The Forger of Forest, known also as the Land of Kall, remained shrouded in mystery—an enigma that I had never been able to unravel in my previous timeline. I had stumbled upon it almost by accident, and even then, my initial encounter was not a deliberate discovery. When the 12th Squad met its annihilation, I spent a week confined to the medical wing, my body healing but my mind haunted by the loss of my comrades. The order to attend their funeral came as both a burden and a duty. With heavy steps, I set out to collect their ashes, an act of mourning that pulled myself into the very heart of the Land of Kall.
Then after my ascension into an empowered monster, the high monsters from the 10th Region summoned me. They revealed to me truths that I had never even considered, unearthing layers of knowledge about the shards and their profound significance. Though I had no immediate need for them, their potential was intoxicating. I, who now carried the weight of power and responsibility, began to collect the shards not for my own survival but to forge allies—empowered monsters that could stand by my side in the battles to come.
Yet destiny seemed to mock me. I managed to gather only eight shards, far short of the seventeen required to awaken another being to empowered monster. The desire to protect, to build a force strong as myself , smoldered within me, but he could do nothing with so few. As a peak Rank 5 stage monster, current me roams the shadows of the world, driven by obsession to uncover all the shards. Even if it takes me until the day i become a super monster—or some distant future beyond that—I planning I must claim them to break through to the such level.
The only reason I had ever reached the empowered monster in the first place was due to the intervention of Voldum. But if I'm to rise again, to forge my own path without reliance on another, I must completely collect shards myself. After becoming the empowered monster, I can reach the overlord monster and the overpowered monster on my own.
"I hope there will be no humanity invasion," I murmured, my voice barely threading through the howling wind, as if the thought itself feared discovery.
"A what invasion?" Lucky's voice broke through the snow-laden silence, startling me. He had a way of doing that well catching me in the thickets of my own mind.
I tilted my head slightly, letting my empty sockets glance back at him. "Oh, nothing. Just… thinking about Scats in Hive City," I said, casual enough to sound believable. Lies are easier when they wear a coat of truth.
He hesitated, then nodded. "I see. I've heard they've been more active lately." His voice quavered, a tremor of nerves he couldn't quite hide. Silence reclaimed the air between us as our feet crunched softly through frost and snow, the frost fungus already secured. With my memories of previous timeline guiding my steps, the trek had been swift and easier than Lucky could imagine.
"Lucky," I said at last, my tone even but edged with intent, "I have a question."
His pace quickened with optimism. "Sure, go ahead."
"Why join the guild? You're a noble monster with talent enough to stay nestled in the comfort of your family's halls. Why leave it all behind to wander among… us?" My words were measured, but truthfully, I already had my suspicions. I just needed him to confirm them.
Lucky fell silent. The snowstorm whispered in his stead. Finally, he muttered, "Curiosity… it got the better of me."
The faint hum of our shared magic shield wavered. I didn't need eyes to sense his mind churning, spilling chaos into the air.
"…*sigh* I've got plenty of time," I said, letting my voice soften into something almost amused. "Why don't you start from the beginning?" With a thought, I reinforced the barrier, then turn back my attention since now with artificial soul and the figure to maintain the magic shield. The snowstorm clawed at it, but I felt no strain as there was only the familiar rhythm of control.
Lucky's gaze lingered on the shimmering curvature of the barrier, the snowflakes pirouetting against it before sliding down into nothingness. His voice began low, hesitant, almost reverent.
"As a noble monster," he said slowly, tasting each word as if it had weight, "our lives are nothing but duty piled upon duty. Every day is a performance—a mask of tradition, an endless recital of expectation. I have never… truly known what it is like to live among ordinary monsters. My world was corridors of etiquette, ceremonies, and orders I could never refuse."
I remained still, the sound of the wind scratching against the dome of magic like claws on glass. My empty sockets turned toward him, silently urging him to continue.
"I begged them," he went on, voice trembling under memory. "I pleaded for a chance to step beyond those walls. I endured their lectures, the endless trials of patience, the tests meant to break my resolve. And finally… finally, my family relented. They let me go, but even my freedom came with chains. To join the guild, I had to earn it. I had to fight the guild leader in the tournament and prove myself to all who doubted."
He paused, and the barrier flickered faintly with the rhythm of his uneven breath. "You know the rest of the story."
I gave a slow nod, letting the weight of his confession settle in the frozen air. Behind the hollow calm of my skull, thoughts twisted in quiet spirals. Many assumptions drifted through me, and though nothing was certain, I could guess enough to draw my own conclusions.
"Did you like it?" I asked at last, my tone light and teasing, though curiosity coiled beneath it.
Lucky hesitated, his head drawing back slightly as if the question itself prodded a sore spot. "I can't say I like it or not," he admitted awkwardly. "It's only been ten days… and after the tournament incident, I wouldn't say I'm happy. But it's too early to make a judgment."
I stayed silent, though my mind roamed far into the future I had once walked. In another timeline, much later, I had asked him the same question. Then, his answer had been unhesitating—he had said he loved it. To hear him falter now meant one thing. my interference had already shifted him. He was no longer walking the same path he once had.
And for better or worse… that truth carved itself into me like cold into bone.
"I see… *sigh*." I rose to my feet, brushing the frost from my cloak, and gestured for Lucky to follow. Together, we began the slow trek back toward the base, the snow crunching underfoot in a steady rhythm. The storm had quieted to a whisper, but the forest's silence was never truly empty. My extra sense tingled, a pulse of awareness threading through the icy air. Something moved.
I paused, one bony foot hanging in the snow, and tilted my skull toward the shifting air. My senses, dulled by the cold but still reliable, picked up movement through the white curtain. A form shuffled into view of large, steady, and quiet. I stopped fully, letting empty eye sockets track it without much urgency.
"Ah. A Frost Blade Wolf Beast."
Its body was covered in jagged ice, shards sticking out in something that looked almost like fur. Not exactly elegant, but it got the point across. Each step pressed into the snow with a soft crunch, and I could hear the frost creak on its limbs. Lucky and I together were barely a fraction of its size, though that didn't mean much to me anymore.
This is rank 4. Troublesome for rank 3 or 4 monsters, but for a monster like me who has reached super peak rank 5 stage it was just another thing to handle. The cold didn't bother my bones, and fear wasn't really an option without a pulse.
I turned my skull slightly toward Lucky. "Take the frost fungus back to base," I said, voice clattering in the chill. "I'll deal with this one."
He nodded and walked away, and I just stood there, waiting, as the wolf's icy steps brought it closer. No drama. Just another day of walking through snow and breaking beast that thought they were the hunters.
Bam
The Frost Blade Wolf Beast lunged toward me, a monstrous blur of jagged ice and flurrying snow that tore through the frozen forest like a living avalanche.
