My breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a desperate battle against exhaustion. My clothes clung to me—drenched in sweat and torn from countless scrapes—as I forced my way through the dense underbrush. Blood trickled from small wounds left by the thorns, but I didn’t stop—not for pain, not for anything. One shoe was long gone, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was running. South. Just keep running south. Get out of this country.
Earlier, when I had woken up, the cave was in chaos. The air was heavy, carrying the scent of scorched rock and blood. Debris littered the floor, and the walls bore deep gashes and impact craters, as though a violent battle had erupted.
At first, I thought Damien and Vex had gotten into another fight like before, but this was far worse than any usual squabble. The damage was extensive, and the blood was troubling. The ominous energy still lingering in the air made it clear that something much more serious had occurred.
When I entered the cave, I noticed that there were no openings initially—but for some reason, two jagged entrances had been blasted into the walls. The size of the openings suggested that something—or someone—had been forcefully hurled through them. Whatever had happened here was beyond my comprehension.
As I stepped out of the cave, I initially thought that Vex and Damien had already handled the situation, so I wasn't too worried. However, once I emerged, I realized the extent of the damage.
Before me sprawled a colossal, circular crater—as if a meteor had violently crashed into the earth. The massive pit had devoured a vast section of the forest, transforming it into a molten wasteland of scorched earth. The edges of the crater still glowed faintly, with molten embers flickering beneath curling tendrils of rising smoke. The air was heavy, thick with the acrid stench of burnt soil and ash, choking every breath I took.
One thing was certain: this was no natural disaster. The overwhelming concentration of mana residue radiating from the crater told me this was the result of a potent spell. Whoever unleashed it really went for the kill.
“Could this have been Damien and Vex’s doing?” I wondered, though the thought seemed implausible. As strong as they were, this level of destruction felt beyond even their combined power.
As my gaze lowered from the smoldering pit to the ground near the cave’s entrance, something caught my eye—a crude message, hastily arranged with pebbles:
“Danger! Run south, don’t stop! Escape border now. Destroy this after reading.”
The grammar was rough and the formation messy, but the message was clear as day. It was meant for me.
Damien and Vex had left this behind. Whatever had happened here—whatever or whoever they faced—I had to escape from this place.
Without wasting another second, I kicked the pebbles away, scattering the message until it was unreadable. My gaze shifted to the sky, the position of the sun helping me determine where south lay. With a deep breath, I bolted, plunging deeper into the forest, away from the ominous crater and the lingering stench of destruction.
I ran without hesitation, weaving through the wilderness like a hunted animal. Bushes tore at my exposed skin, their thorns leaving thin streaks of crimson on my arms and legs. My tattered clothing snagged on brambles, shredding further with every desperate step. Puddles splashed underfoot as I leaped over fallen logs and ducked beneath low-hanging branches. My lungs burned, my heart pounded, but I didn’t stop.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, dulling the sting of the scratches as my thoughts spiraled. What had happened while I was unconscious? What kind of force could have left a crater like that? And, more importantly, what had become of Damien and Vex?
Each question only pushed me to run faster, my feet pounding the earth in a relentless rhythm. I couldn’t afford to slow down—not with danger closing in, not with my life hanging by a thread.
But I couldn’t let my thoughts distract me—I needed to focus on my surroundings. The deeper I went into the woods, the harder the trail became to navigate. The ground turned uneven, roots twisted like traps beneath the dense undergrowth, and visibility shrank as the foliage thickened.
Beyond the fear of enemies tracking me, there was the very real danger of wild beasts prowling these woods. Any one of them could turn me into their next meal, and with my pathetic combat abilities, defending myself would be nearly impossible. My only hope was to avoid them entirely.
One silver lining shone through the tension, though: my newfound regeneration. Every time a thorn scraped my skin, the pain was short-lived. Almost immediately, the wounds closed up, the flesh knitting itself back together as if nothing had happened. It was strange and unsettling, but undeniably useful.
The eyeball in my mana plane—Lysanthera—had mentioned this ability. I guess not all the powers I gained were as useless as I’d initially thought. Still, the pain was no less sharp at the moment, and I doubted I’d ever get used to the sensation of my skin tearing and reforming again and again.
After running for almost four relentless hours, I found myself deep within the forest. The dense canopy overhead filtered the sunlight, creating a serene mosaic of shifting light and shadows. Thankfully, not a single dangerous mana beast had crossed my path, and for the first time since I started running, I felt a glimmer of safety.
Slowing my pace, I allowed myself a moment to scan the area for potential threats. The forest seemed peaceful—an almost eerie contrast to the chaos I had fled from. The rhythmic chirping of birds echoed around me, accompanied by the gentle rustling of leaves swaying in the breeze.
My legs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort. My lungs burned—a sharp reminder of the hours I’d spent sprinting at full speed—and fatigue was finally catching up to me. I came to a stop, my breath ragged, leaning against a tree for support.
