Arion stepped into the dense forest, the sunlight dimming as the leaves above thickened. The distant chirps of unseen birds echoed through the trees. Alongside their songs, his boots crushed on fallen leaves and twigs.

He had heard the rumors. Somewhere in these woods lay one of the Monster Sealer tombs. A place where the legacies of his predecessors rested. He needed their power. Without it, sealing the greater immortal monsters would be impossible.

Hours passed. The forest grew darker, the sun now a faint glow behind the horizon. Arion’s legs ached. He stopped in a small clearing, a patch of ground surrounded by towering trees and thick underbrush. It was as good a place as any to rest.

He set down his pack and gathered what he could find—dry branches, a few stones to circle the fire. With a spark of flint, he coaxed the flames to life.

Sitting by the fire, Arion pulled out a piece of bread and dried meat from his pouch. As he ate, his eyes scanned the forest, watching for movement. The tomb was still out there, somewhere in the dark. But for now, he needed rest.

Arion wiped the crumbs from his hands and stood, his eyes sweeping the edge of the clearing. Monsters rarely approached fire—it was one of the few advantages he could count on in the wild. Still, his instincts demanded caution.

His gaze lingered on the dark shapes of the forest, every rustle of leaves and distant chirp of insects sharpening his focus. After a few minutes, he was satisfied. Nothing stirred beyond the ordinary. He crouched by the fire, letting its warmth seep into his tired limbs.

Resting was dangerous, but necessary. He leaned against his pack and closed his eyes—not fully, but enough to stay aware of his surroundings. Time passed slowly.

When his eyes finally opened, the sky above the canopy had lightened faintly. The forest was still. Arion stretched his stiff muscles, grateful for the uneventful night. The fire had dwindled to embers, and he kicked dirt over it to extinguish the last of the flames before shouldering his pack and continuing his journey.

He pushed through dense foliage, his [Mana Sight] active, its faint glow outlining the flow of mana around him. Then, a flicker. On the edge of his perception, something shifted—a cluster of energy, far denser than the ambient mana of the forest.

Arion paused. His eyes scanned the treetops ahead, his grip tightening on his staff. There it was, crouched on a thick branch, an ape monster. Its dark fur blended with the shade, but its red eyes were fixed on him.

He exhaled, steadying himself. Avoiding this creature wasn’t an option. He adjusted his stance, preparing for the inevitable confrontation.

The ape leaped from the tree, its claws tearing through the air as it descended. Arion sprang back, his hand glowing as he unleashed [Mana Pulse]. A burst of energy surged forward, slamming into the creature's chest and sending it crashing into the bush.

Leaves scattered, and the ape snarled, rising again with fury blazing in its eyes. Arion’s gaze narrowed. The pulse had done more than push the beast back—it had carried his [Sealing Rune], now hidden beneath the ape’s fur.

The ape charged again. It swiped at Arion with outstretched claws, but he danced back, keeping just out of reach.

The [Sealing Aura] worked its magic, slowing the creature's aggression. He could see it in the ape’s subtle sluggishness. Still, it was relentless, lunging and swiping, forcing him to fire another [Mana Pulse]. The energy forced the monster back once more, but only for a moment.

Sweat beaded on Arion’s brow. He couldn’t keep this up forever. The ape’s tenacity was exhausting, and he knew it wouldn’t take long for the beast to close the distance.

Then it did. With a roar, the ape crouched and launched itself forward.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Arion’s instincts kicked in. His hand flared, and the [Sealing Rune] he’d planted earlier burst to life. Glowing symbols wrapped around the ape mid-air, freezing it in place. Its limbs thrashed, but the runes held firm, binding its movements like chains of light.

Arion didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his staff blazing with energy. “This ends now,” he muttered.

He thrust his staff forward, unleashing a [Mana Pulse] at point-blank range. The blast erupted, the force rippling through the air. The ape let out a final cry as the energy tore through it, its body disintegrating into fragments.

[You have slain a level 18 Charging Ape]

[Your Mana Pulse has reached level 3]

You’re right to ask for the kind of rhythm and cadence that writing should have. The example you provided emphasizes variation in sentence length to create a musical quality—short sentences for punch, medium ones for rhythm, and long, flowing sentences to build energy or deliver impact. This style aims to engage the reader by blending simplicity with elegance.

