Time passed swiftly, and the evening—so long and tense—finally came to an end. The sky began to lighten, painted in soft shades of pink and orange. In the camp of the strange beings, morning bustle filled the air: the guards dismantled the glowing crystals, packed up the camp, and checked their gear.

  Lukaris and Sirael, dressed in their travel attire, stood near the extinguished fire, watching the activity around them. Their faces looked fresh, but their eyes betrayed a hint of unease.

  “I think today we’ll get closer to Koros,” Lukaris said, adjusting the belt that held his dagger. “Let’s hope Zunar got the distance right.”

  “If he didn’t, I don’t envy him… Listening to you complain the entire way will be punishment enough,” Sirael replied with a faint smirk as she pulled on her gloves.

  They exchanged a brief glance, and Lukaris answered her, as usual, with a carefree smile.

  Once everything was packed, the caravan of strange beings set off. The column moved smoothly and with precision: guards flanked the sides, protecting the center where the young nobles walked. The sun rose steadily, and the forest slowly came alive under its first rays.

  At the same time, not far from their camp, Astar was preparing in the shadow of his cave.

  He checked his equipment, ensured the abyssal cores were intact, and packed a few essentials: water skins, an improvised knife he’d carved from bone fragments, and some cloth scraps. But above all—his weapon.

  “Screw this cursed place. I want back to civilization—whatever that looks like here…” he muttered, adjusting the spear on his back. “I’ll gather more cores along the way. For now, my stash will do. Time to move.”

  The days spent in the cave had given him time to explore the nearby area. Though he had no map or clear landmarks, he had memorized the main directions and had a general idea of where a road might be. At the very least, he knew which way to go to get farther from the mountain and its slave mine.

  “If I head toward the lake, and keep going straight from there, I should find something,” he thought.

  The plan was simple: head in the direction where he suspected there might be settlements or roads, and hunt abyssals along the way. As long as he had a few cores left, he felt relatively secure, though he understood he couldn’t stay in that state for long.

  “The more abyssals I kill, the better. A stockpile of cores is my insurance,” he told himself, clenching his fists.

  His gaze swept over the cave. He had spent enough time here to make it a temporary home, but now it no longer served him.

  “Even if I yelled at you… thanks for the shelter,” he murmured quietly, addressing the cave, then stepped outside. Astar had always had a habit of talking to himself, but after everything, he’d begun speaking to inanimate objects too…

  The first ray of sunlight touched his face, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes until they adjusted. The forest greeted him with familiar noise: clicks, cracking branches, and distant cries of unknown creatures.

  Gritting his teeth and steeling himself for the journey, Astar moved forward, sticking to the shadows. A road full of dangers lay ahead, but he was ready. His time in the cave, the hunts, and the battles with abyssals had given him a chance to rest, to process what was happening, and to adapt to this new reality. The waves of fear no longer crashed over him—he had begun to understand the rules of survival.

  Astar walked with steady, confident steps, heading toward the familiar lake. With each stride, his legs felt lighter and his thoughts clearer. The constant sounds of the forest, which had once filled him with tension, now seemed like a natural backdrop. He had learned to distinguish between the sounds that signaled danger and those that spoke of relative peace.

  When he reached the lake, he paused, taking one last look at the place where he had his first solo encounter with an abyssal. The water lapped gently against the shore, and occasional rays of sunlight broke through the dense canopy above, lighting the surface like a mirror. This place had become a sort of landmark for him — familiar, safe.

  "Let’s refill the water, Astar," he muttered to himself, pulling the water skins from his improvised bag.

  He rinsed them quickly in the lake, emptying the old, slightly stale water, and refilled them with fresh. The sound of splashing water was calming, but Astar didn’t allow himself to relax.

  "Now it’s really time to go," he said, checking that the water skins were tightly sealed.

  His gaze swept over the surface of the lake once more. Strange fish, eel-like with sharp teeth, still darted just beneath the surface. They circled as if expecting another victim to fall into the water.

  "Wouldn’t want to fall in there… even by accident," he thought with a grimace.

  He stood, cast a final glance at the lake, and continued on.

  Out of habit, he continued marking trees with notches, though he knew he probably wouldn’t return to the cave. It had become more of a ritual than a necessity. Each mark in the bark gave him a sense of direction, a reminder that he was leaving a trail behind — a fallback in case things went wrong.

  "The road ahead might be unpredictable, but these marks will help if I have to come back. Either way, I hope I find the road," he thought, carving another line with the tip of his spear.

