Rolin descended the rocky slope carefully.
His boots touched something soft.
Grass.
He blinked slowly.
Compared to the black desert that swallowed everything alive… this patch of grass felt like a small miracle.
But miracles in this world rarely came without a price.
Rolin quietly opened his bottomless bag.
The black chains came out first.
They slid into his hands with the familiar metallic whisper he trusted more than most people.
Then came the curved black daggers.
Their edges gleamed faintly—cold, quiet, patient.
He placed one of them back.
Then reached deeper into the bag.
What emerged next was different.
Likath's dagger.
Crimson-black.
Three twisted blades spiraled toward a single drilling point, like a cruel tool designed to pierce flesh, bone… and whatever stubborn hope might hide behind them.
A faint dark-red glow began pulsing along its surface.
Likath chuckled from beside him.
"Finally…"
"I missed the smell of blood."
Rolin ignored him.
He locked the black dagger onto the end of his right chain.
Likath's crimson dagger clicked into place on the left chain.
Then he wrapped the chains around his wrists, securing the bindings tightly.
A slow breath left his lungs.
"I'm ready."
He pulled the chains once, testing the weight.
Then wound them around his forearms like flexible shields.
Each dagger rested comfortably in his palms.
For a moment he stared at the weapons.
Then inhaled deeply.
And began walking.
Likath trotted ahead of him, the small flaming cub glowing like a wandering crimson lantern cutting through the forest darkness.
They moved forward.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Carefully.
An hour passed.
Then another.
The forest made no sound.
It was too quiet.
Suspiciously quiet.
The darkness between the trees was thick—almost physical.
Likath's crimson flame had become the only light, flickering like a tiny star inside an ocean of shadow.
Thirty minutes later…
Still nothing.
No birds.
No insects.
No rustling leaves.
Only heavy cold air and a damp silence stretching between the massive tree trunks that rose upward… disappearing somewhere far above.
Rolin pulled a thick coat from his bag and wrapped it around his shoulders.
"This place isn't natural."
Likath snorted.
"Oh please."
"It looks like a wonderful vacation spot."
"Maybe we can build a cabin and invite friends."
Rolin glanced at him.
"You don't have friends."
Likath thought for a moment.
"…Fair."
They continued walking until Rolin noticed something.
A massive tree.
No—massive didn't quite capture it.
The trunk was enormous.
Wider than anything he had seen in his life.
Of course… that wasn't saying much.
Trees weren't exactly common in the Kennel where he grew up.
In the center of the trunk was a wide hollow.
Like the entrance to an old house.
To Rolin…
it looked like a luxury apartment.
He stopped.
Listened.
Nothing.
No breathing.
No movement.
No presence.
He stepped inside.
The hollow interior was spacious enough for him to lie down comfortably.
Dry.
Dark.
Hidden.
Perfect for surviving one night.
Rolin stepped back outside and began gathering fallen branches and dry leaves, his eyes constantly scanning the surrounding shadows.
Every movement was quiet.
Every sound measured.
Once satisfied, he returned inside.
Likath approached the small pile of wood.
Then casually breathed out a tiny crimson flame.
The fire ignited.
Light flickered across the inner wooden walls, casting warped shadows that twisted like strange creatures dancing in the dark.
Rolin sat down calmly.
From the bag came a thick cover.
Then a metal cooking pot.
Then vegetables.
Tomatoes.
Garlic.
Onions.
Spices.
Water.
Likath stared at him with exaggerated disbelief.
"You're camping."
"You're actually camping."
He tilted his head.
"You do realize something in this forest is probably planning to eat us, right?"
Rolin calmly began chopping the vegetables.
"An exhausted body dies faster than monsters kill it."
Water went into the pot.
A pinch of salt.
Some spices.
Soon the hollow filled with a warm scent.
Comforting.
Soft.
A smell that absolutely did not belong in this cursed forest.
Rolin sat beside the fire.
The chains were still wrapped around his arms.
He never removed them.
In a place like this, relaxing your guard wasn't stupidity.
It was suicide.
Because the most frightening places weren't always the most deadly.
They were the unknown ones.
"Watch shifts," Rolin said calmly.
"I'll take the first."
Likath sat near the entrance, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.
"If anything comes close… I'll wake you."
Silence returned.
But this time…
it wasn't empty.
Somewhere far away—
Crack.
Then…
the sound of something huge scraping against tree trunks.
Rolin's hand froze above the pot.
