I watched as Vincent descended back onto the ground, a magnificent stone now embedded in the vines wrapped tightly around his collar. The Thornveil loomed ominously before me. The Diremaw took a cautious step back, an instinctive reaction. The Vincent standing before me pulsed with an otherworldly energy, his very presence altering the atmosphere. The skies darkened, clouds gathering as if summoned. Winds whipped violently, strong enough that I could barely keep my eyes open, and the deafening rumble of thunder filled my ears—all because of one man and one rune.

Vincent raised his hand, fingers pointed at the Diremaw, and suddenly, a massive thorn materialized from thin air, hovering as though held by invisible threads. I was frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the spectacle. The old man steadied his aim, and then, with a snap of energy, the thorn shot forward like a bullet. But to my shock, the Diremaw dodged it in a blur, its four legs moving with incredible speed.

The force of the attack sent a shockwave through the air, the recoil rippling through Vincent. Sweat dripped down his face, the strain of his earlier wounds showing despite their healing. He steadied himself, his gaze locked onto the Diremaw. The beast, undeterred, stood firm, its body coiled as though ready for another dodge. It wasn't going to flee—it was confident, almost arrogant in its speed and ability to evade.

Another giant thorn materialized in Vincent's hand, this time aimed directly at the Diremaw's exposed stomach—its only vulnerable spot wide enough for a lethal strike. He anticipated the beast's instinct to dodge, knowing it would never allow itself to be hit so easily. With precision, he launched the thorn, but as expected, the Diremaw threw itself to the right. Vincent, ever sharp, shifted his aim at the last second. Yet, the creature's reflexes were remarkable. It latched onto a nearby tree with its left forelimb, using its immense strength to propel itself backward, narrowly avoiding the thorn by inches.

Vincent staggered slightly, losing his footing for a brief moment. He was struggling, and it showed. Was it his age? The mental strain of his injuries? Or perhaps something more? I glanced at him carefully, noticing something odd—he was only projecting his right hand, his left arm tucked behind his back, facing me. Confusion rippled through me until I scanned the area. Vines were sprouting from the ground, encircling me in a protective barrier.

He was shielding me, even as he fought the Diremaw.

The beast, blood still dripping from its maw, crept closer, its red eyes glowing menacingly through the storm. Every step was measured, cautious, as though it too sensed Vincent's weariness. "Stick close," Vincent called out, his voice steady despite the chaos around us.

"Old man," I protested, stepping forward. "I don't need your protection. This is my fight—my task. I dragged you into this mess, made you summon your rune and battle a Diremaw, a beast on par with a runed human. I'm already disgraced, already furious. The last thing I want is you humiliating me by fighting for both of us." My voice shook with frustration as I stared at him, his face still fixed on the Diremaw.

The beast's mouth dripped with fresh blood, its eyes locked on Vincent, as if no longer playing but ready to finish the fight. "Stop protecting me. Attack it with everything you've got. That's my final request of you."

Vincent said nothing for a moment, then slowly, his left hand moved from behind him, and he extended both arms in front of him. "I cannot fight with everything I have," he said quietly. "And I don't need to. If I did, this entire forest would be reduced to rubble, and you along with it. But... brace yourself."

Suddenly, the ground trembled as a massive vine, thicker than a tree trunk, surged upward, wrapping itself around the Diremaw's hind leg. The beast growled in confusion, thrashing and clawing at the vine with its enormous claws, each swipe capable of tearing a human to pieces. But the vine held firm, unyielding despite the Diremaw's efforts.

A faint smile crossed Vincent's lips. With a swift motion of his right hand, he conjured another thorn—this one larger, more imposing. "Take this, you overgrown sack of meat."

The thorn shot forward, faster than before, moving with such speed that even the Diremaw's quick reflexes couldn't save it. The beast raised its right forelimb, intending to swat the thorn away as it had done to the Horned Tiger, but the projectile moved too swiftly. It tore into the Diremaw's limb, a sickening spray of blood erupting as the beast howled in agony.

But the creature wasn't done yet. The shriek died abruptly, and its eyes glowed brighter, more intense. "Cover your ears!" Vincent commanded sharply, and I obeyed just as the Diremaw unleashed a deafening roar.

The sound was unlike anything I'd ever heard. My legs shook violently, the force of the roar rattling my bones. Blood trickled from my ears as the unbearable noise blurred my vision. My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed, trembling. It was the Roar of Dominion, a sound that instilled terror in anyone weaker than the creature that wielded it. My body betrayed me, proving what I already knew—I was weaker than the Diremaw.

Through blurred vision, I looked up. Vincent stood tall, his arms still outstretched, his gaze fixed on the beast. He was stronger. Even against a monster like the Diremaw, even while protecting me, Vincent was stronger.

Vincent swayed his left hand, and another massive vine burst from the earth, snaking around the Diremaw's throat, tightening with each second. Its tongue lolled out, the roar dying in its throat, but my body still trembled, the aftershocks of its primal scream lingering. With a sharp pull, Vincent brought the beast crashing to the ground. Another flick of his wrist summoned more vines, twisting and coiling around the Diremaw's massive form.

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A bright, unsettling smile crept across the old man's face. The vines constricted, binding the creature's legs and torso, trapping it where it lay, helpless. Its teeth sank into its tongue, the tip hanging grotesquely from its mouth, blood staining the fur around its jaw. The once-mighty Diremaw, a D-tier beast capable of slaughtering a thousand men in a single frenzy, was now a pitiable creature, pinned to the earth and reduced to a mere shadow of its former strength.

