When I first arrived in the 9th region, I carried the chains of a slave, both in body and in spirit. My days were filled with endless toil, my nights haunted by whispers of despair. Each breath felt like a borrowed moment, as if my very existence was tolerated rather than allowed.
Now, in the 8th region, my burdens have changed but not lessened. The instant I stepped into the demonic domain, the path before me twisted into shadows, the unholy path this is path when one step on it long enough to have demon heart there is no return. The land itself reeked of malice, and the air pressed down upon me with the weight of countless sins. I was compelled to act in ways that made my heart clench—cruelty became my shield, and violence my only language.
Every deed I committed carved another scar into my soul, yet survival left me no choice. The darkness demanded tribute, and I offered what it asked. But now, exhaustion gnaws at me, bone-deep and unrelenting. My will frays with every step forward, and I find myself standing at the edge of my own resolve.
Do I have a choice? Or is my fate to wander deeper into this path, shackled to a cycle of blood and sorrow, with no end but to keep walking?
"When it will last time"
Blop
A man tragically lost his life after I executed a swift and precise move. With a single, move of my palm, I twisted his neck, resulting in his immediate demise.
But this was man wasn't first as I threw his body away to mountain of corpses and it will not be last I clean off blood on my skull as I walk away soon The wind howled against the jagged spines of the mountain as I ascended, my skeletal frame clattering softly with every step. The peaks loomed so high they swallowed the sky, their bellies bulging beyond the curtain of clouds. Each layer of mist I climbed through felt like crossing into another realm, ghostly white vapour curling between my bones.
Above, the clouds parted just enough to reveal the mountain's colossal torso, ridges like ribs, cliffs like knotted sinews. I felt almost small enough to be devoured by the living stone. My hollow eye sockets gazed upward, tracing the path that twisted along the beastly slope, where no sun could fully penetrate.
Every step echoed, a brittle sound swallowed by the vast silence. My clawed fingers gripped the rock as I pulled myself higher, leaving behind the carcass-littered valleys and the distant hum of curses that haunted the lower lands. The cold bit into my bones, and the air thinned until each breath rasped like a dying whisper inside my ribcage.
Still, I climbed. Beyond the clouds, the mountain's belly awaited, and perhaps beyond it, the heart of this cursed world beating in the unseen heights above.
At this moment, I find myself unable to summon my nature spirits. My body, strained by the trials of the unholy path, can only sustain their manifestation for a brief window—mere hours—before exhaustion forces me into a vulnerable stillness. The conduits of my soulland, gateways to their presence, lie dormant, their energy spent. I can feel the emptiness where their comforting essence should be, a hollowness that chills me more than the mountain winds. Yet, deep within that void, a small ember of resolve persists, refusing to be extinguished.
Without them, I am exposed. Each step upward into the jagged mountains demands caution, for I no longer have their ethereal guidance to shield me or their strength to bolster my own. I must move silently, hugging the shadows of the crags, careful to avoid drawing the gaze of humans—be they knight, mage, or the eyes of something far worse that wanders these cursed heights. Fear coils in my gut, but I let it sharpen me, not paralyse me.
The mountain is a labyrinth of peril. Shards of stone jut like the teeth of a colossal beast, and narrow ledges vanish into bottomless chasms. I can hear the wind wailing through the fissures, its mournful song mingling with the distant echoes of unseen movements. My ears strain for every sound, my senses sharpened by the knowledge that I am alone, stripped of my last comfort. Even so, my will clenches tighter with every deliberate step—I will not falter.
I press my skeletal fingers against the rock, feeling the cold, rough surface scrape against my bone. I measure each breath, careful not to exhaust the fragile strength I have left, yet my heart beats with a quiet defiance. Somewhere above, veiled beyond layers of mist and shadow, lies the heart of this accursed range—a place that may hold salvation or ruin. Until my spirits can return, I remain hidden, a ghost among these stones, climbing ever higher, driven by the unspoken vow that I will endure whatever fate awaits me.
But even without their presence, I can endure. My true strength, the power of a rank 12, still pulses within me like a coiled serpent waiting to strike. Though the absence of my nature spirits weakens my reach and dulls my senses, it does not strip me of my mind. I move with the knowledge that every step carries the weight of mastery earned through relentless struggle.
Without their powers, I have to move carefully. Each action needs thought and precision, relying on instincts shaped by many battles. A single careless step could leave me exposed to the human defenses in these lands. Without my full connection to my abilities, magic efficiency decreases by 20%, my strikes are less certain, and my awareness of the energy around me is dulled. I am aware that a skilled opponent could take advantage of this.
Even so, I am not powerless. My strength is limited but steady, and if pressed, I can still defend myself with enough force to ward off danger. I move with caution, knowing that any reckless use of my abilities could be turned against me by those who understand how to counter my kind.
In this state, I walk a fine line between hunter and hunted. Each step is deliberate, every moment a test of my focus. Survival is not guaranteed, but it is possible. Even reduced as I am, I will not yield. My strength remains, and though human tactics may challenge me, they will not break me. I continue onward, patient, until I can recover my spirits and regain my full power.
"Stop right there, you damn monster! Today you will die"
The voice, sharp and trembling with forced courage, sliced through the howling wind. I turned, my hollow gaze meeting a figure standing defiantly on a narrow ledge ahead. His armour caught the pale light filtering through the mist, glinting faintly in the gloom. But before his threat could fully leave his lips, movement rippled in the shadows.
From the jagged cliffside, another man emerged, and then another—an endless tide of human figures pouring from hidden alcoves and fissures in the stone. Their weapons glimmered like fangs in the dimness, and the cold air vibrated with their sudden presence. Countless eyes burned with hatred, fear, and a desperate resolve to end me.