  He pressed onward, putting more distance between himself and the cave. The forest gradually changed — trees grew taller, their canopies denser, and the air turned cooler and more humid. Each step took him deeper into the unknown, yet closer to potential roads, settlements, or people who might provide answers.

  "If I’m heading in the right direction, I should run into something soon," he said to himself, running his fingers along the shaft of the spear. "This forest can’t go on forever."

  Each step demanded attention and focus, but he had begun to believe he could handle it. With every passing hour, he left behind not just the cave — but also the fears that had once gripped him.

  Astar kept moving, ears tuned to every sound around him. Occasionally, he’d pause to check his water skins or examine the notches he had made, ensuring he stayed on course.

  Only around midday did something finally catch his attention — movement in the bushes ahead. He froze, gripping his spear tightly, but soon three creatures emerged from the shadows. Their appearance made his stomach turn: dog-like but horribly disfigured. Their bodies were mottled with blackened, almost charred patches, and their heads were twisted grotesquely, as if deformed by some ancient curse. Their eyes glowed blood-red, and black drool dripped from their snarling mouths.

  "Small ones," he noted, eyeing them carefully. "But clearly starving and aggressive. A little different from the abyssals I’ve seen before..."

  The creatures let out low growls, clawed paws scraping at the earth as they readied to attack. Astar, by contrast, slowly raised his spear, gauging the distance. He knew even weak monsters could be dangerous if they attacked together.

  The first lunged at him — but Astar was ready. His spear whistled through the air, driving straight into the creature’s chest. The second followed immediately, but Astar dodged, smashing its head with the shaft of the spear and shattering it. The third leapt onto his back, claws raking down, but he threw it off with force, spinning and driving the spear through its body.

  "About warrior level?" he muttered, wiping the foul-smelling blood from his face.

  Scanning the area and confirming there were no more threats, he turned to examine the remains. Their cores were tiny, much smaller than expected — barely the size of beads, dimly glowing with black light.

  "Better than nothing," he said to himself, picking them up. "Even scraps are worth something."

  He tucked them into his bag and looked around, assessing the area. The sun was already dipping toward the horizon, its soft light piercing through the canopy in golden beams. The air was cooling quickly, and the forest’s shadows stretched longer, making the woods feel more ominous.

  "Time to think about shelter," he muttered, glancing around.

  Astar knew he needed a safe place to rest for the night. A cave would’ve been ideal, but the chance of stumbling upon another one was slim. The next best thing would be a rock formation or a place where he could at least protect his back.

  "Either a higher spot, or something that can shield me from a surprise attack," he muttered to himself as he moved on.

  He kept walking, carefully scanning his surroundings. Because beyond just finding a place to rest, Astar had another idea—spotting a road in the dark. When he first escaped from the mines, he had seen lights from high up, scattered across the land as if marking a path. If he got close enough to a road, he might have a chance to see those same lights again come nightfall.

  After about half an hour of wandering, Astar's gaze landed on a tall cliff rising among the trees. It curved in a semicircle, forming a natural wall, and beyond it he spotted a small slope. The place looked ideal. The rock wall would cover his back, and the slope would give him a vantage point to observe the surroundings.

  "Perfect…" he murmured, gripping his spear. "Just what I need."

  He was about to head toward the cliff when suddenly his ears caught distant shouting. At first, it was muffled, like the wind had carried it from far away. But then came something unmistakable—spoken language. People. Or at least living beings!

  He froze, straining to pick up the direction. The voices were chaotic, but filled with emotion: rage, fear, maybe even panic. Then came the sound of blows—dull thuds and sharp clashes, like wood meeting metal.

  "They’re not abyssals," he thought. "They don’t scream like that… There could be a road there!"

  His heart began to race. This could be the chance he had been waiting for. Astar understood it might be anything, but one thing was clear: where there are living beings, there’s likely a road—maybe even a settlement.

  "I have to go. Whatever’s happening there, it might be my golden ticket!"

  Without wasting another moment, he changed direction and headed toward the sound. The noise grew louder, more distinct, and now Astar could make out individual words—though the full context still eluded him.

  He tightened his grip on the spear, his gaze sharpening with focus.

  "This is my shot at returning to civilization. I won’t let it slip," he said as he moved.

