The first threads of sunlight pierced the darkness of the prison cell.
Jumanji slowly opened his eyes, and his gaze immediately fell upon Galvan.
He was still sitting in the same calm position, like a loyal guardian who had not closed his eyes for a single moment, nor left his place for even a second throughout the entire night.
At that moment, the father rose with dignity, brushing the dust of waiting from his clothes as he looked at his son with a deep gaze.
"Let's go… it is time."
Jumanji slowly stood up, gathering his strength and composure before stepping forward to follow his father.
The moment they stepped into the village streets, he was stunned by the overwhelming crowd.
The village was overflowing with people in an unusual way. Everyone had come out on this extraordinary day, driven by hope as they escorted their children toward their new destinies—the awakening of their spiritual farms.
The journey did not take long before they arrived at the entrance of a massive cave located at the heart of the mountain.
The place was packed with crowds that had gathered to witness the opening ceremony.
Everyone waited eagerly and curiously, wondering how things would unfold, and which of the youngsters would rise to shine in the sky of power.
They entered the vast cave whose path was illuminated by blazing lanterns that left no room for darkness.
The place was filled with people, and at the forefront sat the ten elders, like unshakable pillars surrounded by an aura of dignity and severity.
The moment Jumanji and his father stepped inside, countless gazes fell upon them from every direction.
It felt as if poisoned arrows were aimed straight at them.
"Look… the spoiled child has finally arrived," someone said from within the crowd, opening the door for whispers and mockery.
Another added with a sneer,
"I heard he dared to break the laws, so he was imprisoned these past days."
"He deserves it completely… he is nothing but a despicable brat," a third voice said with a tone dripping with hatred.
Amidst the commotion, one of the elders asked curiously,
"Do you think he can awaken a high-quality farm?"
Someone burst out laughing and replied mockingly,
"A high-quality farm? Your joke today deserves applause. That boy won't even awaken a medium-quality farm, so how dare you mention a high one?"
Another voice added confidently,
"Indeed. The farm is the mirror of the soul, and that arrogant brat does not deserve the honor of possessing such a thing."
Despite the weight of those words, and despite the hostile gazes that almost seemed capable of tearing him apart, Jumanji remained strangely calm.
He stood firm like a mountain against a raging storm.
He did not react.
It was as if none of the words concerned him at all.
Jumanji directed his gaze forward.
There, a dense and mysterious fog hovered in the distance, pulsing with flashes of raging lightning.
Each flash carried the omen of destruction for anyone foolish enough to approach without preparation.
If even a single spark touched a human body, it would turn it to ashes instantly.
A strange and unfamiliar feeling stirred inside Jumanji as he watched the majestic sight.
Although he had only recently entered this world, his deep intuition told him that this blazing veil was none other than the entrance to the Spiritual Farm where he must awaken his own farm.
Elsewhere, the boys of his age stared at him with lingering hostility.
Among them stood a boy proudly beside one of the elders—an old woman whose hair had turned completely white.
His golden hair shone like strands of daylight, and his blue eyes were filled with sharp intensity.
He muttered to himself with bitterness,
"You spoiled bastard… today I will put an end to your arrogance and surpass you completely."
That boy was the pride of the old woman.
She had confidently declared before the council of elders that he would awaken a high-quality farm and become the new pride of the tribe.
His gaze was not an exception.
It reflected the deep hatred shared by many of the other boys.
After all, the "old" Jumanji had succeeded in making enemies of everyone without exception.
Even the tribal elder had once called him a spoiled brat.
Amid the crashing waves of hatred, one boy stood apart from the others in silence.
Beside him stood the elder Jurko.
He glanced briefly at Jumanji before looking away, whispering words no one else heard.
"You are the only real man in this village, Jumanji…
You died the death of the brave while defending those who called you a bastard."
"But the scales of fate will change this time."
"I will seize that 'thing' that once caused the destruction of our tribe."
"And in the future… I will return and turn this place into the first sect that dominates the seven continents."
At that moment, a figure walked forward with overwhelming dignity.
It was an old man whose appearance resembled a frail skeleton.
Yet his presence radiated authority and majesty.
It was Jumanji's grandfather.
Everyone stood up instantly—elders and commoners alike.
His presence imposed a sacred silence.
It had always been his role to supervise the ritual of opening the Spiritual Farm.
He was the one who watched over the destinies of the boys who would step into it.
Jumanji's grandfather walked slowly toward the blazing veil of fog.
He stared at it deeply for a moment before turning to face the crowd.
Then his powerful voice shattered the silence of the cave.
"Let the boys step forward!"
That signal officially marked the beginning of the ceremony.
The boys gathered together—the ones who would enter the Spiritual Farm for the first time.
At that moment, Galvan placed his hand on his son's shoulder and whispered softly,
"I am counting on you."
Simple words.
Yet they carried expectations and hopes that Galvan could not hide.
Jumanji answered calmly,
"I will go now."
Before leaving his father's side, he noticed several familiar faces that had just arrived.
Among them were his brother Genji, his cousin, and several of his peers.
Among them stood a strange boy with an unsettling calm and dignity far beyond his age.
Genji raised his thumb encouragingly, smiling with confidence.
Jumanji only gave a faint nod before turning toward his destiny without saying another word.
Meanwhile, the elders on the other side were whispering and debating enthusiastically.
One asked curiously,
"Who do you think will awaken a high-quality farm?"
