Melina's eyes burned as she stared straight at the silver box. "What condition? I'll agree to anything!"
The smile at the corner of Orum's mouth deepened.
"The condition is that you let me touch your ears for a while."
Hearing this request,
Melina's already rosy cheeks turned an even deeper crimson.
They looked ready to give off steam.
"Th-that... how could I possibly allow that!"
Melina cried out in shame, her voice going sharp.
She instinctively covered the pair of fluffy black beast ears on her head.
Her eyes darted back and forth.
"These are the symbol of my filthy, dark bloodline!"
Her voice carried a deep self-loathing and resistance.
"How can I let Orum touch them? It's too shameful!"
But the moment Melina finished speaking, Orum made a deadly move.
He slowly opened the white silver metal box.
The instant the lid lifted, a rich fragrance rushed out to meet her.
It was a complex aroma of chili, spices, and fish, carrying a temptation no one could resist.
The spicy scent of red oil hit her nose first, like a critical strike, wildly stimulating her taste buds.
The smell of the dried little fish spread rapidly through the narrow passage, as if Pandora's box had been opened.
Orum set the open box directly in front of Melina, letting her smell the tempting aroma up close.
Melina had still been holding fast to her principles.
But when that fragrance drifted into her nose, all her resistance collapsed in an instant.
The voice of reason in her mind screamed wildly: Don't compromise! Don't let Orum touch your ears! They're the symbol of your dark bloodline!
But her body had stopped obeying completely.
Her eyes went hazy, her nostrils flared without her meaning them to, and she breathed in that intoxicating scent deeply.
Her pupils dilated slightly under the temptation of the food, and her expression changed from shy resistance to longing.
"No... I can't..." Melina's voice grew fainter and fainter.
She tried to turn her head aside, to escape the cloud of fragrance.
But the smell seemed alive, chasing after her relentlessly.
Trembling, Melina reached out, her slender, pale fingers cautiously slipping into the box.
Her fingertips touched a silver-scaled dried fish soaked in red oil.
Glistening droplets of oil still clung to its surface. It felt warm and slick, and through her fingertips she could sense the firm texture of the flesh.
Melina gently pinched up the little fish, slowly and reverently, as if performing some sacred ritual.
She put it in her mouth and bit down lightly.
In an instant, a rich flavor burst across her tongue!
The sting of chili struck her taste buds first, followed by the freshness of the fish and the layered complexity of the spices.
These flavors collided and blended in her mouth, forming an indescribably wonderful experience!
Melina's eyes flew wide, her pupils shrinking sharply in shock, and her whole face filled with bliss.
"This special chili sauce... it's so delicious!" Melina cried out in astonishment, her voice trembling.
She had been thoroughly conquered by the taste, and her earlier shame and resistance were long since thrown to the far corners of the sky.
All those convictions, such as "the disgrace of my dark bloodline" and "no one may touch my ears," turned into a joke in that moment.
Melina cradled the white silver box in both hands, lowered her head, and sank completely into the pleasure of eating.
She didn't even care that red oil was smearing her pale cheeks, and ate the little fish one piece after another with total focus.
The red grease left several streaks across her face, but she paid them no mind.
Melina was in a state of being utterly locked down, single-minded, as though everything around her had ceased to exist.
In her world, only this box of spicy little fish before her remained, and everything else had become unimportant.
What dark bloodline, what beast-ear taboo, what shame...
All of it, tossed out of her mind!
Watching Melina sink into her meal with every defense gone, Orum knew his chance had come!
A smirk of success curled the corner of his mouth. He quietly stretched out his hand, slow and gentle, toward the pair of fluffy black beast ears on Melina's head.
His fingertips cut through the air, closer and closer to those ears.
Ten centimeters.
Five centimeters.
Three centimeters.
The moment his fingers touched the beast ears, a warm, soft sensation spread through his palm at once.
The fine down on the ears was very smooth, feeling like the finest velvet, impossible to put down.
Every tiny hair was unbelievably soft, sliding lightly under his fingertips.
Orum gently stroked the pair of ears, feeling them tremble slightly in his palm, and a look of complete satisfaction spread across his face.
This feeling... absolutely incredible!
Softer than he had imagined!
Though Melina was eating, she could still feel someone touching her ears, and her body stiffened slightly.
Alarms rang in her mind again: Someone is touching your ears! Stop him!
But the temptation of the food was simply too great.
Melina hesitated a moment, and in the end chose to keep eating the little fish, pretending not to notice Orum's small tricks.
