First, we headed to the market to gather some food for the old man. I had no idea how many centuries he'd been living off those fruits he plucked from under his arms. A proper meal might do him some good, I thought.

We stopped at a stall that sold roasted fowl, rich with spices and basted in a sauce so thick it glistened like lacquer. The seller wrapped up two birds, their skin crispy and seasoned with salt and herbs, stuffing their bellies with wild onions and grains. Next, we bought a small clay pot filled with some kind of root stew. It smelled of earthy mushrooms and spiced root vegetables that looked like they'd been stewing for hours.

"So, how do we prepare?" I asked as we loaded our purchases.

"Since I don't have my rune, I can't fight. All I can do is set traps for you. My vines might help, and I can even build a proper arena for the showdown," the old man replied casually.

I had my doubts about those vines of his. Could they really hold a horned tiger? As small as the tigers were, they were unbelievably strong and agile. And their smell? Average at best. Our only real shot was that their eyesight was almost useless.

As we strolled past the roadside stalls, a foul stench hit me like a punch in the gut. I saw a bald guy carrying a sag, clearly full of something.

"Follow him," the old man said, his eyes narrowing.

I did. We trailed the man through a narrow alleyway until we reached an open space where a mountain of trash and filth was piled high. The bald man threw his sag onto the heap, turned, and walked off without a word. The old man gave me a look that needed no words either. I sighed and went to the sag.

The smell was unbearable, like something had been rotting for weeks. When I finally managed to open the sag, I hesitated. Whatever was inside, I wasn't sure I wanted to see it. I glanced back at the old man and my frustration peaked when I saw him draping garlands of flowers around his neck like some sort of festival king.

"What the heck are you doing?" I snapped.

Without a word, he tossed two garlands over to me. I glared at him, but he just smiled like he was completely oblivious. Reluctantly, I slung the garlands around my head to block out the stench.

I grabbed the sag and gave it a hard shake. Something heavy thudded wetly to the ground. A dead giant ground rat lay sprawled in the dirt, its fur matted and its body stiff.

"What the hell is this?" I spat, recoiling from the sight.

"It's a giant ground r—"

"I know!" I snapped. "I'm not that stupid. But what was he doing with it?"

"Fodder," the old man replied calmly, as if it were obvious. "They use these ground rats as feed for the beasts people keep around here. The richer townsmen even have mountain dogs as a status symbol, to flaunt their superiority in the village. And at the school? They keep beasts too—feed them ground rats and other small creatures."

"So, we're using this as bait, aren't we?"

The old man gave a single nod. "I'll mask the stench with herbs and some mountain soil while I prepare the battlefield."

He gave me a meaningful look. I knew what he was about to say, and I wasn't having it.

"No fucking way am I carrying this all the way to the forest."

He smiled in that infuriating way of his and, without a word, vines began wrapping around the rat's corpse. They coiled tightly around it, lifting the body off the ground with ease.

"Pick it up," he ordered, like it was no big deal.

I glared at him, my frustration boiling over. "Fuck you, old man."

I had no choice.

We walked through the streets, the unbearable stench clinging to me like a curse. The garland of flowers around my neck did nothing to mask it; it just seemed to mingle with the rot, creating an even fouler mix. People along the way wrinkled their noses, casting sideways glances at the green-wrapped bundle I carried in my hands. Some whispered behind their palms, and others just outright stared. The market thinned as we moved further from the busy stalls, the paved streets giving way to dirt paths, lined with small houses and weathered walls. The air grew cooler, the noise from the village fading into the background.

Ahead, the kingdom gates loomed tall, casting long shadows over the road. Large, wooden doors reinforced with iron bands stood solid, flanked by towering stone walls. There were guards as I expected—two stationed at the entrance, wearing chainmail and holding spears. They spotted us before we even reached them, their eyes sharp, and one of them stepped forward, hand raised.

"Where are you headed, and what's your reason?" he barked, eyeing me suspiciously.

I pulled out my ID card and flashed it at him. "I can wander wherever I want with this," I said, keeping my tone flat. "I'm not a part of this kingdom or the village."

The guard took the card and inspected it closely. After a moment, he gave a short nod. "Alright," he said, handing it back. But then his gaze shifted behind me, landing on the old man.

"And who's that?" the guard asked, his voice hardening. "Show your face."

The old man slowly lifted his hood, revealing his unkempt grey beard and shaggy white hair. His green eyes, sharp and unsettling, watched the guard with a calm intensity.

The guard squinted, recognition dawning in his eyes. "Wait... aren't you the guy who got humbled by the king? What are you doing here with this kid?"

With those words, it clicked for me—this guard was a fellow player too.

"I want to train this boy," the old man said in a low, steady voice. "Make way."

