"Another summoned one?" Daion repeated in disbelief, staring at the man before him. The figure's metallic gauntlet looked far more imposing than the one he'd been given. For a moment, he couldn't help but feel that the so-called god who brought him here had handed him a knockoff.
"You just reincarnated, didn't you?" the hooded man asked, his voice calm and measured. Though his face was hidden beneath the hood, Daion could feel his gaze—cold, analytical. There was something in his tone—almost pity—that irritated him.
"Eat it, or you'll lose too much blood," the man added, nodding toward the small white sphere Daion still held. "Wasting blood isn't a smart decision in a place crawling with hostile creatures."
Daion hesitated. He wasn't sure how trustworthy the guy was, but he didn't sense any hostility in his behavior. In the end, exhaustion won. With a tired sigh, he let his sword slip through his fingers. The weight of the blade sank into the wooden floor with a dull thud. His whole body trembled from the strain, and the image of the monster's fangs sinking into his arm still burned in his mind. He dropped to the ground.
His eyes fell on the strange white orb in his palm.
"I don't think I'm supposed to take candy from strangers," he muttered sarcastically, squeezing it. It was spongy and deformed easily.
"Advice from your mother?"
Daion went silent, eyes on the floor. A fleeting image crossed his mind—a woman with a warm smile.
"I don't know..." he replied softly.
He still wasn't sure eating it was a good idea, but the pain in his wounded arm was unbearable. He took a deep breath, set aside caution, and brought the orb to his mouth.
"How's it taste?" the hooded man asked, moving silently across the ruined structure. His steps made barely a sound, like a shadow gliding through rubble.
At first, Daion was surprised by the texture on his tongue. The orb had a sweet flavor, similar to white chocolate.
"Not bad, actually..."
Then he bit down. A putrid taste exploded in his mouth, like rotting meat mixed with sewage. His entire body shuddered, and he barely managed to swallow without throwing up.
"Tastes like shit!" he gasped, fighting back nausea.
The hooded man didn't even glance at him.
"I warned you," he said with a faint hint of amusement, though his demeanor remained unsettlingly impassive.
Suddenly, a tingling sensation spread through Daion's injured arm. His eyes widened as he watched the wounds rapidly close. His skin regenerated within seconds. Even cuts that should've left scars vanished completely. His arm was good as new.
"Incredible..." he whispered. A strange wave of energy pulsed through his body, making him feel almost... reborn. But the foul taste in his mouth quickly overshadowed the excitement.
Daion's thoughts raced. If healing was this accessible, how powerful must the monsters be for villages to be wiped out so easily?
Meanwhile, the hooded man had begun rummaging through the belongings of the fallen villagers. Daion watched him warily as he searched the body of a freshly killed man, pulling out a silver watch, a small dagger engraved with golden runes, and a pouch that jingled with coins.
The man turned, his gaze hidden beneath the hood's shadow. He said nothing. Daion felt something off about his actions but didn't confront him.
The dead don't need possessions anymore, he thought, forcing himself to stand.
A heavy silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional shifting of rubble. Standing there, Daion felt like an outsider, a fool lost in a world he couldn't begin to understand. His eyes drifted again to the monster he'd killed, noticing its yellowed, bloodstained teeth.
"That thing... does it cure infections?" he asked at last, desperate to break the silence.
"No idea." The man's indifference chilled him.
"What? Wait, then it could've—?" Daion's voice rose in alarm.
"Worried about rabies or something?" the man let out a dry chuckle. "Relax. The gem neutralizes any environmental damage this world throws at you."
Daion remembered earlier, when the thick, suffocating air had nearly crushed his lungs.
"So that means... no sickness, no infections..." Realization hit him like a hammer. "No aging?"
The hooded man looked up, pondering the idea for a moment.
"Who knows... No one's lived long enough to find out."
Great. That's reassuring, Daion thought with irritation and disappointment.
"Still," the hooded figure continued, interrupting his thoughts, "it won't protect you from nature's savagery."
With a slow, deliberate movement, he kicked the motionless head of the monster Daion had slain.
"We don't die unless we're killed. This world only has one fate for people like us: live and die by the sword."
Daion watched him closely, trying to grasp the weight of those words.
"But you're using a rifle," Daion pointed out. The hooded man froze for a moment, visibly exasperated. "Bad joke?"
Holding his gaze, the man added, "And just so you know, those orbs only heal surface wounds. If that beast had broken a bone, for example, it would've been very difficult to fix you up."