Its immense frame, layered in shards of frost and bristling with icy fur, moved with a speed that would have overwhelmed any ordinary Rank 2 monster.
Its claws slashed at the air, snow bursting in its wake, and its glowing blue eyes locked on me with primal hunger.
Yet to me, the world slowed. Its massive body seemed to drift like a drifting glacier, every motion stretched into a sluggish, deliberate rhythm.
The crunch of its paws on the packed snow echoed faintly in my hollow skull.
I raised both skeletal hands, bony fingers spread wide, prepared to meet the beast's inevitable strike.
The wolf beast's upper and lower jaws unhinged in a feral snarl as it closed the distance, serrated fangs glistening beneath a thin sheen of frost.
Frigid mist trailed from its open maw, curling like smoke, and the air around it chilled further with every pounding step.
My stance remained unmoving, bones creaking softly under the disciplined weight of my posture.
I met the beast's charge with empty calm, no fear to quicken a heart that no longer beat.
Its maw descended toward me, but with precise timing my hands shot upward, snapping closed around its jagged, ice-encrusted fangs preventing it from closing.
A violent shudder ran through the beast as its momentum slammed into me, forcing my skeletal feet to glide back across the snowy surface, carving shallow trails in the frost.
The weight of the creature was immense, and yet I embraced the push, feeling only the smooth slide of inevitability.
It thrashed, relentless and wild, its frost-laden fur shedding tiny shards that shimmered in the dim light. I did not falter.
My hollow skull dipped slightly as I shifted my stance, and with deliberate control, I raised my left foot, then slammed it down in a resounding stomp that cracked the frozen earth beneath me. A dull tremor rippled outward, snow erupting in a low wave.
The shockwave surged through the wolf's body, halting its relentless drive. Its fur quivered, frost fracturing off its.
Seizing the moment, I pivoted sharply, gripping its jaws like a lever, and i did a full spin. My strength, controlled but immense, turned also spin with body wolf beast.
The Frost Blade Wolf Beast lifted from the ground, its hulking frame momentarily weightless against the pale sky.
It soared like a frozen projectile before colliding with an ice tree in a thunderous explosion.
Crystalline shards rained across the snow, scattering a mist of frost and splintered bark. The force of impact was enough to shatter a Rank 3 opponent, and yet I remained still, skeletal frame unmoving amid the echoing destruction.
Soon the snow settled. My stance never faltered, my bones untouched by fear or strain.
Then wolf beast get up and run away very anticlimactic but whenever it is not like I need to kill it I just needed to sway it but it seems I will be spending long
I turn around as I see multiple other beasts appear and looking at me
"It seems it will take half hour" I said as I walked toward them
…
Bam
Bam
Howl
"And that was the last one," I murmured, watching the final beast vanish into the white horizon, its howls fading into the cold air. My skeletal frame stood motionless for a moment, snow swirling around me, carried by the restless wind. The forest was quiet again, save for the occasional groan of ice-laden branches. A silence that once felt oppressive now simply reminded me of my own strength.
I flexed my bony fingers, feeling the residual hum of magic energy coursing through my body. "So this… this is my strength at the peak Rank 5 stage," I whispered to myself. The words lingered, tasting both like triumph and caution. Even in my previous timeline, I had reached Rank 5, yet the difference was visible
"this body, this state, this level of strength" it was like comparing a flickering torch to a roaring blaze. The thrill of it sent a spark of excitement goes through me.
But even as elation threatened to bloom, a rational weight pressed it down. Power without foresight was worse than weakness. For all the might I wielded, I knew one thing
"ascending to Rank 6 would not be simple. The realm of extraordinary monsters… it was not a place for the unprepared. Without my artificial soul, I might have been doomed to remain at this level, trapped in a shell too strong for its own evolution"
The paradox of power
it was like an armor and a prison. The stronger my Rank 5 body became, the more difficult it was to breakthrough it. Peak stage was a double-edged sword
"one more surge of strength could mean glory… or stagnation. Too much force pressed against the barrier of ascension, and instead of breaking through, it crushed one under the weight of one's own potential, leaving oneself stranded in eternal mediocrity."
I tilted my skull upward, letting the snow settle on the empty sockets where eyes once were. In my knowledge those who had ever reached Rank 6. Those who did were prodigies who slipped through the cracks of breakthrough with perfect timing. Standard breakthroughs came almost naturally to monsters who balanced their growth. Which allowed them to reach extraordinary monster realm
"But me? I walked the edge of excess" my peak stage was a knife's point, gleaming and dangerous. Even with my artificial soul, the path ahead was quite troublesome.
If my plan succeeds by the end of this expedition, I will finally ascend to Rank 6. This breakthrough would not merely be a step forward, but a leap into the realm of extraordinary monsters.
My body, already honed to an unprecedented level even as a peak Rank 5 stage, carries the density, durability, and raw combat potential of a monster far beyond the standard threshold. Upon achieving Rank 6, I would not be a typical evolution
my foundation is already far heavier and far more refined than that of any ordinary monster attempting the same leap.
The synergy between my artificial soul and my reinforced body will allow me to manifest power that exceeds standard Rank 5 monsters. My strikes will carry the weight of a living siege engine, my movements will cut through the battlefield like a storm, and my magical control will be further amplified by the harmony of my physical vessel. Every fragment of strength I've gathered through meditation will compound, forging a Rank 6 being whose base state rivals even the early Rank 7.
Yet, I am acutely aware that this path is treacherous. The stronger and denser the vessel, the sharper the resistance to ascending. A single misstep could see all this gathered potential stagnate, locking me eternally at the peak of Rank 5. Still, if I manage to grasp this breakthrough, my Rank 6 form will not just be powerful
it will be overwhelming, a monster whose existence itself redefines the upper edge of its tier.
With those thoughts lingering in the hollow corridors of my mind, I turned back toward the base, my skeletal frame gliding soundlessly over the snow.
I knew six Rank 5 beasts would soon emerge from the frostbitten forest, but I felt no tremor of dread. I had already slain 'IT' so there is not many thing I need to worry. Still, complacency was a luxury I could not afford; the world rarely allowed peace for long.
As I walked, a remembering things a memory pierced my thoughts sharp, unbidden.
"…Song of Life…"
The words reverberated in my mind, a whisper carried from another time. I remembered the nest of 'IT,' the place where frost had claimed everything except the lingering traces of its existence.
There, amidst dust of monster and the pale remains of those who had wandered too close, I had found notes scraps of parchment and markings etched into stone. And among them… a Song of Life.
A Song of Life is not mere melody or idle verse. It is a reflection, a mirror of the soul a self-carved chronicle, sung in the language of one's own being.
