The skies above the town darkened with the roars of approaching beasts.
Dust rose in violent clouds as countless creatures surged across the plains, a chaotic wave of fur, fangs, and frenzied madness.
At the center of it all, just outside the tall iron gates of the town, stood Ashen—silent, unmoving, like a lone blade lodged in the path of an unstoppable tide.
His sword was sheathed.
The earth trembled as hundreds of beasts snarled and lunged forward.
Wolves, boars, and other malformed horrors twisted by mana corruption tore toward him with reckless abandon.
And yet, he stood still.
His black cloak fluttered in the wind, and his hair danced gently across his face, untouched by panic.
The first beast pounced.
Ashen's eyes moved—barely. His body followed like a whisper, shifting just enough to evade the blow.
He slid between the beasts like a phantom, his movements sharp yet smooth, honed by an instinct deeper than muscle memory. A slash here. A pivot there. Each motion surgical.
His sword danced, and with each strike, a beast fell.
But there was no thrill in his eyes, no anger, no fear. Only clarity.
"This… this is good," he muttered to himself as he exhaled slowly.
"I can feel it again. The rhythm."
As the battle wore on, scratches appeared across his body.
Small wounds. Sharp pains.
But they only sharpened his focus. He thought, briefly, about allocating the stat points he had recently received.
Focus? Agility? Strength?
His hand hovered in his mind's interface.
"No," he whispered.
"This battle isn't for survival. It's for refinement. I want to feel this."
And so he kept fighting with his base stats, refusing the crutch of safety.
Each dodge became more desperate, each counter more calculated. Then came the shift—the arrival of the beast's heart.
A rumble echoed like a falling star crashing into the battlefield.
The Howler Monarch stepped forth, its massive form glistening with layered muscles and blackened steel-like fur.
It stood twice as tall as a man, with crimson eyes glowing like dying embers.
The other beasts parted around it, a natural king in their midst.
The Howler snarled once—and the tide surged anew.
Beasts hurled themselves at Ashen in coordinated fury.
He began weaving through the strikes, slower now, not from fatigue but from patience.
I weaved through the beasts. One came for my leg — I jumped.
Another tried to flank — I rolled beneath its snapping jaws.
A third leapt directly in front of me. I used it.
My foot landed squarely on its back, springboarding me into the air.
The Howler Monarch's snarl grew louder as I twisted mid-air, slashing in an arc that caught it cleanly across its shoulder.
A roar of agony erupted from its throat. Black blood spattered across the ground.
I landed hard, knees bending, blade scraping against the dirt.
Its eyes changed.
Something primitive. Dark.
The Howler's muscles bulged. Its veins pulsed with rage.
The Monarch had entered a frenzy — its stats enhanced beyond normal.
I barely had time to raise my sword.
It lunged.
Faster than before.
More brutal.
No hesitation.
Claws met flesh.
My body flew. Pain blossomed across my chest, ribs shattering from the impact.
Blood filled my throat.
Darkness.
Silence.
Death.
…
Time passed. How long? I didn't know.
The Howler Monarch shrieked—louder, deeper, manic. Its fur bristled. Veins pulsed like molten steel beneath its skin. Something in it... broke.
A ripple in the air.
A bloodlust that eclipsed it.
The ground met me fast. My knees hit first. Then my face.
I was... dying.
They say near death, your life flashes before your eyes.
But what if your other life does instead?
A different sky unfolded in my mind.
One filled with stars—distant, quiet, watching.
A boy sat before me, young and eager. My disciple.
We were on a mountain, the wind cold, the silence honest.
I spoke...
"The Sword does not need to be fast…Nor does it need to be strong.
It does not need emotion nor does it need logic.
It only needs the Truth. That is what splits mountains… and minds alike."
Those were my words once.
And now they were mine again.
I opened my eyes. Or maybe I didn't.
My body moved on its own, rising—slow, deliberate, like waking from an ancient dream.
The Howler Monarch lunged again, mouth open, beast tide howling behind.
I didn't need to see it. I just needed to feel.
My hand closed around the hilt.
My blade rose.
And then—
A simple cut.
No power. No flair. Just Truth.
The Sword moved as it once had.
The way I taught it. The way I lived it.
And with that one motion—
Everything fell silent..
The Monarch stopped mid-air. Its body bisected perfectly.
A wave of residual blade energy swept outward in a crescent, ripping through the forest and the countless beasts behind it.
All that remained was dust.
I stood there for a moment. Then the sword slipped from my hand.
"So... that's how it felt."
My knees buckled.
Darkness welcomed me.