As the hooded man continued looting the bodies, Daion couldn't help but think he looked more like a scavenger than a summoned warrior. Someone who took only what he needed, ignoring everything else in the name of survival.
Too many questions buzzed in Daion's head, and this guy clearly knew far more than the so-called god who'd barely bothered to explain anything.
"What happened to the villagers?" he asked finally, a slight unease in his voice. "There are no bodies... except for the ones here."
The hooded man froze mid-motion, as if the question had hit a nerve. He flexed his fingers, thoughtful, before answering.
"You've noticed some monsters prefer human meat, right?" he said without looking at him, now kneeling beside the creature Daion had slain.
"Yeah, but that doesn't—"
"They like to enjoy their meals at home," the man cut in with a crooked smile. "Nothing like a warm dinner in the comfort of your own den."
A wave of revulsion twisted Daion's stomach. Somehow, it didn't feel like the first time he'd heard something that vile.
"And the women...?" The words barely left his mouth. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
The hooded man let out a slow sigh and cast him a sidelong glance.
"They take them too. But not to eat. Fewer proteins... though they do use them for, well... personal entertainment," he said, clear disgust in his voice.
A jolt of horror shot through Daion. His throat tightened, his stomach churned, and cold sweat prickled his skin.
"That's... horrifying. Are they even just demons?"
"Well, some of them have strong enough bodies to carry monster offspring. They call them hybrids. So I guess... it's also instinct." He looked at Daion's face—disturbed, and yet trying to make sense of the madness. "Welcome to your fantasy world," the hooded man added with grim sarcasm.
Then, as if none of that had been said, he pointed toward the monster corpse at Daion's feet.
"So... what are you going to do with that?"
Daion blinked. "What am I supposed to do? Throw a barbecue?" he asked, half-joking, half-serious.
The hooded man snorted.
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you," he said flatly. After a brief pause, he added, "Besides, night beasts don't taste good."
Daion raised an eyebrow. How many have you eaten, you psycho?
But before he could voice it, the man raised a hand over the corpse. A blinding light burst from his palm.
Daion stumbled back instinctively as the air grew thick, heavy with energy. His clothes and hair rose slightly, caught in some invisible force. Before his eyes, the monster's body began to decay—not naturally, but as if something inside were devouring it.
The released energy flowed into the hooded man, focusing on the gem embedded in his gauntlet. The metal pulsed, glowing with renewed power. His rifle, slung across his back, reacted too: the barrel extended, the stock reshaped into something sleeker, and small serrated spikes emerged from the gauntlet.
The transformation stopped. The man flexed his fingers and inspected his weapon calmly.
"Good," he muttered, unbothered. "I leveled up."
"What the hell was that? And what the hell am I even using?" Daion asked, staring at his own gauntlet in bewilderment.
The hooded man raised an eyebrow, turning toward him. "What do you mean?"
"How did you do that?" Daion pressed, his tone growing impatient.
The man paused for a moment, as if trying to decipher the question. Finally, he sighed and answered calmly:
"Oh, that. I just absorbed it."
Daion stared at him, desperate for answers.
"Don't tell me..." he said, dripping with sarcasm. "Of course I saw you absorb it! But how did you do it?"
The hooded figure shook his head and let out a barely irritated sigh, as if he were talking to a child.
"It's simple. The gauntlets we wear are organically connected to our bodies—like an extra organ. When we kill a creature, its Omega energy—or what you'd probably call its life force—doesn't just vanish. The gem in the gauntlet absorbs that energy. That same energy strengthens the wearer... and their gear."
Daion paused for a moment, clearly unsettled by not understanding what was happening.
"It strengthens everything? Just like that?"
"Just like that." The figure raised his rifle, admired it for a moment, then lazily aimed it at Daion. "That's why my weapon can take down these creatures so easily. And that's why you..." he gestured with his chin, "...are still so weak."
The comment stung, but it also got Daion thinking.
"So... the gauntlet improves every time you kill something?"
"Yes, but it depends on what you kill. Stronger beasts give more energy, obviously. And if you face something truly dangerous, you might get some serious upgrades. These things?" He nodded toward the corpse on the ground. "Barely count as pets of the real monsters. They don't even have consciousness."
"Monsters with consciousness?" Daion thought, the idea making him uneasy.
He glanced at his hand, where the gauntlet sat motionless—as if asleep.
