Arayn’s gaze flicked up, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t play words with me, Worm. Don’t insult yourself.”

Eryndor’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just joking,” he said.

Arayn worked quietly as he prepared the meal. The crackle of the fire cast flickering shadows across his face, his hands deftly slicing and searing the meat until its aroma filled the air. He tore off a piece, inspecting it briefly before handing it to Eryndor.

Eryndor bit into it and chewed thoughtfully. "So tender," he said, his tone light with genuine appreciation. "You really know how to cook."

Arayn smirked. "Of course. Skills should always complement one’s expression. For me, I excel in many things."

Eryndor nodded, acknowledging the claim without question, and continued eating. His pace slowed only when the last morsel disappeared from his hand. He leaned back, rubbing his stomach with a contented sigh. "Thanks for the food," he said, lying down on the forest floor.

Above, the night sky stretched vast and clear, its stars undisturbed by the dense canopy of trees surrounding them. "I can barely see the sky here," Eryndor remarked, his gaze fixed upward. "But tonight, it seems beautiful. Peaceful, even. I rarely get to enjoy the forest like this."

Arayn leaned against a nearby tree, his voice matter-of-fact as he replied, "That’s because I used beast repellent dust. Even the most aggressive creatures wouldn’t dare come close, let alone the mosquitoes."

Eryndor chuckled, his eyes still on the stars. "I see. I guess I can sleep peacefully tonight."

"Don’t be a child," Arayn said. "Come here. I’m going to evaluate you today. Consider it an honor."

Eryndor laughed but propped himself up on one elbow, his grin faint but curious. "Nobody’s ever done that before. They all call me a genius."

Arayn crossed his arms. "Your sect is merely a branch of the Crimson Sun Cult. Naturally, the cult has far more knowledge than your small group."

Eryndor rose to a seated position, cupping his fists in a gesture of respect. "Then enlighten me," he said, his tone eager, his eyes glinting with the firelight.

Arayn's gaze sharpened as he addressed Eryndor. "You’ve never truly defeated expert-class warriors on your own, have you?"

Eryndor blinked, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment. "What? Of course, I have…" His voice faltered under Arayn's unyielding stare. Finally, he sighed. "Alright, you're right. I’ve always been lucky, landing the final blow after others weakened the enemy. My allies, though... they love to embellish stories, and those rumors spread faster than wildfire."

Arayn nodded. "You have potential, Eryndor. Enough to defeat expert-class warriors before you even reach their level."

Eryndor’s eyes widened. "Really?"

Arayn scoffed. "Fool. My judgment is never wrong." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in, before continuing. "Tell me, have you ever heard the true history of the class system?"

Eryndor tilted his head. "Isn’t the class system a gift from the gods?"

Arayn’s expression hardened, his voice tinged with disdain. "Impudent, and you still dare call yourself a member of the demonic faction? That’s the doctrine of the orthodox factions. They cling to the belief in the gods' generosity. But the truth..." He leaned forward slightly, his tone darkening, "...is far more complex. While it’s true that those so-called gods created the class system, their intent was not benevolence. They did it to achieve greater heights."

Eryndor sat up straighter, his interest piqued. "Greater heights? I thought the gods were the pinnacle of existence."

Arayn's lips curled into a faint smirk. "They only claim to be the pinnacle. In reality, they’re unworthy of such a title. That’s why we refer to them by their true name, celestials. These beings believed that the ultimate pinnacle lies in reaching nature’s record of all things—the Akasha—and returning to recount its truths. To achieve this, one must embody the apex of a concept. That’s why the class system exists. Each class is tied to a distinct concept, and by perfecting it, a user can ascend to Akasha and survive its revelation."

Eryndor leaned back, stunned. "The Akasha… My teachers never mentioned anything like this."

Arayn nodded knowingly. "Of course not. Even within the Crimson Sun Cult, this knowledge is a closely guarded secret. Only a few are deemed worthy to know it."

Eryndor exhaled in awe, his tone filled with admiration. "Your knowledge is vast, Arayn. But how does this help me grow strong enough to defeat expert-class warriors?"

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"When someone devotes themselves entirely to their class, they can achieve power far greater than their peers. That’s why, in other continents, the class system is known by different names—attunement, profession, or even devotion."

Eryndor’s brow furrowed as he listened, his curiosity evident.

"By devotion," Arayn continued, "I mean aligning your very essence with what your class demands. It’s not just about mastering skills or techniques; it’s about embodying the spirit of your class from the core of your soul. Take us, for example. As Demonic Acolytes, we must dedicate ourselves to studying and mastering demonic abilities. That’s how we distinguish ourselves, displaying power far beyond what others in our realm can imagine."

Arayn paused, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Eryndor. "But you, Eryndor, are different. Special."

Eryndor blinked, surprised. "Special? How?"

"You possess an innate ability," Arayn said. "Innate abilities are unique expressions of one’s origin—a concept born from the core of their being. It means your path is clearer than most. When someone devotes themselves to a concept, their abilities progress faster. But when two concepts align or attune to each other, the progression becomes exponential. You’ll wield power capable of matching someone an entire realm higher who doesn’t understand the meaning of true devotion."