Arion stepped back. The ape monster dissolved into the air, leaving no trace behind. No immortal blood. His [Sealing Aura] confirmed it. He could always sense immortal blood with that ability.

This one didn’t have it. But it was still a threat. A monster born of the mana imbalance. An anomaly that didn’t belong to this world. And as a hunter, it was his duty to eliminate them.

Thanks to this battle, his [Mana Pulse] had advanced, leveling up mid-fight. Now it hit harder. Faster. He could feel the power if he were to unleash its power.

But it wasn’t enough.

The ape had forced him into too many close calls. Each attack was a reminder of what he lacked. He needed a defensive ability to protect himself when retreat wasn’t an option. He also wanted to learn another offensive spell to use when [Mana Pulse] was on cooldown.

He turned, scanning the forest. The Tombs Monster Sealers were supposed to hold what he needed. The legacies of the Monster Sealers. Power and knowledge waiting to be claimed. But what if he couldn’t find one soon?

Then he’d do what the other hunters did. Learn from spell books. Train the hard way. He wouldn’t let tradition stop him. He wouldn’t let pride hold him back.

The forest was quiet again. Only the faint rustle of leaves in the wind broke the silence. Arion adjusted his pack and moved on.

Night fell, and the forest transformed. Shadows stretched across the ground, weaving through the trees like dark, restless spirits. The weight of his staff was familiar in his hand, grounding him as he pressed deeper into the unknown.

Then, he saw it.

An old stone tomb, half-buried in the forest floor. Vines crept over its surface, twisting and clinging as if trying to pull it further into the earth. The structure stood still, silent, yet not imposing.

Finding the first tomb made him remember about the past. Blood stained the earth that day. Arion knelt beside his mentor, the man who had raised him, trained him, and now lay dying in his arms.

“Find them,” his mentor had said, his breath ragged. “Seven tombs. Seven sealers before you. Their legacies—our legacies. You must... bring them together.” His trembling hand reached out, his fingers brushing Arion’s forehead. With what little strength he had left, he imprinted the symbol of their craft onto his apprentice’s skin.

“When the nine sealing arts... become one,” the mentor continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “you will master... the ultimate seal. A power no monster... no kingdom... can match.”

Arion’s throat tightened. He wanted to beg, to plead, to demand that his mentor hold on just a little longer. But the light in the old man’s eyes had already begun to fade.

“Master,” he whispered.

And then, silence.

The memory lingered, as vivid now as it was then. Standing at the edge of the first tomb’s site, Arion could almost hear his mentor’s voice again. It guided him, pushed him forward, even in the face of failure and doubt. He gripped his staff tighter, his knuckles white against the wood.

He exhaled slowly. “Master,” he murmured. “I’ve arrived at my first destination.”

The forest seemed to answer with a rustle of leaves. Ahead lay the path to mastering the nine arts.

Arion stepped closer. He activated [Mana Sight], the world shifting to reveal faint threads of energy clinging to the stone. They were weak, fading like the last notes of a forgotten melody. No seals. No treasures. Just residual mana, the kind that lingered in places long untouched by man or beast.

He knelt, running his fingers over the worn carvings etched into the tomb’s surface. The symbols told no story he could decipher, only hinting at the person who rested within. Whoever they had been, their legacy had long been erased.

Arion sighed, his breath visible in the cold night air. This wasn’t a sealer’s tomb. Just a grave. A place of rest for a forgotten soul.

This wasn’t what he was looking for.

Disappointment swelled in his chest, heavy and unwelcome. How many more of these would he find before he uncovered something real? The forest around him seemed to mock his failure, its silence louder than words.

Arion lingered for a moment, gazing at the tomb. "Even forgotten souls deserve rest," he murmured.

He rose, gripping his staff tightly. "Not here," he murmured. His journey wasn’t over. The answers he sought were out there somewhere.

But tonight, the tomb offered none. He turned and walked away. Somewhere ahead, his true path awaited.