Forget it... let him touch them for a while... she comforted herself in her heart.
It's only for a little while anyway...
Food this good shouldn't be wasted...
Seeing that Melina did not resist, Orum grew even bolder in his stroking, even giving the tips of the ears a gentle rub.
The ears felt soft in his hand, and with each light press he could feel the warmth inside them and the tender muscle beneath. The tips were the most sensitive, and every touch brought a faint tremble.
That fluffy sensation gave Orum enormous satisfaction, and his expression turned especially delighted.
It felt so good.
This was worth a whole lifetime.
Minute by minute, time passed, and Melina finally finished the last piece of fish in the box.
Reluctant to stop, she licked the red oil from the corner of her mouth, and then suddenly realized: her ears had been kneaded by Orum this whole time!
Melina's face flushed bright red. She puffed out her cheeks in a pout and glared at Orum, adorably.
"Orum, I said... don't touch my ears..." Her voice carried a coquettish protest.
But her puffed-up look had no intimidating power at all. If anything, it made her even cuter, and made you want to tease her more.
Orum withdrew his hand and shrugged, looking innocent.
"You were enjoying yourself so much just now, I assumed you'd given your consent."
Melina was choked into silence by this line.
She opened her mouth to rebut it, but could find no fitting reason.
It was true... she had been completely absorbed in the food and hadn't stopped Orum at all.
"Next time... next time it's not allowed!" was all Melina could squeeze out in the end.
Orum smiled and didn't answer.
Not allowed next time?
Next time, for sure!
Orum turned and left in a good mood.
He headed up the stairway passage, his steps light.
He had successfully touched Melina's beast ears, and that fluffy sensation still lingered on his fingertips.
The corners of his mouth couldn't help curving up.
This bit of petty mischief gave him a rare sense of relief in oppressive, eerie Greentown.
Soon he walked out of the basement stairway and returned to Greentown's dim streets.
Orum threaded his way through the narrow streets toward the Executioner's stone house on the edge of town.
On both sides of the street, the wooden buildings cast deep shadows in the dim light.
The shadows wove together on the ground into patches of black netting.
As if something might crawl out of them at any moment.
The streets were as deserted as ever.
Here and there he could see a few townsfolk.
They went about their own business in silence.
No one said a single word.
The whole town was wrapped in an eerie silence.
Just then,
Orum noticed two oddly shaped black carriages parked on the street ahead.
Both carriages were pitch black.
Their surfaces were carved with intricate, sinister patterns.
They gave off a dense aura of darkness.
Orum's steps faltered slightly.
His brow furrowed.
This dark aura was completely different from the deathly, stifling atmosphere of Greentown around it.
It looked out of place.
Extremely jarring.
It was as if two burning black flames had suddenly appeared in a rotting swamp.
Plainly,
these two carriages were not the property of local townsfolk, but transport belonging to outsiders.
But then a huge question rose in Orum's mind.
This was the depths of Everdusk Forest.
The roads in the forest could not possibly allow carriages to pass.
The tangled roots of giant trees, the dense thorny vines, the rugged ground
made it impossible for any ordinary carriage to advance.
When the Ice Hawks Company entered Everdusk Forest,
they had also abandoned their carriages at the outpost
and continued on foot.
Yet these two black carriages sat intact on the streets of Greentown.
There was hardly any mud on their wheels.
As if they had appeared out of thin air.
Orum froze.
His eyes locked on the two black carriages.
A bold guess flashed through his mind.
Could it be...
these were the legendary flying carriages?!
Orum's consciousness pulled itself out of the tangle of thoughts and returned to the real world.
He stood in the middle of the Executioner's front yard, both hands gripping a thin-bladed dagger.
The cold touch of metal came through his fingertips.
The ground of the yard was paved with grayish-white flagstones. Years of weathering had covered their surface with fine cracks, making them look ancient and weathered.
About three steps in front of Orum sat a piece of white bone ore roughly the size of a tabletop.
The ore's surface gave off a lustrous, bone-like sheen. In the dim light of Everdusk Forest it stood out conspicuously, as if some radiance of life were held inside.
Orum slowly closed his eyes.
He shut every sound and sight of the outside world out of his consciousness.
And began to enter a state of deep concentration.
His breathing grew long and rhythmic, each inhale and exhale following a particular cadence.
As if resonating with the origin of the world.
This special breathing method was precisely the secret technique recorded in the Combat Scroll: Blade of Military Path.
It was meant for lifting the spirit and sharpening soul intent.
As his breathing deepened, a faint emerald energy began to stir within Orum's body.