"And how... how do I do it? How do I absorb the energy?"
The hooded figure let out a frustrated snort.
"What kind of summoned one doesn't know that? I doubt your god skipped that part. Are you stupid?"
Rage and frustration coursed through Daion, but he bit his tongue. Maybe my god really is a damn bastard, he thought, but something told him not to say it out loud.
The hooded figure studied him, as if trying to read his mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue in disdain and shook his head.
"It's instinctive. Your gauntlet should activate automatically when you touch a body. Unless it's defective."
"Defective?" Daion muttered through clenched teeth, frustration swirling in his thoughts. "Wouldn't surprise me—with a god who didn't even bother to explain a damn thing. Just threw me in here."
"Welcome to the club, rookie," said the hooded man, clearly hearing him. "We're all divine playthings here. At least my goddess had the decency to explain how things worked." Then, without giving it any more weight, he turned toward the door. The body of the monster Daion had killed was still there. "Give it a shot. Since you killed it, you get to keep the body."
And with that, he left the chapel, leaving Daion alone with his thoughts... and the creature's corpse.
Daion knelt beside the beast, staring at it with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. For a moment, he just looked at it, unsure of what to do. Eventually, he raised his hand and placed it on the corpse.
At first, nothing happened. He tapped it a couple of times, like testing a broken device.
"Seriously? This is it?" he muttered, frustrated. He was starting to believe his god had really dumped him here with faulty equipment.
This time, he decided to focus—willing something, anything, to happen. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the creature's body. And then, he saw it: ghostly channels of energy running through the monster, like glowing veins under the skin. The light was dim and flickering, like dying embers.
Then, the gem in his gauntlet lit up. The channels froze… then began flowing toward the glove. It had started absorbing.
Daion felt a deep, uncomfortable ache building up—like the burning sensation of an IV drip in a hospital. Similar glowing lines began to appear on his own arm, mirroring those on the monster. The process lasted only a few seconds until the energy veins fully drained. Daion pulled his hand back, trembling. The glowing lines in his arm gradually faded until they vanished completely.
He let out a sigh of relief and glanced back at the corpse. It was dissolving, decaying at an unnatural speed.
The hooded man was sitting on the chapel steps, eating a meal wrapped in crumpled paper. He looked completely unfazed.
"Hey," Daion called out, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man glanced sideways at him, noticing the sweat on his forehead and the tremble in his hands, but said nothing at first. After a few seconds, he replied with dry sarcasm:
"Sorry, I'm not looking for a student." He stood up and dusted off his clothes. "I'm not here to babysit. Survive with the advice I gave you."
Daion's frustration boiled over. He clenched his fists—not just at being dismissed, but for not even getting a chance to speak.
"At least..." he tried, but the man was already walking away. "At least tell me something useful! I have no idea what the hell I'm doing!"
The hooded man stopped and looked over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. Daion's desperation rang clear in his voice as he shouted:
"I don't want to die, damn it!"
For a moment, the hooded figure seemed to hesitate. His eyes studied Daion, noticing the fear in his face. It reminded him of his own early days. At first, the idea of helping this world had excited him… but he'd been alone. No one gave him a map, no one offered advice. Sometimes he wondered if anything would've turned out differently—if even a single person had tried to help him back then.
He sighed and tossed a small pouch, which Daion caught mid-air. Inside, he found gold and silver coins.
"That should keep you alive for a few days," the man said.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with gold in a forest? Throw it at the monsters?" Daion snapped back, sarcasm in full force.
The man clicked his tongue in annoyance and pointed toward the horizon, where two mountains rose in the distance.
"There's a town roughly in that direction. If you hurry, you should get there before nightfall. You can stay the night. With some luck, maybe you'll run into a group of summoned working nearby. They might help you out."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started walking into the forest.
"Thanks!" Daion called out, raising his voice. "My name's Daion!"
The hooded figure didn't respond, nor did he look back. He vanished into the forest shadows, as if he had never been there.
"He could've at least told me his name…" Daion muttered, turning toward the direction he'd been given.
He looked toward the horizon. By his estimation, he had around four hours of daylight left—though in a binary star system, it was hard to be sure. The only thing he did know was that nights here couldn't be pleasant.
As he moved forward, a strange sensation crept over him. He wasn't sure if it was the energy he had absorbed, or if the gauntlet still had more to reveal. But one thing was certain: this world was completely screwed.
End of Chapter 3