Noct was swinging his sword in the garden, but this time it was far more refined—not at the level of a professional, but still far better than his old, simple, childlike movements.
His swings carried a rough rhythm now, each motion cleaner, sharper, less wasted. He thought while continuing, Looks like it has improved a bit… at least. And now I can sustain myself longer too.
He had been following his training schedule every single day without fail—running in the morning until his lungs burned, followed by pull-ups and push-ups until his arms gave out, then sword training from twelve to five without interruption. And along with that… that damn substance. Nearly every day. The hardest part of all.
Just thinking about that gooey, sticky, viscous liquid—no, calling it a liquid felt wrong, it was more like a crawling, suffocating catastrophe—sliding down his throat was enough to make his skin crawl.
His stomach twisted at the mere memory of it, the taste refusing to leave no matter how much water he drank afterward. But somehow, he endured it.
It had already been a month and the results were finally starting to show.
His once thin, fragile body could now at least be considered average, no longer looking like it would collapse from a light push. His stamina had increased, his movements becoming more controlled, more precise. From a useless piece of trash… to a slightly useful piece of trash.
But it was still just the beginning.
"I still have to do something about this damaged soul… or I'm destined for doom," he muttered under his breath, his breathing slightly heavy as sweat rolled down his neck.
He tightened his grip and swung again. "One more—"
He swung, and then—he disappeared, vanished—perished into thin air just like that.
One moment he was there, standing in his garden… and the next, he was gone, as if erased from existence itself.
Before he could even process what had happened, his surroundings had completely changed. The familiar garden behind his house had vanished, replaced by something far more unsettling.
A different place—no, a different world.
The ground beneath his feet was dry and cracked, black soil stretching endlessly in all directions like a dead sea. The air was heavy, thick with something unseen, pressing down on his lungs, making each breath feel forced, unnatural. The sky above was pitch black, not a single trace of light breaking through, as if the world itself had been swallowed whole.
Scattered across the land were dried, twisted trees, their bark dark and lifeless, their roots glowing faintly red as they spread deep into the corrupted soil like veins.
The entire place reeked of malice.
Noct's expression darkened as he looked around, his grip tightening on the wooden sword in his hand.
"…This place…" he muttered under his breath, his voice low. "Damn it… why now, of all times…"
He had already realized it—there was no need to question it.
"Judgement…" he said, clicking his tongue in irritation.
His eyes dropped to the wooden sword in his hand—the one he had received from his master just a few days ago. Of course, she wouldn't give him a real sword. Not yet. Not to someone still considered a beginner.
A beginner…
A newbie who once cut down enemies without hesitation, who had faced death countless times, who had slaughtered opponents like it was nothing…
And now—reduced to this… stripped down, held back, forced into a weak, fragile shell, a shadow of what he once was.
He exhaled slowly and looked around again, scanning his surroundings carefully.
"Looks like some kind of witch forest… or something similar," he muttered.
(Witch Forest — a place of corroded land, devoid of life, barren plains stretching endlessly under a sky consumed by darkness, the air thick with malice. No life… except what should not exist.)
"Why does it have to be this place…" he said, his tone low as his body instinctively tensed.
A faint irritation flickered in his eyes.
"I really can't tolerate those creatures…"
His thoughts sharpened instantly. I need to find an exit. I'm not prepared to fight a Yaksha right now.
(Yaksha — the guardian, or rather the boss of the Night World. Each Yaksha differs depending on the environment and nature of the world it governs.)
He started walking forward, his steps steady but cautious, the wooden sword held firmly in his hand.
If this really was a witch-type region… then the Yaksha guarding it would be—
"No…" he muttered, cutting off his own thought. "I have to avoid it at all costs… I'm not ready to die yet… at least not now."
He kept walking, step after step, forward without stopping, without turning back, as the empty land stretched endlessly before him.
Time passed—minutes, maybe an hour—but nothing changed. No movement, no sound, no life. Just endless barren land, the same twisted trees, the same suffocating silence pressing down on him.
No creatures, no signs of anything—just absolutely nothing, not a damn thing anywhere.
He slowed slightly, his eyes narrowing as soon as he finally realized where he was, a faint unease creeping in. "This is bad…" he muttered under his breath.
"Now I'm damn sure… this is a Witch Forest," he said as his eyes caught the remains of scattered corpses around him—but he didn't flinch, because he knew those weren't just corpses.
He immediately rushed forward, trying to get out of there. I need to get out of here as soon as possible, he thought, his instincts already screaming danger.
But then—a grip caught his leg, jerking him to a halt as something held him back, refusing to let go, his body locking in place as he couldn't move.
"Fuck… I knew this was gonna happen if I didn't hurry," he muttered, lowering his gaze toward the thing gripping him.
It was a hand.
A corroded hand—rotten flesh barely clinging to exposed bone, its grip unnaturally tight.
He tried to pull free, but it didn't budge, his expression hardening as he realized it wasn't letting go.
Without hesitation, he raised his sword and slammed it down hard, knowing full well cutting it clean wouldn't be enough.
But the next moment he tried to move, he muttered, "Already too late…!" as voices—screams, distorted sounds—began echoing from all directions, yet there wasn't a single creature in sight, and then suddenly, hands started erupting from the ground.
The things clawing out of the ground didn't stop—one after another, more hands burst through the black soil, dragging bodies along with them as twisted, rotting figures forced themselves up, hollow eyes flickering with something unnatural.
Zombies. No… something worse.
"Why the fuck are these undeads always so damn annoying…?" he muttered under his breath as one lunged at him, and without hesitation he swung his wooden sword, striking clean across its neck and splitting it apart—
—but even as the body collapsed, it twitched, jerked, and started moving again like nothing had happened.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Another rushed in from the side—he turned and slashed straight through its torso, the upper half falling away from the lower, yet both parts continued to writhe on the ground, dragging themselves toward him.
They weren't dying—no, not from this.
"Yeah… of course it's not gonna be that easy," he clicked his tongue, stepping back as more kept rising—from the front, from behind, from everywhere—as if the ground itself had come alive, endlessly birthing them without pause.
I really fucking hate these creatures the most… out of all the Night Creatures.
He swung again, harder this time, smashing one down, then another, breaking limbs, tearing through decayed flesh—but no matter how many he cut down, they kept moving, crawling, reaching, refusing to stop.
"…This is bad," he muttered, his voice lower now as his breathing grew heavier.
The distance between them kept shrinking, step by step, their slow movements forming an unbreakable circle around him as he turned, only to find the same sight in every direction.
Completely surrounded from all directions, with no gap, no opening, no way out.
A faint, strained grin formed on his lips. "…Heh… seriously? Now this is just bullshit."
Their numbers kept growing, the ground still shifting, still releasing more of them as his heartbeat began to rise, faster, louder, a creeping sense of danger crawling up his spine.
"…Tch."
Nowhere to run, nowhere to escape—only one thing left.
Survive… or get dragged down with them.