"If you give up we will give you painles-"
Before the final syllable of their sentence could leave their lips, I surged forward with a burst of lethal speed. The world blurred into streaks of grey stone and swirling mist as my skeletal frame cut through the frozen air. My feet barely touched the jagged path before I launched myself directly into the cliffside, the impact reverberating like a thunderclap through the mountains.
Stone shattered under my strike, a deafening explosion of splinters and rubble erupting outward. Fragments of the cliff were hurled into the air, their sharp edges glinting as they caught the faint light that pierced the mist. The shockwave rippled through the ledge, and the humans stationed there had no chance to steady themselves. One by one, they were flung into the sky, their screams torn apart by the howling wind.
Time stretched in that moment. I saw armour glinting as bodies spun helplessly, weapons slipping from their grasp. Dust and shards of rock swirled like a hurricane around me, cloaking my figure in a storm of debris. The air stank of fear and crushed stone, a raw symphony of destruction echoing across the jagged peaks.
When the dust began to settle, the cliff had been ripped open, a gaping wound in the mountain's face. Pieces of shattered ledge tumbled into the void below, swallowed by endless clouds. Above the chaos, my hollow gaze followed the raining silhouettes of my foes as gravity claimed them, their defiance silenced by the immutable law of the gravity.
I turned away from the shattered cliff, my skeletal frame vanishing moving higher ground as the mountain swallowed my presence once more. To linger here would be to court death, for even as a rank 12 monster the Extreme Harbinger monster, I am not invincible. There are dangers in this world where raw strength alone cannot guarantee survival. To remain in one place too long is to allow the humans to swarm gathering in numbers that even my might cannot pierce, a tide of mortality that grinds down the arcane being.
In my mind, two truths resonate like tolling bells. The first: no matter how powerful I am, to be overwhelmed is to die. The second: there exist those few—Sovereign Knights and Archmages—whose presence alone can tilt fate against me. Their names are whispered like prayers and curses among mortals, yet to me they are predators waiting in the mountains, the very apex of humanity's defiance. Against one, I might escape. Against many, even my existence would be reduced to ash and memory.
So I move, ever-moving. My hollow bones clatter softly against the stone as I descend into the shadows of the peaks, my form a ghost slipping between movement and observation. The air bites, and the winds carry whispers of pursuit, but I cannot stop. The unholy path already thought me first lesson survival is motion, and hesitation is death.
There is a certain clarity in constant danger. Each step I take is a meditation, each breath a reminder of the razor's edge upon which I walk. I cannot afford pride, nor can I indulge in the luxury of rest. And believe I want nothing but to rest. My mind sharpens under the pressure, carving away all illusions until only purpose remains. This is the essence of my new life, endless vigilance, an unbroken chain of choices that keep me between the jaws of annihilation and the fleeting illusion of freedom.
"Here and there, sooner or later, danger finds me. I cannot slacken. I cannot falter. Not even for a moment." This was how I start to live ever since I taken first 8 step on unholy path
Soon, I staggered into the mouth of a hidden cave, my skeletal frame trembling with exertion. The shadows within welcomed me like a tomb, cool and damp, the scent of ancient stone mingling with the faint metallic tang of my own aura. Even as an Extreme Harbinger monster whose existence surpasses the bounds of the extraordinary monsters I could feel the crushing weight of the 13 nature spirits pressing down on me. Their presence was not a gentle, but an oppressive tide, dense and suffocating, a force that no extraordinary monster could possibly withstand.
Each second felt like a hammer against my mind, and my soul and body tremble. My grade 5 soul was the only thing enduring their crushing pressure. Without it, I would have been reduced to fragments—mind shattered, body collapsed into dust long before I reached this sanctuary.
I lowered myself to the cold stone floor, each movement deliberate, measured. The cave walls were jagged and damp, glistening faintly in the dim light that filtered through the entrance. Droplets of water fell rhythmically from the ceiling, echoing softly into the depths of the cavern, a reminder of the slow, patient erosion of time itself. My hollow sockets turned toward the dark recesses, scanning for threats, even as every fibre of my being yearned for rest.
Here, in the cold embrace of the cave, I allowed myself a fragment of stillness. My skeletal frame settled against the stone, and I began the slow, methodical process of aligning my soul with the spirits' immense weight. Each inhale was a battle, each exhale a victory, as I struggled to anchor my soul against pressure that sought to crush me.
I knew this would not last. The unholy path permitted no true sanctuary. My body would only endure this pressure for a short while, and when I rose again. Yet, for now, in this hollow of stone and shadow, I clung to survival, a lone monster holding the line against the weight of 13 nature spirits, my grade 5 soul the only reason I remained whole.
While I allowed myself that fleeting moment of rest, I activated my Extreme Magic Sense, a gift born of my ascension beyond the extraordinary monster realm. My awareness unfurled like a vast net across the mountains, caressing every stone, every whisper of wind, and every flicker of life within nine mountains radius. Each heartbeat in the wilderness resonated in my consciousness the scuttle of insects beneath damp leaves, the subtle shift of predators in their lairs, and the distant clash of steel carried by the cold currents of air all became threads in the tapestry of my perception.
When I elevate the quality of this sense to its highest refinement, I can touch every corner of these mountains as though I hold the land in my skeletal palm. Should I choose to force my will, I can expand this perception to envelop a range sevenfold greater, a horizon where even the smallest tremor of life cannot hide from me. This Extreme Magic Sense is not merely an evolution of the abilities possessed by extraordinary monsters—it is their superior form, a sense that transcends natural limits, allowing me to become a silent observer of the world itself.
Within this mental dominion, almost nothing escapes me. I can feel the pulse of every battle fought beneath the canopy of clouds, the quiet death of prey in the talons of hunters, and the restless movements of human patrols threading through narrow mountain passes. Even the stillness of stone and the cold drift of mist are etched into my awareness, leaving almost no blind spots to exploit.