  Astar picked up his pace, breaking into a run, forgetting how long he’d already been walking. His legs carried him forward with purpose, despite the weight on his back. Adrenaline surged through his veins, silencing the aches and fatigue. The shouting grew closer, sharper, and he felt—truly felt—that this nightmare of surviving alone in the wild was finally about to end.

  The forest blurred around him. The underbrush thinned, the trees began to spread out, as if making way for something more important. Suddenly, another thud rang out, followed by muffled cries. His heart pounded harder. He pushed forward, leaping over roots and ducking beneath low branches.

  And then, through the trees—he saw it.

  Between the massive trunks lay a road. Uneven, partially paved with large stones, but unmistakably a road—something he had only dreamed of. And on that road were the sources of the noise.

  Astar dropped into a crouch, hiding behind a tree for a better view. His eyes immediately locked onto strange beings. Their skin was a bluish-gray with a faint metallic sheen, and atop their heads were long, straight horns—almost demonic in appearance.

  But most importantly, they didn’t look savage. Their clothing was finely crafted, full of intricate details and ornate elements. Some wore armor, others bore jewelry that shimmered in the fading sunlight. They were armed: swords, spears, and bows, all expertly made.

  "Not humans… but definitely intelligent. I think I saw some like them in the mines," flashed through his mind.

  Astar watched as one of the horned beings — a masked man — shouted something, gesturing sharply. Others were clustered around him. Among them, he spotted two figures who clearly stood out: a girl in more luxurious clothing, and a young man whose expression was now grave. They stood slightly apart from the rest, their posture and composure betraying a position of importance within the group.

  But something was wrong. Their movements were tense, and the shouting was accompanied by the sound of battle. "Are they fighting?" Astar wondered, narrowing his eyes, trying to make out more. The trees obscured part of the road and whoever was facing off against the group.

  Gripping his spear, Astar moved forward quietly, angling to stay hidden in the tree shadows.

  He held the spear close to his body, carefully dashing to a nearby tree. His movements were swift, each step deliberate and silent. He paused to listen. The cries were louder now, the ring of metal clearer — and alongside them, he heard a sickening growl…

  Raaaar!

  "Still can’t see them," he thought, catching his breath as he peered from behind the trunk.

  His eyes darted to the next tree. He moved again, ducking low behind the thicker bark. The forest thinned slightly here, and he could make out more: among the horned beings were some clearly wounded. One warrior clutched his side, blood trickling through his fingers. Another, on his knees, struggled to stand, leaning on a broken spear.

  But what surprised Astar the most was that a faint gray mist emanated from some of those beings. They were clearly at the level of Premarchs—just like Astar himself. It was strange that something had managed to injure them so badly.

  "A serious fight... An abyssal managed to hurt them?" Astar's thoughts whirled feverishly in his mind.

  Checking the surroundings again, he slipped forward to the next tree. He moved a few meters closer, and now the sounds were nearly deafening. Voices shouted in pain, interspersed with growls and a heavy booming noise that made the ground itself seem to vibrate.

  "Something—or someone—is pushing them back," he thought, clenching his jaw. He couldn’t tell if he should be glad to have found intelligent beings, or afraid that they were struggling against a foe.

  When he reached the third tree, his heart skipped a beat.

  "Oh shit..." he muttered without thinking.

  Standing on the road, just a few meters away from the group, was a massive abyssal. This wasn’t just any monster. It was that creature—the one from his nightmare. The same abyssal that had killed Dalanar with a single bite and driven Astar into hiding in the cave. Its massive figure towered over the horned warriors like a manifestation of death itself.

  The monster stood nearly three meters tall, with bones protruding from its flesh. A massive eye with dozens of pupils darted in all directions, seemingly tracking every movement around it. Clawed hands, stained with blood, dug into the earth, and its mouth, lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth, was half-open, emitting a guttural growl.

  Two corpses lay before it—smaller abyssals, apparently slain by the group. But this behemoth was different. Even several seasoned warriors couldn’t hold it back. It moved with terrifying power and speed for something of its size.

  One of the warriors lunged with a spear, but the abyssal whirled around and struck him with a thunderous blow. The warrior was tossed aside like a ragdoll, crashing to the ground with a dull thud—and did not get up again.

  "Why this damn monster..." Astar muttered inwardly. A wave of icy fear washed over him, and the memories of that day surged back with renewed force. "How... how did it get here?!"

  His heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He understood one thing—this abyssal was at the level of a Gray Mnemarch. He wasn’t a match for it.

