The cave was long.Very long. And it had already been quite some time since Nathanaël had entered.
He had been walking for a good ten minutes now, yet the exit still refused to show itself.
"This is insane. Just how long is this cave?"
He turned one last corner—only to realize there was no way forward anymore. A sharp wall rose in front of him once again. He had come across many of these during his trek, each time fearing he would get lost forever in this cursed labyrinth. But he was a wise boy and he quickly understood that he was moving forward one way or another.
This time, however, the jagged walls blocked his path once again, forcing him to look for another route.
"Ah, come on. So this cave really was a trap after all. Sorry, Marc, but it looks like you'll have to wait… just… a little… longer…"
Nathanaël slowly lifted his head.
Where a faint halo of light had caught his eye, a small hole sat high atop the wall.
To be precise, at this part of the cave, the wall was massive—no less than fifty meters tall. And at the very top of it was that tiny hole. A small escape that seemed to await no one.
It was simply there, motionless, as if it wasn't truly an exit at all and Nathanaël could have sworn that it wasn't one. But it was in front of him, and Nozras was supposed to be in front of him. So maybe… maybe this was the real hidden border.
"You've got to be kidding me. How is anyone supposed to reach that hole? No one could possibly enter Nozras like this."
Perhaps that was the point. A false hope. No one was meant to enter Nozras through such a pitiful way.Which made Nathanaël wonder—what, then, was the guard at the entrance even for?
He looked at the wall before him.The spikes were razor-sharp, arranged so that any attempt to climb would shred one's hands to pieces.They were angled upward, cruel and glistening, the moisture of the cave dripping down their metallic edges.
It was impossible to climb such a thing. He shouldn't even think about it.
"That guard probably came from up there. Did he jump down? No, impossible. A fall from that height would be fatal—even for the warriors of Nozras. The only other option is that he climbed down, despite the spikes. A lunatic…"
Nathanaël stood there for a minute, staring at the countless points—hundreds of thousands of them—almost impossible to grasp. His eyes darkened, and then he looked up again, realizing there was no choice but to find a way.
"But I don't have a choice either."
He glanced at the hole, then at the wall before him.The shining spikes offered no comfort. They were arranged in such a way that if he placed his hand carelessly—even slightly too deep—every point around it would pierce through his flesh. And with the humidity, his grip would surely slip, only to be impaled by the others nearby.
Every square decimeter held dozens of spikes—wet, sharp, solid. Some looked unstable, as if about to fall apart. Others already had, which might make them better holds—or maybe just traps, promising false hope before betraying him.
And the wall… it was tall. Far too tall. Fifty meters was no small height. It was unbelievable to think that warriors had actually managed to scale this thing, especially with the spikes denying any stable foothold.
Blood would flow for sure…
But Nathanaël knew he had the ability to climb it—because now, he was no longer entirely human.
He just needed to find within himself enough courage, enough drive, and an unbreakable will…
Otherwise, even for him, it would be impossible.
"Damn it all… fine. Let's do this."
Nathanaël grabbed one of the spikes—and immediately let go.
The reason: another spike, stuck right beside the first, had stabbed into his hand.The spikes were slick with the cave's dripping water, their surfaces gleaming like the fangs of a beast.
It had gone deep—too deep—and though little blood came out, he knew this was only a taste of what was to come. He had just faced one of the thousands that covered the wall.
"Damn…"
Nathanaël clenched his teeth.That day, he finally understood what the saying "Fight like Nozras" really meant.
His father used to say it often. Every time he cried, every time he failed to do something, his father would pull a cigar from his pocket, light it, and take a long drag. After exhaling the smoke and watching it fade into the air, he would look at him coldly and say, slowly..
"Fight like Nozras."
It was a well-known saying across the world, because everyone knew what kind of maniacs the people of that country were—mad warriors who fought as if life itself depended on it.
You needed to have a burning rage. A frenzy for battle. A fire in your chest so hot it could consume those around you.You had to want to win, no matter what.
"If you want to climb higher, you've got to grit your teeth, dirty your hands, and grab onto every last bit of courage and determination you have left."
Nathanaël grabbed another spike.This time, he allowed the second one to pierce through his hand. Blood began to flow, trailing down his sleeve and dripping along his body—but he held on, because this was only the beginning.
