[Fifteen Years Later...]
Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, a warm caress on Hastora's cheek. He stirred, blinking away the remnants of sleep. The morning light, filtering through the dusty windowpane, painted the room in a soft, golden glow. Hastora sat up, his back stiff from a night spent in slumber.
"Morning already," he muttered, stretching his arms and yawning. The sound echoed in the otherwise silent room.
Hastora rose, grabbed a towel, and walked out of his room. His vision was still a bit hazy, but he was used to it. He made his way to the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath his feet a welcome contrast to the warmth of the morning sun. After a quick shower, he returned to his room, pulling on his clothes. He then headed to the kitchen, drawn by the tantalizing aroma of frying bacon and onions.
"You're up early," Elsia said, her voice a cool melody as she stirred a pot on the stove. She glanced at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Not like you."
"I'm going to the forest today," Hastora replied, his voice a little gruffer than usual. "Gotta get an early start."
Elsia's brow furrowed, her expression unreadable. She turned back to the stove, the rhythmic clinking of utensils filling the silence.
Fifteen years had passed since Hastora's reincarnation, reborn as the son of a commoner in a small village nestled beneath the shadow of a cruel nobleman's keep. The villagers lived in a constant state of fear, their lives a tapestry woven with threads of caution and quiet desperation. Yet, despite the ever-present threat, they had learned to adapt, to find a semblance of normalcy within the confines of their fear.
The world itself felt unchanged, a stagnant mirror reflecting the same old injustices. Hastora had initially envisioned a future far different, a world where everyone could find their own happiness, where life would be lived with the simple joys of humanity. But the reality he found was a bitter pill to swallow. True happiness was a luxury reserved for those who held power, a privilege denied to the common folk. They were pawns in a grand game, easily discarded when no longer useful.
Hastora let out a weary sigh. "In the end," he murmured, "it's all the same."
Elsia and Ard, who had been engrossed in their own activities, turned towards him, their brows furrowed in concern.
"What are you talking about?" Ard asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
"Nothing," Hastora shrugged, "Just a thought that popped into my head."
Ard and Elsia exchanged a glance, then returned to their tasks. Ard, with a newspaper in hand, delved back into the world of politics and gossip. Elsia, with a practiced grace, continued to prepare their breakfast.
After a few moments, the aroma of sizzling bacon and the sizzle of fried onions filled the air. Elsia placed a plate of steaming food on the table, a feast of grilled fish and venison.
"Breakfast is ready," she announced, her voice a soft chime in the quiet kitchen.
Hastora, his stomach growling, sat down at the table and began to eat, the hunger pangs a sharp reminder of his need for strength. Elsia and Ard joined him, their appetites equally voracious.
As the last morsel of food disappeared, Hastora rose from his seat and left the house, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor. He headed towards the large forest, a dark silhouette against the morning light. The forest was a place of both beauty and danger, a haven for creatures both magnificent and monstrous. It was a place where Hastora could hone his skills, a place where he could reclaim the power he had lost.
The magic <𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼 𝗳𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘀> had allowed him to reincarnate, but at a cost. His power, once vast and boundless, had dwindled to a mere ember. The only way to rekindle it was to fight, to test his limits against the challenges of the wild. He needed to become stronger, to reclaim his birthright.
As he entered the forest, the air grew heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The sunlight, filtered through the dense canopy, cast dappled shadows on the forest floor. Hastora drew his sword, the blade glinting in the dim light. He was ready.
He was met by five Rank C monsters, Red Wolves, creatures known for their ferocity and speed. Their sharp claws could easily slice through flesh and bone, and their agility made them deadly opponents.
The wolves surrounded him, their eyes glowing with predatory hunger. There was no room for hesitation, no time for strategy. He had to act.
He lunged, his sword a blur of motion.
Srethhh!
The wolves fell, their bodies bisected with a single, swift stroke. The air was filled with the scent of blood and the sound of their dying gasps.
"Easier than I thought," Hastora muttered, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He sheathed his sword, his movements fluid and practiced. He continued deeper into the forest, the air growing colder, the shadows growing longer.
The energy emanating from the forest intensified, a palpable force that pulsed with the life of the creatures within. As he ventured further, the forest floor became littered with the bones of fallen beasts, a testament to the power that lurked within.
Suddenly, a monstrous form emerged from the shadows, its presence a shockwave of raw power. The creature stood tall, its six tentacles rippling with muscle, its horns sharp and menacing. Its eyes, glowing with an unnatural light, fixed on Hastora with a predatory gleam.
The energy emanating from the monster was unlike anything Hastora had encountered before. It was a force of pure evil, a dark energy that chilled him to the bone.
The monster roared, a sound that echoed through the forest, shaking the very trees to their roots. The smaller creatures, sensing the presence of a predator far more powerful than themselves, fled in terror.
But Hastora stood his ground, his resolve unwavering. He drew his sword, his hand steady, his gaze unflinching.
"Want to fight?" he asked, his voice a low growl. He pointed his sword at the monster, the blade gleaming with a cold, metallic sheen.
The monster, sensing the challenge, lunged forward, its tentacles whipping through the air. Hastora, with a speed that defied belief, dodged each attack, the monster's blows passing through empty air. He moved with the grace of a predator, his movements fluid and precise.
He saw an opening, a moment of vulnerability in the monster's defenses. He surged forward, his sword coated in a pitch-black aura, a dark energy that crackled with power. The aura pulsed with a chilling energy, a force that made the monster tremble.