Through this vigilance, I cling to survival. My body rests, but my mind never sleeps. The Extreme Magic Sense watches, unyielding, so that not even the shadow of danger can take me unawares.
Then something I never expected happened
"What! This is unmistakably magic energy!" The realization struck me like a thunderbolt, my skeletal frame stiffening as the pulse of foreign power rippled across my Extreme Magic Sense. "But that's impossible… I am the only monster on this entire continent. So how can there be another presence?" My hollow gaze swept across the distant peaks, my perception stretching to its limits. Two mountains away, faint but distinct, flickered the aura of life I had not expected to feel.
I focused, discerning its nature. "Hmm… clearly grade 2 magic energy. That would put this monster at rank 9 at best. It's weak… fragile even, as if its strength is a candle in the storm." A strange emotion stirred within me, a rare echo of my old instincts, the urge to protect one of my kind, to prevent it from being extinguished in a world that does not forgive weakness. The thought of helping it bloomed unbidden in my mind.
I rose, skeletal limbs unfolding with the whisper of grinding bone. My claws sank into the damp stone as I prepared to move, my mind already mapping the fastest route through the jagged mountain pass. But before I could commit, a single, cold thought froze me in place.
"Wait… could this be a trap?" I whispered into the empty cave, the words barely a hiss in the stagnant air. Suspicion coiled around my mind like a serpent. "Humans… cunning, relentless humans. They could be mimicking magic energy, releasing an artificial aura to lure me into the open. Or worse, they could be using another monster as bait."
I stood perfectly still, every sense stretched to the breaking point. The wind whistled through the cave mouth, carrying the scent of stone and distant blood, but no clear answers. My mind raced. On one hand, the aura was weak, flickering like a dying flame, a genuine monster in need of aid. On the other, it could be no more than a phantom, a calculated snare meant to exploit the rare sliver of empathy that remained in my hollow soul.
"What should I do?" I muttered, gripping the jagged wall, feeling its chill echo through my bones. "If I go, I risk everything. If I ignore it… and it truly is one of my own, I abandon it to die alone. Hmmm… clearly, a choice without mercy." My hollow sockets burned with silent thought as I weighed the gamble, the mountain winds whispering all the possible dooms that awaited, whichever path I chose.
Then I moved, a single step echoing like a decision carved into the marrow of time—but I froze, the mist around me curling like the hesitant breath of a dying beast. My skeletal claw hovered in the air, trembling with the weight of choice. The image of the distant monster, its fragile aura flickering like a candle in a storm, burned in my mind. My moral instinct, the last remnant of a heart long withered, whispered, "Save it."
Yet, as that whisper coiled around me, another voice—colder, sharper, born of the unholy path—cut through the mist like a blade. It reminded me of my true goal: the Aethergateway. That sacred breach was the key to solving my nature spirit's silence, the answer to advancing my soulland and elevating my grade, the stepping stone to rank 18 within five years. Every hesitation was a crack in my armor, an invitation for ruin.
The wind howled against the mountain's bones, carrying the scent of blood and dust, and in that sound I heard the echo of my potential death. Hesitation, I realized, was the first step to self-betrayal. The unholy path spares no one who falters. I saw visions of myself torn apart not by enemies, but by the claws of doubt itself, my bones scattered like forgotten relics among the stones.
A shiver ran through me as I understood: to save that monster could mean to condemn myself, to let the flicker of sympathy become the spark of my undoing. Fear and hesitation are the twin fangs of death.
Slowly, I lowered my claw and turned away, the cave's shadows swallowing me once more. My hollow sockets reflected only the jagged path ahead, the path of survival, the path that demanded I leave behind the weakness, perhaps even pieces of myself. In this unholy climb, mercy is the stone that tips you into the abyss, and hesitation the chain that drags you there.
"I am sorry. I truly am. Deep in my soul, I feel the weight of the forgiveness I will never receive. A part of me wanted to reach out, to help, to hold on to that small spark of life, but I could not.
If I had stopped, if I had strayed from the unholy path I stepped on, everything I have done, all the sacrifices, all the decisions, would become meaningless. Countless lives would have been lost for nothing, and my guilt would only grow heavier."
If I had been more capable, perhaps I could have saved you. But I'm not. I watched the world's cruelty leave its mark on me, and I could do nothing. My hands, weak and unsteady, reached for a salvation they could never grasp.
This path I walk takes pieces of me with every step. Each choice demands something in return, and yet I could not change the outcome. I could not change the laws of the world or alter the fate that awaited me.
The mountains seemed to mock me as I climbed in order to not think about it, the wind carrying echoes of those who came before. The ground beneath me felt heavy with the truth, I was not strong enough to fight what was inevitable.
I resent the world that required your death and the path that took my heart in exchange for survival. I have nothing to offer for what I have lost except the acceptance that I failed.
I live with the memory of that failure. Every step I take reminds me of what I could not do. Somewhere in my mind, I still hear you, faint but present, and I know that if I had been more, things could have been different.
But I was not. I never was. And I must carry that truth forward.
I mind thinking fragments of what I could have been, versions of myself that could have saved you, but they are only reflections. I keep walking, and the memory of you follows me.
The wind moves through these mountains, and I can hear the quiet reminder of what I lost. I gave everything this path demanded, and still, it was not enough. I turn away and continue on, knowing I cannot change what has already been done.
Sometimes I wonder if I did right choice or am I just conforming myself by lying
I can do nothing but hope right now. Hope—the last ember in a world of ash—is the only thing that keeps my will moving. It is the fragile candle that defies the suffocating dark, the single star that glimmers against an endless void. Every step I take is guided by this faint light, a thread that prevents me from unraveling completely.
