PREVIOUSLY-
Medusa tilted her head, musing.
"You'll find out," she said softly.
"When the war of Transcendents ends."
Her eyes turned upward toward the distant dome of stars above them.
"At the end of the Transcendent Odyssey."
And then—
GLOW.
A radiant white light engulfed the chamber.
And they were gone.
--X—
Sigmund's eyes snapped open.
The dappled light of the forest canopy swayed above him—green, gentle, familiar. The same clearing where they had first arrived. The sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves should've calmed him.
They didn't.
WHAM!
His fist smashed into the nearest tree, bark splintering beneath his knuckles.
"Damn it…!"
The words seethed through clenched teeth.
'I couldn't do a damn thing. I stood there, useless, while she…'
His hand trembled as he pulled it back, blood smearing across the bark.
Just a few steps away, Lira stood rooted to the ground. Her wand dangled from her fingers, shoulders rigid, chin low. The air around her shimmered faintly—mercury swaying like uncertain breath.
'I was useless.'
Her mind echoed.
'I stood there while she died. Why am I so weak? Maybe Father was right… I should just go home.'
Her grip tightened around the wand. Tears blurred her vision. She blinked furiously, but they spilled anyway.
"Mrs. Lira?"
Theobald's voice came gently from beside her. He tilted his head, concern written plainly across his freckled face.
"Why are you crying?"
He turned toward Sigmund, who now stood stiffly by the shattered tree.
"Sig… what happened?"
Sigmund didn't answer. Instead, he walked toward Lira.
His steps were heavy, deliberate.
When he reached her, he didn't say anything right away. Just stood beside her in silence for a moment, then quietly extended a hand.
"Please don't cry, Miss Lira," he said at last, voice low.
"You weren't a burden."
He met her gaze, steady.
"You were a huge help."
He took her hand—gently, as if afraid it might break.
"You're strong," he said. "A strong woman, Miss Lira. I mean that."
Lira froze.
Her cheeks flushed crimson.
"W-What?!"
She yanked her hand away, flustered. The mercury around her feet rippled erratically, betraying her emotions.
"P-Please excuse me."
She turned away, quickly.
'He said I'm strong…?'
Her heart pounded.
'He thinks I helped? Even after all that?'
She bit her lip hard, trying to hold down the flutter in her chest.
After a long pause, she exhaled and straightened her posture.
"Mr. Sigmund. Mr. Theobald. Rook. Nyx."
She turned back toward them, her voice quieter than usual—but clear.
"…It's time we part ways."
"Why?!"
Theobald cried but Sigmund stopped him,
"I understand."
Nyx purred softly while Rook watched silently.
A FEW MOMENTS LATER-
"Wait a minute!"
Theobald looked around,
"Where are Mr. Gorvax and Mr. Skaleg?!"
Sigmund's eyes widened in alertness,
"Now that you mention it. They have been missing the whole time."
DING!
--x------
[INBOX]
◈Medusa's Labyrinth Cleared!
(Difficulty: Unique)
-----x----
DING!
[Reward for clearing a 'Unique' grade labyrinth has been sent to the inbox!]
---[INBOX]---
◈ Skill Book received.
Do you accept?
(Y/N)
---x---
Sigmund tapped- Y.
THUMP!
In his hand rested a rectangular journal—its cover thick and battle-worn, encased in hardened leather darkened by time and travel. The corners were reinforced with iron clamps; each edge etched with runes worn faint by age.
At the top, a sculpted emblem of a clenched fist jutted from the surface—its fingers frozen mid-tighten, as though gripping an unseen truth. From between its knuckles, a sinewy black cord slithered outward, coiling around the journal like a living thing, binding its secrets shut.
--▶ ITEM OBTAINED◀--
[Bramble Core Sorcery]
Type: Skill Book
Rank: SS-
Appearance: A black and red leather manual with silver cord, its cover marked by a fist clenching on the string that is supposed to bind it.
Effect-
The Bramble Core Sorcery is a magic art that uses ether instead of only relying on mana. Heavy use of steel or conductive wires are used to conduct magic spells over a specific or wide area. Suitable for those who wish to be a true mage or want to be a magical swordmaster.
