The mist of Vallencourt felt thicker inside the forest than it had outside. The teleport had dropped Indra into what seemed like a narrow valley, where twisted trees laced together overhead like hands trying to close off the sky. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth, rotting leaves, and something else—something metallic, almost bloody. Sounds were deceptive here: sometimes close, sometimes dragging themselves across unseen miles.
Indra kept the Jian stored in his Dimensional Ring and drew a deep breath. His first step was deliberate, eyes scanning every shadow. He remembered Aurelia's warning: "These creatures don't hold back their strikes."
He paused, listening. No birds. No insects. Only the distant breath of wind dragging the mist.
Professor Carl's lessons echoed in his mind:
> "If the environment is too quiet, it's because something made it that way. And it's probably not you."
His hand tightened around the Jian's hilt. Qi flowed through him in a controlled, narrow stream—Owen's words clear in his memory: "Don't waste energy trying to look threatening. Waste energy killing the enemy."
He advanced slowly. The vegetation was dense, each step forcing him to push aside broad, damp leaves. On a tree trunk, he spotted deep claw marks, roughly at chest height. Old marks.
Then—he heard it. A sharp crack to the left. Indra spun instantly, crouched low, sword forward. From the mist, a trembling, low silhouette emerged… then another… and another.
Three Lesser Creatures—ash-gray skin, eyes black as bottomless wells, yellowed fangs. They moved in short hops, backs arched like hyenas about to strike. "Great… one at a time, please." he muttered, knowing he wouldn't get that luxury.
The first one leapt. He sidestepped, cutting through the air with his Jian. The blade met flesh, and a shrill cry tore through the clearing. The second darted low, aiming for his leg. Indra pulled back, but the third used the opening to leap straight onto his chest.
The impact slammed him into a tree. Air left his lungs in a painful burst. He twisted the blade, driving it into the flank of the beast pinning him down. It shrieked and fell away, writhing until it stilled. The others hesitated, and that was all he needed—two quick steps, precise strikes. In seconds, all three lay motionless.
Breathing hard, body tense with adrenaline, Indra wiped the blade on a patch of moss before extracting the Inner Cores. Each one glowed faintly—three guaranteed points.
---
The next few hours were a game of patience and paranoia. He avoided open clearings, keeping to the shadows. At one point, he found footprints far too wide for a human and too deep to be recent.
> "Dormant Creature… Graduate level… ten points… and a chance to become compost."
He decided to avoid it. For now, the plan was to gather points from smaller prey and, if possible, one or two Imps.
---
By late afternoon, a higher-pitched roar cut through the air—different from Lesser Creatures. He followed it to a small ravine. Down below stood an Imp—bluish skin, curved horns, short wings—sharpening a makeshift blade on a rock. Indra could feel its Qi, dense, the kind belonging to an Awakened. "Five points on the line…" he murmured.
He descended carefully, trying to keep the element of surprise. But when he was only a few meters away, the creature turned its head slowly… and smiled.
The Imp struck first, fast, the filthy metal of its blade catching the faint light. Indra blocked, but the impact nearly tore the Jian from his hands. They exchanged rapid blows, each clash ringing in the ravine. The Imp used its wings to gain momentum, alternating between direct strikes and unpredictable angles. A shallow cut opened on Indra's shoulder before he found an opening—a deep lateral slash that brought the creature to its knees.
He didn't hesitate. One final, precise blow, and the Imp collapsed. Its Inner Core glowed brighter than the Lesser Creatures'. +5 points.
---
When night fell, the forest changed tone. The cold deepened, the mist thickened, and distant sounds began to stir: cracks, shrieks, heavy footsteps.
Soon the sound of hurried rustling came from the left… then the right… then all around. Dozens of yellow eyes lit up in the dark—smaller creatures, but ravenous—and among them, the wicked blue glint of Imps.
They didn't wait. They surged forward like a living wave, thin limbs and jagged teeth, some climbing trees to strike from above. Indra cut down the first with a clean blow, dodged two more, but quickly realized—
If he stayed, he'd be swallowed whole.
He ran. The uneven, root-covered ground tried to trip him at every step, but his body's new rhythm—honed since the Silver Tempest—kept his movements precise. The horde roared behind him, the pounding of feet, wings, and shrill cries echoing through the woods.
Then—he heard it. Ahead, a continuous roar—not from a beast, but from water. A waterfall.
Indra didn't think twice. He broke through branches, vaulted over rocks, and when he saw the cliff and the white veil of falling water, he leapt. The freezing impact stole his breath. The current pulled him under for a moment, but he forced himself to the surface and swam toward the rock wall.
Behind the waterfall, he found space—
A natural cavern, wide enough to shelter a small group. The deafening water drowned out the forest's sounds, and when he looked back, he saw only faint shapes of creatures on the bank. None dared to cross.
Indra leaned against the stone, catching his breath. That's when he noticed—
The cavern walls were marked… with ancient carvings. Under the silvery glow of the blue moon filtering through the water's veil, the lines shimmered faintly, blue-white. And they weren't static—they shifted slowly, forming something like… a dance.