Hope is the quiet whisper in the wind that tells me perhaps, beyond these jagged peaks and cursed shadows, there is a tomorrow where my soul can rest. It is the unseen bridge between despair and survival, the unseen flame that warms even a body made of bone. Without it, the unholy path would swallow me whole, leaving nothing but a forgotten pile of dust among the stones.
I cling to hope not because it promises victory, but because it gives meaning to enduring. It is the mountain itself, rising toward the heavens despite the storms that lash it. It is the stubborn tree that clings to the cliff's edge, roots biting into stone, defying the abyss below. In my heart, hope is the only proof I still exist, the only sign that I have not surrendered to the void.
Every choice, every sacrifice, every trembling step up the desolate slope is a prayer to that fragile flame. I walk because I hope. I fight because I hope. And even if the winds tear at me and the world seeks to extinguish me, as long as that single spark remains, I will not stop. Hope is the last weapon, the last shield, the last truth.
I can do nothing but hope right now—and in that hope, I find the strength to keep walking.
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"Strange no matter what I do this memory doesn't stop could it be determination alternative system is malfunctioning again no it is inactive it shouldn't be also why this memory at all I don't understand"
My thoughts were going crazy but I keep myself composed while finishing off last rank 5 beast
While memory was playing 6 rank 5 beasts attacked just like previous timeline but me taking out two rank 6 there was no causalities just tents and others getting broken but we can rebuilt it so no worries
"But still, why this memory? Why now? It feels as if it is being forced into my mind, like a shard of the past wedging itself into the present. I search for a reason—some pattern, some trigger—but there is nothing. No side effects manifest, no signs of new trouble appear. Everything around me remains unchanged, yet my thoughts twist as if a hidden hand is turning them over and over."
Could it be a warning? A memory resurfacing for a purpose I cannot perceive? Or is this some echo of my own conscience, clawing its way to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged? I feel the weight of it pressing on me, yet there is no logical cause, no aftermath to justify the intrusion.
I try to reason through it "if there is no physical consequence, no shift in the world around me, then why does my mind insist on replaying this fragment? Am I missing some hidden signal, or is this merely my own reflection, distorted and projected as if to test my resolve?"
I cannot tell. I cannot find the thread that connects this memory to the now, and yet
"I feel like I should remember it"
Though I feel uncertain, I've learned that not every question needs an immediate answer. Sometimes it is enough to pause and let things settle on their own. If I dwell too much on certain thoughts, they grow heavier, while others become clearer after a little time and space. Patience has a quiet usefulness.
Letting this memory drift without overthinking it feels like the sensible choice. I naturally want to examine every detail, but I know from experience that forcing meaning rarely helps. World often reveals its lessons slowly, and not everything needs to fit together immediately.
So I leave the unanswered thoughts where they are, quietly in the background. They aren't problems to solve, just parts of the path I'm on. By stepping back, I give clarity a chance to arrive when it's ready. In accepting that, not knowing doesn't feel as heavy, but I will not let my guard down.
As I made my way back toward the camp, the sight that greeted me was nothing short of devastation. The once orderly base had been reduced to chaos. Torn canvas flapped weakly in the bitter wind where tents had once stood, now shredded and cast aside like the remains of forgotten prey. The perimeter runes, painstakingly carved and sustained to repel intruders, lay in ruin—cracked stones and smeared inscriptions scattered across the frostbitten ground. It was as if a violent hand had swept across the entire area, leaving only fragments of what had been.
Yet, amidst the wreckage and the silence that followed the battle, one small sign of persistence remained, the magic fire. Its faint, flickering light danced defiantly against the cold, casting long, quivering shadows across the ruined camp. That enduring flame felt like the lone heartbeat of the base, a fragile reminder that not everything had been lost.
I exhaled a long, weary sigh and set to work. My limbs, though stiff with exhaustion, moved with methodical purpose as I began restoring what I could. As I worked, the very mountain reminded me that our presence was still contested. The ground rumbled beneath my feet, tremors rippling like the pulse of some slumbering titan deep beneath the stone. Above, violent windstorms tore through the peaks, carrying shards of ice and snow that stung against my bones. Each quake and howl was a reminder of the ongoing clash against the rank 5 beast.
These beasts are not mere threats, they are living calamities. Even one rank 5 beast possesses the might to level a city or tear down a big mountain. Were it not for the oppressive magic pressure of the Frost Zone containing the worst of their energy, this entire range would be nothing but rubble. The Frost Zone's unique environment suppresses magic energy activity, muting the full destructive potential of the monsters and magic, spell. In this frozen land, monsters like me are restrained, while the beasts, born of blood and bone infused with magic energy and, thrive on raw physical might.
Every tremor, every sudden gust that ripped through the broken camp, was the echo of that truth. The avalanches and landslides that followed the battle were not born of magic casting or magic techniques, but of their sheer physical power, muscle and sinew bolstered by the subtle pulse of magic energy running through their blood. Even so, it was unsettling to witness the mountain itself shiver under their primal strength.
I continued my work in silence, the flicker of the magic fire guiding my skeletal hands as I reassembled what I could. The camp would rise again, scarred but functional, a small bastion against the relentless dangers of these mountains. And as I worked, I could not help but feel the weight of what lingered in the air—the memory of the battle, the ever-present threat of beasts that could turn the world to dust, and the fragile persistence of survival in the Frost Zone.
Frostland has always been this way, yet it is precisely within its relentless, unforgiving nature that the forge of my past self was made in previous timeline, and for that, I carry no discomfort or concern, resentment why should this continent is like my home.
The ongoing battle in the mountains gradually drew to a close as I laboured to restore the camp. The sounds of clashing and distant roars began to fade, replaced by the restless whispers of the biting wind. My skeletal hands moved with steady precision, stacking the last stones and securing the remnants of what could be salvaged. Though the camp was scarred by the chaos of battle, its form began to re-emerge—tents raised anew, perimeter runes partially restored, and the scattered remnants of supplies gathered into order.