Best suited for:
Those who have heightened plasmic sensitivity and an expanded ether well capacity
----x---
He looked at Theobald who held a similar book but with green gem embedded in the cover, vines slithering from it.
Theobald glanced at the item.
--▶ ITEM OBTAINED◀--
[Titanseed Rhythm]
Type: Skill Book
Rank: SS-
Appearance: A brown leather journal with a shard of emerald embedded, its cover marked by vines emerging from the emerald.
Effect-
Titanseed Rhythm is a martial art passed down from the shattered tablets of the Vermigron Colossus School, once used by runt-sized gladiators in the pits to overcome beasts many times their size. Instead of amplifying size, it trains the user to become a living spring—storing tension in the tendons, lungs, and muscle fibers before releasing them in bone-cracking bursts of violence.
Whereas other techniques channel mana fluidly or through graceful patterns, Titanseed Rhythm is brutal, stop-start, and violent, often resulting in torn ligaments and burst blood vessels in untrained users.
Best suited for:
Those who have a small frame but have superior bone structure and muscle definition.
----x---
DING!
--▶ ITEM OBTAINED◀--
[Roots of Irminsul]
Type: Ingredient
Rank: S
Appearance: A thin root of the world tree, Irminsul
Effect-
Can heal any and all injuries, ailments and curses.
Best suited for:
Those who need it.
----x---
Sigmund's eyes widened, voice incredulous.
"Hey! Why do you get two rewards?!"
Theobald only grinned and gave a sly wink.
"The book's from the kraken. And this," he said, raising the gnarled root in his other hand, "is from helping you."
POOF!
A faint shimmer flashed in Sigmund's palm as a vial appeared—its crystal body pulsing with iridescent light.
"Prismheart Elixir?" he muttered, reading from the purple screen before him.
Theobald leaned over, eyes glinting.
"Elixir?"
Sigmund nodded slowly, still turning the vial between his fingers.
"It's the reward for clearing fifteen labyrinths."
The words hit Theobald like a spear.
"OH SHIT!" he bellowed, hands flying to his head in dramatic agony.
"I've only cleared TWO!!"
He stared up at the setting sun like a man betrayed by the heavens.
"Man… I really suck!"
THUMP!
A hand clapped down on his shoulder. Sigmund stood beside him, eyes softer than usual.
"It's fine," he said. "We'll share. Come on. Let's head back to the meeting point."
Theobald's throat tightened. His eyes welled.
"SIGMUND!"
He lunged forward and threw his arms around the taller boy in a crushing embrace.
"You tsundere bastard," he sniffled, voice thick with gratitude.
"Thanks, man. I'll share the root too, promise!"
Sigmund gave a small nod, then raised an eyebrow.
"…But seriously—how the hell did you even beat a kraken? And what were you doing there?"
A FEW HOURS AGO
DING!
[COMMENCING LEVEL 3]
[ENTERING LIZARDMAN SWAMP]
Theobald stepped off the stone bridge and into the thick breath of the swamp.
The air clung to his skin like oil—humid, heavy, and sweet with rot. Mud squelched beneath his boots, swallowing his steps whole. Every breath he drew tasted of damp moss, algae, and something faintly metallic. Mosquitoes buzzed like tiny banshees, orbiting his neck in ritual.
He grimaced and adjusted the strap of his pack.
"Ugh… why does it always have to be swamps?"
Rook landed beside him with a low flutter, talons digging into the wet bark of a mangrove tree. The orange vulture shook its feathers out, letting droplets spray from its glossy wings.
"Krr-This place stinks of cold blood and wet feet," Rook muttered, voice raspy but alert.
Theo's hand drifted to the war axe slung across his back. He whispered under his breath, coaxing a thin sheen of aura into his arms. Veins shimmered briefly beneath his sleeves.
The path ahead wound like a serpent—thick reeds, algae-choked water, and drooping trees that clawed the sky with skeletal branches. But amidst the gloom… tracks.
Three-toed. Deep. Recently made.
"Looks like we've got company,"
Gorvax murmured, crouching near the print.
