The air was crisp, dry, and laced with the stench of burning sulfur. Groans echoed from within cracked buildings, while the distant grind of stone against stone gave the ruined city a haunted breath.
Carpathia moved calmly through the desolate streets, heading toward a rundown inn at the far end of the block. As he passed, the city's twisted residents turned—slow, hardened figures shifting like statues cracking at the joints. Every eye fixed on him.
Whispers spread like disease.
"Is that one from the Top World?"
"He bleeds red..."
"What's he doing in this godforsaken place?"
Apprehension stirred. Mothers slammed shutters. Children were yanked behind warped doors. Fathers reached for weapons. The already taut air of the Black World stretched toward breaking.
Everyone was waiting to see who would move first.
---
The inn was oddly familiar—almost Earth-like. A rickety tavern on the first floor creaked with age, the scent of ash and stale firewine clinging to every beam.
Carpathia approached the bar and took a seat. Behind the counter stood a hulking ogre in a soot-stained apron, chugging from a bottle carved out of volcanic stone.
"What're you doing here?" the ogre asked, his voice gravelly.
"I'm looking for the Old Sage."
"The Old Sage?" The ogre squinted. "Purple hair. Black cloak. No offense, but nothing about you says 'worthy of his time.'"
Carpathia chuckled softly.
"Probably true."
The ogre studied him for a beat, unsure if he was hearing amusement or madness.
"That aside… how the hell did a human get this deep into the Black World?"
Carpathia reached for a bubbling drink the ogre had just mixed—a sludgy black brew steaming with heat and mystery.
"Let's just say I'm not as normal as I look," he replied, downing it in one gulp.
The ogre—Alsaro—grunted. "Down here, who you are doesn't matter much. This ain't the plush world of cities and kings. Down here, only one law remains—the strong trample the weak."
Carpathia smiled.
Alsaro went still. It wasn't a defiant smile... it was eager.
"…Get me a room," Carpathia said, standing. "I'd like to rest before they arrive."
He pulled a pouch from his shadow—dark as oil and just as dense—and placed it on the counter with a soft clink.
Alsaro hesitated. Something about this man gnawed at him.
"F-fine. I warned you." He handed over a jagged iron key.
"Dinner and a bath by six," Carpathia said, already climbing the stairs.
He didn't look back.
"Sure, mister," Alsaro muttered, "if you're still alive by then."
From the corner, three massive Stone Trolls stirred. They rose—hulking, deformed things—and lumbered after Carpathia.
"Mushy MAD!!" the lead one growled.
---
The room was crude but serviceable. A warped window overlooked a lake of molten lava. The bed, hollowed from a tree trunk, looked barely functional. A crooked side door hinted at a poorly ventilated bath.
Carpathia removed his coat, placed it on a cracked table, and sat. And waited.
Minutes passed.
BOOM!
The door exploded inward. Mushy, the largest troll, barreled in.
"…Now why did you do that?" Carpathia asked dryly. "If you'd knocked, I'd have opened it."
"SHUT UP! MUSHY MAD!" The troll's body was grotesquely mismatched—one arm like a wire cable, the other like a boulder.
CRACK!
"BUSHY BAD!" yelled the second troll, smashing through a wall.
"Hey! No breaking stuff!" Carpathia groaned. "Are all trolls this dumb?"
"ARSHY ANGRY!!" the third troll roared, tearing open a third entrance.
Carpathia laughed. "What is with you trolls?"
Mushy raised his massive arm to strike.
Then—
A voice, cold and hollow. It didn't come from the room. It came from everywhere.
"What are you doing?"
The room shuddered.
The trolls froze.
"Sit," Carpathia commanded, his eyes glowing faintly with divine light.
The trolls obeyed instantly, shuffling to the corner and curling up like punished children.
Carpathia exhaled, stood, and traced a glowing rune in the air. A soft green light pulsed—and the broken stones reassembled themselves, sliding back into place like time reversing.
He crossed his arms.
"Now," he said quietly, "where is Arithra?"
"No know. Nobody know exact place," Mushy muttered.
"Hmph. Anyone else?"
"Buddy say it be at border of Fire Clan Dark Forest," Arshy offered, scratching his bald head.
"Buddy liar! Buddy never say truth!" Bushy snapped.
Carpathia raised a brow. "Who is this… 'Buddy'?"
"Buddy be boss," Arshy replied.
"Buddy strong!" Mushy added, eyes gleaming.
"Buddy steal Bushy prey!" Bushy snarled.
Carpathia looked at them again. Not with new respect—just clearer amusement.
These might be the dumbest creatures he'd met in ages.
"You," he said, pointing to Arshy. "Tell me everything about Buddy."
---
The three moved deeper into the dark ravine—further from Headmaster Kime, and further from any trace of safety.
Itekan led the way, undaunted by the creeping shadows pressing in around them. Behind him, Kutote cast Resendo again, illuminating their path with a faint spectral glow.
He paused, spotting strange marks etched into the ravine walls.
"What is it?" Itoyea asked.
"There are markings. Dozens of them." Kutote ran his fingers along the carvings. "I think it's writing… but I don't recognize the language."
Itekan stepped closer. "Could be old script. Ancient demonic?"
Itoyea, already bored, moved ahead—then stopped. He heard something.
The slow drag of feet on stone.
He spun, blade flashing.
Slice!
With one smooth arc, he severed the arm of a demonic beast lunging from the dark.
"Over here!" Itoyea shouted.
Itekan and Kutote rushed to his side.
"Chajama!!" Itekan roared, leaping forward. A fireball burst from his palm, detonating on the beast's chest—searing flesh and charring bone.
Kutote followed, arms raised.
"Icicle Spike!" Shards of razor-sharp ice rained down, pinning the beast like a dissected specimen.
It howled, thrashing violently, bleeding green fluid.
Itekan landed beside the others, cracking his knuckles.
"Not too hard, huh?"
His shadow extended—slick tendrils forming into blade-like appendages.
"Descend."
They sliced the beast to ribbons.
From the shredded body, a dull yellow core rolled free.
Itoyea plucked it out and tossed it to Itekan.
"Solid quality."
"Gained sentience," Kutote said, examining it. "Cores like that hold much purer SE."
He turned back to the wall markings. One symbol stood out.
His eyes widened.
"Damn it… This was one of the Golden Leaf Snake's scouts."
"What?!" Itekan and Itoyea froze. That name hadn't been spoken in five months—since their senior vowed never to return until the beast was slain.
For word of it to reach even here?
"Suddenly I can't wait to get back to Four Stars..." Itoyea muttered.
"Same here," Itekan replied grimly.
.
.
.
Spiritual Energy (SE)
Spiritual Sea (SS)
Spiritual Signature (SST)