I paused for a moment, a low hum of satisfaction reverberating in my hollow chest. "They will be fine," I murmured, my voice rasping softly against the crackling wind. "The most troublesome two rank 5 beasts are handled by me. I've already led the younger monsters to the safety of the cave. They will safe. The remaining rank 5 monsters will eventually make its way here, and it will guide the other young monsters to this camp."
Reassured by my own words, I returned to my work, methodically securing the last sections of the camp. Every movement was deliberate, every action measured, the rhythm of rebuilding a small comfort against the surrounding isolation. Yet, no one had come. The camp was silent, save for the whisper of the wind and the distant groaning of the mountains. Time slipped by in fragments, and still, I remained alone.
When the last task was complete, I decided to claim a moment for myself. The magic fire still burned in the centre of the camp, its flickering light casting long shadows against the layered snow and jagged stone. I approached it slowly, my skeletal frame illuminated by the soft, defiant glow that seemed to resist the encroaching cold of the Frost Zone. The flames hummed with a faint aura of life, a heartbeat in the stillness of this desolate land.
Lowering myself to the ground, I settled cross-legged before the magic fire. Its warmth seeped into the marrow of my bones, a quiet reprieve from the bitter cold. With the camp restored and the immediate dangers handled, I turned inward, letting the world fall away as I began my meditation.
In the depths of my mind, my hyper state unfurled, and I counted the clouds of energy swirling within my soul. 10500 clouds, each a concentrated fragment of my power, floated through the void of my inner world like a constellation of potential.
The magic fire crackled softly in the center of the scarred camp, its flickering flames casting a mosaic of trembling light across the snow-dusted stone and the jagged remnants of shattered tents. Each gust of wind that howled through the Frost Zone peaks seemed determined to snuff it out, yet the fire endured, stubbornly defiant against the cold. Its warmth, faint but persistent, seeped into the marrow of my bones, resonating with the hollow echo of my skeletal frame as I settled cross-legged before it.
I let my mind sink into meditation, my hyper state blooming like a coiled serpent of energy in the void of my inner world. Within the darkness of that void, 10,500 clouds each represents magic drifted like a constellation across a night sky, each glowing fragment a compressed reservoir of my power. They pulsed in rhythm with my silent breath, coalescing and swirling under the guidance of my will. I could feel the raw, vibrant current of my hyper state settle, folding into spirals of readiness, like lightning coiled within a storm cell, trying to stabilize.
My arcane artifact, a heart lock-shaped relic, hovered just above the frost-bitten ground. Its surface shimmered with faint runes, each sigil glowing in response to my focus. Slowly, as my mind aligned with the meditative flow, the artifact began to rise in a graceful levitation. A subtle hum filled the air, a vibration that was more felt than heard, as the arcane artifact resonated with frequency of making magic energy into magic. Threads of control and support trickled from the arcane artifact into my core, weaving together the scattered fragments of fatigue that clung to me after the long battle.
Here, in the faint glow of the magic fire, I existed in the fragile balance between survival and transcendence. The world would demand my strength again soon, but for the moment, I simply meditated, my meditation aligning with the artifact's rhythm, the coiled lightning of my hyper state ready to answer the call of fate.
Soon, after a concentrated half-hour of meditation, I guided the flow of my hyper state with the utmost precision. One by one, the 10,500 magic clouds swirling in the void of my soul condensed further, coalescing under the rhythm of my will. Each cloud pulsed with latent pulse, a shimmering fragment of my strength, twisting and folding like a storm contained within the boundaries of my essence. Slowly, methodically, I nurtured two hundred additional clouds into existence, until the constellation of my inner world shone with 10,700 in total, each a testament to my unbroken focus.
The process was as exhausting as it was satisfying. My skeletal frame remained as still as carved stone, yet within, my hyper state churned with a vibrant, coiled energy. The magic fire before me flickered and cast long wavering shadows on the frost-dusted ground of the ruined camp, illuminating my meditative form. The arcane artifact beside me resonated faintly, its runes thrumming in harmony with my soul, lending stability to the delicate operation of cloud creation.
At last, I allowed myself to break from the trance, my awareness returning to the frigid stillness of the Frost Zone. The echo of distant roars and the whispering wind guided my senses back to the physical world. I had scarcely risen when a series of approaching footfalls and guttural sounds reached my sharpened hearing, monsters were drawing near. Their presence resonated against the fabric of my extra Sense, familiar and exhausted, survivors of the recent clash.
I rose to meet them, my skeletal form moving lightly over the frost-bitten stone. The monsters emerged from the snowstorm, their bodies marked by the strain of battle, their eyes heavy with fatigue. I raised a claw in greeting, attempting to lift the somber air.
"Well," I said, my voice cutting through the cold wind, "it seems you went and fought a rank 5 beast. Wait—you actually did?" I paused for effect, a rasp of amusement curling through my tone. "Ha… ha… heheh… come on, that wasn't such a bad joke, was it?"
I allowed a faint sigh to escape as my empty sockets swept over them. Their gazes were dull, their expressions worn, and none offered the laughter I had hoped to spark. The heavy silence carried the fatigue of the battle they had endured, and my attempt to lighten the moment dissolved into the wind. Even so, I remained there, a quiet sentinel, welcoming them back to the fragile safety of our camp. Then young monsters all goes to tent and sleep on spot
"You too, get some rest. I'll be on guard," I said, my voice echoing softly against the torn canvas and jagged stone. My comrade, a rank 4 monster, blinked at me wearily, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion.
He hesitated for a moment, his claws flexing on the frost-bitten ground. "Are… you sure?" he asked, his voice low, almost swallowed by the wind. "You fought harder than any of us. Even your bones must be aching."