The energy was wispy, drifting like thin smoke.
The emerald energy rose from the soles of Orum's feet and spread upward along his legs.
It flowed through his torso and finally gathered in his hands gripping the dagger.
The energy flowed down his palms into the dagger and condensed along its thin blade.
Wrapping the whole weapon in a faint emerald halo.
Orum could clearly feel that this emerald energy did not come from the strength of his body.
Nor was it the mana drawn upon by ordinary casters.
It was a far more profound power, born from the will gathered in the depths of the soul, from the resolute conviction that could sever anything.
The essence of the combat skill Jade Slash did not lie in physical sharpness.
Nor in destructive power on the magical level.
It lay in the strength of the soul intent within the user's heart.
After studying the Combat Scroll: Blade of Military Path, Orum had learned that the key to Jade Slash was the tempering of soul intent.
It was gathering that resolute conviction that could cut through all things in the world.
Only by tempering, within one's heart, a soul intent of absolute confidence, able to cut through everything,
could one truly strike that peerless, razor-edged Jade Slash.
Conversely, if the user's heart wavered,
and he could not clearly picture the target being cut open in his mind,
then the power of Jade Slash would be greatly diminished.
It might not even cut through an ordinary wooden board.
It would merely burn through spiritual power for nothing, a useless, worthless combat skill.
Wait, something seems off here!
After hearing the Executioner's detailed explanation, a startling realization had suddenly risen in Orum's heart.
He realized that Jade Slash was a special combat skill that completely defied materialist logic and was full of idealist determination.
In this world, most combat skills and magic followed some objective law.
They had clear chains of cause and effect.
But Jade Slash was different.
Its strength depended entirely on how firm the user's inner soul intent was.
It was an extremely subjective standard of judgment, and it violated the law that spirit cannot affect matter.
The stronger and firmer the soul intent in the user's heart,
the more easily he could cut through solid defenses, and even create miracles that defied common sense.
Just as the Executioner had demonstrated, cutting the indestructible white bone ore as easily as a hot knife through butter.
That cutting power, which transcended the laws of physics, came from the Executioner's absolute, unshakable conviction that he could cut through anything!
Orum took a deep breath.
He began to gather soul intent in his mind.
His spirit was intensely focused, his consciousness sunk entirely into his inner world.
As his spiritual power gathered, Orum felt a faint burning pain begin at his temples.
It was the physical reaction to extreme concentration.
Soon after, waves of swelling pain also came from deep within his brain.
As if something were expanding inside his skull, exerting tremendous pressure on his brain.
But Orum gritted his teeth and did not give up on gathering soul intent.
He knew this pain was a necessary part of the process, the required price of tempering the spirit.
Orum knelt on one knee, panting heavily.
Sweat had soaked through his clothes.
He recalled that in mainstream occult theory, scholars divided the non-physical parts of a person into four layers.
From inside out, the four were the spirit body, the astral body, the mind body, and the etheric body.
Each layer had its own unique function and meaning.
Of these, the spirit body was the innermost layer.
It sat in the deepest part of the soul, the most fundamental seat of a person's spirituality.
Animist occultists held that all living beings possessed spirituality and a spirit body, which was the fundamental proof of life's existence.
The astral body was the outward expression of the spirit body.
It was the medium and method by which the spirit body communicated with the spirit realm and the stars.
The astral body was directly tied to the user's will and emotions.
Many divination arts and spells were cast by drawing on the power of the astral body.
What Orum had just been doing, gathering the soul intent of Jade Slash in his mind,
was precisely the outward manifestation of the astral body communicating with the astral realm and resonating with it.
In the depths of his heart he gathered his soul and, at the center of his mind, began to build a clear and powerful image.
It was a giant emerald-green longsword, its blade giving off a dazzling radiance, its keen edge sharp enough to cut through every substance in the world.
Orum poured all of his spiritual power into this image.
Making the emerald greatsword grow clearer and more real in his mind.
As the image solidified, Orum's presence began to climb steadily, and an invisible pressure suddenly radiated from his body!
The thin-bladed dagger in his grip began to be covered by a layer of emerald light. The glow was faint, but it truly covered the dagger's edge!
Orum could feel that his presence had risen to its peak, and the emerald greatsword image in his mind had reached its clearest state!
Now!
Orum's eyes snapped open, a sharp glint flashing in them, and his whole bearing turned razor-keen in an instant!
"Hah!" Orum let out a roar full of power, his voice echoing through the stone house's front yard and making the very air tremble!