It is a poem that carries the heartbeat of its author, a fragment of essence made into sound and word. Seeing those notes, I understood instantly. I knew what that monster had been, what it had lived for, and what it had lost.
The irony struck deep I had never spoken to that monster, never even seen glimpse of that monster, yet through its song, I knew it intimately. Like a reader knowing a character they will never meet.
"…*sigh* I need to get back to base fast"
I strode through the endless rows of ice trees, each crystalline trunk rising like a frozen sentinel in the pale light. Though the forest was a labyrinth to any ordinary traveler, I felt no sense of disorientation. My steps were measured, deliberate, guided by a keen spatial awareness honed through years of necessity. I had long since learned that survival depended not on sight alone, but on the instinctive map that lived in my mind.
In my life in previous timeline, teleportation had been my greatest crutch and my sharpest blade. It allowed me to traverse impossible distances, to escape traps that would have claimed any other life and it required little bit of spatial awareness. But after losing that ability in my previous timeline, I was forced to rely solely on perception and awareness. At first, it was agony moving through hostile lands without the comfort of instant escape. But necessity is the most unforgiving teacher, and over time, my senses sharpened to the point of near impossibility.
I could feel the contours of the forest as if I had drawn them myself; the weight of the air, the echo of my own movements against the skeletal trees, the subtle drift of frost-laden winds guided me like a compass. Each step forward was a negotiation of instinct and experience.
Now, I no longer feared becoming lost. My awareness had grown so refined it bordered on the unreal, a skill carved from countless moments where a single misstep meant death. It had saved me in ambushes, allowed me to escape from grasps of demons far stronger than myself, and guided me to survival in storms that swallowed the world whole. What once began as desperation had become mastery, and every step forward through the ice forest was another quiet testament to the experience carved into my very soul.
Now with such experience walking around here is no longer scary and I feel safe
But as I go memory start to take a shape as I see myself in another planet this was me as rank 12
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"Hold him there! The High Knights are coming—we just need to hold on!"
"You heard him! Keep the seal strong!"
The barren grasslands echoed with countless shouts. All around me, human mages stood in tight formations, pouring their mana into seals that bound my body. Layers upon layers of barriers overlapped, each one denying me from effecting anything. Runes flickered across my body, glowing inscriptions clinging to me like chains, cutting off my ability to draw magic energy from my soul blocking every flow of magic energy in my body. In this state, even the simplest spells were impossible.
"Tsk… how troublesome," I muttered, glancing around. I could see the knights forming a defensive perimeter, their armor gleaming under the sun, while the mages' mana coalesced into luminous scripts in the air. Each word that attached itself to me burned as if it carried the weight of law. Seeing all of this I felt desperate but stayed cautious.
"Humans Always so dangerous when united They already… developed magic like this so quickly? Truly terrifying. If it were me, I would need months to craft such a seal. Sigh… every time I see humans unite, they defy my expectations. I always thought they couldn't do repeatedly I guess I was wrong."
I struggled against the bindings, but the barriers held firm. In this situation, I had no options left all but one. A single hope, a desperate measure that filled me with shame.
"What I was about to do… it was unforgivable. But necessary…*exhale*… Come, my Nature Spirit!" I roared, my voice carrying across the fields.
Blinding light erupted at my call. A celestial like being descended, radiant and terrible. Six vast feathered wings unfurled, each adorned with countless almond-shaped diamond blue eyes that followed and looked at world. The nature spirit wore a floor-length gown of white and pale lavender, patterned with sharp geometric designs. At its chest gleamed a central golden ornament, cradling a single enormous eye that pulsed with life. Its face was hidden behind three vertically stacked eyes and a crown of wings that shimmered with divine splendor.
This was my Nature Spirit the one I had refined. I had never wanted to do it.
I had hesitated, resisted, loathed myself for the act. Refining it had meant erasing its will and replacing it entirely with my will of magic. It was like killing an infant and using its body as a puppet. Yet I had been forced to. I had no choice.
Now it obeyed only me, a silent and perfect extension of my will, ready to shatter the chains that bound me.
"What is that?!"
"Everyone, focus! Don't let him escape!"
The pressure crashed down on me, a suffocating weight of layered seals that bound me tighter than steel chains could ever have. The runes clinging to my skeletal frame flared with brutal light, slicing into my essence, denying me the freedom to move, to breathe. I could barely twitch a finger but I didn't need to. Ability to think was all I needed.
I reached inward, calling upon the nature spirit I had awakened.
"Moonlight… slow death."
The thought trembled as my Nature Spirit descended start to move.
A luminous brilliance tore through the sky like the birth of a new sun. Feathered wings six in total unfurled with a sound like a thousand whispers woven together.
Each wing was vast and celestial, tipped with countless almond-shaped, sapphire-blue eyes, each one opening to drink in the world with an alien, serene malice.
Its body was a towering figure clad in flowing white and lavender robes, woven with geometric sigils that glimmered like constellations.
A golden ornament pulsed at its chest, cradling a single colossal eye that rotated slowly, unblinking and alive.
Its head was crowned with a halo of wings and light, three vertical eyes stacked upon its face, each burning with unspoken authority and sorrow. When it moved, the grasslands fell silent. Even the wind seemed to kneel.
The mages faltered. Their chants stuttered. The Knights tightened their grips on their blades, terror writ plain beneath their visors.
Then my Nature Spirit moved.
Its long, pale arms, draped in feathers like a funeral shroud, curled protectively around my bound form. The six wings folded inward, forming a cocoon of resplendent light. A hum, deep and resonant, shook the world as the feathers began to glow. Snow-white radiance bled into blinding silver brilliance, each pulse like the heartbeat of a dying star.
The light intensified coiling, compressing until the air itself ignited in a halo of burning magic. Then, with a sound like a thousand bells shattering, the Nature Spirit unfolded its wings at extreme speed.
Waves of light erupted in every direction.
The seals clinging to me disintegrated instantly, evaporating into blue motes as if they had never existed. The barriers that layered and reinforced by the finest human mages melted like wax under a raging forge. Screams tore through the battlefield as the wave of radiant magic swept across the grasslands. Armor and flesh alike dissolved into streams of glowing dust. The Knights who had sworn to hold me crumbled into nothing, their final cries lost to the wind.
The land itself bore the scar of my liberation a perfect circle of ashen earth and smoking stone where life had been erased, as if the world had blinked and found itself wounded.
Hovering above me, the Nature Spirit's many eyes blinked in silent obedience, a spiritual executioner birthed from my sin. Its wings glimmered like dying stars, and for a single heartbeat, I felt both the grief and the triumph of my own power.
"This… is the price of survival," I murmured, stepping free from the last fading threads of the human seals, the quiet moans of the dying carried away by the wind.