  "After activating the Corruption Devouring Technique, I’ve grown much stronger... but even so, I doubt I can do anything to it. Worse, if I use up all my abyssia, I might lose my mind," Astar thought as he took a step back. "I’ve found the road, so I just need to retreat and go around this fight..."

  Astar was already preparing to slowly back away, careful not to make a sound. He knew that even the slightest rustle could attract the abyssal’s attention—and facing it would mean certain death.

  But then, something happened that made his body freeze in place.

  The abyssal suddenly raised its massive head and let out a horrifying roar.

  Ryaaaaar!

  The sound was so powerful that the surrounding trees trembled, and the horned beings fighting it froze for a brief moment. Its jaws opened, releasing clouds of black smoke that spread rapidly through the air.

  Then Astar felt it—an odd sensation, almost like physical pressure. Something invisible and powerful passed through his body. His breath hitched, and his hand instinctively moved to his spear.

  The abyssal stood still, then its massive eye, filled with dozens of swirling pupils, slowly began to turn. Several of the pupils broke away from the battle and locked directly onto the forest.

  Onto Astar.

  The world seemed to stop. His heart skipped a beat, then began hammering wildly. He stood frozen, unable to move, watching as the creature’s gaze pierced through him, studying him—seeking.

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  "Shit... it saw me!" flashed through his mind.

  The abyssal growled louder, its muscles tensing as it turned its entire body toward the forest. It seemed to forget the group of horned fighters entirely. Its full attention was now on its new target—Astar.

  "Damn it! It sensed that I’m stronger... or it thinks I’m trying to steal its prey!" Astar hissed through clenched teeth, realizing he had only one choice: join the fight.

  He clenched his fist, gripping his spear so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind raced through options, but each path led to the same conclusion: running was useless. The abyssal, with its size and power, would catch him in seconds. And disappearing into the forest was no longer an option—the creature was too smart and too focused.

  "If I run, I’m dead... Night’s coming, and I won’t have a chance," flashed through his mind.

  The only chance was to join forces with these strange horned beings. They were wounded and possibly on the brink of defeat, but even so, a crowd had a better chance of taking down such a monster.

  "Alright..." he muttered, stepping forward. His gaze was locked onto the giant abyssal, which had already taken its first step toward him. The ground trembled beneath its massive limbs, and the thick smoke pouring from its maw filled the air with a putrid stench.

  Astar dashed forward, not giving himself time to hesitate. His legs carried him toward the road, each step pounding in his ears. He moved in zigzags, darting between the trees to make himself a harder target for the beast.

  The horned beings seemed to notice his approach. Several pairs of eyes, filled with a mixture of astonishment and caution, turned toward him. One of the guards, apparently wounded, tried to raise his weapon, but Astar shouted:

  "I'm here to help!" His voice came out sharper than expected. Astar realized that in a situation like this, it was better to make it seem like he’d rushed in out of goodwill rather than just standing by and watching them get slaughtered.

  It was also a desperate attempt to show he wasn’t a threat. He needed to get inside their formation, take a position close to them, and prepare for battle.

  One of the beings—a man in armor and wearing a mask—gave a curt nod, signaling the others not to attack. This was the very group that had heard Astar’s screams earlier that night.

  The young man and woman standing behind him were Lukaris and Sirael. They also turned, eyes wide with surprise.

  "Who is he?" Sirael cried out, her voice laced with both fear and curiosity.

  "Now’s not the time for questions! If we don’t kill this abyssal, forget the Order!" Lukaris snapped, his eyes flicking back to the approaching monster.

  Astar ran into their formation, gripping his spear. His heart was pounding, but he quickly positioned himself near the defensive line, sensing the tension around him.

  "I don’t know who you are," he said, catching his breath, "but if we want to survive, we need to fight together."

  Beside him came Zunar’s raspy voice:

  "What are you good at?"

  "I'm no master of combat," Astar answered with cold determination, turning toward the tall Zunar. "But I’m confident in my striking power. Just give me an opening!"

  The monster let out another deafening roar, and its massive eye once again locked onto Astar, as if sensing that he was the real threat.

  "Alright, bastard... You’ve screwed up my plans twice already," Astar thought, steadying his breath and raising his spear. "You’re like my personal nightmare in this world. Looks like I won’t get to move forward until I kill you."

  Zunar, his face still hidden behind the mask, studied Astar carefully. His gaze scanned the stranger—well-made weapon in hand, his appearance rough, like someone who’d been surviving in the wild, and something else... an unfamiliar sensation emanating from him. It wasn’t just power—it was an aura that marked him as something... different.

