The forest was awfully quite, even the small streams of water or birds didn't create any sound. It was as if they are waiting for something.

Under the tree Ryne was still unconscious, on his side the death eating demonic boar were staying dead.

That boar only had wound on it head, it was from the sky breaking swordsmanship that Ryne used. That boar's skill got crushed from Ryne's attack. Dark smoke still seeped from its body, though it was slowly dissipating into the cold, quiet air.

"Huh..." Ryne groaned softly as he began to regain consciousness. His head throbbed, and his body felt heavy, almost foreign. The first thing he noticed was the numbness spreading through his left arm. He could barely feel it now, the poison having seeped into his veins like a slow, creeping death.

He struggled to sit up, blinking groggily as the world around him came back into focus. The forest still seemed unnervingly quiet, but his attention was drawn to his arm—the blackened veins spreading from the boar's wound were stark against his pale skin.

“I can’t feel it...” Ryne muttered, his voice weak. The poison had numbed his arm completely, making it useless. Panic began to rise in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had faced worse in his previous life, but this body was still weak and vulnerable.

Ryne stumbled toward the Death-Eating Demonic Boar, his legs weak and trembling. He fell to his knees multiple times, dirt clinging to his hands and clothes.

When he finally reached the boar, his breath came in ragged gasps. The wooden stick he had used in the fight lay broken near the creature, splintered from the force of his last strike. Despite the pain and the poison coursing through him, Ryne grasped the broken stick with his good arm and drove it into the boar’s chest with as much strength as he could muster.

The stick cracked through the tough hide, and dark blood oozed out slowly. Ryne gritted his teeth and continued to dig, splitting open the boar’s chest. His vision blurred, the edges of the world spinning with dizziness, but he couldn't stop now.

Finally, his fingers brushed against something warm and solid—the boar’s heart. It pulsed faintly in his grip.

Panting heavily, Ryne yanked the heart free from the beast’s chest. It throbbed in his hand, he felt that it was pulsating in his hand.

“The heart… now the medicine,” he muttered weakly, glancing at his arm. The veins had darkened further, the poison spreading dangerously close to his shoulder. He didn’t have much time left.

Ryne staggered to his feet, clutching the boar’s heart tightly. Then he wrapped it in a leaf and tucked in his clothes.

"There must be a graveyard near, I'm sure that the death eating demonic boar eat the deadbodies from the graveyard that's how it's kept on getting powerful." He said to himself.

"Grave Keeper’s Honey..." Ryne muttered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the forest. His mind latched onto the name of the herb, repeating it like a mantra. It was his only chance. The small, yellow bell-shaped flowers with green leaves marked by white dots were known to be the sole cure for the rotting poison of the boar.

He stumbled forward, each step a battle as he forced his legs to move. His body felt heavy, as if the forest itself were pressing down on him. The eerie silence around him only deepened his sense of isolation, as though the entire world had paused, waiting for his next move.

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Ryne’s breath came in ragged gasps, the numbness in his arm now creeping toward his chest. He scanned the forest desperately to find the graveyard, that is the only place where the Grave Keepers Honey grows.

Ryne stumbled again, falling to his knees as a fresh wave of dizziness swept over him.

"Focus..." he whispered to himself, forcing his eyes to scan the forest ahead. In the distance, he spotted something—an odd break in the tree line, as if the trees themselves recoiled from a certain area. His heart quickened. Could it be the graveyard?

Ryne pushed himself back to his feet, his body protesting every movement. His legs felt like lead, his left arm was completely useless, and the poison was creeping closer to his chest, but he pressed on. Each step was a battle, each breath a reminder that time was running out.

Finally, after what felt like hours but could have been mere minutes, Ryne reached the edge of the graveyard. The sight that met his eyes was grim—weathered tombstones, some cracked and crumbling, jutted out from the overgrown grass. The air was colder here, heavy with the scent of decay. Dark, twisted trees loomed over the graves, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers.

And there, nestled among the stones, he spotted it—the Grave Keeper’s Honey. The small yellow bell-shaped flowers stood out like a beacon of hope against the dreary landscape. Their delicate petals swayed gently, as though untouched by the death that surrounded them.

He plucked the herb from the ground and bite the root, it has a mild sweetness to it that was the reason why it is called Grave Keepers Honey.

His body shuddered violently as the herb began to take effect. The numbing sensation in his left arm flared into sharp, burning pain as the poison resisted the healing properties of the herb. Ryne gritted his teeth, his vision blurring again, but this time he could feel the poison slowly retreating. The blackened veins that had spread dangerously close to his shoulder began to recede, turning back to their normal pale color.

For a moment, Ryne collapsed back onto the damp, overgrown grass, his chest heaving as he took deep, labored breaths. He clutched his arm, which throbbed with lingering pain, but he could feel it again. The numbness was gone, and the poison had been neutralized.

Ryne slowly sat up, his muscles screaming in protest as he forced himself to move.

Then he take out the heart of death eating demonic boar, he didn't think twice and bite on that heart. His entire body recoiled at the foul taste, but he forced himself to keep chewing.

After finished eating the heart he quickly sat in the meditation pose, he tried to gather corrupted prana. And slowly he began to sense it entering his body.

Suddenly he started to Cough up blood, the pure prana and corrupted prana where counteracting inside his body.

"Stay... calm..." Ryne muttered through gritted teeth, fighting to remain conscious. He had experienced pain before, but this was something far more sinister.

He forced himself to focus on his breathing, drawing slow, shallow breaths as he tried to center his mind.

He tightly closed his eyes and gathered both pranas in his solar plexus, then slowly rotated the energy like a whirlpool. It was mixing slowly yet the process was painful.

As Ryne continued to focus, the energy within him swirled, the opposing forces of pure and corrupted prana grinding against one another like stormy waves crashing in a confined space. Every rotation in his solar plexus felt like a knife twisting in his gut, but he couldn’t afford to stop now. He forced his mind to control the growing whirlpool, regulating its flow, pushing the corrupted prana to bend to his will.

The sensation was excruciating. The pure prana, which once felt like a comforting warmth, now clashed violently with the dark energy surging from the boar’s heart. His muscles spasmed, his veins burned, and his entire body trembled as if on the verge of collapse.

"Just... a little longer..." Ryne whispered through gritted teeth, his voice barely audible.

The whirlpool of prana began to stabilize, albeit slowly. Ryne visualized the darkness within him being drawn into the light at the center of his core, coiling around it like a snake ready to strike but held at bay. Gradually, the pain subsided into a dull throb, and the corrupted energy, though not fully tamed, became less wild, more manageable. It responded to his command, reluctantly bending to his will.