At the same time, he gripped the thin-bladed dagger in both hands, gathered all the strength of his body into this single slash, and swung it down with force!
The slash carried the emerald glow and all the soul intent he had gathered, tearing through the air and cleaving straight toward the white bone ore before him!
Combat Skill: Jade Slash!
But just as the thin-bladed dagger was about to touch the surface of the white bone ore,
a crisp snapping sound rang across the front yard!
Crack!
It was the harsh sound of metal breaking, enough to make one's heart clench.
The instant the dagger in Orum's hand touched the white bone ore, it could not bear the recoil and snapped in two at the middle!
The front half of the dagger flew backward like a darting silver fish, tumbling through the air in a silver arc!
The broken blade glittered coldly in the dim light, spinning past Orum's side, and finally embedded itself in the wooden wall in the distance!
And the white bone ore still stood intact where it was, without even a single scratch on its surface!
This slash had failed.
Failed again.
Orum's face instantly turned paper white, and large beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead and slid down his cheeks.
His body swayed violently a few times, his legs gave way, and he dropped to one knee, his breathing turning rapid and ragged.
This cast of Jade Slash had cost Orum far too much spiritual power, far beyond the limit his body could bear!
He felt as if his brain were about to burst!
His head split with pain, a pain that nearly made him lose consciousness!
Waves of black swept across Orum's vision, the scenery in his sight blurring and warping, as though the whole world were spinning!
He braced the ground with trembling hands, gasping in great gulps, struggling not to faint.
His fingers shook as they groped across the flagstones.
At this moment his vision was badly blurred, and he could barely make out what lay before him.
The white bone ore was still undamaged.
And the thin-bladed dagger in his hand had been snapped into two pieces.
My soul intent... is still not strong enough...
Orum's brow knitted tightly.
Only now did he truly understand how demanding Jade Slash was on its user.
It required not only formidable spiritual power.
But also that absolute, unshakable conviction.
And he...
was clearly still far from it.
Orum gritted his teeth and worked to steady his breathing.
The headache still persisted.
His brain felt as though it were being pierced by countless steel needles.
But he forced himself to stay conscious.
Time ticked by, second after second.
Orum held his half-kneeling posture and rested in place for a long while.
He could hear his own heavy panting, especially clear in the silent surroundings.
Sweat slid down his cheeks and dripped onto the blue-gray flagstones, spreading into a small dark patch.
Gradually, that splitting headache began to ease.
The darkness before his eyes slowly receded, and his vision grew clear again.
Orum could make out the cracks in the flagstones now.
A few seconds later, in the center of his vision, he could already see the grain on the surface of the distant white bone ore.
The stabbing pain at his temples had changed from needle-sharp agony to a dull, swollen ache.
Deep in his brain, that pressure as if about to burst also slowly faded.
After another good while, Orum finally recovered from the weakened state of overspent spiritual power.
His breathing gradually evened out.
His heartbeat, too, settled from its violent, drumlike pounding back to a normal rhythm.
Orum slowly raised his head, his gaze falling on the remains of the snapped dagger not far away.
The dagger had broken in two at the middle.
The metal at the break was jagged and torn.
In the dim light, the metal fragments reflected a faint glimmer.
Orum's eyes were full of complicated emotions.
There was frustration, and there was reluctance to accept it.
Looking at the half of the broken dagger's hilt, Orum couldn't help but sigh.
The sigh was soft, but in the silent front yard it seemed especially heavy.
He still couldn't do it.
He still couldn't truly gather, in the depths of his heart, that utterly firm and unwavering soul.
Orum knew where the problem lay.
It wasn't that the technique was wrong!
Nor that the movements weren't standard!
It was that deep within Orum's heart there was a barrier he couldn't cross.
Although on the conscious level, I've tried with everything I have to believe I can cut through the white bone ore,
in my deeper subconscious, in the very depths of my soul, I still don't believe it, don't believe that one thin-bladed dagger can cut white bone ore that's several times harder than fine steel.
Orum rubbed his temples in frustration.
After all, this violated all the physical common sense he had brought from Earth, and all the understanding he had built up over more than twenty years of life.
That subconscious doubt was like an invisible shackle binding Orum's soul intent, preventing Jade Slash from showing its true power.
Orum thought with regret that even after three full days of hard training, he still couldn't break through this psychological barrier.
Over the course of three days,
he had failed again and again.
Between the conscious and the subconscious there was always an unbridgeable gulf,
keeping him from truly achieving single-minded, unwavering belief.
Training Jade Slash this time was far more complicated and far harder than learning Thrust and Sword Dance before it.