  Zunar held his breath for a moment, as if weighing whether to trust the outsider, then gave a sharp nod.

  "Understood," he said loudly. "Surround the abyssal! Distract it, but don’t rush in! Archers, keep firing—aim for the eye! We can’t let it break through!"

  He turned to the others, who still stood in formation despite their injuries.

  "Flank it! No solo charges! Maintain distance until we get an opening for a decisive strike!"

  The wounded warriors, summoning their remaining strength, began to move again, drawing closer to the center of the formation. The archers farther back didn’t let up. Their arrows hissed through the air, all aimed at the beast’s single massive eye.

  The abyssal froze for a moment, sensing the increased threat, and let out a guttural growl. Its pupils darted in every direction, but some remained locked on Astar, as if it saw more in him than just a man.

  Astar gripped his spear tighter and took up a battle stance. His heart thundered so loudly he could barely focus, but fear was giving way to instinct.

  "If they give me a chance, I’ll strike," he thought. "It may be stronger, but we have numbers, and my strength should be enough. Besides, this group looks experienced. This isn’t like back then, when I was with tired slaves holding pickaxes."

  Suddenly, the monster turned and lunged toward one of the Premarchs to Zunar’s right. Its claws slammed into the ground with a thunderous crash, kicking up clouds of dust and gravel. The warriors scattered, dodging the blow, but three of the archers didn’t react in time—one of them was knocked off his feet by the sheer force of the air.

  "Now or never," Astar whispered as he began moving toward the monster.

  Zunar noticed and gave a nod to one of the Premarchs standing beside him.

  "Cover him! The previous strategy didn’t work! Let the stranger take his shot!"

  The monster turned again, its massive eye filled with wildly shifting pupils locking onto its next target. But this time, it wasn’t facing disoriented prey—it faced a group that had begun to act with coordination.

  Astar quickly assessed the situation.

  "I could try throwing the spear, like always... but if I miss, I’ll be unarmed."

  He took a deep breath and advanced cautiously, waiting for his moment.

  The warriors surrounding the monster launched their assault. They moved with precision: two would step in to draw its attention, then quickly retreat as others replaced them. It was like a well-practiced dance—but against a creature like this, it looked more like a desperate attempt to survive.

  The abyssal roared, its massive eye darting between targets, while its clawed hands slammed into the ground with thunderous force, leaving deep cracks and gouges in the dirt. The archers kept firing, their arrows striking the creature—but they seemed to do little damage. Only shots that hit the eye made the monster recoil, and even then, just for a second.

  "Useless..." Astar muttered inwardly as he watched the archers. "They’re barely scratching it."

  But the Premarchs were a different story. A faint gray mist surrounded their bodies, and their movements were swift and precise. When they struck, their weapons left real wounds. The abyssal responded differently to them—it roared louder, its movements grew wilder, more erratic. It was actually feeling pain.

  A muscular woman, clearly a Premarch, moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior. She dashed to the creature’s flank and slashed deeply with her two-handed sword. The blade carved a long gash, sending a spray of foul black blood into the air. The abyssal bellowed and turned to strike, but the woman had already leapt back.

  Zunar and two other Premarchs continued to attack from different sides, inflicting more wounds. It wasn’t enough to bring the beast down, but it was enough to enrage it. The abyssal growled in ragged, guttural bursts, its strikes becoming more chaotic—each one meant to rip its enemies apart.

  "How much stronger am I than these Premarchs?" Astar thought, tightening his grip on the spear. "If I’m only a little stronger, I won’t be able to pierce its skull... But maybe I can wound its eye?"

  He took a step forward. Then another. His body seemed to move on its own, driven by the growing sense that the moment to strike was near. But inside, fear still surged—clashing with rising resolve.

  "They’ve distracted it. If I don’t attack now, I might not get another chance," he thought, watching the group battle the monster.

  Zunar, his gaze locked on the abyssal, shouted to his fighters:

  "Keep it distracted! Archers, aim for its limbs and eye—slow it down and blind it! We’re almost breaking its balance!"

  Astar felt his muscles tense. He clutched the spear like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. He just needed one chance—one opening to get close enough to land a decisive blow.

  "Just that..." he thought, steadying his breath. "One clean strike. Just one."