"And after that," he muttered through clenched teeth, "all that's left… is to scream."
Nathanaël let out his fiercest growls, then screamed with all his strength as he threw his other hand toward another spike.
His hand was pierced all over—blood burst out once again—yet he did not let go.
He kept going, digging his feet into the wall next. They too were stabbed by smaller points in their centers, but Nathanaël clenched his teeth and endured.
One hand after the other.One foot after the other.
There was no strategy to follow. No stable formation, no rhythm. Everything had been designed to defy logic—to destroy reason itself. It was man against pain. Man against the impossible.
After long, excruciating minutes, the wall had been painted in his blood. A crimson trail marked the path of his ascent. He had reached halfway up when his mind began to waver.
The pain spreading through his entire body was becoming real—too real. The adrenaline had stopped working.
He was losing too much blood. His hands, already slick from the cave's moisture, were now soaked in red, making every grip more slippery… and more brutal.
His feet weren't doing any better. They too were bleeding heavily, and the blood trickled slowly down the wall, weaving its way between the countless spikes.
With a faint, trembling voice, he whispered:
"Come on…"
And then—his vision began to blur.
"Hey, Nath? You always give your best… but I've never seen you give your all."
It was an old memory resurfacing. His father stood beside him, helping him through one of those training exercises he used to assign as homework.
"Huh? I am giving my all, you know?"
His father looked at him with a faint, knowing smile before answering.
"No, you're too calculating for that. You always think you've got things under control, so you never take real risks. You never truly show who you are. Even when you're being pushed down, you convince yourself it's not worth killing yourself over because your plan was perfect anyway—and if it fails, you just blame the circumstances."
That day, Nathanaël had stared at his father with wide eyes. One of the few pieces of advice the man had ever given him suddenly made sense now.
"Nathanaël, you need to throw out the circumstances. Toss aside your failed plans and go beyond them. The missing piece in everything you do… is you. You can imagine every possible scenario, account for every variable—but you never count yourself among them. Yet the biggest variable that can turn everything in your favor… is your strength."
"HAAAAAAA!"
Nathanaël roared louder than ever, pushing with his legs to climb higher. Spikes drove deep into his flesh, tearing through muscle and skin, but he didn't care. He had to keep climbing.
The hole above was getting closer. Blood poured freely down the wall, but still he gritted his teeth and pushed upward.
Then, his aura ignited.
A powerful light burst through the cave, illuminating everything around him. Small cave creatures froze in place, watching the human who dared climb the impossible wall, his entire being shining with defiance.
Nathanaël didn't look at them once.
It was true—this was his problem all along. Everything had always been doomed to fail, every plan eventually collapsed. So what was the point? Why bother serving a dying cause? Why fight against inevitable ruin?
At least, that's what he thought, because now his world might be doomed to destruction, he had to choose to fight.
He had fallen back into old habits—waiting for death rather than facing it. But that had to change.
Since the day he met Marc, he had fought—fought to earn his place, to deserve his life, to protect what he loved and who he was. He wasn't worthless. His childhood didn't define him. As long as he was still breathing, he could still change everything.
It was true.The real variable in all his plans… was himself.
He had to learn to fight for something, not just plan for it. To stop predicting failure, and give everything he had left—no matter the cost.
It didn't mean charging in blindly. It meant that when the moment came to fight until exhaustion or death, he couldn't falter.
Because hope didn't live in running away…
And that day, with his body covered in blood and his soul on fire, he was going to prove it...
Meter by meter, spike by spike, Nathanaël climbed the impossible wall.His blood marked his ascent, a crimson trail of defiance that no man could erase.
That day, Nathanaël King gave everything he had—and he made it.
Reaching the top, he stretched his arm one last time and pulled himself out through the opening.
"Let's go."
He collapsed onto the ground, panting, trying to catch his breath. The pain was unbearable, but the pride was stronger.
Lying there, he gazed up at the night sky. The full moon shone brightly above him.
Then, in his fading consciousness, he saw his father's face leaning over him, that same faint smile and a cigar between his lips.
"You see?"
Nathanaël smiled faintly back.
"Yeah… yeah. I saw it."
Then he fell asleep on the ground, and his light gradually went out.