The training difficulty of Thrust and Sword Dance, with the help of the Panel, had been as simple as children playing house. Diligent, step-by-step practice was enough to bring them to perfection.
But Jade Slash was different.
It had very strict prerequisites.
It demanded that the user condense a sufficiently powerful soul as a foundation.
If that prerequisite couldn't be met, then the slash he unleashed couldn't even cut through a thin wooden board.
It lost all the power a combat skill should have.
But in the hands of a master-level expert like the Executioner, Jade Slash could unleash terrifying might like a miracle.
Orum would never forget the scene when the Executioner first demonstrated Jade Slash.
That saber covered in emerald light had cut through the indestructible white bone ore as easily as slicing butter.
The cut surface had been smooth as a mirror.
With no trace of shattering or tearing.
That power had surpassed ordinary understanding.
But in the hands of a beginner, like Orum, Jade Slash was a worthless combat skill that burned through enormous spiritual power while delivering very little force.
Orum stood up, his legs a little numb from holding the half-kneeling posture so long.
Then he walked step by step to an iron bucket set to one side.
The bucket was already rusted, its surface covered in brown rust spots.
Orum tossed the wreckage of the snapped dagger in.
Clang, clatter!
The broken dagger fell into the iron bucket and struck the other fragments inside.
A string of crisp metallic collisions rang out.
The sound echoed through the silent front yard, especially grating.
Orum looked down into the bucket, his eyes growing even more helpless.
Inside the iron bucket, more than thirty broken daggers had already piled up.
Some had snapped in two.
Some had even shattered into several pieces.
The metal fragments formed a small hill at the bottom of the bucket, glinting coldly in the dim light.
These daggers were all tools Orum had ruined over the past few days while training Jade Slash.
Every broken dagger represented one failed attempt.
Every failure had come with an enormous drain on his spiritual power and that splitting-headache agony.
But Orum was still persevering.
Trying again and again.
Even knowing the hope of success was slim, he hadn't given up.
The thin-bladed daggers used for training had all been provided by the Executioner.
He clearly had a sober understanding of how hard the training was.
The Executioner had long since foreseen that Orum would ruin a great pile of thin-bladed daggers while learning Jade Slash.
It was a process every beginner had to go through.
So on the very first day of training, the Executioner had prepared a whole large box of daggers for Orum.
More than a hundred of them.
At the time, when Orum saw the big box of daggers, he had even wondered whether the Executioner had prepared too many.
A hundred daggers?
How long would it take to use them all up?
Thinking about it now, that hundred daggers might only be the beginning.
At the current rate of consumption, a hundred daggers might not even be enough for what Orum needed to master Jade Slash.
Orum turned and walked to the wooden box holding the daggers.
The box sat in the corner of the stone house's wall, its lid half open.
He lifted the lid and took a new thin-bladed dagger from inside.
The blade gleamed coldly in the light.
The Executioner had taken an extremely aloof, hands-off attitude toward Orum's training.
Back then, the Executioner had stood in the shadows of the stone house's front yard.
His iron mask reflected a cold metallic sheen in the dim light.
"From now on, gather your own soul intent."
The Executioner's voice was low and flat.
No encouragement.
No comfort.
As if stating an indisputable fact.
"Grope your own way to the essence of Jade Slash."
"I will give no more instruction."
His tone was cold to the point of ruthlessness.
Then the Executioner raised his hand and pointed at the white bone ore.
"When you can cut it with a dagger,"
"that is when you will have mastered it."
With those words,
the Executioner turned and left.
His heavy footsteps echoed on the flagstone floor.
That massive figure disappeared into the shadows of the stone house.
Leaving only Orum.
Alone before the white bone ore.
And a hundred thin-bladed daggers to train with.
Orum took a deep breath.
The gap between theory and practice was far greater than he had imagined.
Those simple-sounding key points:
Gather soul intent.
Believe you can cut through everything.
Have no doubt at all.
In actual practice, were harder than climbing to heaven.
Orum had trained for a full three days.
He had swung thirty slashes.
Used up more than thirty thin-bladed daggers.
Endured thirty agonies of exhausted spiritual power.
But his Jade Slash was still limp and powerless.
There was not the slightest sign of progress.
Every slash ended with a snapped dagger.
Is this training method really right?
At this point, Orum simply could not imagine
how this absurdly thin dagger, which seemed ready to snap at a touch,
could possibly split that thick, hard white bone ore.
That white bone ore was like an insurmountable mountain standing before Orum, mocking his helplessness.