  One of the Premarchs to Zunar’s right lunged forward, targeting the monster’s flank. His blade flashed silver, slashing toward the joint of the beast’s massive limb. It was a fast, precise strike, meant to cripple the creature’s movement.

  But the abyssal seemed to anticipate the attack. Its huge eye—with its many pupils—snapped toward the Premarch, as if calculating the strike’s path. In the next instant, it spun with a thunderous roar and lashed out with brutal speed. Its claws glinted in the light of the setting sun, and the air howled with the force of their movement.

  "Watch out!" Zunar yelled, hurling himself forward.

  But the strike was too swift. The abyssal’s paw struck with such force that both the attacking Premarch and Zunar were hurled backward like rag dolls. They hit the ground several meters away with bone-crunching thuds. Zunar immediately tried to rise, bracing himself on his sword, but his breath came in ragged gasps, and blood already stained his chest.

  "Damn it!" someone shouted from within the group.

  For a heartbeat, everything froze. Even the archers stopped firing, stunned by the sight. A chill swept down every warrior’s spine, as if death itself had drawn near, ready to take them all.

  Rage and bloodlust blazed in the abyssal’s eye.

  And at that very moment—Astar saw his chance.

  His gaze locked on the monster—on its unprotected head, on the massive eye still fixed on Zunar. He knew this strike would be his only chance. If he hesitated, none of them would survive.

  Gritting his teeth, Astar raised the spear above his head. Every muscle in his body tensed, and abyssia surged from the Soul Vault, flooding through him.

  Thump! A faint gray mist began to rise from his body, as if answering his resolve. But then, deep within that mist, black sparks flickered—barely visible, but ominous, like glimpses of something sinister.

  “Die!” he shouted, leaping forward.

  Astar poured every ounce of strength into that strike. The arc of his motion was as wide as possible, and his intent—unyielding. The spear sliced through the air with a sharp whistle, aimed directly at the target.

  “Aaaah!” his scream echoed through the trees, merging with the monster’s guttural roar.

  In that moment, time seemed to freeze.

  The spear ignited with swirling gray mist, which flowed around it as if aiding the motion. The black sparks within flickered to life, infusing the weapon’s tip with strange energy. The world held its breath, watching the trajectory of the blow.

  The abyssal noticed the leap—its eye snapped toward Astar, several pupils narrowing as they focused. But the monster couldn’t dodge in time. The spear struck with a deafening crack, landing squarely on its head.

  BAM!

  “I missed! I can’t pierce through its skull!” Astar thought in horror, realizing he’d misjudged the reach of the blow. But in the very next instant, something unexpected happened—the spear didn’t just slice skin, it shattered the skull, tearing through the eye and plunging deeper.

  Squelch!

  A sickening, wet crunch followed, and foul-smelling blood burst in every direction.

  Compared to the Premarchs, this strike was several times stronger. It had pierced the defenses of a Gray Mnemarch-level abyssal!

  RRAAAAAAAH!

  The monster’s roar was so powerful that the earth shook.

  “Come on! Die already!” Astar yelled, clinging to the embedded spear as the creature thrashed.

  The abyssal tried to turn and strike with its claw, but the wound disoriented it. The other Premarchs saw Astar’s devastating blow and quickly seized the moment. Zunar, struggling to rise from the ground, shouted the command:

  “Finish it! He’s almost dead!”

  The Premarchs, mustering the last of their strength, charged the monster. Their weapons sank into its limbs and flanks. The archers refocused their fire, pinning the beast in place with rapid volleys.

  Astar, mindful not to waste too much abyssia, hesitated briefly, still gripping the spear. The half-dead monster bucked violently, flinging him around as if he were riding some wild beast.

  Shuuuuu!

  Suddenly, the spear ripped free from the abyssal’s skull, hurling Astar backward toward a nearby tree. He crashed into it hard, but at the same time, a geyser of black blood erupted from the gaping wound.

  Finish it! he shouted internally, rising to his feet and charging the monster again, ignoring the sharp pain in his back and ribs.

  GRHHH!

  The abyssal bellowed again, its movements growing more erratic. It now seemed to move purely on instinct. That it could still move with its skull split open was nothing short of a miracle.

  Astar sprinted forward and leapt, swinging his spear in a wide arc. The blade plunged deep into the eye socket, cleaving out an entire section of the head.

