The valley night was colder than Ryan had imagined. Wind howled through his hollow ribcage, producing a low, eerie whistling—like the death rattle of a dying skeleton. He'd run nearly an hour without stopping. His leg bones ached from overexertion; even as a Red Bone, his body wasn't strong enough for such a frantic, sustained sprint.
Finally, Ryan slowed and leaned against a thick dead tree, empty eye sockets scanning cautiously. The valley lay far behind. Before him stretched a desolate wasteland carpeted with broken bones and withered weeds. The earth was dark brown—as if soaked in blood for centuries. The air reeked of decay, mingled with the undead's inherent coldness.
'This must be an undead wasteland,' Ryan guessed. During his run, he'd faintly sensed other skeletons' auras—distant and weak, probably scattered Gray Bones or low-level Red Bones like himself.
He settled onto a pile of weathered bones and closed his empty eye sockets to recover. The "power" absorbed from the magic apprentice still lingered within him, slowly nourishing his frame, sharpening his bone needle. Ryan could feel his bone structure growing denser; his speed and strength had improved since his initial ascension to Red Bone.
'Killing magic apprentices yields more power than militiamen... What if I killed a Battle Bone? Or even a Strong Bone?'
A bold thought kindled in his empty skull—a faint flame of ambition. The desire to grow, to become strong, to no longer be humble cannon fodder, burned quietly but persistently.
But Ryan quickly steadied himself. He'd barely escaped death. The black-robed mage was badly poisoned—but might survive. The Bone Hunters who'd killed Carol could still be lurking nearby. Recklessness would only leave him a pile of shattered bones.
Just as he was composing himself, a faint rustling came from the weeds nearby. He tensed instantly, raising his right palm. The sharp bone needle extended silently, ready to strike. In this wasteland, any movement meant potential danger.
A small figure emerged from the weeds—a Gray Bone, shorter than Ryan, with a cracked skull and a missing left arm bone. It stumbled forward, empty eye sockets wandering aimlessly, as if lost.
Ryan relaxed slightly but didn't retract his needle. Even a Gray Bone could threaten if it attacked suddenly. He watched silently, observing. The Gray Bone hadn't noticed him yet; it just kept walking, each footstep crunching on broken bones.
When it was only three meters away, it stopped. The dim red light in its eye sockets flickered. It finally sensed Ryan—and fear flickered in its hollow skull. Ryan's Red Bone aura was far stronger than its own.
The Gray Bone hesitated—then turned to flee.
Ryan didn't let the opportunity slip. He craved more "power" to strengthen himself. This Gray Bone, though weak, was perfect.
Whoosh! Ryan shot forward like a black shadow. His speed far exceeded the Gray Bone's. Before it could take two steps, Ryan's bone needle punched through its cervical spine—a skeleton's vital point.
CRACK!
The Gray Bone's spine shattered. The red light in its eye sockets died. A tiny wisp of "power" drifted from its remains into Ryan's chest. Compared to the magic apprentice's, this was pitifully weak—but enough to make Ryan feel a slight enhancement.
He withdrew his needle, watching the Gray Bone collapse into a pile of rubble. 'If I only kill Gray Bones, I'll never grow fast enough.' He needed stronger prey—but also had to avoid danger.
As he pondered, a low roar echoed in the distance. Deep. Powerful. Not a Gray Bone or Red Bone—more like a Battle Bone.
Ryan's non-existent heart lurched. He quickly hid behind a massive boulder, empty eye sockets fixed on the sound's origin.
A tall figure emerged in the distance. A Battle Bone—over two meters tall, clad in thick bone armor, wielding a massive bone axe stained with dried blood. The crimson light in its eye sockets burned fierce and bloodthirsty. Behind it followed a dozen Red Bones, all equally savage.
'They're hunting.'
The Battle Bone was leading its pack through the wasteland, seeking prey—other skeletons, perhaps, or weak magical creatures. Ryan held absolutely still, pressing against the rock, not daring to breathe. A Battle Bone was far stronger than him; even with his bone needle, he stood no chance.
The Battle Bone and its pack passed the boulder where Ryan hid. One Red Bone stopped. Its empty eye sockets turned toward the rock—as if sensing something.
Ryan's terror spiked. He quietly extended his needle, ready to fight if discovered.
"ROAR!" The Battle Bone growled low, urging the Red Bone onward. The Red Bone hesitated—then turned and followed its leader into the distance.
Ryan exhaled slowly, retracting his needle. He couldn't stay here. The Battle Bone's hunting range probably covered this area; next time, he might not be so lucky.
He stood, dusted off his bones, and decided to push deeper into the wasteland. There might be more "power" sources there—perhaps even a place to hide and practice his bone needle skills. But he knew: the deeper he went, the greater the danger. More powerful skeletons. Maybe even Bone Hunters specializing in undead.
As Ryan advanced, he kept every sense alert, listening to every sound. The wasteland was silent and eerie—broken only by his own footfalls and distant howls of unknown creatures. He could feel the "power" in the air growing more intense, meaning more undead lurked nearby.
Then—a faint light in the distance. Dim. Flickering. Like a candle in the wind.
Ryan hesitated, then decided to investigate. It could be a skeleton camp. Or a human camp. Either way—"power" or danger.
He crept toward the light, using weeds and bone piles for cover. As he drew closer, he saw a small campfire burning in a clearing. Around it sat three humans in leather armor, swords at their sides, speaking in low voices. Young men. Sharp-eyed. Alert. Not villagers—mercenaries. Or Bone Hunters.
"Hear about that? A Strong Bone got killed over at River Valley Village yesterday. Mage Association's sending people to investigate." One mercenary bit into dry bread.
"Strong Bone? That's no easy kill. Must've been professional Bone Hunters. I hear there's three of 'em—real dangerous." Another polished his sword with a cloth.
"Who cares? We just need low-level skeletons. Bone fragments sell for good coin in the nearby town." The third yawned, scanning the darkness.
Ryan held his breath, hidden in the weeds. He recognized these men—skeleton hunters, but far weaker than Ace and his companions. They hunted low-level skeletons for money, not things like Strong Bones.
An idea formed in Ryan's mind. These mercenaries were weaker than the magic apprentice he'd killed. If he could eliminate them, he'd gain significant "power." But humans were smarter than skeletons; they worked together. He'd need to be careful.
Ryan circled the clearing silently, searching for an opening. The mercenaries sat around the fire, their backs to each other—a decent opportunity. He focused, feeling the "power" within him. The bone needle in his palm began to tremble slightly.
'This was his first hunt of humans.' Nervous. Excited.
The night wind stirred the weeds. The yawning mercenary suddenly stood, frowning: "You hear that? Something's out there."
The other two rose instantly, drawing swords, scanning. Ryan pressed flat against the ground, motionless. The moment was lost. He'd have to wait for another.
But he didn't regret it. In this cruel world, patience was survival.
He would wait. Wait for the mercenaries to lower their guard. Then—deliver the fatal sting. Just like he'd done to Alec. Just like he'd done to the magic apprentice.
He would keep growing. Keep killing.
Until he feared no one.
Until he stood at the top of the undead.