The guard's expression shifted from curiosity to mocking disbelief. "Train this boy? You, who lost your rune?" He laughed, the sound sharp and jeering. "Sure, sure... go ahead. But boy," he said, looking at me with a smirk, "if you're planning to get a rune to climb the levels, don't be too hard on yourself. Just this morning, another player died sparring with a beast."

I stiffened at his words, but he continued, his tone almost casual. "You know how it is here. A player might live for centuries, maybe eternity, as long as they stay peaceful, no wounds, no injuries. But the second you try something risky—like fighting a horned tiger—and you get gravely injured? That's it. You're done. You die. Immortality doesn't mean invulnerability."

I clenched my jaw, holding my tongue. We passed through the gates, the old man silent behind me.

We walked for about an hour, the dense forest swallowing the path behind us. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows through the trees, the light dimming to a warm, amber glow. It was nearly 5 p.m., and the sky had taken on that late afternoon haze, a reminder that the night was creeping in. The vine-wrapped body clung to my back, the weight uncomfortable but bearable.

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"We've covered about two miles from the kingdom," I muttered to myself, wiping the sweat from my brow.

"This should be good enough," Vincent finally said as we entered a clearing. The space was nestled deep in the forest, almost hidden by the towering trees. It looked like someone had camped here long ago—maybe years, judging by the worn fire pit and scattered stones. Bushes had overgrown the area, with small saplings sprouting in clusters, their roots barely established.

Vincent scanned the area and nodded to himself. "I'll trim these bushes and grow some flowers to mask the scent of that rat. You—start clearing the rocks and stones so the ground's level enough for you to fight the beast."

I nodded, grateful to be rid of the burden, and finally let the rat's vine-covered body slide off my back. Vincent waved his hand, and from the ground, delicate flowers began to bloom rapidly, covering the rat in a blanket of petals. The rotten smell was instantly muffled, a surprising relief.

As I bent down to start gathering the scattered stones, a thought gnawed at me. "Hey, old man," I called over to him, watching as he carefully trimmed the bushes with a flick of his fingers. "Didn't you say two players together would attract beasts?"

He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "Of course. That's one reason I'm here—to attract the horned tiger."

I narrowed my eyes. "And how are you so sure it's the horned tiger that'll show up and not some other larger beast?"

He chuckled softly, not bothering to stop his work. "I've laid a number of vine traps around this clearing. If some other beast decides to show up, well..." He paused for effect. "We'll have a good fight before we die."

I swallowed hard. "You're not serious... right?"

"Relax," he waved his hand dismissively. "There aren't many other dangerous beasts in this part of the forest. Over the hills, maybe—some mountain dogs, or slumbering sloths. But here? It's mostly smaller creatures like the horned tiger."

"Guess I've got no choice but to trust you," I muttered, returning to my task.

I started by picking up the larger rocks first, tossing them into a pile at the edge of the clearing. The stones were rough and jagged, probably broken off from the nearby hills over time. I moved quickly, trying to clear the space while daylight still clung to the sky.

The ground beneath my feet was uneven, so I used a nearby stick to dig up the more stubborn roots and pebbles lodged in the dirt. As I worked, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease settling in my gut. The deeper I cleared the space, the more exposed I felt. With each rock I tossed aside, I imagined the tiger's claws, its near-blind eyes honing in on us through instinct alone.

The clearing was starting to take shape—an arena for the inevitable. I paused for a moment to watch Vincent. He was growing flowers in neat rows now, using their scent to mask the bait. His vines slithered through the underbrush like snakes, weaving small barriers between the trees.

Vincent continued weaving a net through the vines, his hands deftly setting up tripwires with practiced ease. He didn't seem rushed or anxious, only focused on his task, as if laying traps for a horned tiger was just another day for him. I watched in silence as he grew a spear-shaped weapon from the dry husk of a nearby tree and handed it to me. The wood was sharp, polished by the smooth magic of his vines.

"It's your weapon," he said simply, leaving no room for argument.

I took it, feeling the weight of the spear in my hand, though it felt lighter than it should. This was all I had to face the horned tiger—wood and vines. I knew I had no real choice in the matter, but could I really win? Even with the old man's traps, his vines, and his strange powers, it wasn't as if I was any match for a beast like that. In the end, it felt like it was more his battle than mine. I was just… there. An insignificant player when it came to power or strength.

As he continued working, laying the last of the traps with an almost eerie calm, I couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't more eager to help me directly. If I failed, he would die too, wouldn't he? He didn't seem mad, though. Maybe he had seen kids like me come and go through the centuries—young players who thought they could climb the levels and fell short. He wasn't immortal either, at least not completely. Just like me, he could die if this went wrong.

"Hey, old man," I called out, pausing with the spear in hand.