I needed a momentary rest. Even with the ever-present danger lurking in the back of my mind, my body demanded a pause. For a brief moment, I let myself believe I’d bought enough time to recover.
The sound of running water reached my ears, and my parched throat cried out for relief. I pushed my weary legs forward, following the sound until I discovered a small stream winding past a tranquil pond. The crystal-clear water splashed rhythmically over smooth stones, its coolness a refreshing contrast to the heat and grime clinging to my body.
I scanned the area cautiously, my eyes darting between the trees and bushes for any sign of danger. After satisfying myself that it was safe for the moment, I waded into the stream, allowing the water to rush over my legs. The cold current soothed my aching muscles and washed away the sweat and grime.
“Just what I needed,” I muttered to myself.
Crouching down, I scooped up a handful of water and drank deeply. The refreshing chill sliced through my exhaustion, rejuvenating me just enough to clear my mind. I splashed more water onto my face, scrubbing away the dirt that had caked onto my skin. For the first time in what felt like forever, I experienced relief—even if it was fleeting.
Despite the relief, an unsettling feeling lingered. Streams like this were usually teeming with wildlife, but there was nothing—no deer, no rabbits, not even the soft stir of small creatures in the undergrowth. It felt wrong.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
What caught my attention, however, were the bones. Lying along the bank were the remains of animals, their white, bleached skeletons eerily stripped clean.
That’s when I noticed that the forest had gone silent. The rhythmic chirping of birds was absent, swallowed by an oppressive stillness. I had almost missed it—the sound of the stream masking the absence of the forest’s usual symphony.
A bad feeling coiled in my gut.
Then, I heard it—a low, creaking noise from behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I turned slowly.
Emerging from the bushes was a monstrous figure, its large, furry head pushing through the greenery. Its glowing amber eyes locked onto mine, unblinking and filled with predatory intent. Three long, sturdy horns jutted from its snout like deadly weapons, and as its jaws parted, rows of sharp, saliva-dripping teeth glinted in the dappled light.
"Shit," I muttered, my voice oddly calm.
My breath almost caught in my throat. This was no ordinary beast; before me stood the notorious Three-Horned Red Bear—a predator infamous for ruling these evergreen forests with unparalleled ferocity.
I moved slowly, each step careful and deliberate, retreating across the other side of the pond. My eyes stayed locked on the bear, unwavering. It was sizing me up, calculating its next move. I knew one thing for certain: any sudden motion on my part would trigger its attack.
The only option was to create as much distance as possible—without provoking it.
The bear snarled, producing a deep, guttural sound that vibrated the air between us. It stepped closer, its massive paws crushing the underbrush beneath them with loud, deliberate cracks. Each step carried a blend of curiosity and caution, as though the bear understood I was up to something but hadn’t yet decided if I was worth the effort. Then, it emerged fully from the shadows of the bush, revealing its colossal form.
My stomach twisted into a knot. The bear’s massive body was a solid mass of muscle, its thick, matted fur glistening with a reddish hue under the dim light of the forest. Three menacing horns jutted from its snout, each sturdy enough to shred a full-grown tree. The creature weighed over a thousand kilograms, towering nearly three times the size of the wolf that had attacked the village during my childhood.
One swing of those massive paws—bristling with claws longer than my forearm—could shred me into minced meat. And no amount of regeneration would piece me back together from that kind of devastation.
The bear growled again, its amber eyes glowing with a mix of hunger and territorial wrath. I fought the urge to run, knowing that turning my back would invite it to lunge at me. I needed a plan, and I needed it fast.
My chest tightened as the thunder of my heartbeat drowned out even the pounding of the bear’s massive steps. Its glowing amber eyes were fixed on me, unrelenting and filled with primal intent. My mind raced as panic clawed at every thought.
I was defenseless—a sitting meal. Even if I had a sword, it wouldn’t have made much difference. That thing was a monster, and nothing short of divine intervention would save me now.
The eyeball—the spirit in my meridian plane—had mentioned something about plant control. It was a long shot, but I had nothing to lose.
Summoning what little courage I had left, I turned toward the beast, waving my hand in the direction of the bushes at its feet. I focused every ounce of my will, trying to channel mana through my veins and direct it to my palm. I imagined the bushes coming alive, twisting and coiling like serpents, latching onto the bear’s colossal limbs to hold it in place.
Although the bear casually walked through the bushes, nothing happened.
"That’s just great!" I shouted, my voice cracking with desperation.
The bushes remained still, indifferent to my plight. The bear, however, did not.
With a deep, guttural growl, it charged.
Water sprayed everywhere as its massive paws slammed into the puddle—each step like the tolling of a death knell. The ground trembled beneath me as it closed the distance with terrifying speed.
“Damn it!” I muttered under my breath, panic overtaking my reason. I turned to run, hoping to escape, but I could feel the bear gaining on me. Suddenly, a searing cramp shot up my leg, stealing away what little hope I had left.