I turned to face the rest of the camp, raising my voice so all could hear. "You all need to rest. I will keep watch. Tomorrow will be busy, and your strength is better spent recovering than worrying about me." My skeletal frame stood firm against the howling wind, casting a long, steady shadow in the glow of the magic fire.
Some of the younger monsters looked at me with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Their eyes, dulled by fatigue, flickered with silent questions they were too tired to voice. They shuffled toward their tents well what remained of them and they start to collapsing into the ragged fabric as if their very body had turned to lead.
Then Lucky approached me slowly, his voice carrying the soft tremor of concern. "Dude… are you really okay? I mean… we thought you were just holding off two rank 5 beasts but you—" his voice faltered as he searched for the words, "—you won. So fast. But… it's still rank 5. You must be exhausted. Is it really okay for you to stay awake?"
I tilted my head slightly, the faint scrape of bone against bone echoing in the cold. My empty sockets fixed on him with a quiet steadiness. "Don't you worry. I'm quite energetic, even now," I said, letting a rasp of amusement coil through my tone.
He stared at me for a moment, frowning, as the wind tugged at his fur. "You… sure don't look like you're lying," he murmured, almost to himself. "Alright… I'll trust you. But don't push yourself too far."
I watched as Lucky finally turned to retreat toward the dim glow of the tents. The others were already curled up under patched blankets, their breathing slow and heavy. My skeletal claws flexed against the stone as I faced the dark wilderness, listening to the wind whistle through the mountains.
As the sole guardian of the camp, I found myself alone in the bitter winds of the Frost Zone. My skeleton frame moved methodically through the darkness, circling the perimeter with unwavering focus. Each step brought me to the runes etched into the frost-bitten stone—fragile wards that separated us from the wild hostility of the mountains. I checked them one by one, tracing my skeletal claws along their edges to ensure no cracks, no smudges, no sign of failure that could invite disaster.
This routine became my world for the next five hours. I walked, paused, and observed, every sense sharpened to the slightest disturbance in the night.
At intervals, I would halt my patrol and sink into meditation, folding myself cross-legged in the snow for thirty minutes at a time. The act was not for the sake of gaining more strength, my body and mind were already tempered for survival. Instead, this practice was meant to invite instability—an intentional unbalancing of my essence. In that state, the thin boundary that separated me from the next stage of my evolution, the ascension into an extraordinary monster, remained open. Stability meant stagnation. Unsteadiness, carefully nurtured, meant growth.
The meditation was an immersion into my own void. My hyper state coiled and uncoiled like restless lightning, filling the darkness of my soul world with tens of thousands of drifting clouds. I let them swirl, collide, and shift, aligning myself to the edge of chaos without falling into it. The cold seeped into my marrowless bones, and I welcomed the discomfort, letting it tether me to the razor's edge between control and release.
When the meditation ended, I rose and resumed my patrol. My skeletal claws scraped lightly against the stone as I checked the runes again, their faint flicker of magic a fragile assurance against the endless night. Step by step, hour by hour, I walked and watched, a silent sentinel in the frozen dark, maintaining this deliberate cycle of vigilance and instability. I would endure, and my path of ascension would remain clear.
And it all ended only when the others began to stir, one by one, from the exhausted slumber that had claimed them after the night's brutal battles. I watched them closely, my hollow sockets catching the faint glow of the reborn magic fire as the first yawns and stretches broke the heavy silence. The moment their eyes opened, it was as if a new pulse of life rippled through the camp. A few of the younger ones rubbed their eyes, their fur damp with frost, and then, almost instinctively they smiled at me, their greetings carrying the soft warmth of trust.
"Good morning," murmured Lucky, his voice hoarse yet steady. He blinked against the brittle light, then gave a small grin. "You… actually stayed awake all night, didn't you?"
"I did," I replied, my tone even, a low rasp echoing in the cold air. "The camp stands because someone had to keep watch. You all needed the rest more than I did."
At that, one of the younger monsters flicked his ear in surprise. "We thought… after fighting two rank 5 beasts… you'd be tired too," he said timidly.
I tilted my head, letting the wind whistle through my ribs before I answered. "Tired? Perhaps. But not enough to stop." A faint scrape of bone against bone accentuated the quiet amusement in my tone.
Their laughter was small, a fragile thing, but it broke the lingering weight of the night. Energy returned to their steps as they began to move about the camp, clearing the shredded canvas, repairing the collapsed tents, and reactivating the runes I had checked so many times during my patrol. The sound of activity—the shuffle of feet, the crack of wood, the low hum of voices—slowly stitched the camp back together, like blood returning to a numb limb.
"Look at this mess," one of the older monsters muttered, dragging a half-buried tent pole from the snow. "Still… we've seen worse."
"Yes," another replied, his claws scraping frost from a ruined rune stone. "And we'll see better once we fix it."
I walked among them in silence, occasionally lending a claw to lift a heavy beam or realign a rune stone. Their spirits were already rising; the moment the last shadows of fatigue left their faces, their energy seemed boundless. It was the resilience of those who had survived the night and now felt, for a fleeting moment, untouchable.
As the camp slowly transformed from ruin to functionality, Lucky approached me again, his breath visible in the cold air. "So… now what?" he asked, glancing toward the jagged horizon of Frost Zone peaks.
"Now," I said, letting my hollow sockets sweep over the repaired camp, "it is time to begin our search for the Land of Kall."
The others gathered nearby, their conversations hushed but eager. Snatches of dialogue carried on the wind:
"Do you think the Land of Kall really exists?"
"Of course it does. If we're free from worry now, we can find it. We will."
"Then let's not waste time. The sooner we start, the sooner we see it for ourselves."