In that desolate moment, only my Nature Spirit and I remained upon the barren grasslands, the world scoured by my desperate defiance. My skeletal frame, freed from human seals, trembled beneath the crushing weight of magical exhaustion. Gravity seized me, and I fell toward the ashen earth—yet divine radiance caught me first. Six vast, feathered wings descended like a celestial curtain, each feather a shard of light adorned with solemn, blinking sapphire eyes. My Nature Spirit's pale arms cradled my fragile form, weightless yet unyielding, her resonance echoing through my hollow bones.
Pressed against her chest, the golden ornament and its colossal blue eye pulsed softly, bathing me in a glow both warm and condemning. Time froze as I gazed into that single, unblinking eye of her smooth, pale mask. It reflected me—a hollow figure clinging to power at the cost of innocence. For an instant, I was neither predator nor executioner, only a soul resting within the weapon I had forged.
When I regained balance, the last echoes of slaughter trembled in the air. My Nature Spirit loomed above me, divine and sorrowful, her halo spinning with feathers and blue gems, radiating both heaven and condemnation. Her featureless mask, with its single merciless eye, became my mirror, whispering of lives burned away for my survival. My triumph felt hollow, and the silence of the grasslands carried only the weight of all I had sacrificed.
"Every time I see it, I feel as though I was never meant for this… as if I have trespassed against some divine threshold I was never meant to cross. Yet the world, relentless and merciless, forces my hand again and again. And here I stand, drowning in the proof that cruelty is the only language survival understands." I sigh as I let my nature spirit get back to my body as it turn into light and get in my body
"I loathe the being I become in these moments, the silent executioner, the thief of lives. I would cradle every soul if I could, shield every fragile spark from the cold and the dark. I would give them warmth, safety, and rest. But my path… my path is carved in sacrifice. If I turn away, mercy dies with me."
So I tremble, the marrow of these old bones shaking beneath the weight of choice, and I condemn the innocent to preserve the fragile hope that flickers in the world. I become the monster that fate demands, even as I pray for the day I will no longer need to. My hollow eyes close, not in peace, but in mourning, as I force myself onward once more.
"Now, I can't lose focus. I need to get aethergateway to enter astral rhythm." I get myself moving as i can't afford to lose focus
As the flow of magic energy in my body began to stabilize and accelerate, I felt the resonance ripple through every fragment of my skeletal frame. My soul pulsed in harmony with the currents, guiding the streams of magic energy into a perfect cycle. Each breathless instant carried the sensation of momentum building, a storm coiling tighter, until the world around me blurred.
I moved.
The barren grassland seemed to vanish behind me in streaks of green and shadow. My skeletal steps struck the earth with silent precision, yet my speed grew to an unimaginable scale. The wind screamed past me, clinging to the edges of my frame, and my cloak snapped like a banner in the sky. In mere heartbeats, I reached a velocity capable of crossing the sea in seconds. The horizon leapt toward me, folding in on itself, as my speed climbed even higher.
Fragments of my clothing began to char and curl, the friction of my passage igniting stray threads into embers that scattered in the slipstream. I did not slow. The faint scent of burning fabric touched the air, but it was inconsequential. My focus was unbroken.
Then, at last, my destination revealed itself.
Before me rose an impossibility of stone and earth: mountains layered upon mountains, a cathedral of natural titans. They stacked atop one another as if the world itself sought to touch the heavens. The bases were shrouded in mist and drifting clouds, and their vast bellies disappeared into the sky, piercing the pale firmament like colossal spears. Beyond the veil of clouds, their ascending ridges formed what seemed like an endless road, a stairway vanishing into the moonlit expanse.
The sheer scale of it defied comprehension. The mountains were not merely tall—they were eternal, a living wall against time and distance. Their peaks vanished into the heavens, dissolving into a frozen silver glow. Shadows played across their slopes, deepening the illusion that each mountain had been carved from the bones of giants. The clouds clung to their middles like a belt of white, and the wind sang against their flanks with a voice that rumbled in my empty ribcage.
I stood there, skeletal and unflinching, a single speck before this vast monument of the world. The snow swirled lazily around the jagged rocks at their feet, and the sky's pale light painted the summits in ghostly silver.
It was as if I had stumbled upon a road to the moon, a path reserved for deities and legends—a pathway that promised both peril and transcendence.
And I knew, without doubt, that this was where my next trial awaited.
But I was not alone. The sky above the towering mountains was alive with motion four-legged dragons soared through the pale clouds, their scales glinting like molten metal under the sun, while colossal hawks with wings as wide as castle walls sliced through the frozen air. Upon their backs clung countless human warriors, cloaked and armored, their banners whipping in the wind. They ascended toward the peaks with desperate determination, each seeking to claim the summit and reach the fabled Aethergateway.
That gate a shimmering rift of sky world only opened once each year, and today was its sole day of awakening. It hovered high above the mountain like an ethereal crown, beckoning all who craved its power or glory. The land around these mountains had long since become a crucible of blood, for countless human kingdoms had laid claim to the surrounding territory.
Whenever the Aethergateway awakened, their ambition reignited into full-scale war, and the mountains themselves became an arena of chaos. Blades clashed, arrows screamed through the air, and the cries of soldiers and beasts alike echoed against the stone.
I could not allow this opportunity to slip through my skeletal fingers. No matter the price, I had to reach the summit.
Even from my current vantage, far below the soaring ridges, I could hear the chorus of battle and the war cries of humans rolling down the mountainsides like distant thunder. The air carried their determination, their rage, and their fear. It was the song of mortals throwing themselves against destiny, and I would soon join the ascent, carving my own path through the storm of war.
"Come forth, my Nature Spirit," I commanded, and radiant light burst from my skeletal frame, spilling through every fissure before condensing into form. A celestial figure emerged, draped in midnight blue and pale silver garments that glimmered with starlight. Six great wings stretched wide, feathered like frost leaves, and the air grew heavy beneath their divine weight. Its masked face was crowned by a halo of luminous branches tipped with blinking eyes, and a colossal sapphire eye pulsed in its chest.
This was my first Nature Spirit, one of thirteen bound within my soulland—a sanctuary and a cage. For fifty years, I had refined them, forging bonds with beings of raw nature. Their combined presence could crush me; so they slept inside me, heavy as worlds. I always feel them pressing against my soul, their silent weight both gift and accusation. I remember finding this one dying, its feathers broken, and I stole its freedom under the guise of mercy. The others were forced, their memories lingering like whispered blame.
To awaken even one shakes the world. This form is but an avatar, a shadow of the nature spirit sealed within my soul, its threads woven from my own soul. Each moment it breathes tightens the tether between us, a reminder of the burden I bear. I lower my head, whispering, "I'm sorry… but I need you again."
Its many eyes blink in solemn unison, the chest-eye pulsing with my soul. Even weakened, its aura bends the air and stirs the mountains, and I feel the crushing despair of mastery and guilt. I am its jailer and its only salvation.
