Naro inspected the faintly pulsing artifact nestled within the sword. A spiral-shaped shard of pure black essence stirred restlessly, releasing coils of dark aura that twisted like smoke. His lips curled faintly.
"A dark path nyx…" he muttered. Its ability was simple, yet sinister—the power to launch spiraling waves of shadow that inflicted a bleeding curse on all they touched. Efficient. Cruel. Exactly the kind of tool he needed.
He closed the sword with a snap, expression unreadable.
"This will be enough to start. With this, I can harvest more blood path nyx for my foundation."
Naro leaned back against the throne-like chair in his chamber, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. His eyes sank into a faraway glint—schemes already unraveling, each thread leading toward power. In his past life, the world had trembled beneath his name. They had called him the Demonic Blood Lord, for none could rival the horrors he wrought as a blood path nyx user. And this life? He would walk that road again—more carefully, more efficiently, more ruthlessly.
But the blood path was no ordinary path. It was condemned. Every sect, every so-called righteous clan, hunted its practitioners with ferocity. To walk it openly was to invite death. To walk it in shadows was to drown in secrecy, betrayal, and endless sacrifice. Yet in exchange, it granted a speed of cultivation none of the "righteous" paths could hope to match. A single rank in blood path was worth years of hard work on the other paths. The price? Blood. Trust. Life.
His gaze sharpened as he recalled the object of his ambition—an immortal nyx of terrible legend: the Asrith Sacrifice. A rank 6 blood path nyx, capable of elevating its wielder to immortality by consuming the lives of those who both trusted and respected him. Unlike other artifacts, it fed not on fear, nor on blood alone, but on devotion betrayed. That condition alone had left countless seekers broken, unable to wield it.
But Naro knew its location. He had ventured there in his previous life. A hidden cave, lost within shadows, brimming with trials designed to tear intruders apart. Even elders of the fourth rank had perished within. It wasn't something he could touch yet. Not without power.
His eyes narrowed to slits, a thin thread of killing intent flashing. "For now, I'll have to find the Blood Dash Nyx."
Blood Dash—the first stepping stone. A blood path movement-type nyx that allowed its user to tear through enemies in a crimson streak of speed, dashing past them as their bodies split apart. Perfect for an assassin, perfect for a predator. Obtaining it was straightforward—slay a vampire, seize its core, and refine the nyx from its remains.
Naro exhaled softly, his tone calm, yet edged with bloodlust.
"A vampire will be enough. With the Dark Spiral in my hand, it won't be a problem."
Memories emerged. Vampires… their blood-soaked clans had ruled the night for centuries, and in his previous life, he had walked beneath their banner. The vampire king himself, Dracula, had been his master once—teaching him the intricacies of blood, sacrifice, and domination. It was under Dracula's shadow that Naro had first stepped into the blood path.
Now, reborn with foresight, he intended not to serve—but to surpass.
The path ahead was soaked in betrayal, sacrifice, and rivers of blood. But Naro's eyes glimmered with mad certainty. He had walked it once, and this time, he would walk it to the end.
Naro's eyes shifted to her, calculating. She had followed him since his rebirth, loyal in her own innocent way, and for now, he intended to keep her that way. He masked the storm of schemes swirling in his mind, letting his tone slip into casual warmth.
"Everything's fine. Don't worry yourself," he said with a faint smile. "You can go prepare me some food now."
Her worried expression softened at once, as if his words were enough to push away all her doubts. She flew off, humming quietly as she worked.
Time passed. When she returned, a plate of roasted deer meat awaited him, steaming and fragrant. The seasoning was simple, yet it was delicious—Naro could tell she had gone through trouble to prepare it well. He ate quietly, savoring the tenderness.
"I'll be gone for a few days," he said finally, placing the plate aside.
The fairy froze midair, her glow flickering faintly. Her violet eyes started building up moisture as she looked at him with an almost childlike attachment.
"Don't… don't be away for too long," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.
Naro gave no answer. He merely stood, turned, and left the castle.
The night before had been heavy with rain, but as dawn broke, the clouds parted. Shafts of sunlight fell through the dark forest, piercing the mist like broken glass. The dripping silence made the woods feel brighter… yet lonelier. Naro tread calmly, his black cloak brushing against the wet leaves.
In the village, he bought only what he needed: dry rations, ropes, flint, and waterskins. Then he headed deeper south into the forest, where the paths thinned and the trees grew crooked and tall. By the time night came, the fog had thickened to a damp shroud.
As Naro was setting up camp beneath a wide oak, a long, mournful howl cut through the stillness. His eyes narrowed. From the shadows, eyes gleamed—one pair, two, then a dozen. A pack of gaunt wolves crept forward, twice the size of ordinary beasts, their ribs visible through their thin hides, hunger dripping from their fangs.
Naro stood, resting his hand on the sword's hilt. His lips curved slightly.
"Perfect timing. A chance to test the Dark Spiral Nyx."
The beasts circled. He was outnumbered and outmatched; each wolf carried the aura of rank 2 strength. Alone, at rank 1, he had no chance of cutting them all down. But he still had his experience—Naro lived three hundred years, three centuries of blood and war carved into his instincts.