After yet another failed attempt,
Orum stood where he was.
Waves of stabbing pain came from his temples.
It was the aftereffect of overspent spiritual power.
The scenery before his eyes began to blur.
Rings of black halo appeared at the edges of his vision.
Orum raised his hand.
And gently rubbed his temple with the back of it,
trying to ease that unbearable swollen pain.
Just then, a sniff.
A warm, damp sensation touched the tip of his nose.
Orum wiped at it instinctively with the back of his hand.
A smear of bright red blood stained the back of his hand.
It was blood seeping from his nasal cavity.
It looked especially glaring against his pale skin.
A sign of badly overdrawn spiritual power.
If he kept forcing his training,
it might cause permanent damage to his spirit body.
I can't continue.
Orum took a deep breath.
He decided to suspend the Jade Slash training for now.
And give himself some time to recover his spiritual power.
He turned and, with heavy steps, headed for the woodshed beside the stone house.
The woodshed stood on the side of the stone house, a crude wooden building used to store firewood and assorted tools.
Orum pushed open the somewhat aged wooden door of the woodshed and stepped inside.
His gaze fell on a huge iron axe in the corner of the woodshed.
The axe's blade was broad and heavy, its haft thick and sturdy, its surface covered in the marks of years.
Orum walked over and bent down to pick up the iron axe.
Its weight made his arm dip slightly. The axe must have weighed at least forty jin.
Orum shouldered the iron axe.
He went out through the stone house's back door.
And came to a special stretch of forest at the outer edge of the back yard.
This forest looked entirely different from the ordinary scenery of the forest outside. The trunks of all the trees in this area were the deep color of black iron.
Their surfaces gleamed like metal, looking especially conspicuous under the eerie purple-black light of Everdusk Forest.
Orum recognized these trees as blackiron wood, a species unique to Everdusk Forest.
The outer shell of blackiron wood was as hard as real steel. An ordinary axe striking it left only a shallow white mark, and felling one was extremely difficult.
The entry in the monster encyclopedia he had once read surfaced in Orum's mind.
The encyclopedia had stated clearly: blackiron wood was not an ordinary plant.
It was an extremely special kind of monster!
Every forest of blackiron wood was a single whole!
An entire grove of blackiron wood was, in essence, offshoots of the same blackiron tree.
They shared the same source of life!
That meant no matter how many blackiron trees were felled, as long as the main body was not found and destroyed, the grove would never truly die.
Like the tentacles of an octopus.
Cut off one, and the others still lived.
Orum's fists clenched involuntarily.
His knuckles turned slightly white with the force, but excitement rose from the bottom of his heart.
Only by cutting down the blackiron wood's main trunk, hidden somewhere, could the entire grove be killed for good.
This discovery filled Orum with intense excitement.
His eyes lit up at once.
That light was like an explorer spotting treasure in the dark.
A burning glow flickered in his eyes.
The corners of his mouth curved up without his meaning them to.
Because according to the rules of the Panel, as long as he successfully killed a monster, he would receive a Panel reward!
Clearly blackiron wood was also a monster, and after killing it, Orum could obtain a brand-new monster organ. He ran the calculation quickly in his mind.
Monster organs were the most direct and effective path to raising his strength.
Every new organ meant a new ability.
Orum's gaze swept over the blackiron grove before him.
His eyes turned sharp.
Like a predator locking onto prey.
After three days of continuous felling, this once-dense blackiron grove now had fewer than half its trees remaining.
The empty woods looked rather desolate.
The suffocating, impenetrable pressure it once held had mostly vanished.
More than twenty broken stumps, each as thick as an adult human's thigh, were left on the ground.
They were scattered unevenly across the clearing.
Every stump was proof of Orum's hard labor.
The portions of the trunks above the stumps had been chopped, bit by bit, with great time and effort, into firewood.
All the processed firewood had been neatly stacked in the woodshed beside the stone house.
That mountain of firewood was enough to last a very long time.
Orum gathered his thoughts.
And refocused his attention on the task before him.
He raised the huge iron axe in his hands high.
The muscles of both arms tightened, and the axe blade traced an iron-black arc through the air!
It struck at a blackiron tree before him with a tearing rush of wind!
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!!!
Time slipped quietly by in the monotonous, repetitive labor.
Orum finally felled several thick trunks whole.
The blackiron tree trunks crashed to the ground.
Hitting the earth with a dull thud.
Kicking up a great cloud of dust.
He shouldered these heavy trunks and made trip after trip between the grove and the woodshed, hauling them inside to store.