"Don't daydream," Hastora snarled, his voice a whisper of icy determination. He swung his sword, the blade cutting through the monster's tentacles with the ease of a knife through butter. Two of the tentacles were severed, their severed ends dripping with a viscous, black fluid.
But the monster was not easily defeated. Its tentacles, severed moments ago, began to regenerate, growing back as if they had never been cut. The monster roared again, its voice a symphony of rage and pain. It lunged at Hastora, its tentacles lashing out with renewed fury.
Hastora leaped to the side, dodging the attack. But the monster was relentless, its attacks coming from all directions. The forest floor trembled beneath the force of its blows, trees snapping like twigs under its assault.
"This is starting to get annoying," Hastora grumbled, his movements becoming more frantic as he dodged the relentless assault.
The monster, sensing his frustration, unleashed a dark red energy ball, a sphere of pure magical energy that crackled with power. The ball shot towards Hastora, leaving a trail of dark red smoke in its wake.
Hastora, realizing the danger, turned to face the attack. He closed his eyes, focusing his mana, gathering a surge of pitch-black energy. His eyes snapped open, his gaze burning with a cold, calculating fire.
"Dark Swordsmanship level one, <𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗘𝘅𝗲𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻>!"
He slashed, his sword a blur of motion. The blade cut through the monster's six tentacles in a flash, leaving a dark black trail in its wake. The tentacles, severed once again, fell to the forest floor, their movements ceasing.
Then, Hastora focused his mana, concentrating a large amount of energy in his palm. A black hole, a swirling vortex of gravity, appeared in his hand. The trees surrounding him were sucked towards the black hole, their branches snapping and their leaves swirling in the vortex.
He threw the black hole at the energy ball, the two forces colliding with a deafening roar. The energy ball was instantly swallowed by the black hole, its power absorbed by the vortex of gravity.
Silence descended upon the forest, the only sound the rustling of leaves and the faint echo of the monster's roar. The monster, its body trembling, staggered back, its eyes wide with fear.
It turned to flee, its movements clumsy and panicked. But Hastora would not let it escape. He leaped forward, his movements swift and decisive.
He had only one thought in his mind: Dead.
He unleashed his magic, <𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹 𝗢𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀>, a power that allowed him to manipulate the darkness itself. Ten dark black chains, forged from pure shadow, shot out from his hand, wrapping around the monster's body, binding it tightly. The monster, its movements restricted, fell to the forest floor, its struggles futile.
Hastora approached the fallen monster, his sword coated in a pitch-black aura. His blood-red eyes blazed, a gentle breeze blowing with each step he took. He was a terrifying sight, a vision of power and darkness.
"Dark Swordsmanship level one, <𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗘𝘅𝗲𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻>."
Srethhh!
The monster was split in two, its body bisected by the dark blade. Its core, the source of its power, was destroyed, leaving the monster's body lifeless and inert.
"Not bad," Hastora murmured, sheathing his sword. He reached into his dimensional storage, a pocket dimension created through spatial magic, and pulled out a grimoire. He infused the grimoire with a surge of magical energy.
A number appeared on the grimoire's pages, a single, bold digit: 10,000. It was a large number, a testament to his power. Hastora closed the grimoire, his chin resting on his hand as he pondered the implications of the number he had just seen.
The number was Reality Point (RP), a metaphysical unit that represented the existential value of a creature in the face of reality. In a world woven by absolute laws and order, not all creatures had the right to truly "exist." RP was proof that your existence was recognized by reality itself.
The higher your RP, the greater your existential stability, the stronger your influence on the world, and the wider the layers of reality that can accept you. RP was not just energy or power—it was the authorization of existence, the burden of existence, and the ability to resist the rejection of reality.
In high-level battlefields, RP determined who could survive attacks that erased concepts, defied the laws of the world, and set foot in worlds that rejected basic existential logic.
Creatures with low RP could disappear from history simply because they were touched by reality that did not recognize them. Conversely, creatures with very high RP could make the world adjust its laws so that they could continue to exist.
Imagine this, RP is "permission from reality" for someone's power to truly function. So, what is the actual relationship?
RP= permission to access high power. RP= resistance to existential attacks and influences. RP has absolutely nothing to do with someone's combat skills.
The level of someone's class calculated based on RP is as follows:
Class E: 100-150 RP
Class D: 150-200 RP
Class C: 200-400 RP
Class B: 400-800 RP
Class A: 800-1.000 RP
Special Class A: 5.000+ RP
Disaster Class: 10.000 RP
Awakened Class: 100.000+ (Beyond millions) RP.
Currently, Hastora's RP had only reached 800, which indicated that he was currently a Class B creature.
Of course, that's not enough.
He had to reach a number that beyond millions to regain his strength. Which meant he had to reach the awakened class of creatures.
Awakened creatures were creatures that had evolved. One example of evolution was the Demon Lord.
The way to evolve to become a Demon Lord itself must use 10,000 souls as payment and obtain the Dark Factor.
Hastora had to reach that stage. But how?
He decided to go deeper into the forest, all for the sake of achieving his goal. As he was about to go deeper into the forest, a very loud sound came from the direction of the village, the sound echoed throughout the forest.
Explosion!
It was the sound of an explosion, Hastora immediately ran out of the forest and ran back towards the village—.
Upon arriving there, he stood frozen with an expressionless face.
"What has happened?"
To be continued in the next chapter…