“Ah! Fuck!” I cried in anguish. I must have exhausted my leg muscles from all the running.
I stumbled, barely able to limp forward. My legs felt like lead, and every step was a struggle.
As I turned around, I felt the ground quake with the bear’s relentless approach—the splashing water growing louder and closer. Its growls were like a roar in my ears, the promise of my impending doom.
This was it. This was the end.
Suddenly, a piercing, bone-chilling roar erupted from the far end of the forest. It wasn’t just a sound—it was an otherworldly roar that filled me with dread. My body stiffened, paralyzed by fear as if every nerve were screaming for me to run as far away as possible. For a second, I forgot all about the bear.
Only my eyelids moved as I glanced at the bear in front. Even its steps came to a halt. As the roar echoed throughout the forest, both of us stood completely still, as immobile as rocks.
The roar lasted for a few seconds before gradually fading away, reminiscent of a distant thunderstorm. Once the sound subsided, my body finally relaxed enough to move again, though my legs felt weak. I could barely comprehend what kind of creature had emitted that terrifying sound.
Coming back to my circumstances, I still had to deal with this red bear. To my surprise, the bear was trembling—its colossal form quivering as if caught in the grip of an unseen force. Its eyes, once cold and predatory, now gleamed with raw terror. The creature, usually a formidable presence in the woods, now appeared small and fragile, as if the very essence of nature had been shattered.
The large bear whimpered a pitiful, defeated sound before turning and bolting into the woods like an injured pup. It completely ignored me and ran deep into the forest—away from the source of that deafening roar. Whatever primal instinct it possessed urged it to flee, and it obeyed without a second thought.
But there was no moment to rejoice.
I could sense it—an overwhelming presence that pressed down on me like an invisible weight. Whatever had made that roar was heading in my direction, and fast.
Panic surged through me. Without thinking, I limped to a nearby tree and climbed onto one of its thick branches, seeking refuge among its leaves. I clung to the trunk, my heart pounding as I struggled to steady my breathing. A cold sweat trickled down my face as I tried to remain as still as possible.
Then came the wind.
It started as a faint breeze, rustling the leaves around me, but it quickly picked up strength. The gusts grew fierce—almost strong enough to knock me off my precarious perch. Each burst carried a sense of impending doom, a chilling reminder that something massive was approaching.
Loud, rhythmic flapping followed. The sound was unmistakable—wings, enormous and powerful, cutting through the air with ease. The intervals between each beat grew shorter, and the force of the wind intensified with every passing second.
My chest tightened as a shadow passed overhead, briefly blocking out the light. I instinctively glanced up, and what I saw made my blood run cold.
A large creature soared through the sky, its massive wings spread wide. Each flap created gusts strong enough to flatten smaller vegetation. The scales of its body shimmered like molten rubies, and it radiated an oppressive bloodlust so intense that it felt as though the air itself had turned to iron. It was a red dragon—a creature of legend. I froze, every muscle in my body locked in place.
Dragons once ruled the mortal realm. They were magnificent beings of awe and terror, revered as gods by those who walked the earth. Legends spoke of their grandeur, immense power, and wisdom. It was said they were the first to teach humanoid species the art of mana manipulation, providing them with the means to defend themselves against the horrors of the world.
However, such tales are merely folklore. No one can prove their truth, and dragons have long since faded into myth—reduced to stories meant to awe or frighten children.
Yet one remnant of that era is said to still walk among us—or so the rumors claim: Belarus Benquish Ironhearth, the Heavenly Virtue of Valor. His name is as heavy as the legend it carries. He was said to be the offspring of a human and a dragon—a being who had lived for eons, bridging the gap between the mortal and the divine. His dual nature allowed him to move among humans in their form, but in battle he would shed his mortal guise and transform into his true draconic self—a force of unparalleled destruction.
The red dragon soaring above me—its shimmering scales, immense size, and terrifying presence—matched the description of Belarus. I had read about him once, and there was a passing mention in a scroll about the Virtues. If the stories were to be believed, he was one of the strongest among them—a living relic from a time when dragons ruled the skies and the earth.
At that moment, his aura was suffocating—filled with unrestrained bloodlust. His presence made every fiber of my being scream for me to stay hidden.
The dragon flew with purpose, its trajectory clear. It was heading straight for the crater—the battleground. Was it going there to finish the job? Even if Damien and Vex survived that, there was no way in hell they could escape this creature.
I clung tighter to the tree, watching in horror as the dragon vanished into the distance, its enormous form shrinking against the horizon. My breaths came in shallow gasps as I tried to calm myself.
One thing was clear: I needed to get as far away from this place as possible, and fast.
Climbing down from my perch, I hit the ground running—heading south, the direction from which the dragon likely came. I didn’t have a choice. It was my only route if I wanted to escape this cursed country. I had no idea how far the border was or what lay ahead, but staying here wasn’t an option.