Chapter 4: Zone, Campfires, Sanctuaries

The blood and its price.

"Laura…" he muttered, his voice trembling as he stared down at his hands, soaked in blood. The sudden firebolt had come out of nowhere, a searing flash that ripped through the night, slipping past his defenses in a blur. He could scarcely comprehend it. His breath caught in his throat as he dropped to his knees, paralyzed by disbelief. The world around him faded, and all that remained was the sight of her, crumpled on the ground, her dress stained with red.

A raw, guttural howl tore from his chest, echoing through the pouring rain, a cry so primal it seemed to bend the very air around him. The heavens wept with him, the rain mingling with his tears, falling in unison with his grief as if the cosmos itself had felt his loss.

"My dear Laura..." he whispered, his voice shattered under the weight of his sorrow. He repeated her name, over and over, each whisper like a desperate prayer. It was as if the sound of her name might tether her soul to this world, as if just uttering it could pull her back from the edge of oblivion. He clung to the syllables, letting them tumble from his lips in a frantic attempt to delay the inevitable.

Tears of agony streamed down his face, mingling with the blood staining her dress. He reached out to brush her hair from her face, his fingers trembling as they stroked her cold skin, a touch so heartbreakingly familiar.

He stood slowly, lifting her lifeless body into his arms, walking mindlessly under the shade of a tree. The wind blew as the rustle of the tree listened to the man's silent plea. He spread out his arms and placed her body under the shade, brushing the damp strands of hair from her face, staring at her, filled with tranquility.

The man looked at her peaceful face once more, carving every detail into his memory, determined to keep her alive in his heart.

Murmuring softly, he uttered a spell, and in an instant, her body dissolved into ash, scattering into the wind.

"Incinerate..." he whispered, his heart breaking as she disappeared into the sky.

As he turned to leave, he felt a soft, familiar touch on his back, and a voice like an angel's whispered in his ear, "I will always be by your side." Her spirit manifested into a necklace that floated gently down to rest upon his chest.

"—Keep it near to your heart... Yari."

Stunned, he clasped the pendant tightly, the warmth of her presence still lingering as it pressed against his chest. Her voice, now just a whisper, slowly ebbed away, leaving him alone in the rain. Tears flowed freely, his hand trembling as he clung to the necklace, desperate to hold onto her memory, her love. The weight of loss crushed him, and all he wanted was to turn back time—to relive those precious moments, to hold her one last time, to never let go.

But he knew it was impossible.

Their fates had been irreparably severed, and he had no choice but to accept it, no matter how much it tore him apart.

With his eyes closed, he listened to the gentle murmur of the wind, carrying with it a final whisper.

"Farewell, my love."

***

"Chase after them. They must not be far from this area!" A voice rang out from the forest as countless footsteps tread behind the voice. The man wore a chain mail, and an army of soldiers followed behind him while pointing out his sword toward the spot where the man fled. His voice trembled in anger as his eyes shone with fury beneath the crisscross of his helmet.

The forest was dark and quiet, with only the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional grunt of a soldier interrupting the turbulent silence. Suddenly, a man carrying a bow emerged from the shadows and greeted the man before him with a deep bow. "High Preferecture, I have come to assist you in your quest, but there has been a change of plans."

Dolian turned around to face the man with a raptured expression, "What change?" his voice low and threatening.

The man with the bow stepped forward, "The target has been taken, Prefecture. We missed our chance."

Dolian armor trembled with suppressed rage as he tightened the grip on his sword. "What do you mean the target has already been taken? Who took it?"

"The information is unclear, but it is believed to be a group of bounty hunters," the man with the bow replied calmly.

Dolian remained behind for a moment, his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. The scout’s words replayed in his mind, stoking the flames of his anger. Bounty hunters? Anurands? He was losing control of a situation that was supposed to be perfectly orchestrated. Every delay chipped away at the Prefecture’s grand plan, and without the target's blood, the ritual would fail. That, he couldn’t allow.

The scout hesitated and gathered his courage to speak. "I did come across an Anurand traveling with a child," he reported as he felt the wind brush against his shoulder. "A colleague scout reported that the target we're searching for might have passed that way."

"However, I disregarded the information, considering it could have just been a coincidence as the pair could have just been one of the passersby participating in the ceremony." The scout relayed with concern. The prefecture hadn't been calm for the past three days.

"Dammit," Dolian cursed, fists clenched. "We need that blood for the ritual. Who are these people? Where did they go? Every detail counts."

"I don't have any information on their identities, Prefecture," the scout paused with shame. "But according to the direction of their path, the pair are also heading to the ceremony, close to a campsite nearby," the scout repeated his reports.