I raise my bony hand, voice low and commanding. "Rest no longer. This mountain is our crucible. I will bear your weight… for now." The Nature Spirit bows its head, wings folding in acknowledgment. Our souls resonate as one, and together we stand beneath the looming mountains, poised for the storm to come.
Then, as we began our journey towards the mountains and battlefields, a nature spirit flew alongside me. This spirit was undoubtedly the most battle-suited nature spirit I have. Since humans had devised all those methods that could counter me, I felt compelled to counter them as well.
"Sans are you okay"
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"Oh… I… I'm sorry," I muttered, my voice drifting like a whisper caught in the cold night air. My empty sockets lingered on Lucky for a moment before I turned toward my tent, my steps slow, almost hesitant. "It seems… I got too deep into my memories."
The fabric of the tent swayed faintly in the wind as I pushed it aside and stepped into the dim interior. I stood there, unmoving, as if the shadows themselves were listening. My skeletal fingers trembled ever so slightly against the worn frame of the entrance.
"Strange…" I murmured, my voice low, unsteady. "Why… why did I remember 52 years of memories… when I'm only at 31 years right now?"
The questions tumbled in my mind, clattering like loose bones on stone. The memories had come unbidden, raw and vivid, flooding into me with a clarity that shouldn't have been possible. My artificial soul pulsed faintly in my chest, but no comfort came.
"Even if something reawakens my memories," I whispered to myself, "they… they shouldn't be this… clear. Not like this. Not so… precise."
I paced once, twice, the sound of my bones soft and staccato against the frozen earth beneath the tent. "Why?" My voice trembled now, tinged with frustration. "Why did I… remember it at all? Why this… this moment, this… life I buried?"
The air felt heavy, pressing around me, carrying the weight of a timeline that shouldn't yet exist. My thoughts spiraled, tangled in threads of confusion and unease. Each recollection felt like a shard of ice driven into my mind sharp, too real.
I sank onto the low bench in my tent, skeletal hands covering where a face would have buried itself in despair. "I… I don't understand… why now? Why this?"
The silence offered no answers, only the hollow echo of my own disjointed thoughts, and in that stillness, I felt the creeping unease of a truth I could not yet name.
"This might be a turning point… or a trap," I murmured, my voice a whisper swallowed by the stillness of the tent. "I can't treat it lightly. Not with stakes like these." My bony fingers flexed, restless, as if trying to grasp an answer in the empty air.
"Unknown circumstances… they devour the arrogant first," I continued, speaking to the cold walls as though they were old confidants. "If I gamble blindly, I invite chaos—not just for me, but for everything tethered to me. What if this is like Espresmory's memory forming will all over again? What if my overlord-self slips free, untamed, because I was careless?"
I rose, pacing in measured steps. "The Determination Alternative System… my own creation, yet still a cage. I engineered safeguards to protect me, mechanisms meant to stabilize risk. But… it sleeps. Incomplete. My safety protocols keep it inactive, and so I walk this line alone."
I paused, letting silence settle before continuing, voice low and deliberate. "It's almost cruel. The tools I built to save me are the same ones that bind me. To awaken that system now, unfinished, would be like opening the gates to a storm I cannot contain. And yet…" I tilted my skull toward the darkened corner, as though the slumbering system could hear me, "in its stillness, it reminds me of my own restraint. A survivor does not roll the dice when the table is not yet set."
I let the words hang in the frost-touched air, my thoughts circling in measured orbits, weighing the promise against the peril. "Power is no longer my question—control is. And control has always been the last thread before ruin."
I exhaled slowly, a hollow sigh rippling through the stillness of my tent, the sound like a whisper of dust brushing across forgotten stone.
My voice, though faint, bore the gravity of an oath carved into the marrow of my being, and my thoughts began to trace the long road that had brought me here.
Once, I had been reckless, leaping without looking, convinced that strength and will alone could shape the outcome.
The world punished me for that arrogance; wounds, failures, and the loss of comrades carved into me the first lesson risk is a blade that cuts both ways.
Life revealed itself as a labyrinth of shifting blades, where risk is a weapon with twin edges—one gleaming with the promise of ambition, the other dulled by the certainty of ruin.
I learned that to wield it is to dance with the unseen currents of existence, to trace the lines where fortune and folly entwine.
I walked that dance, stumbled through it, bled for it, and rose again, understanding that no step into the abyss should be taken without first mapping the echo of one's own fall.
Risk is never, in my hands, a coin tossed to the wind. It is a ritual—deliberate, measured—a dialogue with the threads of possibility that weave the tapestry of fate.
I came to see that risk has two faces. One shines with the promise of ambition, the other hides the cruelty of folly.
I learned to map the battlefield of fate. I no longer leapt into the void unprepared; I traced the contours of risk, examined the depths of uncertainty, and bent every fragment of chance in my favor.
I wove my plans like a spider spins its web, every thread a precaution, every knot a decision made before the storm could strike.
Yet there will always come moments—inevitable, merciless—when the world corners me, pressing my skeletal back against the wall of inevitability.
In those moments, hesitation is death, and life demands that I pour every fragment of will, every remnant of soul, upon the altar of chance.
That is when I step forward—not in hope, but in grim acceptance, with the resolve of one who has already measured the cost and found no alternatives.
To live is to gamble, but survival is the mastery of timing. A fool casts his dice at fate's whim; a survivor waits, shapes the field, and chooses the moment himself.
So I build my defenses in layers, weaving strategy upon strategy until they form a cocoon of inevitability around my intent.
Even the act of preparation drags me toward the precipice, whispering of the gamble that waits in every shadowed corner of survival.
Experience has carved this truth into my bones, to gamble is life's demand, but to endure is to decide when the dice will fall.
If ever I stake all that I am, it will be because I have chosen the instant in which the world will hold its breath.
Now, as the cold presses against the walls of my tent, I keep my hands closed, the dice uncast, while the storm of fate howls outside.
My time will come, and when it does, I will step forward with the weight of all my experience.
"Now let's focus on other things I will deal with it later" I walk to storage shelf to check few things frost fungus were all placed in order and few maps and expedition necessary items and tools then my mind start to continue to remember memories before which I stop on ground and stopped thinking and doing anything
I stood on place for few moments then start to think
"I must adopt a physiological method to suppress this memory. I will not fight it with force, for resistance only awakens what I wish to bury. Instead, I will let it drift to the edges of my awareness, like smoke dissolving into the cold air. My mind will treat it as background noise, acknowledged but unattended, a shadow passing behind the veil of thought."