I turned away from the camp and stared at the distant mountains, where the clouds clung like veils to the jagged peaks. In another life, another time, we had found that land. And if the past had shown us the way, there was no reason we could not do it again—when fear no longer chained their hearts.
"Then let's go," I said, my voice carrying over the cold wind, steady and unyielding. "The Land of Kall awaits, and we will walk this path together.
And so, with the camp behind us and the memory of the night's survival still fresh, we began the journey toward the horizon—a fragile hope driving our steps into the unknown.
I move towards the depths of my hive root, a place I had prepared long before with the careful use of frost fungus. The air here is dense with the faint scent of frost and earth, the quiet hum of magic pulsing beneath the surface. Each step I take echoes softly against the cold stone, carrying through the twisted tunnels like the whisper of a secret.
When I reached to hive root, I channel my magic energy into the frost fungus. A subtle blue glow spreads from my hands, seeping into their network of icy threads. The change is gradual—first a soft shimmer, then a deepening cold as my energy infuses them, locking their activity into a dormant state. The frost fungus absorbs my will, and in response, the oppressive magic pressure that would normally radiate from the hive root begins to fade.
The silence that follows is profound. With the magic pressure subdued, the air feels lighter, more still, as if the very stones of the hive have taken a breath and held it. This calculated dormancy is not just a precaution; it is survival itself. By ceasing magic pressure in area, which would allow other monsters to fight beasts on their own
In the context of the story, while a rank 3 monster typically possesses greater power than a rank 3 beast, the dynamics shift significantly when they are situated in the frost zone. In this particular environment, the rank 3 beast gains an advantage against monster who are getting suppressed by magic pressure most. However, if the magic pressure within the frost zone is removed, the original balance is restored, and the rank 3 monster regains its superiority over the rank 3 beast. This alteration in the environment plays a crucial role in determining the outcome of their encounters.
But primary purpose of this act is simple yet vital to create an environment where most of us can travel freely, unburdened by the beacon of this frost zone powers.
After infusing a substantial amount of magic energy into the frost fungus, ensuring it would last for a duration of two hours, I proceed to join the others in our search. Our method of searching is straightforward yet effective, relying heavily on the use of magic sense. We prioritizes the quality of the scan over the range, allowing us to identify and assess potential traces more accurately.
The youth in our group, who are at rank 3, are capable of searching within a radius of 10 meters at most. Their primary role in this expedition is not to actively search but to gain valuable experience and learn from the process. Meanwhile, the adults, including myself, are at rank 4. We have honed our will of magic, enabling us to utilize magic sense with greater proficiency.
As rank 5, me and Lucky squad leader and two others stand alone in terms of capability, equating skills to those of 25 rank 4 monsters. This means I possess both an exceptional quality of scan and an extensive range, making me highly effective in identifying and assessing threats during our search. And with figure and my 189 year old refined mind my will of magic is more than enough to scan whole mountains by myself but still I can't make any suspicious moves because I have no excuse to cover it so only thing I can do is wait
…
"…"
"…"
(What the f***)
"So you are telling you already find land of kall"
"Yeah we didn't know it was this close to us this whole time"
I invested a significant amount of effort, anticipating a potentially dangerous situation, but the result was unexpectedly impressive. Upon my arrival in the Land of Kall during the previous timeline, I find this the entire mountain had been thoroughly excavated, leaving only the Land of Kall itself intact.
The Land of Kall is basically a city, comparable in size to Moltier City, and it boasts a unique layered structure. Remarkably, the entire city is nestled within this mountain. It features an astonishing number of entrances, which made it challenging to determine which one we had discovered.
Given the sheer size of the city, I can confidently say that it took us an entire day to reach the deepest part. But this is okay yet it is still hard to believe it
So I trailed the youthful monster in silence, my skeletal feet making only the barest whisper against the frost-bitten stone, each step toward that threshold felt weighted, not by stone or snow, but by the gravity of my own thoughts.
As I walked, I began to prepare my mind with measured precision. This moment demanded more than strength; it demanded clarity, control, and an unbreakable will. I could not afford to falter, not even for the span of a single breath. My memories of the unholy path, of battles where hesitation meant death, rose in fragments and stitched themselves into a shield around my thoughts.
I drew in the cold air, letting it scrape through my hollow chest, and methodically aligned my focus. My mind stretched inward, gathering the echoes of experience that had weathered me into what I had become. Each fragment—a scar, a choice, a survival those were a stone in the foundation I built within. Doubt was a luxury I could not afford here, every decision would be carved in the marrow of fate.
Soon we reached our destination and before us loomed the entrance to the Land of Kall. The jagged mouth of the mountain yawned like a silent predator, darkness spilling from its depths. Before the gate of shadows, I reminded myself
"this is more than a passage into stone. It is a passage into consequence. One mistake, one lapse, and everything I have endured becomes a meaningless echo. My thoughts sharpened like blades, layered with the depth of memory and the weight of experience, until the world narrowed to a singular, unwavering focus."
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"Are you really okay?" I asked, my voice a low rasp that echoed faintly in the dimness of the cave.
She leaned against the cold stone wall, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. "Yeah… I'm okay. I just need a moment to rest and recover. Thank you… for helping me," she said, her voice soft, tinged with exhaustion.
I watched her carefully, my hollow sockets lingering on the faint aura of magic that curled around her like a dying flame. Although I had sensed the magic energy before, I had assumed it to be a trap—maybe a lure set by cunning humans. Yet here she was, a living monster. I had not expected the possibility that she might be one like me, another soul that had escaped the chains of slavery and now sought refuge in these mountains.
"I see," I replied with quiet deliberation. "Tell me when you are ready. I will keep guard."
Rising from my crouched stance, I drifted toward the cave's entrance. The jagged mouth framed the endless expanse of the mountain.