Another replied immediately,
"I believe it will be Kairos. He possesses sharp intelligence and deep insight. I have no doubt he will take first place."
Another elder nodded.
"You are right. He is the strongest candidate."
But a third voice added thoughtfully,
"Do not forget Jumanji. Despite being a spoiled brat, he still possesses considerable potential."
"After all, gaining the hatred of everyone at the same time is no small feat."
"And we cannot ignore the fact that his brother awakened a medium-quality farm."
"It is likely he will reach the same level as him and his cousin."
Another elder nodded in agreement.
"I have heard his father has high expectations for him."
Although some people expected him to fail and awaken only a weak farm, the majority held a different opinion.
His reckless behavior did not hide the latent power within him.
One elder concluded thoughtfully,
"If he truly awakens a high-quality farm, he will become the unquestioned number one."
"And when that happens, all his previous sins will vanish like dust."
"He will transform from a burden on the tribe into its most precious jewel."
After the boys lined up before the fog veil, the grandfather raised his hand, silencing the whispers.
"Listen carefully," he said firmly.
"Once you cross over, you will remain inside for one day according to our time."
"But a single day outside equals many days within the Spiritual Farm."
"So work hard and do not waste any opportunity."
"Time flows differently there."
He then continued with a warning tone.
"When the time ends, a return passage will appear beside each of you."
"You must leave immediately."
"Staying longer will lead to a catastrophe."
"As for the passage that appears…"
"It will show three colors reflecting the quality of your farm."
"Red means your spiritual farm is weak."
"Green indicates medium quality."
"And purple signifies a high-quality farm."
A boy suddenly asked curiously,
"Is there another color?"
The grandfather burst into loud laughter.
"Ho ho ho ho!"
The crowd joined him in mocking laughter.
The old man replied calmly,
"Even if another color existed… trust me, your eyes would never see it."
He was not joking.
He simply understood the limits of the tribe's children.
Then he brought out an ancient bamboo bowl and ordered firmly,
"Each of you must place a drop of your blood here."
"This is necessary to enter the farm."
"Without the blood of the tribe, entry is impossible."
"The lightning within that fog will attack and kill anyone who does not carry the tribe's blood."
When Jumanji heard those words, a wave of panic rose inside him.
He was not a member of the tribe.
He was only playing a role.
He froze in place, thinking desperately.
What should he do?
The boys stepped forward one by one, silently dropping a single drop of blood into the bowl.
Soon, only Jumanji remained.
His hesitation was obvious.
The grandfather's sharp eyes fixed on him.
"Jumanji… you are the last one. Hurry."
At that moment, Jumanji was not struggling against the crowd.
He was struggling against a terrifying truth.
The farm only opened for the tribe's bloodline.
And the lightning waiting within the fog showed no mercy to outsiders.
One question echoed in his mind like a death sentence.
"I am not one of them…"
"I am just a passerby playing a role that does not belong to me."
"What will that lightning do when it discovers the truth?"
He stood frozen as whispers rose around him like the hissing of snakes.
Even Galvan began to show a faint trace of suspicion.
A mocking voice laughed.
"Look… the spoiled hero is afraid. It seems he already knows he will only awaken a weak farm."
Jumanji sighed inwardly.
Retreating now would expose everything.
Slowly, he stepped forward with heavy steps.
He took the blade from the old man and cut his finger, letting a drop of blood fall into the bowl.
He watched it mix with the others, praying silently that it would not become the spark of his destruction.
The moment it was done, he quickly stepped back, waiting for fate's judgment.
Suddenly the old man raised his hand.
The mixed blood droplets rose into the air like a crimson thread before shooting into the fog and disappearing within it.
Moments later, the lightning weakened.
It was no longer as dense as before.
"Go!" the old man roared.
The boys rushed forward like a flood.
Only three remained walking calmly at the back:
Jumanji, the mysterious white-haired boy, and the golden-haired grandson of the elder.
Jumanji paused again at the edge of the fog.
The electrified mist brushed his face.
Even though the lightning had weakened, it was still present.
He stared at the dancing veil.
Death had never been unfamiliar to him after losing his family.
It had always followed him like a shadow.
He sighed quietly.
"Why am I trembling now?"
"Didn't I choose this path to rebel against death?"
"Even if death awaits me beyond this veil… perhaps it is the only way to reunite with my family."
At that moment, the fear in his eyes turned cold.
He had accepted the possibility of death.
And that acceptance gave him courage.
He gathered his strength and rushed toward the fog with the heart of someone ready to die—or someone determined to defeat death.
Just before he stepped into the spiritual dimension, his grandfather stopped him with a subtle gesture.
The old man leaned close and whispered strangely,
"Go to the highest peak there."
"You will find a giant tree."
"Test the limits of yourself there."
Jumanji nodded silently.
Then he rushed into the fog, expecting death.
But the lightning bent strangely away from him, avoiding his body as if it recognized him.
He passed through safely.
Moments later, the lightning returned violently, sealing the entrance once again.
After Jumanji disappeared into the fog, the old grandfather stared at the blazing veil with deep eyes.
He sighed heavily and murmured quietly.
"Even though your chance of obtaining that 'thing' is less than one percent… this is the most I can do for you, my child."
"No one who has passed through here has ever succeeded in claiming that secret."
He paused before adding sadly,
"Ah… time truly passes frighteningly fast."
End of Chapter