The first wolf lunged. Naro moved like a shadow, sliding aside effortlessly. His movements were calm, precise—no wasted motion. But the pack wasn't patient; they all came at once, a wall of teeth and claws.
Naro's blade was free of its sheath. At the same time, his aura flared as he began to channel the nyx. The spiral—rank 3—was far above him. To activate it at his rank one level demanded time, and every heartbeat was precious.
He climbed up through the branches of a tree, pulling the wolves beneath him. His sword glowed black, coils of shadow writhing around the blade like snakes preparing to strike.
"Now."
He thrust downward.
The air shrieked as a vortex of darkness exploded outward, forming a spiral of annihilation.
BOOM.
The earth itself split. The wolves vanished in an instant—no blood, no corpses, no bones. As though they had been erased from existence. The bleed effect of the nyx never had the chance to show itself; the sheer destructive power of the spiral reduced them to nothingness.
Naro landed lightly on the branch, his body drenched in sweat. His breath became harsh, every muscle trembling, his rank 1 frame unable to withstand the burden of a rank 3 artifact. Still, his eyes were calm, sharp, almost indifferent to the devastation he had wrought.
"I'll sleep here tonight," he muttered, leaning back against the trunk. If another threat appeared, the height might at least grant him a moment's warning.
When morning broke, he stirred with a wince. His arms, shoulders, and back screamed in soreness, the price of wielding power his body wasn't ready for. He flexed his fingers, gripping the sword once more.
"It doesn't matter," he thought coldly. "I must keep enough strength in reserve. When the vampire appears… I'll need every ounce I have left."
He descended the tree and pushed deeper into the south. Days passed. Miraculously, nothing attacked him further. The forest was vast and cruel, and danger lurked everywhere—yet for now, fortune seemed to favor him.
But Naro didn't attribute it to luck. No—his instincts honed by three hundred years whispered differently. The silence was not safety. It was only the calm before the next hunt.
The forest grew darker the further south he traveled. The fog thickened, curling low to the ground like pale snakes, and the trees stretched unnaturally tall, their branches clawing at the sky. By the fourth night, Naro knew—he was close.
The signs were subtle, but unmistakable. Bloodless carcasses of deer and boar, left crumpled in the underbrush. The stench of iron lingering on the air. And the silence—so deep that even the wind dared not breathe.
As the moon rose, a deathly white pale shape moved between the trees. Tall, slender, its steps soundless, like a ghost drifting through the mist. The figure wore a tattered cloak, its skin pale as bone, its eyes glowing faintly red.
A vampire.
Naro's lips curved in satisfaction. "So, you finally show yourself."
The vampire tilted its head at him, as though studying prey that had willingly wandered into its hunting ground. When it spoke, its voice was low and chilling, yet strangely smooth.
"Human… your blood smells different. Old. Heavy. Tempting."
Naro didn't flinch. His hand rested on the sword hilt, calm as still water. "Good. You'll save me the effort of searching."
The vampire's fangs bared in a cold smile. It blurred forward, faster than Naro's eye could follow—one moment across the clearing, the next directly in front of him, claws gleaming.
Naro's body moved on instinct, honed by centuries. He twisted aside, the claw missing his throat by a hair. The sword scraped against pale flesh, drawing a line of dark red that steamed in the night air. The vampire hissed—not in pain, but in amusement.
"Not bad… for prey."
Its speed was monstrous. At rank 2 peak, it was stronger and faster than Naro in every way. But Naro wasn't relying on brute force. His focus was cold, precise—buying time as his aura swirled, beginning to awaken the spiral once more.
The vampire lunged again, claws exposed, fangs snapping. Naro evaded, retreating step by step into the trees, forcing the vampire to follow. His blade flashed when it could, but never overcommitting, never reckless.
"heh.. you're nothing but a pawn." he whispered inwardly.
At last, the vampire overextended, lunging with both hands. Naro twisted, driving the sword into the ground. Darkness writhed up the blade—though weaker than before, his body trembling from the strain.
A single dark spiral lashed outward.
The vampire's eyes widened, a blur too slow to escape. The spiral tore through its chest, shredding flesh, blood and bone alike, swinging it against a tree with a crack that echoed through the forest.
It screeched, staggered. Not dead—its resilience was beyond a human's—but its chest was caved in, ichor pouring from the wound.
Naro descended slowly, blade in hand, sweat dripping down his face. His aura flickered weakly, but his eyes burned with cold dominance.
"You're mine."
With a swift motion, he severed the vampire's head. Its body collapsed, dissolving into mist. All that remained was a faintly pulsing core of bloody red light, trembling with dark vitality—the essence of its bloodline.
Naro picked it up, feeling its warmth against his palm. A grin tugged at his lips.
"A vampire blood essence core.. I can use this to refine the blood dash nyx…"
The power to move like lightning, to cut through flesh as though the world itself parted before him. With this, his path deepened.
He clenched the core, whispering coldly into the night.
"One step closer to Asrith. One step closer to immortality."
The forest fell silent once more.