Memories of the moment earlier returned unbidden. She had appeared without warning, teleporting instinctively using her innate trait, I realized then she fled from the relentless pursuit of humans. I had seen the net of hunters closing around her, the shadows of steel and malice stretching across the mountainside. She would have been captured, perhaps killed or enslaved again, had I not intervened. I had saved her, catching her limp body as she fell unconscious into the snow.
Now, in the quiet after the chaos, I found myself standing guard over her fragile form. The silence of the cave was broken only by the faint whisper of her breathing. The unholy path I had walked left little room for hesitation or mercy, yet here I was, letting a fragment of the past anchor me to this moment.
She stirred slightly, her voice soft as she asked, "Are… are we safe here?"
"For now," I said, my tone steady, though low. I kept my gaze fixed on the cave's entrance, where the wind wailed against the stone as if to remind me that safety never lasted.
Zayak pushed herself upright slowly, her legs trembling as she leaned against the wall. "I… I didn't think anyone would help me," she admitted, the words quiet but carrying a sincere warmth. "Most would have been unable to help me from the hunters."
I tilted my skull slightly toward her. "…"I stayed silent simply. Then, after a moment , I thought, "Maybe this is a gift from Archios—to save at least one monster. My life is full of choices where I abandon others. Saving you feels… different."
She smiled faintly, still catching her breath, and said, "Well… I'm glad you did. Thank you."
I nodded once and returned to my vigil. After a few moments, she spoke again. "So… where were you going, Sans? I came here to hide, but you… you don't look like someone who hides. Not with your rank 12 strength."
I sighed, the sound like a dry scrape of stone. "I need to reach the top of this mountain. The Aethergateway opens today."
Her ears twitched in curiosity. "Aethergateway? What is that?"
I turned slightly, my hollow sockets meeting her amber eyes. "A portal to a realm where one can reach their primeness. This could be non physical things like Thinking, training, ascension… all at their peak there. That is where I'm heading."
Her gaze softened with understanding. "So… you want to ascend. To your next rank and grade?"
I inclined my head slightly in confirmation.
"Why take such a risk?" she asked gently, her voice carrying the quiet weight of genuine concern. "You're already so strong. Couldn't you just keep surviving like this?"
Yeah if that was case for unholy path members yeah sure but no, "Some mountains can't be climbed with strength alone. Some paths… even the blasphemous ones… demand more than immorality. They demand getting powerful."
For a moment she was quiet, then she look around before asking. "Although I'm confused I'm hope you can do that."
I faced the jagged horizon outside the cave, letting the wind whistle through the mountains.
"Thank you for the concern, but I think that is unnecessary for me… yet still, thank you." The words almost left my mouth without thought, the ghost of a habit long buried beneath bone and silence. I did not speak them aloud, because I knew the truth
(I have gone mad.)
Madness, for me, is not screaming or raving in the dark. It is a quiet, gnawing fracture, a hollow echo in the chambers of my mind. I can feel it like a second self, a shadow of thought that brushes against the edges of my consciousness. It whispers when I feel gratitude, mocks me when I hesitate, and reminds me that my empathy is a crack in the armor of my survival.
I watch the world through empty sockets, yet I see more than I should. Each breath, each flicker of movement, becomes a story I cannot stop reading. My mind circles endlessly around fragments of memory, old and new, and each one cuts deeper, bleeding meaning I cannot staunch. I remember the ones I abandoned, the choices I made without mercy, and they rise like ghosts in the wind. They whisper of a self I once was—or could have been.
It is in moments like this, when someone thanks me, that the madness shows its shape. I want to respond like I am whole, like I am still a monster who belongs to the world of bonds and benevolence, but my mind hesitates. A part of me recoils from kindness, as though it were a blade aimed at the fragile remnant of my mind. Another part clings to it desperately, needing it to prove that I am not yet lost entirely.
The psychology of my madness is simple in its cruelty. I exist in a cycle of survival and guilt, power and emptiness. Each moment of triumph feeds the illusion that I am in control, but each memory, each fragment of the past that claws its way to the surface, reminds me that I am not. I am a skeletal vessel filled with echoes of what I sacrificed. I am the survivor who walks on the corpses of his own conscience.
I know I am mad because I can hold two truths in my mind at once and feel them both tear at me. I can believe in hope, in the fragile flame that drives me forward, and at the same time know that hope is a lie I tell myself to keep moving. I can feel gratitude toward those who show me kindness, and still resent them for awakening a part of me I wish was dead.
So I stay silent. Because if I speak the words I think, I am not sure which part of me will speak first—the one that still remembers being whole, or the one that has embraced the unholy path and the madness it brings.
Soon, my body began to swell with renewed power as the lingering fatigue of battle and meditation ebbed away. The dull weight that had pressed against my bones lifted, replaced by the familiar surge of energy that signaled my recovery.
At last, I felt the restraints fade—a subtle but undeniable shift, like a locked door finally giving way. The conduits of my soulland stirred, resonating with a deep, thrumming hum only I could sense. Threads of magic energy tightened, aligned, and then opened fully, allowing the flow of life and will to awaken my nature spirits once more.
One by one, their presences returned to me. Each spirit emerged from the void of my inner world with a distinct pulse of recognition, familiar and grounding. Their energy wrapped around my bones like a comforting shroud, filling the hollowness that had gnawed at me during the long hours of silence. My soulland, once dormant and cold, now thrummed with renewed vitality, its gates wide open, the spirits eager to answer my call.
Now, fully restored, I could summon them without hesitation, ready to face whatever the unholy path demanded next.
"…*sigh* zayak I need to go now be careful till I return okay" I said while turning back she look at me smiled but it was filled with worry
"Just take good care of yourself although we haven't been together for long time I know you like to push yourself too much" she said
Maybe she is right but I don't think I care anymore