One of the soldiers at his side, a knight in full armor, spoke up hesitantly, "High Prefecture, should we prepare an ambush ahead of the campsite? If these hunters are indeed heading for the ceremony, we might intercept them."

Dolian thoughts raced as he tried to process the knight and the scout's information. The target's blood was crucial for the upcoming ritual, and he couldn't afford to let it slip through his fingers. He took a deep breath and looked at the scout, his eyes glued with ferocity.

"Send a team to retrieve the blood and capture the pair," Dolian ordered, devoid of emotion. "We can't let anything get in the way of the ritual. It's crucial for our people's survival."

The scout nodded, quickly dispatching the orders to the rest of his team. They set out their direction toward the campsite, determined to complete their mission. The fate of their people rested on their shoulders, and they were willing to do everything to ensure its success.

***

Today's headline: [Making life easier]

[The symphony of fire]. The art of starting a fire was not always as simple as striking a flint. Traveling through the dense forests and rugged terrain often meant relying on natural resources to build a fire. It requires a keen eye to adapt and identify unique materials while using a skilled hand to control and manipulate the elements. But all of that changed when a wandering merchant came across a strange, foreign substance at the heart of the forest - thus developing the art into a simple and passionate innovation. The bright orange slime has a peculiar and almost luminescent quality to its texture.

[Drawing of the merchant]. The merchant carefully approached the substance, crouching down for a closer look. The merchant was surprised to find that it was warm to his touch and seemed to be reacting to the heat of his hand. Suddenly, it dawned on him, realizing that the slime was not just some ordinary substance—

—but a flammable fluid that can ignite an eternal fire!

"I'm too tired, find something to build a campfire," Ben pretended to yawn and kept a tab on his nephew's actions. Lionel looked around, but the woods were pitch dark, and it was impossible to see anything. As he turned around to see his uncle and ask for his help. He saw him standing there without a care in the world.

"It's a bit late now..." Lionel tried, pitching his voice louder in a subtle plea, hoping his Uncle Ben would help. But his uncle only raised an eyebrow, giving him the same nonchalant look. Frustrated, Lionel pouted, thinking how much easier it would be if he could just snap his fingers and conjure a flame.

"It would be so much easier if I could just cast a fire spell," he muttered. Kneeling down, he reluctantly gathered dry leaves and twigs, embarrassed by how amateurish his campfire-building skills were. He wanted to complain, but after experiencing the training that his uncle put him through, he'd would rather eat a mouthful of dirt than listen to one of his uncle's long-winded lectures.

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Just as he finished assembling the pitiful collection of branches, Ben finally acted. "Let there be light," he declared, casting a simple spell that conjured an orb of light. It hovered midair, illuminating a small section of the woods. The soft glow revealed a shimmer on nearby trees, where thick, gooey slimes oozed slowly down their bark.

"See those slimes?" Ben gestured to one, its translucent body trailing down a branch. "They're pretty common around here." The slime left a slick, strange liquid behind, dripping onto the ground.

"I've been itching for a fight," Lionel grumbled, feeling the rush of anticipation as he instinctively began to cast a small ember spell. But before he could release it, Ben’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Na-ah, not so fast," Ben smirked, shaking his head. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a simple wooden sword into his hand. "You need to master the basics of survival first, Lionel. Magic might make things easier, but relying on it too much will get you in trouble."

Lionel’s confusion was clear, but he nodded, gripping the wooden sword his uncle handed him. Ben released a wisp of anima from his fingers, letting it float freely in the air. It shimmered before dissipating into mist. "Magic can only take you so far," Ben said. "You need to rely on your instincts."

Lionel felt confused but still nodded. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and lunged forward, driving the wooden sword into the heart of the creature. The slime convulsed as the blade cut through its gooey mass, and with a shudder, it dissolved into a hump of heaps.

But then he heard it, a voice echoing through his mind like a whisper on the wind. "Fire." The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he looked around, but nothing came to his sight.

Then he remembered the strange book he had found the other day. The voice mirrored the same voice he had heard before. He was unsure of what to do, but a sense of curiosity and desire conquered him, urging him to focus his thoughts on the sword, imbuing it with a trace of a fire.

"Fire," he thought, and before he knew it, the sword’s blade flickered with flame, an intense, scorching heat that wrapped around it like a second skin.

Just as he thought the battle was over, a sudden movement caught his eyes, another slime lunged from the shadows, hiding at the crevice eyes unseen. Lionel reacted without thinking, slashing the burning sword through the creature. The fire engulfed the slime, and in moments, it sizzled, evaporating into a cloud of steam and ash.

The flame on his sword flickered in the night as the fire seared the slime into a gooey mass, bursting into flames.

'This magic, it's strange, it feels pure...'

