Night had fallen, casting shadows across the dense forest as Adam continued his journey. For now, he wasn’t in immediate danger of starvation. He brought a backpack with him, though not overflowing, it contained enough provisions to last a few days, along with a couple of blankets to ward off the chill. His goal was clear: find a relatively safe place to camp. But safety was a fleeting concept in this place.

The forest was immense, a natural border between the territories of humans and elves. By agreement, neither race claimed ownership of this land. It was an international no-man’s land, a haven for criminals and outcasts of both races. The whispers of the forest told grim tales—starving elves who couldn’t find prey turning to hunt and eat human escapees. “ No honor among criminals huh, anything for survival, “ he thought, rumors, perhaps, but Adam wasn’t taking chances. The war that had raged years ago left its mark here, the forest was taken over by the elves swiftly even humans didn’t try to contest it, they didn’t want to try out their luck in a jungle against an enemy that can disappear and use magic of all elements.

“ Well, I guess that was pretty smart, I would’ve done the same.. Probably” he thought to himself but he was no general, " international apparently " he scoffed.

Adam tilted his head back, gazing at the canopy as stars barely peeked through the leaves. He sighed, whispering a silent plea for fortune to favor him. An unfortunate event now would spell disaster.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a rabbit darting across the forest floor. He gathered his attention and imagined an arrow piercing its neck. A moment later, the vision became reality, the rabbit collapsing in the underbrush. Adam froze, then broke into a wide grin. “ NICE ! “ . The wind user was only a rank 5 magic user but imagination was key. Remembering his rank, all the excitement was gone, after all what awaits if he wants to climb up is nothing but literal death.

It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon a clearing. A wooden house stood there, quaint and picturesque, surrounded by open space.

“Well,” Adam muttered to himself, “whoever lives here, I hope they’re friendly. Otherwise… training dummy it is.”

The thought of conflict didn’t scare him. Though his magical abilities were new, he was confident in their potential. Imagination was the heart of magic, after seeing countless horrors in his previous life picturing a wind bullet piercing the enemy’s skull was feasible. He approached the house cautiously, noting the fire pit in the yard. The embers were still warm. Someone was here, and not long ago.

He knocked on the door, waiting. Silence. He peered through the window but saw no movement. Just as he turned to leave, the door creaked open, revealing an old elf. The man’s face bore a kindly smile, his hands clasped behind his back.

“What do you need, kid? Looking for food?”

Adam’s guard remained up, but he forced a smile. “Yeah, that’d be nice, good sir.”

“I’ve got some spare fish,” the elf said, pulling one from behind his back. Adam laughed nervously at the odd presentation.

“Quick service, huh? Thanks.”

The elf led him to the yard. “Let me light a fire,” he offered.

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“You can use magic?” Adam asked, feigning curiosity. “Fire magic, maybe?”

The elf chuckled. “You guessed it.”

The old man knelt slightly, feigning the act of stoking the fire. In an instant, a fireball erupted from his hands, blazing toward Adam. What the man failed to realize was that his opponent was also a magic user. Adam, though caught off guard, had been practicing a crucial technique: maintaining a constant wind shield close to his body as a defensive measure.

However, Adam hadn’t accounted for the interaction between wind and fire. The shield, designed to remain invisible and close for efficiency, intensified the fireball upon contact. Flames roared to life, igniting his clothes in a flash. Thinking quickly, Adam ripped away the burning fabric and leapt back, creating more distance between himself and the old man as he recalibrated his defense.

“Where’d that sword come from?” Adam asked, eyeing the blade now in the elf’s hand.

The old man grinned. “Told you I’m good.”

“I see that.”

“Unlucky kid. You messed with the wrong person.”

Adam scoffed. “Messed with the wrong person? All I did was ask for food.”

“Too many fuckers tried that trick. And don’t play dumb. You can use magic. I don’t know what kind of illusion lets you pass as human, but I ain't no fool”

“How about we skip the fighting?” Adam suggested. “I’ll leave, no food, no problem. Forget about the clothes.”

The elf’s smile turned cruel. “But I need food.”

“Ah, shit.”

The elf lunged. Adam didn’t want to risk his chances, so he used the wind to boost his momentum, propelling himself forward. As his feet left the ground, a strange sensation overtook him—it felt odd, almost unnatural, to be flying. The image he had in his mind of confidently soaring through the air and one-shotting the elf vanished, replaced by a far less heroic vision: one of him falling, like the clumsy protagonist experiencing flight for the first time in a manga.

And sure enough, he fell, just as he had imagined.

The old man showed no mercy. A massive fireball, clearly meant to kill, was hurtling toward him. In that moment on the ground, he saw how the wind could deflect the fireball, redirecting its path. At that critical juncture, he was saved.

"Not bad," the elf muttered, conjuring a flurry of fiery arrows. With a wave of his hand, the arrows rained down toward Adam. Simultaneously, blue flames erupted beneath the elf’s feet, propelling him forward at an incredible speed. In his grasp was a massive sword, ablaze with the same blue fire, its searing heat mirrored by the red arrows streaking through the air. The old man’s expression was sharp and focused as his eyes locked onto Adam’s.

Adam, shaking off the impact of his fall, rose to his feet. He took a deep breath, his fists tightening as he steadied himself. With calm determination, he pushed his palm in front of him, his eyes unwavering. A powerful gust of wind surged forth, obliterating the incoming arrows in an instant and slowing down the old man’s speed almost to a stop. The elf faltered, a flicker of unease crossing his face.

Adam’s gaze hardened. With a swift flick of his fingers, as if aiming for the elf’s forehead, a sharp, invisible force shot through the air. A moment later, a faint mark appeared on the old man’s forehead—like a trace of a bullet—and then it pierced through his skull. The old man crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

He approached the body, gazing down at it with mixed emotions. “We could’ve talked,” he said quietly. “I might’ve gotten to know you. But instead, you chose to kill. Well… thanks for the training session, I guess.”

That night, Adam faced a brutal truth he could no longer deny. In this unforgiving place, it was hunt or be hunted. No camaraderie softened the edges, no helping hand reached out—only the cold, unyielding struggle for survival.

He glanced back at the house. It was close to the forest’s edge, likely the site of many human deaths at the elf’s hands. Less than ten miles in, and he had already encountered such danger.

“Well,” he muttered, stepping inside, “at least I have a place to stay for now.”