  Raaagh…

  The monster staggered, letting out one final, rasping roar that quickly faded into a choking gurgle. Its massive body trembled—then collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  Silence followed, broken only by the ragged breathing of the survivors. Astar barely managed to stay on his feet, his legs trembling from exhaustion. His hands shook, and his body was slick with a sticky mixture of sweat and the abyssal’s black blood. He released the spear—still embedded in the creature’s skull—and took a shaky step back.

  “Is it… dead?” he murmured, as if unable to believe his eyes.

  The monster lay still. The hulking body, which had moments ago loomed like death itself, now looked like a decaying mass of meat. Thick, black smoke rose from the cracked skull, slowly dissipating into the air.

  “We did it!” one of the warriors shouted, still holding his weapon at the ready.

  But the joy was fleeting. No one moved, as if fearing the beast might rise again. Everyone still standing was spent. Even Zunar, leaning on his sword, looked as though he could collapse at any moment.

  "That... was... way too close," Zunar rasped, pulling off his mask and wiping blood from his lips.

  Astar still hadn’t moved. He glanced at Zunar and the other warriors, taking in their exhausted faces, their labored breathing, and the tension that still hung heavy in the air.

  “I need to find a way to replenish my abyssia… I didn’t use all of it, but maybe I can draw on the small cores from those three hounds…” he thought, reaching toward the pouch at his side—only to stop halfway.

  His eyes drifted to Sirael and Lukaris, standing a little ways off, clearly stunned by what they’d just witnessed.

  Sirael couldn’t take her eyes off the monster’s corpse. Lukaris, for all his effort to appear composed, looked like he was about to lose it. His gaze was fixed on Astar, wide-eyed with shock.

  “Who the hell are you?” Zunar asked hoarsely, slowly lifting his head and drilling Astar with a heavy stare. “Where did you get that kind of power? Are you really only at the Premarch stage?”

  Astar said nothing. His heart was still pounding. Black sparks danced in his vision—residual flashes from what he had just channeled.

  “Who am I?” he finally said, trying to steady his breath. “Honestly? Hell if I know.” He added with irritation.

  The bluntness of the response hit like a slap. For a moment, silence fell over the entire group. Even the warriors who had begun tending to the wounded froze in place, unsure how to react. His words were so raw, so direct, they sounded either like a challenge—or a cry of despair.

  Sirael blinked, studying him, as if trying to figure out whether he was joking or dead serious. Lukaris frowned, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Even Zunar, despite the exhaustion and pain, didn’t look away, his stare sharp and probing.

  “What do you mean by that?” Zunar finally asked, his tone edged with steel, like he was trying to break through whatever walls Astar had put up.

  Astar exhaled heavily, brushing his black-and-violet hair from his face. He was drenched in abyssal blood, giving him a grim, almost spectral appearance. Though his clothes were ragged and makeshift, his voice was steady when he answered.

  “I think I’ve lost my memory…” he paused, letting the words sink in. “Woke up in this forest about two weeks ago. More precisely—in a cave. Covered in injuries. Next to me was a dead abyssal. That’s all I remember.”

  He didn’t dramatize the story, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable. The horned beings tensed. A few exchanged glances. Even those who had seemed indifferent earlier now looked uneasy. Perhaps they were wondering whether he could be trusted.

  Zunar frowned but didn’t respond right away. Astar continued:

  “I don’t know how I got to that cave, who I am, or what I was doing before. All I had was a dead monster and wounds that nearly killed me. The spear—and these rags—I found in the cave. I assume it used to be that thing’s lair…”

  He looked around the group, making sure they heard every word.

  Only now did they begin to truly observe him. And yes—he looked wild. His clothes were stitched together from scraps, torn and bound into rough shapes. Instead of a real pack, he carried a makeshift pouch fashioned from fabric tied at the corners. He looked more like a lunatic vagabond than the warrior who had just carved apart a Gray Mnemarch-class abyssal.

  “That’s why I said I’ve got no idea who I am,” he exhaled, looking away. “All this time, I’ve just been trying to figure out how to get out of this damned forest—and whether there’s even anything beyond it. It wasn’t until I heard someone yelling that I knew I wasn’t alone. That’s why I ran here.”

  His words hung in the air, sparking a dozen new questions. No one spoke. Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts.

  Finally, Zunar exhaled heavily and straightened up, leaning on his sword.

  “If that’s true… then you have my sympathy,” he said, nodding toward the monster. “But right now, I can’t ignore what you just did. You saved our lives, stranger. And for that, we’re grateful.”

  As Zunar finished speaking, soft but purposeful footsteps broke the silence.