Each of these blackiron logs weighed several hundred jin, but Orum carried them with ease.
Afterward, Orum picked up a smaller axe and a splitting blade.
And began to chop the thick trunks into fine pieces.
Crack, crack, crack, crack...
The sound of the blade biting into wood rang out steadily.
He was turning them into long, slender sticks of firewood, which made them easier to store and use.
Splitting firewood was equally hard work.
It required precise control of force and a great deal of stamina.
But the two hearts and four lungs in Orum's chest worked furiously, supplying his body with a ceaseless flow of energy!
His movements were practiced and efficient, every stroke just right, dividing the logs into neat firewood.
After finishing the day's wood chopping, Orum felt his whole body's muscles ache slightly, waves of a sore, tingling pleasure washing toward his spine like a tide.
By now Orum's clothes were completely soaked with sweat, clinging sticky and uncomfortable to his body.
He decided to go wash up.
To let his tired muscles relax.
And to rinse away the sweat and the grime of wood shavings.
During the labor of felling, tiny wood shavings worked their way into every pore of the skin, making him itch all over.
Orum took clean clothes, left the woodshed, and went outside the fence of the back yard.
There stood a deep well, far from the main building of the stone house.
The well's rim was built of rough stones.
The edge had been eroded into pits and hollows by the years and was overgrown with moss.
The moss was slick and sticky, giving off a damp smell.
What amazed Orum was that in a godforsaken place this deep in Everdusk Forest, this well could actually draw clean, clear groundwater!
He scooped up a handful of well water.
And examined it carefully.
The water was astonishingly pure.
There wasn't a trace of impurity to be seen.
Beneath Greentown lay abundant clean, unpolluted groundwater.
Perhaps this was what Greentown's existence rested on?
Orum poured the well water over his body.
The icy stream made him shiver.
All his pores contracted at once, but then a wave of relief followed!
The feeling was like suddenly jumping into cool spring water
on a scorching summer day.
All fatigue and heat were washed away!
He rinsed off the sweat, grime, and wood shavings carefully.
Letting his skin return to cleanliness.
The well water ran down his body.
Gathering into small puddles on the ground.
"Hm?!"
As Orum closed his eyes and was working soap pod lather through his hair, a powerful sense of danger suddenly struck from behind.
The feeling came abruptly and intensely.
As if a sharp blade were resting against the back of his neck.
All the hairs on Orum's body stood on end at once, a chill shooting from his spine straight to his head!
His breath stopped in an instant, his heart pounding.
This sense of danger was far too real!
Orum's eyes snapped open, and he spun around to face the source of that terrifying danger!
His eyes swept warily over his surroundings, every muscle in his body taut to the limit, ready to attack at any moment.
But there was nothing in his field of vision.
Around him was still that silent grove and the desolate back yard, with nothing out of the ordinary.
The eerie grayish-white light of Everdusk Forest fell through and cast mottled shadows on the ground.
Everything looked normal.
The weeds by the well stood still, with no sign of being stirred by any wind.
Is it some special curse of Everdusk Forest? Or an illusion?
Orum thought to himself. Various strange phenomena truly did exist in this forest.
He hesitated a moment and decided to keep washing his hair.
Perhaps he really was just too tense and had imagined it.
Orum closed his eyes again and rubbed the soap lather through his hair with his fingers.
The bubbles slid over his fingertips, carrying a clean fragrance.
He carefully rinsed away the grime and wood shavings clinging to his hair.
But the instant Orum closed his eyes, that feeling of a needle at his back struck again!
And stronger than before!
This time, Orum could even clearly sense that something was approaching from behind.
That thing carried an uncanny aura and was coming closer to his body, step by step!
Closer and closer!
Three meters!
Two meters!
One meter!
Right behind him!
Orum whipped his head around, eyes wide, muscles taut, ready to fight at any moment!
But behind him there was still nothing.
Only empty space and the shadows of the distant woods.
This eerie feeling was just like an illusion.
So real, and yet with no substance to grasp.
Have I developed persecution delusions? Am I scared whenever I close my eyes?
Orum considered for a moment, turned around again, and rinsed his body with well water.
But this time he kept his guard high, not daring to relax completely.
He had just closed his eyes, about to wash the water droplets and lather from his face,
when suddenly...
A warm impact slammed into him from behind!
With no warning at all!
No sound of footsteps!
As if it had appeared out of thin air!
That body wrapped itself tightly around Orum with astonishing strength, arms encircling his chest and waist like iron hoops!
