The wolf's corpse lay still at Aiden's feet, its blood seeping into the mossy ground. The smell of iron clung to the air, sharp and raw. For a long while, he simply stood there, his small chest heaving, the wooden sword trembling in his hands.
Aiden's heart thundered, not only from exertion but from the aftershock of something indescribable. He could still feel it — that strange surge in his body, the echo of the wolf's essence being devoured. His senses sharpened, his muscles felt a touch firmer, his breathing steadier.
It was a tiny change, almost imperceptible, but to him it was monumental.
"…This really works."
He knelt down, staring at the wolf's glazed eyes. Once, this beast would have been nothing but a nightmare to a child his age. Now it had become proof — proof that he had the means to climb higher, to fight back against fate itself.
The forest, however, was not silent. Rustles echoed in the distance, faint howls rising deeper within the woods. Wolves rarely hunted alone. If there was one, there were bound to be more.
Aiden rose quickly, gripping the wooden sword tighter. His pulse hammered in his ears, but there was no hesitation in his steps.
The forest was alive in a way the village never was. Every crunch of leaves beneath his feet, every whisper of wind through the branches, every distant cry of a beast made his blood stir. This place was dangerous — lethal — but it was also where his path began.
---
Hours passed as Aiden wandered deeper, keeping close to paths the hunters often used. He didn't dare venture into the thickest undergrowth, not yet. His small body tired quickly, and his arms ached from gripping the wooden blade too tightly.
He encountered more creatures. A Horned Hare — a Rank 1 beast with speed that nearly caught him off guard. He only managed to kill it by using a rock to distract it, then slamming the wooden sword down with both hands.
Another Forest Wolf ambushed him, this one leaner but faster than the first. The fight left him with scratches on his arms, his shirt torn, but when it finally lay dead, that same current of power surged into him again.
Each time, the sensation was faint — like drops of water filling an empty jar. But it was there.
He felt himself adapting. His breathing was less ragged, his swings slightly sharper, his steps steadier.
"…If this continues, I'll grow stronger just by surviving here."
Still, he knew he couldn't get reckless. The hunters often spoke of the danger curve. Rank 1 monsters were nuisances to experienced fighters, but Rank 2 and Rank 3 beasts were real threats even to seasoned men. And in the Blackwood Forest, it wasn't unheard of for Rank 5 monsters to appear — calamities to the village if they wandered too close.
For a boy like him, facing one now would mean certain death.
---
By the time the sun began to set, Aiden reluctantly turned back. His legs were heavy, his stomach growling, his shirt torn and stained with blood — most of it not his own.
When he emerged from the treeline, the village lay quiet in the orange glow of dusk. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys, children's laughter echoing faintly. To the villagers, it was an ordinary day. To Aiden, it had been the start of something irreversible.
He washed himself quickly at the well, hiding the scratches with cloth, then returned home. Alone in his small hut, he lay on the mattress, staring at the ceiling beams again.
His body ached, but beneath the fatigue there was a faint thrill.
For the first time since his reincarnation, he felt alive.
"…I need to measure this." His voice was a whisper in the quiet room. "How much can I grow? How fast?"
He thought of the rank system the hunters sometimes mentioned. The strength of monsters and warriors alike was divided from Rank 1 to Rank 9.
Rank 1–2: Mundane beasts and weak fighters.
Rank 3–4: Trained warriors, elite hunters, dangerous monsters.
Rank 5–6: Village-level threats. Only a group of hunters or skilled mages could handle them.
Rank 7–8: Regional calamities. Cities feared them.
Rank 9: Kingdom-level disasters. The stuff of legends.
Above that… there were whispers of beings beyond rank, but those were myths.
Right now, Aiden's body was barely at the level of a normal child. Yet with Devour, he had slain two wolves and a horned hare in a single day — creatures even adults sometimes struggled against.
That meant, at minimum, his strength was already brushing against Rank 1.
A small smile crept onto his lips. "I can climb this ladder. One step at a time."
But just as he closed his eyes, a thought chilled him.
The forest wasn't just filled with beasts. Somewhere, sealed deep within, lay a presence he couldn't ignore — the slumbering demon dragon. He didn't know why, but ever since his awakening, he could feel faint whispers calling to him from that direction.
Someday, he would have to face it.
The question was: would he be strong enough by then?
---
Days Passed
Life fell into rhythm. By day, Aiden blended into the village — chopping firewood, running errands, exchanging polite words with the hunters and elders. By night or early morning, he slipped into the forest, fighting anything he could handle.
His body toughened. The wooden sword grew splintered from use. He suffered bruises, scratches, and close calls — a tusk grazing his ribs, claws tearing at his sleeve. But each battle ended the same: with his survival, and with the quiet surge of Devour strengthening him.
The villagers noticed small changes. His posture straightened. His movements grew sharper. His eyes burned with something older than his years.
Even Garron, the hunter chief, muttered once, "That boy… he's changing."
---
The First Real Test
On the twelfth day, Aiden ventured deeper than before. His legs were steadier, his grip firmer. He wanted to push himself.
That was when he heard it — a guttural growl that shook the underbrush.
From the shadows stepped a beast nearly twice the size of the wolves he had fought. Its fur was dark, its fangs long and jagged, saliva dripping from its maw. Its eyes burned with hunger.
Aiden's breath caught.
"…A Dire Wolf."
He had overheard hunters whisper about them. Unlike normal forest wolves, Dire Wolves were intelligent predators, pack leaders, and killers of men. Their strength was estimated around Rank 3.
Far beyond what a child with a wooden stick should face.
The wolf circled him slowly, growling. Aiden tightened his grip on the sword, his mind racing. His body screamed at him to flee — but deep inside, something colder answered.
If I run now, I'll never grow.
The wolf lunged.
---
The fight was brutal. The wooden sword cracked under the force of its fangs. Aiden rolled across the dirt, narrowly avoiding being ripped apart. His small body screamed in protest, but he kept moving, forcing his limbs to obey.
He struck at its legs, its ribs, anything to slow it down. The wolf snarled, its paw slashing his shoulder, blood spraying. Pain lanced through him, hot and searing.
For a moment, despair clawed at him.
But then the whisper came again.
Devour. Surpass.
His eyes sharpened. His heart roared. He braced himself as the wolf lunged once more, and with a desperate cry, he drove the broken end of the wooden sword into its eye.
The beast howled, thrashing violently before collapsing.
Aiden fell to his knees beside it, gasping, blood soaking his shirt. His body trembled on the edge of collapse — but then, the surge came.
A torrent of strength, far greater than before, rushed into him. His muscles burned, his vision swam, his wounds throbbed… and yet, he felt stronger. Clearer.
"…Rank 2," he whispered, realization dawning. "No… maybe even close to Rank 3."
The corpse of the Dire Wolf lay still, its aura fading. Aiden stared at it, his hands trembling — not from fear, but from exhilaration.
This was it. The path forward.
But before he could even rest, the sound of more howls echoed in the distance.
He froze.
Dire Wolves didn't travel alone.
---