"Breathe steady, I focus on my body. I slow the rhythm of my soul's pulse, letting the currents of magic energy flow in smooth, unbroken circles. Thought is a current" I let it settle to the bottom of a still pond. When the memory stirs, I neither embrace nor reject it, I allow it to float upward and then watch as it fades.
In this way, the memory dulls. The mind and spiritual pathways that would strengthen it grow weaker. Without attention, memory decays, and with it, the threat it carries. By refusing to give it energy, I deny it life.
This is my physiological shield: calm the body, slow the mind, starve the memory. In time, it will be nothing but a distant echo, a whisper in an empty corridor that I will no longer hear.
So I spend few hour till it I finally finished created shield against my memory
"I hope those memories will not slip through my shield but knowing my luck yeah it will definitely become pain in my back"
I turn around and get out of tent and just like other expeditions the perimeter runes flared faintly on borders. Crossing the them was like stepping into another world, the wind softened, the cold dulled, and the faint hum of magic wrapped around me like a comforting cloak. The central fire pit, fueled by magic fire, flickered softly, its heat spreading in an invisible wave that reached even the tents at the edge of the camp. And I see many monster being busy and building
Snow fell in slow, quiet flakes over the camp, softening the edges of the half-finished structures. Around the clearing, groups of young monsters, most of them about nineteen years old, they moved through the cold with a mix of determination and uncertainty.
Their breath rose in small clouds, and the frosty air clung to the edges of their fur and cloaks. Half-built tents leaned awkwardly, some supported by poles that were barely standing, while tarps flapped gently in the wind.
"Hehe this reminds of my first time"
The perimeter runes glimmered faintly beneath the snow, offering the promise of safety once the camp was fully secured.
I approached without hurry, my tall skeletal frame drawing a few glances. the young monsters always seemed a little unsure around me. A youngling, though at his age he was nearly grown, wrestled with a frozen rope, his claws stiff from the cold. He spotted me and straightened up quickly.
"Sans, you're here," he said, his voice carrying a note of relief.
I knelt beside him, my bony hands wrapping around the heavy timber pole he had been struggling with. "I am," I said in a steady, even tone. "Let's get this tent up together."
He nodded, and we lifted the pole into place, snow sliding off its side. I steadied it while he worked at the ropes, fingers clumsy in the cold. "Take your time," I said. "If the knots are good, the tent will hold through the night."
He glanced up, concentrating. "Like this?"
"Better," I said with a small nod. "Make sure it's firm. A secure knot keeps everyone warm."
When the tent finally stood upright, I crouched to his level and pointed at the base. "Always anchor the bottom first, then raise it. Gravity does most of the work if you let it."
A small smile tugged at his face. "I see. That makes it easier."
"Exactly," I said. "You're getting it."
Around us, other groups of young monsters were having similar struggles, balancing poles, slipping in the snow, or fumbling with frozen cords. I walked between them, offering small corrections and lending a hand where needed.
"Cross that rope under, not over," I said to another, demonstrating with a calm gesture. "Otherwise, the wind will tug it loose."
She adjusted it carefully, glancing at me for confirmation. "Like this?"
I tested the hold and gave a small nod. "That's it. Feel how solid it is now?"
Further along, one of the young monsters had slipped and fallen, scattering tent stakes into the snow. I reached down and helped him up. "You alright?" I asked.
He brushed off snow, a little embarrassed. "Yeah… I just want to help."
"You are helping," I said. "Falling only means you're trying. Keep at it."
As the last tent came together, a few of the nineteen-year-olds gave small cheers. It wasn't raucous, just a quiet relief that the work was done. I stepped back, letting them feel the satisfaction of their effort. "Good work," I said simply. "It stands because you worked together."
Although I had no desire to bring the young monsters along, they were only 19 years old, still in the fragile threshold between youth and adulthood, I found myself unable to stop the manager monsters from selecting them. Despite my protests, the expedition required participants of Rank 3, and these youths qualified. The reasoning was simple: they needed field experience, and the frozen wilderness offered lessons that no training hall could replicate.
I had tried to intervene, to argue that their inexperience made them vulnerable, that their lives were more valuable than a single expedition's success. Yet the managers were resolute. To grow, these young monsters had to face the world's teeth at least once. As much as I loathed the idea, I couldn't stop expedition at all since it is crucial for my ascension into rank 6
So I walked among them with a silent vow—to ensure they survived this trial, to give them the chance to rise beyond the cold bite of their first real expedition.
"Proper alignment is the difference between a night of warmth and a night of trouble," I said to the small group gathered around. "Look closely. Every point matters."
They leaned in, watching as I connected the stones in sequence. Slowly, the barrier flared to life with a steady, even glow, surrounding the camp in a ring of faint light. The young monsters gave quiet nods of approval, some smiling a little as the sense of safety settled over them.
"Thank you, Sans," one of them said.
I straightened and brushed the snow from my shoulders. "You all did the work. Tonight, the camp will hold because of your effort."
Beyond the faint glow of the runes, the wind moved steadily through the frozen forest, its whisper more persistent than threatening. Inside the perimeter, the clearing became a calm pocket of safety, its warmth the result of careful planning and practice.
Once the last tent was in place, I turned to the runes. Each stone, etched with markings, waited to be set. I knelt by the first, brushing off a thin layer of frost, and let a small pulse of magic energy flow into it. A soft blue light answered, steady rather than dramatic.
"Alignment matters," I said simply, my voice even. "A protective circle only works if each piece is in the right place. A misplaced stone will weaken it."
The young monsters gathered closer, their breath misting in the cold. I drew a few lines in the snow, showing them how spacing and direction guided the energy. "Magic isn't about force," I added. "It's about guiding the flow so it doesn't clash with the world around it."
One by one, I placed each stone, making small adjustments for slope and wind. The runes answered with a soft hum as they settled into harmony. By the time I set the last one, the barrier surrounded the camp with a gentle, steady rhythm.
"Did you understood" The young monsters gave quiet nods, relieved. I straightened, brushing snow from my shoulders,
Then I saw Lucky talking with other youth monsters happily
"This lad"
Before I knew it memories flood in my mind as my psychological shield failed to prevent me from getting too deep into memories
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"Please don't do this I have a famil-"
"You damn monster di-"
"Somebody help me pleas-"
"What is this this is this this this is not demon so what is-"
As I climbed the mountains, each step higher brought me into the heart of human warfare. The bitter wind carried the scent of blood, steel, and fear, mingling with the cold bite of snow. More battles erupted as I ascended—humans clashing with both monsters and each other, their desperation echoing through the frozen peaks. My hollow eyes witnessed their resolve, their courage, and their terror, and yet all of it was aimed at me. Humanity had made its choice long ago; in their eyes, I was an enemy, a monster to be eradicated.
Their shouts pierced the air:
"Hold the lines!"
"Kill the monster!"