Something about the magic he had just used felt strange—pure, almost untamed, unlike anything his uncle had ever taught him. The strange, foreign feeling from the book returned, filling him with both excitement and an eerie sense of foreboding.

"Well? This is surprising," Ben caught a glimpse of the scorching fire around Lionel's sword, curious about the flame and where it came from.

Lionel remained silent, his mind flashing back to the strange book he found and the whisper he had heard. He didn't know how to explain it to his uncle, who had already taught him so much.

The fire dancing on the tip of his sword was unlike anything his uncle had taught him. The thought of such filled him with conflicting emotions, and he couldn't help but tremble at the ominous feeling welling up inside him, warning him of the consequences that might follow. The book, the whispers—everything about this new magic felt foreign, something ancient and beyond this world. But he couldn’t share it, not yet. Not even with Ben.

It was like a boulder that he couldn't shake off from his heart, a burden he had to carry alone. From what he understood, the unfamiliar language written inside the book was a knowledge foreign to this world, a place devoid of magic and mystical energies. It felt like a novelty, a pure and untainted form of knowledge, free from any interference of anima.

Instead, he offered a small smile, trying to mask his inner turmoil. "I don’t really know how to explain it," Lionel said, hoping his uncle wouldn’t push for more.

Ben, sensing his nephew’s unease, nodded quietly, choosing to let it slide for now. He had seen enough strange things in his lifetime to know that some mysteries unravel themselves in time.

As he watched the defeated creature dissolve into a pile of liquid. Lionel felt a rush of triumph, but it was short-lived. He quickly remembered that the sword his uncle conjured was made of wood and could only last a few strikes before it crumbled to pieces. The flames flickered out as the sword crumbled to ash in his hands.

"There’s no such thing as a free lunch," Lionel muttered, recalling his uncle’s words from long ago. He released the sword’s hilt, watching it dissipate into mist, and took a deep breath. The whisper of that strange magic still echoed in his mind, a burden he now carried, unsure of where it would lead him.

"Now store its fluids and set up a camp," Ben said with a chuckle, heading back to his usual spot. He found a flattened tree nearby and retrieved a parchment that he kept inside his robe.

Lionel followed his uncle while scooping some of the Ingris Slime's fluids into a small container. He then looked around, searching for a suitable place to set up camp for the night. Finally, after a long trip through the Hidoran forest, they found a spot to set up camp. Ben started a small fire, and they both collapsed onto the ground, exhausted. After the fire started to dim, Lionel peeked through the container of slimes below his blanket, curious. He noticed a strand of energy emanating from the container, faintly glowing in the dim light of the campfire.

[Ingris Slime]

Lvl: 1-3

The Ingris Slime is a low-tiered monster found in the Hidoran forest sought for its efficacy and its unique substance. The slime would ignite upon contact, and its reactive texture makes it highly flammable.

The flame flickered as it consumed the wood, feeding on it as if it had a life of its own. When the fuel ran low, the flame ravaged, rising greedily when another log was added. Not long after, he found himself increasingly drawn to the nature of the flames, standing still in a daze.

Ben, ever the teacher, replied, "That's anima. The life force that flows through all living things. It's what powers our spells, our weapons—everything we do."

Lionel frowned, unconvinced. "Wrong," he muttered quietly to himself. "It's just fire."

Ben, oblivious to his nephew’s skepticism, pulled out a parchment, smiling mischievously. "If it weren't for this," he said, gesturing at the parchment, "you wouldn’t have had the chance to show off your skills against that slime." He unfurled the parchment on a tree stump, pinning it down with nearby twigs and leaves.

Lionel adjusted his glasses and leaned over, curious. The parchment seemed ancient, its edges worn from years of use. "So, what does it say?" Lionel asked, half-expecting another of Ben's lectures.

Today's headline: [Making life easier]

Ben feigned seriousness, running his finger over the text. "Hmm, it says here: Beware of the creature. It may strike without warning, and its fluids are highly flammable." He smirked. "Who would've thought?"

Lionel and his uncle shared a comical glance, trying to stifle their laughter.

"Hehe," Ben glanced and gave a sly grin, already aware of Lionel's plan to use the slime as fuel for the campfire.

"Well, well. It appears we have a little genius in our ranks," Ben chuckled. "Using the slime to start a fire... I must say, I'm impressed."

Lionel flushed, embarrassed by the praise, but smiled nonetheless. "I wouldn’t call it genius," he mumbled.

Ben let out a hearty laugh. "Good thing you didn’t turn yourself into a human torch while you were at it! You handled the creature like an experienced soldier. Just be careful not to end up like those burnt logs over there," he said, pointing to a pile of charred wood.

They shared a laugh before the conversation turned more serious. Ben poked at the fire with a stick, explaining as the flames crackled and popped. "You see, Lionel, it’s not just about surviving out here. It’s about claiming your territory. Not to keep others out, but to claim something for yourself."