The force of this embrace was so great, so fervent!
As if it meant to hug Orum's whole body into its own!
Scorching breath blew against the back of Orum's ear and neck, a temperature unnaturally high, carrying an inhuman heat.
Orum's muscles tightened to their limit in an instant, all his strength gathering, ready to launch a counterattack and break free of this sudden assault!
But in the next moment, he sensed a familiar aura of death radiating from the one embracing him.
It was an aura unique to undead creatures.
Cold, deathly still, yet carrying some twisted vitality.
The alertness in Orum's heart eased somewhat, and bewilderment and confusion welled up inside him.
He recognized at once that this was exactly the aura of the necromantic girl named Aravia from the outpost!
That stitched-together monster of a zombie girl had actually followed him here!
And had been hiding in the dark, watching, all along!
What surprised Orum even more was that Aravia's zombie body, which should have been cold and stiff, was not cold at all now.
On the contrary, her body was abnormally scalding!
The temperature was even hotter than a living person's, as if some flame were burning inside her.
This abnormal body heat left Orum with even more questions about Aravia's physical makeup.
Aren't zombies supposed to be cold?
Why is her body temperature so high?
"I found you!"
Aravia's voice sounded beside Orum's ear, carrying a hint of trembling and excitement.
Her voice was soft, but filled with an uncontainable, wild joy.
As if she had finally found a treasure she had dreamed of.
Orum could feel Aravia's arms clasping him with such force that they nearly crushed his ribs.
"What... is your name?"
Aravia's cheek was pressed against Orum's shoulder, the stitched scars rubbing against his skin, the sensation uncanny, as if dozens of fingers were pressing on him.
Aravia's face was pale as snow, but her eerie violet eyes shone brightly!
While embracing Orum, her gaze locked onto the side of his face, that stare full of possessiveness and longing.
That gaze was like one fixed upon a rare treasure.
An priceless thing she must never lose and had to hold tight.
In the depths of Everdusk Forest, purple-black daylight filtered down through the canopy, casting an eerie hue over the area.
But just then, the corners of the zombie girl's mouth slowly curved upward into a smile of inhuman beauty.
That smile was both eerie and innocent, both terrifying and naive.
Like a child who had finally gotten a beloved toy.
In a delighted, fervent tone, Aravia whispered in Orum's ear, her voice full of barely contained excitement.
"My name is Aravia, I'm so happy to meet you!"
Her voice trembled, every word betraying inexpressible joy.
This simple self-introduction made a strange feeling rise from the bottom of Orum's heart.
Because the way Aravia said it was as if she had finally found someone fated for her.
Found the most important being in her life.
That fervor and obsession, that almost morbid delight, made Orum realize...
he might have run into a very troublesome being.
"I'm Orum. Could you let go, please? Men and women shouldn't touch like this." Orum said calmly.
"Orum, mm, what a good name! Aravia likes it~"
Aravia cheered, still holding Orum tightly, with no intention of letting go at all.
Her body pressed against his back, that scalding body heat passing through his skin, giving Orum a strange sense of discomfort.
The wind of Everdusk Forest blew past, stirring a rustle of leaves rubbing together, adding to the eerie atmosphere.
Orum stood where he was, held tight from behind by Aravia, not knowing how to react for a moment.
He could clearly feel that this zombie girl had formed some intense fixation on him.
An almost crazed attention.
The situation reminded Orum of the burning, frenzied look in Aravia's eyes the first time she saw him at the outpost.
She had shown a strong interest in him even then.
Now it seemed that interest had not faded but grown even stronger.
"Let go first."
Orum's voice was low and calm.
He tried to stay composed, not wanting to provoke this zombie girl whose mental state was so clearly unsound.
But Aravia seemed not to have heard him at all.
She still held Orum tightly, even nuzzling her cheek lightly against his shoulder.
That gesture was full of clinging attachment and possessiveness.
"I searched for you for so, so long..."
Aravia spoke softly, looking at Orum with an infatuated gaze. "Could you... be Aravia's daddy?"
"What?!"
Orum was stunned, his body stiffening at once.
He couldn't believe Aravia would actually make such a proposal!
Orum couldn't help thinking of Aravia's "mother"...
That tentacled "monster" in the heavy black coffin.
To be Aravia's "daddy"... wouldn't that mean marrying this "tentacle mommy"?!
Wasn't that a bit too hardcore, too restricted-rating?
"I'm sorry, I can't accept tentacle play."
Orum took a deep breath, looked seriously into Aravia's amethyst-like pupils, and said earnestly.