When my Nature Spirit released its fire, the battlefield shifted into quiet destruction. Flames rose from the ground, warming the icy air and leaving dark, steaming patches where the snow had been.
The first wave of human soldiers fell quickly. Their armor, strong against steel and ordinary spells, faltered against the heat and magic. Shields and swords softened and broke, and the soldiers were scattered or lost amid the fire. Their voices were brief against the wind, and then the only sound was the fire itself.
The heat bent the air gently, and the snow-covered peaks seemed to waver like a distant mirage. Trees caught fire, their icy branches falling as sparks drifted away. The fire moved where I directed it. With each calm motion of my skeletal hand, the flames pushed forward, and the humans fell back.
They tried to hold their lines, to raise barriers and wards, but the fire moved faster. Defenses flickered, then gave way. The battlefield cleared quietly as the flames left only smoldering ground and drifting ash.
When the last heat faded, the snow began to settle again. Where an army had stood, there was only darkened earth and traces of steel. I looked over the empty field and felt the quiet weight of survival,
"knowing that power often left little room for mercy is mercy toward oneself but I feel like I heretic"
As such I was feeling like shit
"But I can't afford to stop if I did all those sacrifices will be meaningless"
With that heavy thought weighing upon my mind, I once again compelled myself to move forward, each step feeling like a small act of defiance against the tide of my emotions.
Yet, every time my eyes caught a glimpse of a nature spirit, those quiet, ethereal figures dancing among the trees or glimmering in the soft rays of sunlight—those buried feelings surged up within me, raw and undeniable.
In those moments, it was as if my heart remembered every whisper of wonder and sorrow I had tried so hard to forget.
Still, I pressed those emotions down, suppressing their pull with all the strength I could muster, knowing that to linger upon them would unravel my resolve entirely.
I am compelled to eliminate as many strong humans as possible, despite the fact that the 8th region is largely irrelevant to the ongoing war between the 9th and 10th regions.
It is true that the 7th and 8th regions are providing support to the 9th region, which makes them my adversaries as well.
Although my efforts in killing them may not have a significant impact on the overall conflict, it is the only action I am currently capable of taking.
By focusing on this task, I am managing to divert most of the 8th region's humanity attention towards myself, which is at least a small contribution to the cause.
And both me and nature spirit start to go higher but it wasn't long before I felt presence of knights and it seems to be holy knights they might be troublesome but dangerous since they are mostly suited against demons
I whispered the command in my mind, allowing the thought to ripple through the tether that bound my will to the Nature Spirit. "Self-minded mode."
The response was immediate. A subtle tremor ran through the connection, and for a moment, my will and the Nature Spirit's essence trembled in perfect harmony. Then, like water spilling from a cup, the control shifted, and the spirit entered its autonomous state.
When refined, my Nature Spirits lose their own will—a heavy sacrifice I bear as both master and jailer. They exist as extensions of my soul, silent and obedient, unable to move without my command. But through my will of magic, I can grant them a semblance of life, an autopilot mode I call self-minded. It is not true free will; it is a shadow of instinct shaped by my desires and memories, a ghost of autonomy that allows them to act without constant direction.
As the Nature Spirit entered self-minded mode, its six vast, feathered wings unfurled in a slow, deliberate motion, trailing streams of silver light. The countless sapphire eyes embedded in its feathers blinked in unison, scanning the environment with silent vigilance. Its chest-eye pulsed with soft azure light, resonating with the rhythm of my magic, and yet, for the first time since I refined it, I felt its presence move apart from mine. It still carried my intent, yet it no longer waited for my every thought.
The air around us shifted. Its wings stirred the frigid winds, and the snow parted beneath an invisible pressure. The Nature Spirit drifted into a defensive stance on its own, hovering slightly above the ground, its limbs poised with quiet grace. I felt the tether between us stretch and re-align—not severed, but loosened, allowing the spirit to operate with a fragment of independence.
I closed my hollow eye socket for a moment, feeling the subtle relief of this delegation. My mind, often burdened by the dual weight of combat and control, could now focus on my surroundings without micromanaging every motion of my celestial companion. The self-minded mode transformed the Nature Spirit into an autonomous sentinel, a guardian that would respond to threats, attack with precision, and shield me without waiting for a command.
It was a technique born of necessity. In my previous battles, splitting my attention between my own survival and the intricate movements of my Nature Spirits had left me vulnerable. Self-minded mode was the solution—an imitation of life, a conjured personality molded from my instincts and experiences, allowing the spirit to function as if it were alive, even if only in fragments.
The Nature Spirit shifted its wings, and with a slow bow of its radiant head, it began to circle me in a protective pattern. It drifted through the snow-laden air, every movement as fluid as an unbroken dream. Its countless eyes swept the mountainside, scanning for ambushes, its posture tense with poised lethality.
I observed in silence, skeletal hands clasped behind my back. "Good… navigate the battlefield," I murmured. I could almost imagine it thinking, though I knew its mind was only a reflection of my own. Still, this illusion of companionship was comforting.
Self-minded mode was not without risk. By granting the Nature Spirit such freedom, I also accepted that its judgment might differ from my immediate intent, following the parameters of my will rather than the nuance of my situational awareness. A poorly timed strike, an overextension in defense—these could spell disaster in the wrong battle.
And yet, this method had saved me more times than I could count. It turned the crushing solitude of my power into a partnership, however false. In the endless climb toward transcendence, even an imitation of will was better than the silence of obedience.
"It is here"
Suddenly, they appeared—15 knights, forming a perfect circle around me with a precision born of discipline and lethal intent. Their armor gleamed beneath the filtered light of the snow-capped peaks, each plate etched with runes that shimmered faintly, resonating with the power coursing through their bodies. I could feel it instantly—the weight of their presence, the pressure they exerted simply by existing in my proximity.
In terms of raw strength, each of these knights was a Rank 7 by the standards of monsterkind—a tier that commanded respect and fear among most seasoned monsters of the world. Yet despite my own towering prowess as a Rank 12, the moment my Nature Spirit manifested beside me, I felt the crushing weight of suppression. The tether that bound us was both boon and burden; in wielding her radiance, I invited vulnerability. My strength slipped down to what felt like Rank 9, not because I was truly weaker, but because the strain on my soul and the natural counter of their human-developed arts pressed upon me mercilessly.
The air grew sharp with tension. Each breath of wind carried the metallic tang of their killing intent, mingling with the faint whisper of magic humming in the runes inscribed upon their armor. Their stances were low and deliberate, the formation tight enough to deny any easy escape, yet loose enough to react to the wide arcs of my strikes. Shields engraved with holy symbols reflected pale light, and the swords they carried pulsed with faint, rhythmic auras—blades designed for more than just flesh, crafted to cleave through spirits and rend magic alike.
