widened once—
Then dimmed.
Vernon withdrew his hand calmly.
Blood poured onto the forest floor.
He carefully lifted Lars’ limp arm and pressed it into the wound, distorting the trauma.
He cracked Osbin’s armor further to simulate impact damage.
He smeared blood across Lars’ gauntlets.
“Convincing.”
He stepped back, adjusting his coat.
“Sleep well, Dragon Seed.”
And vanished into shadow.
?
The Void
White.
Endless.
Silent.
Lars stood alone once more.
His hands trembled.
“…Not again.”
The memory flooded back.
Osbin.
The fight.
The power.
The loss of control.
And then—
The Light appeared.
Soft.
Radiant.
“You walk a path of hardship.”
Lars clenched his fists.
“What happened?” He said.
“You awakened further.”
“I don’t want this power if it hurts people.” Lars said.
“You will hurt people.”
The words struck deeper than expected.
“You will face betrayal.”
“You will mourn.”
“You will question yourself.”
The Light pulsed gently.
“But you must endure.”
“Why me?” Lars demanded.
“Because you did not break when you died.”
The void trembled faintly.
“You will face constant trials.”
“You will lose.”
“You will suffer.”
“And you will decide who you become in spite of it.”
Lars’ breathing grew uneven.
“Can I stop this?” He asked.
“No.”
The Light dimmed slightly.
“Prepare yourself.”
It faded.
Darkness swallowed him.
?
Return
Lars’ eyes snapped open.
The moon hung high above.
His body felt hollow.
Cold.
His head pounded.
He pushed himself up slowly.
“…Osbin?”
Silence.
He turned.
And saw him.
Leaning against a broken tree.
Blood everywhere.
Too much blood.
Lars stumbled forward.
“No… no…”
He dropped to his knees.
Touched Osbin’s shoulder.
Cold.
Still.
His breath hitched violently.
The Void memory collided with reality.
The Light’s warning echoed.
You will mourn.
“I didn’t mean to…” he whispered.
He looked at his gauntlets.
Blood covered them.
His stomach twisted.
The final strike.
He remembered raising his hand.
Then blackness.
“I…”
His voice cracked.
“…did I kill you?”
The forest did not answer.
His scream tore through the clearing.
Raw.
Broken.
Unbelieving.
And in the darkness beyond the trees—
Something watched history begin to fracture.