Eryndor leaned forward slightly, his expression contemplative. "I see," he murmured, mulling over Arayn’s words.

"Your origin is Assertion. That’s why you naturally seek to impose your 'self' on others, whether through words, actions, or presence. And your innate ability reflects this trait—it’s rooted in assertion. Without realizing it, you’ve been walking the right path. But now, with this awareness, if you devote yourself fully to mastering demonic power alongside your innate concept, you will become an extraordinary force. One capable of rivaling expert-class holders, if not surpassing them outright."

Eryndor sat in silence, his eyes distant as the weight of Arayn’s words settled over him. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "I understand," he said. "Arayn, you have taught me a very valuable lesson. I am glad that I decided to come to you first. I am truly grateful."

Arayn crossed his arms, watching Eryndor carefully. "I’ve given you enough reward for now. So, what will you do next? Will you challenge me now?"

Eryndor looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he considered Arayn’s words. Then, he cupped his fist and bowed his head slightly. "I was planning to do that, but I want you to see the result of my learning. I’ll assert myself to others first, challenge them, and prove my growth before challenging you. Is that acceptable?"

Arayn studied Eryndor for a moment. He could tell that the man wasn’t afraid of the challenge—this wasn’t a matter of hesitation or fear. No, Eryndor’s desire to show Arayn the fruits of his labor seemed genuine.

"Excused," Arayn said with a nod. "Go challenge others. Become stronger."

Eryndor grinned, the spark of determination in his eyes. "Thanks," he said. Standing up, he stretched. "Listening to you motivates me. I think I’ll hunt more monsters today. Arayn, can I have more meat after the hunt?"

Arayn’s expression darkened slightly, and he glanced over at the campfire, where the meat sizzled. "No. I’m already cooking this for you. You dare leave the feast without eating? Are you insulting me?"

Immediately, Eryndor sat up straighter, eyes wide. "You’re right. My bad."

Arayn allowed a brief chuckle to escape, his expression softening as he turned back to the fire.

The night passed with the two of them in companionable silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between them. The following day, they set out to hunt more Bloodthorn Beasts, gathering the creatures’ souls into Soul Gathering Scrolls. At one point, Arayn began to feel that he had collected enough.

"Let’s head back," he said, glancing over at Eryndor, who nodded in agreement.

Eryndor followed closely behind as they made their way back toward the town. "What are you planning to buy?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Arayn’s lips curled slightly as he replied, "A sword."

Eryndor blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback. "A sword?" he echoed. "But your fighting style… it doesn’t seem like something a swordsman."

Arayn’s expression remained calm as he answered, "I’ve learned many weapon arts. I’m proficient with a sword, among other things."

Eryndor’s eyes lit up with excitement at the idea of a sword duel. "In our next fight, I want to see your swordsmanship."

Arayn met his gaze. "I’ll show it to you if you truly don't lose your path."

As Arayn and Eryndor made their way through the forest, an almost unnatural quiet settling around them. Suddenly, a woman's voice interrupted them.

"I’ve been waiting for you, Arayn."

Arayn’s gaze shifted to the figure standing ahead, blocking their path. Saria, her eyes glinting with a mix of fury and resolve, stood before them. Beside her was another figure, tall and imposing, draped in black armor, making them seem almost like a shadow.

Arayn sighed. "It seems you really want to die, don’t you?"

Saria’s expression twisted, a smile creeping onto her face. "I will have my revenge for what you did in the Pit, Arayn."

Eryndor, standing a few paces behind Arayn, furrowed his brow, sensing the brewing conflict. "You don’t want to deal with her, right?" he asked, looking at Arayn for confirmation.

Arayn’s eyes remained cold and focused as he glanced at Saria. "She’s still an irrelevant worm now," he replied dismissively. "But if her presence keeps irritating me, she’ll become an impudent worm."

With a flick of his wrist, Eryndor turned his full attention to Saria. "Let me handle this. I want to introduce myself to her properly."

Arayn nodded, stepping aside as he caught Eryndor's meaning. "Do whatever you like."

Saria’s lips curled in a taunting smirk. "Stay out of this, Eryndor," she commanded, her voice harsh.

But Eryndor was already moving, his eyes locked on her. "I can’t do that. I want to make you know me better."

At that, Saria’s eyes darkened, and she turned to the figure in black armor. "Ava," she said coldly, "deal with him."

The armored figure, Ava, gave a curt nod and raised an axe that pulsed with dark energy, its blade covered in a swirling black mist. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ava charged at Eryndor.

Eryndor barely had time to react as Ava’s axe swung down with brutal force. He raised his sword to block, the impact of the blow throwing him off his feet. His body collided with the ground, the force of the strike knocking the wind out of him.

Arayn’s gaze shifted to Ava for a brief moment before his attention returned to Saria. His expression remained unchanged, unaffected by the battle unfolding before him.

Saria licked her lips, savoring the moment. "We’re finally alone," she said.