It couldn't even twitch. It lay motionless, as if begging for mercy.

Mercy from a man who had endured over six centuries of loneliness. A man who wielded the power of a rune. The Diremaw's bloodshot eyes, once glowing red with fury, now dimmed, reflecting only fear and fatigue. It stared at Vincent, locked in a gaze with the man who stood just a few feet away, separated only by the massive, sharp thorn suspended in midair—its tip hovering mere inches from the beast's skull.

"You were a force of nature," Vincent's voice broke the silence, low and somber. "It was your duty to protect these sacred forests and the creatures within them. No matter how powerful I may be, I have no right to pass judgment on a beast that was only following its instinct. But my friend... we were dragged into this game against our will. Forced to survive at any cost, even if it means killing another being. Even if it means destroying a life... or a family."

His words hung heavy in the air, and I realized the truth in them. Diremaws didn't rampage for the sake of violence; they only attacked when threatened. There was no way Vincent and I, without his rune, could have posed any real danger to it. Then why did it attack us?

My heart sank as the realization dawned. It had been protecting something. I couldn't see them, but I knew—its younglings. It had attacked not to hunt us, but to defend them, likely from the horned tiger we had summoned. Once the tiger fell, the Diremaw's instincts had kicked in, driving it to eliminate any other threats. Even if we let it go now, it would have no choice but to kill us, having witnessed Vincent's overwhelming power, all to ensure the safety of its brood.

I looked at Vincent's face. There was sadness there, deep and profound. He took no pleasure in what he was about to do. Taking another life—another soul—just so we could survive in this twisted game.

"Sleep well," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm. "I'll make sure to bury you."

With that, the thorn shot forward, striking the Diremaw's head at point-blank range. The impact was violent. Blood and bone exploded outward, splattering across the ground in a grisly display of finality. Fragments of skull flew through the air, and a pool of crimson spread rapidly beneath the beast's motionless body. Its eyes, once full of life and fire, dulled instantly, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

The ground was soaked in blood, thick and dark, seeping into the earth as if the forest itself was mourning the loss of its protector. I felt my stomach churn at the sight, the sheer brutality of it turning the air sour.

Vincent stood there, unmoved by the gore, his eyes locked on the fallen creature. Stronger, perhaps, but burdened by the weight of survival in a world that gave no quarter.

The air grew still, an awkward silence settling over us, broken only by the low rumbles of distant thunder in the sky. I stood up, my legs still weak from the trembling, the last vestiges of fear leaving my body. "Well, there goes my task," I muttered, trying to break the tension, to shake off the lingering unease. But Vincent said nothing. He remained silent, his gaze distant. I understood why.

Suddenly, his hand rose, pointing toward something in the distance. I followed his finger, expecting to see the Diremaw's broken body. But no, it was something smaller, further off. The rat? No—just beyond, half-buried under leaves and debris, lay the body of the horned tiger. I squinted under the whipping wind. At first, I wasn't sure. But then, I saw it—a faint rise and fall. The beast was still breathing, just barely.

I glanced back at Vincent. He was staring at the sky, his eyes tracing the dark clouds swirling overhead, heavy with unshed rain. I nodded silently and approached the tiger. Blood oozed from its wounds, staining its striped fur. The poison from Vincent's thorns must have paralyzed it, leaving it helpless, struggling for life. This was my only chance, and I knew what had to be done.

I had left my spear somewhere in the chaos. Looking around, I found a large stone, heavy enough to do the job. I sat beside the tiger, its labored breathing faint against the backdrop of the approaching storm.

"Sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I raised the stone and brought it down, hard. The impact was sickening, the sound of bone cracking beneath the weight making my stomach churn. But I kept going, again and again, each strike more brutal than the last. Blood sprayed with each blow, splattering across the dirt, the stench of death thick in the air.

I didn't want to do this, but I had no choice. This was survival. This was the world we were trapped in, and mercy had no place here. The tiger's body stilled, its life snuffed out by my hands.

I stood up, wiping the blood from my face, my chest heaving. I scanned the area, trying to compose myself, and that's when I saw it—a tiny, bright stone glimmering amidst the rubble. The rune. The once dull, lifeless stone now pulsed faintly with light. I picked it up, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier than before. Was all of this worth it?

As if reading my thoughts, Vincent spoke, his voice cutting through the tension. "The only path there is, boy, is forward," he said, his eyes still fixed on the stormy sky. "No matter what happens, or who you lose along the way, you must keep moving forward. The dead will only welcome you to join them. This game isn't about right or wrong, good or evil. It doesn't care. All it asks of you is survival."

His words hit me harder than any strike I'd dealt that day. I turned the rune over in my hand, the weight of my choices pressing down on me. "If that's the case," I asked quietly, "then will you kill me to survive, old man?"

I slipped the rune into my pocket and waited for his answer. But Vincent didn't respond. Instead, a single drop of water fell from the sky, landing on his nose. He looked up again, watching as more drops followed, the storm finally breaking.

He let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Well then, my dear friend," he said, his voice carrying a strange sense of finality, "whom I've known for two days out of my centuries in this world... you must go on with your journey. Advance to the next level. Now, before he arrives."

"He?" I asked, confusion twisting in my chest. "Who are you talking about?"

Vincent's face darkened. His eyes, filled with an unspoken dread, met mine. "Now that I've summoned the rune," he said slowly, "I've committed an act of betrayal against the kingdom. I now hold power nearly equal to that of Riptide." His words hung heavy in the air, the gravity of his confession settling over me.

He leaned in, his eyes piercing into mine. "King Martin II is coming."