The Duskhound's corpse already lay still, its body slumped awkwardly against the roots where I had struck it down. Its dark fur, once bristling with life and hunger, now carried the cold sheen of death. Yet while its flesh cooled, my wounds burned hotter with each shallow breath I took. Every step I managed sent jagged lances of pain through my cracked ribs. My clothes clung to me like a second skin, heavy and clammy with sweat and blood.
But none of that mattered.
Because the Vial of Ascension was close.
That single thought was the rope I clung to while dragging myself through the suffocating darkness of the forest. I pressed a shaking hand against my side, trying to hold myself together, as though my palm alone could keep my blood inside me. Each heartbeat felt like it might rip me open from within, but I refused to stop.
The trees here grew thicker, the canopy blotting out even the pale gleam of moonlight. The deeper I pressed forward, the less the night resembled night at all; it was more like an endless tomb where shadows strangled every spark of light. My vision strained, every rustle of leaf or snap of twig in the underbrush sending my nerves flaring with suspicion.
"This forest…" I whispered, my voice rasping, "feels more like a graveyard."
And it did.
The silence wasn't empty—it was watchful. Alive. It pressed against my skin the way a predator's eyes linger on prey. The air itself seemed to crouch, waiting for something to move, something to strike.
I pushed on, guided less by sight than by memory. In my head flickered half-remembered scraps from the game: faded maps, side-quest dialogues, fragments of lore no one ever bothered to read. But I had read them. I had needed to. That knowledge was my only compass now. The Vial wouldn't be lying around carelessly in the open—it was hidden, buried beneath the roots of an ancient oak, a place steeped in mana so old it clung to the soil like ghostfire.
And it wouldn't be undefended.
In the game, the villain had fought through a trial of beasts before he could claim it. That same trial was waiting for me now.
My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword, though my hand shook. I couldn't fight another battle like the Duskhound. I didn't have the strength left for it. But I had no choice.
A sharp crack snapped behind me.
I froze, heart pounding hard enough to burst my chest. My ears strained for the sound again. Nothing. Only the whisper of leaves shifting in the night breeze.
I swallowed, forcing air into lungs that felt like they were collapsing. "Get a grip, Arthur," I muttered. "Paranoia will kill me before the monsters do."
Still, I didn't loosen my hold on the sword.
The slope of the land dipped gradually downward. The forest floor grew tangled with roots that curled upward from the soil like skeletal fingers, thick enough in places to be mistaken for the trunks of smaller trees. The air changed here—it shimmered faintly, like a veil of silver mist that pulsed in time with some hidden rhythm.
Mana.
I knew then I was close.
The shimmer grew brighter with each step until I stumbled into a small clearing.
There it stood.
An oak unlike any other, massive beyond reason. Its trunk was wide enough that a dozen men couldn't have circled it hand-to-hand. The bark was scored with grooves and spirals that looked less like the random scars of nature and more like runes carved by something older than mankind. The ground itself seemed alive, faint veins of light threading through the roots and bleeding into the soil like molten rivers.
And there, nestled in a hollow at its base, half-buried in the ancient wood, rested a crystal vial.
The liquid within did not hold a single color. It was silver, and then gold, and then crimson, and then all at once, as though the stars themselves had been melted and poured into glass. It was not of this world—it was something stolen from creation itself.
The Vial of Ascension.
My throat tightened.
There it was—the key to breaking my limits. The very relic that could turn "Arthur Dravenloch, pitiful failure" into something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something that could claw its way free from the destiny of ridicule, of weakness, of death at the hands of the true protagonist.
I stepped forward—
—and the ground shuddered.
The silver glow of the clearing pulsed violently, beating like the heart of a great beast. The ancient oak groaned, and its roots shifted, twisting against the earth. Soil split open, chunks of dirt scattering as something began to rise.
At first I thought it was another wolf. My blood chilled. But no—the shape that emerged was wrong. Its body wasn't fur and flesh, but bark, root, and moss woven together into a grotesque parody of life. Its frame was vaguely canine, but twisted, too jagged, too unnatural. Eyes like molten amber burned in its wooden skull, and claws of stone gleamed under the mana light.
A guardian.
Of course it wouldn't be simple.
The creature's growl rumbled like thunder, vibrating through the earth and into my bones. Each step it took shook the clearing, scattering loose soil in sprays.
I raised my sword, though my arms trembled violently from exhaustion. The wounds from the Duskhound screamed in protest, but retreat was not an option. To leave now would mean rotting into nothing.
If I wanted the Vial of Ascension, I had to earn it.
The guardian lunged.
I barely threw myself aside, rolling across the dirt. Pain exploded in my ribs like fire. Where its claws struck, the ground cracked, throwing dirt high into the air.
Too slow. Too weak.
It came again, faster this time. I stumbled back, dragging the sword up just in time. Steel clashed with stone. Sparks spat into the night. The impact rattled through me, nearly tearing the weapon from my hands.
I couldn't win like this.
The thought rang sharp and merciless. Unlike the Duskhound, this was no beast of blood and instinct. This was mana given form, a construct of earth and spirit. Slashing blindly at it was meaningless.
I ransacked my memory, clinging desperately to the fragments of the villain's story. The trial wasn't brute force—it was precision. The guardian's body was a shell. Its weakness was its core, hidden deep in its chest, pulsing faintly between the shifting armor of bark and root.
"Fine," I hissed through clenched teeth, forcing myself upright. "Then I'll gamble it all on one strike."
The guardian circled, deliberate and slow, molten eyes locked to mine. It was patient. It could afford to wait.
My vision blurred from blood loss. My arms screamed. My chest burned. But I forced my focus tighter, calling upon the skill that had become my only anchor.
**Perfect Poker.**
The world sharpened. Every motion of the guardian became rhythm, every shift in its steps a beat I could predict. The flicker of the core, faint through the cracks of its torso, gleamed like a star begging to be pierced.
It lunged.
"**Dash!**"
My body blurred into motion, not fast enough to escape—but fast enough to close in.
I slid forward, directly beneath its massive frame. Pain screamed through my ribs as I twisted the sword upward with all that remained of my strength.
Steel pierced bark.
The blade slid through the cracks, burying deep into the glowing heart within.
The guardian's cry was like nothing of this world—a groan, a howl, a scream of shattering wood and unraveling mana. Its body convulsed, roots flailing wildly, before it split apart in a shower of dust and splinters.
And then—silence.
The clearing was still again.
I dropped to my knees, coughing violently. Blood spattered the dirt as black spots swam across my vision. My body trembled on the edge of collapse.
But through the haze, my eyes locked on the hollow at the tree's base.
The Vial of Ascension still shimmered there. Untouched. Waiting.
I dragged myself forward inch by agonizing inch. My hand trembled as it reached out.
So close.
The air around the vial pulsed faintly, as though the liquid itself breathed. Was it invitation—or warning?
My hand hovered above it.
And for the first time since waking in this cursed body, I felt the full weight of choice. This wasn't just an elixir. It was a turning point. A doorway that once stepped through could never be crossed back.
My lips curved into something between a grimace and a smile.
"Good," I whispered, my voice raw. "Because I don't plan on going back."
And with trembling fingers, I closed my hand around the Vial of Ascension.