"Boy, keep eyes up. I'll try not to trip into a nest."
Rook flapped up into the canopy.
"Krr- Don't die, boy."
Theo chuckled softly, but it didn't reach his eyes.
He moved through the brush carefully, sliding between vines and slick roots. The shadows were thick here—too thick. The reeds whispered like they were watching.
Then—
SSSSS-CLACK!
A javelin whistled past his ear, embedding in a tree trunk with a violent thud.
Theo rolled, axe drawn in an instant. The ground beneath him bubbled—then burst.
From the muck rose a trio of lizardmen. Reptilian eyes gleamed in the gloom, their bodies coated in armour made of scavenged shell and bone. Spears and machetes glinted with venomous sheen.
"Ah, hell," Theobald muttered.
"I hate being right."
The first lunged—fangs bared, spear forward. Theo twisted, letting the tip graze his shoulder. He answered with a horizontal swing—
CRACK!
The axe met bone. One lizardman screamed as its collarbone shattered and it dropped.
The second came from behind—too fast.
FLAP!
Rook dive-bombed it, talons slashing across its eye ridge.
Theo spun, pivoted, and dropped the third with a brutal uppercut of the axe's back-spike.
The marsh fell quiet again. Blood mixed with swamp water. Theo exhaled slowly, heart pounding in his throat.
"…That went better than expected."
Then the ground began to shake.
Far away—something massive groaned. A ripple travelled through the black water. Birds fled the treetops.
Theo's knuckles tightened around the axe haft.
"Rook."
The vulture landed back on his shoulder.
"You feel that?"
"Krr- That wasn't a lizardman."
"Nope."
He turned toward the deeper part of the swamp, where the trees leaned inward like bowing giants.
"I think we just found the boss."
BONK!
Theobald's head jerked forward as Gorvax's spectral paw smacked the back of his skull.
"Fool!" the old werewolf barked, fangs flashing in exasperation.
"As if the boss would show up this early. That rumble? It's probably just a hunting pack of lizardmen."
Theobald rubbed his head, his grin sheepish.
"Right… so, hear me out—how about we skip them, sneak through, and kill the boss directly?"
Gorvax's eyes glinted with lupine mischief.
"Oh no, no skipping. You are going to slaughter every single one of them,"
He said, voice sugary-sweet before adding with a toothy grin,
"And then you're going to eat their boss."
A cold chill ran down Theo's back.
"Eat… the boss?"
"That's right."
The boy swallowed hard, casting a wary glance toward the distant rustle of reeds and war cries.
"…Any advice, Mr. Gorvax?"
The ghostly wolf spirit straightened his ghostly shoulders, beaming with pride.
"Hoho!"
He laughed in that strangely smug, old-man-wearing-a-wolf-pelt sort of way—like a trickster elder pretending to be senile when he was anything but.
"I might have some enlightenment to sprinkle upon your poor mortal head…"
His expression turned theatrical.
"But first, call me Master."
Theobald stared at him flatly. "Master."
Gorvax froze. For a second, he didn't move—as if the word had stunned the very marrow in his ghost bones.
"…What?"
"Master."
"Hahahaha!"
Gorvax cackled, suddenly giddy with power.
"Good! Good, boy! Now, for your first pearl of martial wisdom…"
He leaned in dramatically, face suddenly etched with grave seriousness, as though about to reveal a divine secret passed down through ancient bloodlines.
"To kill them," he said slowly, almost whispering,
"You must swing your axe… and unalive them."
Theobald blinked. "What?"
Gorvax blinked back. "What?"
"That's your advice?" Theo deadpanned.
Gorvax tilted his head, claws scratching his chin.
"You want to complain?"
"No, sir,"
Theo muttered, shrinking back like a kitten dunked in cold water.
"Good," Gorvax smirked.
"Because you're gonna need that axe swinging. A lot."
WHAM!
Something heavy struck the ground ahead—wooden shields clashing, feet stomping through wet muck. Reeds parted as figures emerged from the mist.
Eyes gleamed. Scales hissed.
Lizardmen.
Theobald drew his axe.