Likath whispered quietly.
And for once…
his voice contained no sarcasm.
"Roli…"
"We're not alone."
Rolin moved instantly.
He flipped the pot.
Water spilled over the fire.
Hiss.
Steam.
Darkness swallowed the light.
The forest devoured it as if it had never existed.
Rolin moved silently toward the entrance.
Likath dimmed his flame, shrinking it into a faint crimson thread barely visible in the dark.
They stood side by side.
Watching.
Breathing carefully.
Then—
A head appeared.
A deer.
But not a normal one.
A giant.
Five branching antlers twisted upward like crooked crowns, each one thicker than Rolin's arm.
Its eyes were open.
But empty.
Dead.
The skin around its neck was torn.
Bite marks.
Something had ripped into it.
But that wasn't the frightening part.
The frightening part…
was that the body was being dragged.
Something black moved in the darkness.
No clear shape.
No visible body.
Just a low dark mass sliding along the ground.
Scrraaaaape.
Scrraaaaape.
The giant deer corpse slowly slid between the trees.
Its massive antlers scraped against the trunks.
But there were no footsteps.
No breathing.
No growl.
Only the dragging sound.
Likath whispered in Rolin's mind.
And this time…
there was no humor.
"Don't stare into the shadows for too long…"
Rolin didn't blink.
He was trying to see it.
Its outline.
Its size.
But the more he focused…
the thicker the darkness seemed to become around it.
Maybe it was just his imagination.
Or maybe the darkness itself was actually growing.
Then—
The dragging stopped.
For one second.
The deer's head tilted slightly.
As if something lifted it.
Then the body disappeared into the deeper forest.
The sound vanished.
The movement vanished.
Everything vanished.
The forest returned to silence.
Cold.
Dark.
Empty.
But it was the kind of emptiness that comes after a predator feeds.
Rolin stood there for several seconds.
Then quietly whispered.
"That thing wasn't hunting."
Likath replied softly.
"It was collecting."
Rolin tightened his grip on Likath's dagger.
The chain shifted slightly around his wrist.
"We're inside its territory."
The darkness ahead felt deeper now.
As if the forest itself…
had begun staring back.
—
Minutes later Rolin finally slept.
Light sleep.
Uneasy.
Like water trembling under the faintest breeze.
Two hours later—
His eyes opened silently.
"Switch."
Likath stretched dramatically, yawning in fake laziness.
Then his flames dimmed as he slipped back into Rolin's chest.
"Try not to die while I'm sleeping… meat sack."
Rolin sat alone in the darkness.
Complete darkness.
He couldn't see his own hand in front of his face.
The enormous trees formed a living ceiling, sealing the sky completely.
At least that meant no aerial attacks.
And no flying spirit-beasts spying on him.
No five stars.
No moonlight.
In fact…
there wasn't even a sky left to look at.
Rolin smiled bitterly.
"I guess that's fair."
Fair…
to lose the sky.
Just like he had lost the ability to reach it.
Mana.
He used to feel it like breathing.
It flowed through his core.
Responding.
Shaping itself to his will.
That was before.
Before he lost it.
Before he became a body without a center.
He exhaled slowly.
No.
He erased the thought.
Erased the memory.
Regret doesn't kill monsters.
Focus does.
He closed his eyes.
And listened.
His heartbeat.
Distant leaf movement.
Blood pulsing in his ears.
Then—
White.
A sudden flash.
Like lightning igniting inside the darkness.
Rolin's eyes snapped open.
The chains moved.
The daggers slid into his palms with a quiet metallic whisper.
He stood instantly.
Then—
Darkness again.
Everything returned to normal.
He froze.
Did he imagine it?
No.
Something deep inside him reacted.
An instinct older than thought.
An instinct forged during years of survival in the Kennel.
He stared forward.
Into the empty dark.
Into the place where he thought he had seen…
pure white.
It wasn't a clear shape.
Not a body.
But something was there.
Like a piece of light had broken away from the world…
and stood watching him.
He blinked.
Nothing.
But the air had changed.
Colder.
Heavier.
Something was watching him.
Not from behind.
Not from the sides.
From directly in front of him.
Close.
Very close.
Rolin tightened his grip on Likath's dagger.
And whispered quietly.
"If you're there…"
"Come closer."
Silence.
Then—
A sound.
Not movement.
Not scraping.
Just—
A breath.
Cold.
Right in front of his face.