  Sirael stepped forward. Something in her demeanor had changed. Her usual gentle quiet was replaced with sharp focus. Her gaze, once tentative, was now calm and analytical. Even her movements were precise—like someone used to handling delicate negotiations.

  She approached Astar without the slightest hint of fear, despite his bloodstained, savage appearance. Her posture, composure, and calm gaze marked her as someone trained for diplomacy.

  “Damn… she’s gorgeous,” Astar thought, struck by the contrast. He could see her femininity and beauty clearly, but there was something… different. Not quite human. And that dissonance unsettled him.

  She stopped in front of him, looking him straight in the eye. Then she removed her glove and slowly extended her hand.

  After a short pause, she continued:

  “Losing your memory... that’s terrible. Even more so that it happened out here in the wilds, crawling with abyssals and beasts.”

  “We, my brother and I, thank you on behalf of House Tenebris,” she said sincerely, motioning toward Lukaris with her other hand and offering a respectful bow. “Right now, a companion as strong as you is exactly what we need,” she added, her gaze briefly flicking to the slain abyssal.

  Her words were so natural and calmly spoken that even Lukaris—who had opened his mouth as if to say something—fell silent. The warriors, still in the midst of bandaging wounds, paused for a moment, their attention turning toward Astar.

  The silence became almost tangible. No one knew how to react to such an offer. Even Astar hadn’t expected it. But there was no hint of pretense or fear in her words or her gesture. She meant what she said.

  “My name is Sirael Tenebris. My brother and I are descendants of a small merchant house,” she went on, hand still extended. “What about you? Do you remember your name, at least?”

  Astar stared at her outstretched hand, then met her eyes. He was exhausted, worn out, still dazed from the battle—but there was something in her gaze that inspired trust.

  He drew a deep breath and answered, “Astar. My name’s Astar. That’s all I remember.”

  Sirael nodded, her expression softening, and a faint smile curved her lips.

  “Astar... It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, taking his hand without hesitation, regardless of the grime and reeking abyssal blood. “Then let’s start by getting out of here together. Once we reach the next town, I’d like to properly thank you. And who knows—maybe something will come back to you along the way.”

  Astar smirked slightly. His expression relaxed, and for the first time, a flicker of relief sparkled in his eyes. He straightened his posture, swaying slightly but keeping his balance.

  “When I heard your voices,” he began, wiping sweat from his brow, “I was just about to ask someone for help getting the hell out of this forest. So trust me, you won’t have to ask me twice.”

  His words came with a touch of dry humor. He looked around at everyone gathered, meeting a few surprised—and some still wary—gazes. Then he exhaled, flexing and unflexing his fingers as if trying to release the tension coiled inside him.

  “Though I do have one request... If you really want to thank me for the help, could you maybe answer a few questions?” He gave Sirael a short, crooked smile. “I don’t understand a damn thing. What is this forest? Who are you people, and why don’t you look like me? Where does this road even lead? At least tell me that much.”

  His honesty earned a few faint smiles from the warriors, and the tension in the air seemed to ease just a little. Even those who had seemed guarded or aloof before now appeared slightly more relaxed. That small confession—simple and sincere—made Astar feel more human to them.

  Sirael’s smile grew warmer as she let go of his hand, though her eyes remained focused on his.

  “Questions, huh?” she echoed with a playful tone, but there was genuine kindness behind it. “I suppose that’s the least we can do for you. In fact, if you don’t recall anything, you’re welcome to travel with us. We’re headed to the Order of Wanderings and Trade—there’s always something for everyone there.”

  She turned to Lukaris, who still stood with arms crossed behind her. He sighed and gave a slight shake of his head—but there was a faint smile on his lips.

  “Well, sister... looks like your persuasive skills haven’t dulled,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Astar, right? I’m Lukaris Tenebris. Huge thanks to you—and welcome to the group.” With that, he stepped forward and shook Astar’s hand, not caring about the blood and grime.

  “And why would they dull? Unlike you, I don’t waste half my time on booze and women,” Sirael said sharply, before quickly smiling again and giving Astar a friendly nod.

  A few warriors chuckled, one of them even folding his arms with a satisfied smirk. The mood shifted tangibly—what had been tense and wary now felt almost comradely. Even if only for a moment, Astar felt like part of the group.

  But more importantly—he would finally be able to ask the questions that had haunted him since waking in this foreign world. Finally, he had a way out of the endless cycle of survival in the wilds. A path to the city. A path forward.