"Territory?" Lionel repeated, intrigued. "Like building a fence or planting a flag?"

Ben shook his head, chuckling softly. "Not quite. In this world, marking territory goes deeper. It’s about claiming a space with your spirit, with your anima. Once you make a pact with the world, you can use your anima to imprint your signature on the land."

Ben continued, "The concept of territory takes on a whole new meaning. It's not just about claiming a patch of land, but about claiming a sanctuary, a barricade that acts as an inner space."

"And once you marked your "spirit" in place, you can begin to claim your territory. This is done using your anima to imprint your signature onto a specific zone. It's similar to carving your name into a tree, except that it's done with magic."

"It's better if you had an altar, but that's a different level of understanding for you to venture now." He paused, letting the words sink in, and decided to elaborate it all for a while, serving as a contingency. "Once you make your pact with the world, an altar is necessary. It suggests that it deems you as a carrier worthy of holding the records that existed before our time."

Ben smiled, impressed by Lionel's patience to listen. "When the time is right, you’ll be able to carve your mark on the world. It’s like folding a piece of paper, creating two pockets of space where only one existed before."

Ben gave him a thoughtful look. "It’s a process. You'll need guidance, which is why I brought you here." He gestured toward the portal he had summoned earlier, from which a tall figure emerged.

The forest spirit stepped forward, its ethereal presence commanding attention. It had a human-like form, but its features were otherworldly—sharp and elongated, with piercing blue eyes and silver armor tattooed with silvery patterns. A large sword rested on its back, cladding with a bluish aura.

"Greetings, Lionel," the spirit said with a warm smile. "I am Thiraniel, an outpost leader here. I will be your guide."

Lionel blinked in surprise. "A half-spirit?" he asked, awed by Thiraniel’s unique appearance.

"Yes," Thiraniel nodded, his expression calm. "I am both spirit and physical being, which allows me to traverse both realms. My kind are rare, but we exist to bridge the gap between worlds."

As their eyes met, he seized the opportunity to adjust his glasses and inspect the spirit's attributes.

[Thiraniel]

Rank: Outpost Leader.

Species: (Half-Spirit) (Blurred)

Half-Spirits possess both the abilities of a spirit and the physical attributes of a living being. They can interact with both the physical and spiritual realms, making them unique in all of their aspects.

Class: (Blurred) Stats: (Blurred)

"So... you’re like a leader here?" Lionel stammered, still unsure of what to make of Thiraniel’s presence.

Thiraniel chuckled softly. "I suppose you could say that, though I’m more of a guardian than a ruler. My role is to ensure balance within this zone."

Just as Lionel was about to ask more, he paused, feeling a strange shift in the air. The forest seemed to tremble, its quiet stillness disrupted by an unseen force. Ben’s expression darkened, sensing the change immediately.

Ben paused, reminding Lionel once more. "But as I said earlier, you need to be careful not to overstep your boundaries. This zone has unique characteristics that make it different from other places you've been to, and if you're not careful, you could find yourself in trouble."

Ben gestured to a nearby boulder, which seemed unremarkable at first glance. "Do you see that thin barrier wrapping around the boulder? It's like a bubble, but it's much more than that. Step inside, and you'll find yourself in a spacious cavern much larger than the boulder itself."

Just as Lionel was about to ask more, he paused, feeling a strange shift in the air. The forest seemed to tremble, its quiet stillness disrupted by an unseen force. Ben’s expression darkened, sensing the change immediately.

"There’s trouble," Ben muttered, standing up abruptly. "Something’s wrong in the forest." The spirits residing in the forest seemed to be crying out in distress, and he could sense an unsettling feeling spreading throughout the woods. He paused and focused, trying to imbue the forest with his anima and understand what was causing their distress.

"What is it?" Lionel asked, sensing that something was wrong.

"What is this?" Ben thought, his brow tightened in concern. He turned to Lionel, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Stay here. I have to check on this." Without another word, Ben disappeared into the trees, leaving Lionel and Thiraniel behind.

The half-spirit stepped closer, his presence calming. "Don’t worry, Lionel. Your uncle will be fine."

Lionel, still processing everything, blurted out, "What the heck is a marker, anyway? That uncle of mine left before I could ask all the questions I had."

Thiraniel chuckled, understanding Lionel’s frustration. "A marker is a way to claim space, as your uncle explained. But it’s more than just magic or territory—it’s a promise, a pact between you and the world itself."

"A pact?" Lionel asked, intrigued.

Thiraniel nodded. "Yes. And when you’re ready, you’ll understand its true meaning. For now, focus on your training, and let the forest guide you. Everything will become clear in time."