He didn't bother to turn, still focused on laying the final vine trap, but I pressed on. "You said you completed the task, right? What beast did you kill?"

The silence dragged on longer than I liked. He didn't answer. My grip tightened around the spear, and my mind began to race with doubt. Why wasn't he answering? I took a step forward, pointing the spear in his direction, even though I knew his vines could easily disarm me if he wanted.

"You aren't trying to use me to get your kill, are you?" I demanded.

Vincent stopped what he was doing, his body still, the air around us growing heavier. Slowly, he turned, locking his sharp green eyes onto mine. There was no amusement in his expression, only cold sincerity as his voice cut through the space between us.

"I didn't kill a beast," he said, his words clear and deliberate.

My brow furrowed, suspicion creeping deeper into my thoughts.

He held my gaze for a moment longer, and I could see something dark flicker in his eyes. His next words hit me like a punch to the gut.

"What I killed… was a player. Not one. I killed the soldiers of the king."

I stood there, speechless, the spear lowering in my hand as my mind tried to wrap around the revelation.

"That's right, boy," Vincent said, his voice steady as if he were discussing the weather, not murder. "A rival player counts as a beast too. And if you were to kill me right now, you wouldn't have to face the horned tiger." He opened his arms wide, as though offering himself up, his green eyes glinting in the fading light. "Go on, boy. The choice is yours."

I gritted my teeth, gripping the spear tightly, the weight of his words settling in. "Just shut up and do your work," I muttered, not trusting myself to say more.

Vincent only smiled, the same infuriating smile he always had, and turned back to his task, weaving vines into intricate traps. He moved with ease, like a man who had lived too long, who had seen too much, and now found the whole world to be some sort of bitter joke.

As I watched him, guilt began gnawing at the edges of my mind. "And I'm sorry," I said quietly, not even looking at him. My voice was barely above a whisper, but I knew he heard me.

For a moment, Vincent paused, then continued without a word. And I hated myself for it. Why did I even doubt him after all he'd done for me? Why did my mind jump to betrayal the moment things didn't feel right?

Maybe it was just who I'd become—a boy forged in a world where trust was a weakness, where survival meant keeping your guard up even when someone extended a hand to help. I had learned long ago that doubt wasn't just a habit; it was a shield. One I kept around me to survive, to keep others at bay, to never let them close enough to hurt me.

Because deep down, I knew that the moment I let my guard down, the world would remind me just how unforgiving it could be. I'd seen people smile before stabbing you in the back. I'd watched them promise loyalty while planning to abandon you at the first sign of trouble.

So yeah, maybe I doubted Vincent. Maybe part of me believed that if I didn't stay one step ahead, I'd end up like all those fools who had trusted the wrong person at the wrong time.

But in that moment, as he calmly worked to prepare the battlefield, I realized something else. I wasn't just doubting him. I was doubting myself. Doubting that I could ever rise to the challenge. Doubting that I could face something bigger than me and come out alive.

And maybe… just maybe… doubting was easier than believing.

"There, we're done," Vincent said, stepping back to admire the traps he'd set. His voice was steady, as if the conversation from before had never happened. "Now, we just wait for the beast to appear. Can you bring the ground rat and place it by the hole I've dug?"

I moved without a word, carrying the stiff, vine-wrapped carcass of the rat to the shallow pit he had prepared. As I laid it down, positioning its head to face upward, peeking out like it was waiting for something, I felt a heaviness settle over me. The old man had seen through me—through the doubt, the guilt that had lingered from our earlier exchange.

He noticed, of course. "Don't worry about it, boy. I've heard words like that for countless centuries," he said, his tone soft but unwavering. "Just cope with it. Make up your mind, because you can't fight a beast if you're absent-minded."

He was right. The moment I let my thoughts drift, the horned tiger would tear me apart. No distractions. No second chances. I placed the rat with an almost mechanical precision, pushing away the lingering sadness. Its glassy eyes stared up at nothing, its body limp as if it had resigned itself to its fate, much like me.

Vincent finished his final preparations, then helped me climb a tree overlooking the clearing. As I settled in among the thick branches, my body tense, he disappeared beneath a bed of vines, shrubs, and flowers, camouflaging himself completely.

"Well, now we wait," he murmured from his hiding spot, his voice barely audible through the dense greenery.

And so we did. Sitting up in the tree, every nerve on edge, I found myself staring down at the scene below—waiting for the horned tiger, waiting for whatever came next. It was the stillness that weighed on me most, a silence so deep it felt like the forest itself was holding its breath. It was a moment suspended between life and death, where the world could shift in the blink of an eye.

I couldn't afford to think about the past anymore. Not about Vincent, not about the countless players before me, or the weight of what it meant to kill, to survive. All that mattered now was what was coming out of the shadows. And whether or not I was ready for it.