He stepped closer, studying them. And he felt it—a pull, almost physical, from deeper inside, from a large stone fitted perfectly into the wall, sealing a passage to the underground. Cold air seeped from it, whispering his name with every second.
His gaze returned to the carvings. The strange choreography wasn't just art—it was instruction. Fluid motions, cuts, spins… A technique. More precisely, a fighting style: the Sword Dance.
He drew the Jian from his ring, took position, and tried to mimic the sequence.
It took him a while to realize the drawings were out of order, deliberately scrambled. Even so, after much effort and focus, he managed to piece together the structure: forty-eight movements in total.
The first five, though complex, resembled a flawless, refined version of the basic sword forms he'd learned at the Esoteric Academy—every imperfection stripped away, leaving only fluidity and lethality. He mastered them after a few tries, Qi flowing almost naturally through him.
But the sixth… It was like striking a wall. The complexity was overwhelming—every transition demanded strength, balance, and control far beyond his current limits. Whoever had created this wasn't merely a master of arms. They were… unprecedented.
Night deepened. The water's roar was constant, but between strikes, he heard the cavern's whispers… and, farther away, the sounds of creatures circling in the forest. Then—the roar came.
It wasn't like the smaller beasts. It bypassed flesh and rattled the soul. A crash followed, like trees being felled in waves, and the ground trembled under his feet.
Instinctively, Indra crouched against the wall, Jian ready, eyes fixed on the waterfall's veil. The shadow appeared.
Gigantic. The creature moved toward the lake with slow, deliberate steps—its body bear-like, but covered in jagged stone spikes jutting from its back and shoulders. Eyes burned a deep, feral red. Black teeth, each the length of his arm, protruded from its maw. Its claws… as long as swords.
Indra felt his body falter. There was no winning against this.
The beast drank for a few moments. Then stopped. Its snout twitched, sniffing… and slowly turned toward the waterfall.
Indra froze.
The thing's grin—if it could be called that—revealed blood-stained black fangs. Slowly, it began to cross the water's veil. The sound of its claws scraping against stone echoed through the cavern, peeling away shards and leaving deep, savage marks.
With each step, its colossal frame emerged. On all fours, it stood six or seven meters high—Indra didn't want to imagine it standing upright. The creature knew it didn't need to rush. And Indra knew there was no escape.
Then… from behind the sealed stone, something stirred.
The pressure was instant. A crushing aura filled the air, so heavy breathing became difficult. The beast froze.
And for the first time, Indra saw fear in those red eyes. Without hesitation, it retreated, vanishing into the forest with steps that shook the earth.
The aura vanished as abruptly as it had come.
Silence returned. But the fear… stayed inside him.
Still kneeling, Indra kept the Jian in hand. He didn't dare move until he was certain he was alone. And when he finally exhaled, he realized he wasn't relieved—he was intrigued. Because whatever was in that tunnel… was worse than the beast that fled.
---
Morning didn't arrive as a beam of sunlight, but as a slow fading of darkness—the blue moon dimming, replaced by a pale light that barely pierced the waterfall's curtain. Indra woke to the constant roar still in his skull, the sensation of being curled behind a liquid veil, separated from the world… but not protected from it.
His body ached, especially shoulders and legs, from hours spent trying to replicate the Sword Dance. The Jian lay beside him, still damp, and each time he looked at the cavern walls, the dancing figures seemed slightly different. He wasn't sure if it was the morning light—or if they really shifted.
A chill crept up his spine. He remembered the roar, the colossal creature, and the presence that made it flee. Even now, when he placed a hand on the sealed stone, he could feel a faint trace of that pressure, as if something inside was simply… waiting.
Outside, the forest moved. The flap of short wings cut the air, followed by muffled shrieks. Small shadows passed before the water's curtain—hunting, maybe, or just watching. None dared to enter. Whatever this place was, the creatures wanted no part of it.
Indra knew he couldn't stay forever. He ate something dry from his supply kit, sheathed his sword, and braced himself before stepping through the waterfall. The icy water hit his face like a slap, and the morning light blinded him for a moment.
The valley looked different in the morning mist—not less dangerous, but more… dreamlike. Dark trunks rose like the pillars of an ancient temple, patches of moss forming shapes that resembled half-lidded eyes. Silence was nearly perfect, except for a steady sound… like light taps of stone on stone, from somewhere ahead.
He moved slowly, avoiding open spaces. When he reached the source of the sound, he found something unexpected—three Lesser Creatures, frozen mid-attack. Eyes wide but lifeless, claws raised, suspended in the air. Beneath them, the ground bore a pattern of scorched, circular marks.
Indra didn't know if this was the work of last night's beast… or the presence behind the stone.
He moved on, but now the forest seemed to watch him more closely. With every step, the Sword Dance replayed in his mind—the first five moves now instinctive. Part of him wanted to return to the cavern and continue. Another part knew he had to explore, hunt, gather points. But the sixth movement… It felt as though the forest itself was daring him to try.