My empty sockets swept the ring of steel and faith around me. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones: this was not a casual strike. This was an execution squad, honed and forged through blood and ritual, their unified presence amplifying the pressure until even my soul trembled beneath the weight.
I flexed my skeletal fingers slowly, feeling the subtle tremor of suppressed magic ripple along my bones. Behind me, my Nature Spirit hovered with wings half-unfurled, its countless sapphire eyes glinting in response to the threat, its chest-eye pulsing like a heartbeat. Even in her silent vigilance, I could sense the strain; each knight's aura was a needle in the fabric of her existence.
"This is the pressure of unity," I murmured under my breath, voice low and hollow. "Fifteen Rank 7s… and yet, here I stand as Rank 9. This… imbalance… is proof of how sharp their edge truly is."
The knights did not speak. They only tightened their formation, boots sinking slightly into the snow, their killing intent forming an unbroken wall. Even without words, the message was clear: escape would be a fool's hope. Their blades rose in quiet unison, and the silence before the clash became a roar in my bones, a reminder that survival in the face of this pressure would demand every fragment of my will.
I inhaled the frigid air, letting it rattle through my hollow form, and whispered to the human, "Prepare yourself… this is what it means to be hunted."
Then, as my body's flow of magic energy surged to its peak, I whispered the word that shattered the tense stillness
"Attack"
The world blurred.
In the next heartbeat, my skeletal form vanished in a streak of motion, the frozen earth beneath me cracking under the force of my launch. Snow erupted in my wake like a silent explosion, and the wind screamed along my jagged frame. The fifteen knights, disciplined and prepared, dashed toward me in perfect synchrony, their armor and runes flaring with restrained light.
Twin swords materialized in my hands mid-stride, their edges gleaming with condensed magic energy. My Nature Spirit surged forward with me, wings slicing the frigid air, engaging twelve of the knights in a halo of silver light. Its sapphire eyes blinked in unison, and the mountain trembled under its celestial pressure.
The first three knights reached me, blades already arcing through the air. But to me, time stretched. Their movements slowed to a crawl, each swing laboring through the currents of my heightened perception. I weaved between their strikes, my swords clashing against theirs with precise, devastating rhythm.
Before the first clash of steel could even echo across the mountainside, I had already exchanged a thousand strikes, each impact sparking flares of light against the snow. To the knights, it must have felt like a storm of blades; to me, it was a dance of inevitability.
When the final stroke landed and my form slid to a stop, the sound of the first impact finally reached the world—an earth-shaking clang that rolled like thunder across the peaks. In that instant, the accumulated echoes of every strike manifested at once, a deafening cacophony that could render unprepared ears numb.
All around, the battlefield flickered with afterimages of my speed, a web of blurred motion and fading glints of steel. Snow swirled in spirals where my steps had passed, and the knights staggered under the weight of my relentless assault, each one marked by a dozen precise cuts before they could even register the first.
Bam bam
I turned sharply, my hollow sockets locking onto the source of the sudden upheaval. My Nature Spirit, seven times taller than any human, loomed like a fragment of the heavens. Its six monumental wings were ready.
The first knight charged, sword raised. A single wing snapped downward, its metallic feathers slamming him into the snow with a single, efficient sweep.
The second knight leapt high, shield forward. The Spirit twisted, and a wing sliced in a clean upward arc. The air pressure alone flipped him onto his back.
The third knight tried to flank from the left. A wing's tip extended, curling like a hook, catching his leg and spinning him aside.
The fourth knight lunged with holy light. Two wings folded together, forming a shield, absorbing the strike before one flicked forward, knocking him away silently.
The fifth knight circled to stab low. A wing coiled beneath the nature spirit, sweeping along the ground in a calculated motion that toppled him flat.
The sixth knight struck from behind. The nature spirit's back wing rotated smoothly, its edge striking the hilt of his weapon, disarming him and sending him tumbling.
The Nature Spirit's six wings shimmered with silver light, forming a halo of silent menace around her towering form. Snow swirled violently as the twelve knights closed in, their formation tight, their aura of intent focused like a spearhead.
First knight came back and lunged first, sword glowing with holy runes, but a single flick of her wing sent a blast of compressed air that lifted him off his feet and hurled him into the mountainside. The impact echoed like distant thunder, and a veil of snow slid down in his wake.
The other knights charged as one, blades and shields raised, the rhythm of steel striking the air in perfect unison. The Nature Spirit stepped forward, her movement fluid as moonlight, and swept a single wing in a wide arc. The wing's motion cleaved the air with such force that it formed a visible ripple, a gale that ripped trees from the ground and sent the knights sprawling like fallen leaves. Far across the cliffs, the wind collided with a snow-laden peak, and an avalanche roared to life, cascading in furious white waves down the mountainside.
The seventh knight came in with a heavy overhead swing. A single wing intercepted and redirected it, brushing him into the snow with no resistance.
Then, the eight and ninth knights dashed from both the left and right sides of the nature spirit. However, she swiftly spun them around with all six of her wings fully unfurled, creating a powerful wind that formed a temporary hurricane, throwing them away. She then followed up with her telekinetic ability, hurling the two knights into the ground with such force that they were knocked unconscious.
It wasn't long before other knights ceased their movements, paralyzed by fear. Those who had been struck by her wing were already incapacitated.
It is obvious she was dominating fight so without much thought I turned, my hollow gaze settling on the three remaining knights.
They were still breathing, their armor dented, their movements sluggish under the weight of blood and fatigue.
Alive, yet dim—embers clinging to the edges of a dying fire. It was exactly as I intended.
I did not crave their deaths. Death is final, a silence that tells no stories.
I sought only to break their will, to fold them into the quiet of incapacity. To leave them breathing was to leave a mark upon the world that spoke of restraint, of intention.
Each ragged breath they drew mirrored my own idea victory is not always the absence of life, but the shaping of consequence. They would live, and in living, they would carry the weight of this encounter far longer than death would allow.
In their trembling forms, I saw the reflection of my own resolve—a reminder that power, when tempered with purpose, becomes more than violence. It becomes a statement, a whisper of control in a world that demands cruelty.
I stepped back, letting the snow swallow the echoes of battle, leaving only the insight that sometimes, the choice not to kill is the sharpest blade of all.
"Scram ants!" I shout in an angry voice, but in reality, I'm not angry at all. I just need them to be scared.
They ran away so quickly that it was as if they had never been present here.
By revealing my intentions, I've made myself an enemy of all human kingdoms that reside around this mountain. But that's precisely what I want.
Soon, my nature spirit emerged as I finished fighting twelve knights. The difference between rank 7 and rank 9 was significant. Even though I could win on my own, I needed to act swiftly. Who knows, some of them might have countermeasures against me. So, I had to rely on my nature spirit, but it still made me feel sick.