Zen lay on the upper frame of the carriage, one leg bent, hands folded behind his head. The slow rhythm of the wheels below and the steady sway of the ride made the world feel distant. He stared upward, unmoving.
The sky stretched endlessly above him.
A clear blue canvas, calm and indifferent. Clouds drifted across it—not distinct, not sharp, just loose masses of white slowly unraveling as the wind carried them along. Their edges blurred, constantly shifting, never holding a single form for long.
Zen's gaze lingered.
For a brief moment, his mind filled the gaps.
A rounded puff seemed almost like a cupcake—soft, familiar, absurd. Another stretched line felt wrongly similar to an airplane, its outline forming not in the sky, but behind his eyes.
Zen frowned slightly.
The clouds themselves didn't match the images. When he focused, the shapes dissolved immediately, turning back into nothing more than drifting vapor. No cupcake. No airplane. Just formless white moving across blue.
"…Huh."
He realized it then.
It wasn't the sky showing him those things.
It was his subconscious.
Old memories. Old concepts. Things from a world that no longer existed for him, surfacing without permission and trying to anchor themselves to whatever they could— even clouds.
Zen exhaled slowly.
"So that's how it is…" he muttered.
The images didn't return. The sky remained blank, honest in its emptiness. Zen closed his eyes, letting the carriage carry him forward, while his mind quietly wrestled with pieces of a past that refused to stay buried.
Suddenly, the cart lurched hard as a wheel struck a hidden stone.
The world tilted.
Zen's body slid toward the edge, the calm haze shattering in an instant. His eyes snapped open as gravity yanked at him, the sky vanishing from view. For a split second, he was weightless—caught between thought and instinct.
His hand shot out.
Fingers clenched around the wooden frame, knuckles whitening as the carriage rattled beneath him. The jolt traveled through his arms, sharp and real, dragging him fully back into the present. Zen twisted his body and rolled inward, boots scraping against the planks before he steadied himself.
The cart continued forward as if nothing had happened.
Zen sat there for a moment, breathing slow, heart beating just a little louder than before. He glanced up again at the sky—still blue, still empty, still uncaring.
"…Guess even the road doesn't like daydreamers," he muttered.
Below, the wheels creaked on, carrying him farther from the town—and deeper into whatever awaited ahead.
Red's voice surfaced in Zen's mind, calm and assured.
"The thing you asked for is ready."
Zen remained stretched across the upper frame of the carriage, eyes fixed on the open sky.
"Then show me already."
A sharp chime rang out.
Ding.
Light gathered before his eyes, forming a translucent screen that hovered in the air. It felt deliberate—like a system that only moved when it mattered.
At the top, bold letters burned into view:
NEW FUNCTION UNLOCKED
BATTLE ESSENCE
Text followed, appearing line by line.
Battle Essence is generated through combat.
It is obtained by killing beasts.
The higher the beast's rank, the greater the Battle Essence gained.
Zen's gaze sharpened as the explanation continued.
Battle Essence can be converted into permanent attribute growth.
Every 100 Battle Essence grants 1 stat point.
Mana is not affected.
His current attributes surfaced beside it.
Strength: 41
Agility: 36
Endurance: 34
Stamina: 38
Intelligence: 30
Mana: 2300
A new section appeared beneath, more rigid than the rest.
Mid D Rank Requirement:
Gain 10 additional stat points in every attribute except Mana.
Zen went still.
Not one stat.
Not just strength.
Everything.
Another line appeared, almost like a quiet warning.
Stronger beasts yield more Battle Essence.
Hunting weaker prey results in minimal growth.
The screen lingered for a moment, then slowly faded away, leaving only the moving sky and the creaking road beneath him.
Zen stared upward, expression unreadable.
No shortcuts.
No favoritism.
Only accumulation—earned, one kill at a time.
Zen didn't move. His eyes stayed on the screen, but the numbers were already rearranging themselves in his head.
Ten points.
Not total.
Ten per attribute.
Strength needed ten.
Agility needed ten.
Intelligence needed ten.
Endurance needed ten.
Stamina needed ten.
Fifty points.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Battle Essence.
One E-rank beast gave one Battle Essence.
Zen did the math without blinking.
One stat needed a hundred essence.
Fifty stats meant five thousand.
Five thousand E-rank beasts.
His breath left him slowly, almost soundless.
"…So that's how much," he muttered.
This wasn't training.
It wasn't even hunting.
It was repetition. Endless, grinding repetition.
Five thousand kills meant days blurring into weeks. Blood soaked into muscle memory. No tricks. No skipping steps.
Zen stared at the floating screen for a moment longer, then closed his eyes.
"I need this much… huh," he whispered, a thin edge of disbelief in his voice.
After a pause, he added quietly, half to himself—
"…Are you asking me to clean out the beasts?"
Red's voice slipped back in, casual, almost careless.
"You know… you can always kill higher-tier beasts, right?"
Zen's eyes narrowed.
"What," he said slowly, "I can kill up to Mid D rank. Maybe push to Mid-High if I'm careful."
He paused, then added flatly, "C-rank? I'd die."
Silence hung for a beat.
Zen turned his head slightly, gaze cold.
"What now," he asked, voice even, "are you asking your host to die?"
Red clicked his tongue.
"Relax. I said higher—not stupidly higher."
Red scoffed, sounding almost offended.
"Oh, come on. You wouldn't die," he said lightly. "I'm your master, right? I know what you can handle."
Zen didn't respond, so Red kept going.
"You can jump tiers without much trouble. You've got too much mana already—more than you even realize. By the time you actually try it, you'll probably have even more."
A pause, then a smug add-on.
"And with shadows? You could just sit back and let them do the work. No effort. No risk."
Zen's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened.
"…That's how people die," he said quietly.
Zen finally spoke, voice low and steady.
"Even so… I could maybe kill one beast with my mana," he said. "It's not like I have infinite mana. You wouldn't let me."
Red went quiet for a second.
Then he chuckled.
"Yes," he admitted easily. "You know me too well."
A hint of approval crept into his tone.
"I like you."
Zen didn't react. His gaze returned to the road ahead, calm, unmoved.
Zen finally spoke.
"Don't you think you could lower the requirements?"
Red snorted, not even trying to hide his amusement.
"Come on. You need to work this much. You already have advantages others don't even get to dream about. So don't cry like a child—be happy with what you have."
Zen didn't reply.
Because he couldn't deny it.
He already possessed what most people never would. Power, mana, options. Things handed to him not by effort alone, but by circumstance.
And he knew something else just as clearly.
Excessive greed was never a good thing.
Not in this world.
Zen didn't move from the carriage.
The wheels kept turning beneath him, steady and patient, carrying him forward along the dirt road.
"Let's continue then," he said quietly. "I've got my next destination. Have to kill the beasts."
Red answered without hesitation.
"Yes. To acquire stats."
The carriage creaked as it rolled on. Wind brushed past Zen's face, tugging lightly at his clothes.
Zen's lip twitched.
Not amusement. Not excitement.
Just acceptance.
His eyes stayed on the road ahead as the carriage carried him closer—
closer to blood, numbers, and the long, brutal work waiting for him.