The silence which had enveloped the forest broke like fragile glass under a boot.
A beast's fury broke loose: the steel-hide boar's slitted eyes snapped wide with uncontainable, incandescent wrath, igniting the atmosphere with primal rage so pure it seared the fabric of the world.
A roar of thunderous volume came out of its huge lungs, not alone a sound but a convulsion, a soul-shaking earthquake that shattered the harmony of nature itself. Trees shook like war drums, leaves shook in fright, and every bird within a kilometer of the scene started frantically out of their rests in wild, instinctive flight, as though they were racing ahead of the blast of a hurricane.
Buzz Windbreaker was not afraid to do so. His brain did not allow it. No time to deliberate, no time to strategize.
There was one word that drowned all the others in his mind, which stamped itself into the inner crevices of his primitive insect mind:
Escape.
His transparent wings, made of fractal stacks of chitin and energy veins as thin as a whisper, burst into action, and vibrated so rapidly they became a blur of shimmering arcs of sonic resonance. His arms and legs were in motion not by choice but by the programmed instinct of survival.
But the boar answered in carnivorous synchronicity.
It was a shadow deeper than flesh, a substance that rolled over the canopy, an actual beat of pressure, a burden of hate and murderous purpose, that came toward Buzz. It was not just bloodlust. It was as though the spiritual power of the creature itself had taken shape, hands of murderous intent that reached out and clutched his exoskeleton and squeezed.
The body of Buzz stopped in the air. Wings ceased. Limbs-locked.
Time crawled.
No no no. MOVE.
The cry of his mind rung in his heart like a gong in a temple of horror. The invisible chains binding his tiny form cracked, then splintered under the sheer force of Buzz's desperation. His will bit at the paralysis, and tore the spiritual oppression like torn silk.
He sprang into the air.
His form rocketed skyward like a glimmering bolt of iridescent fury, propelled by a storm of buzzing wings that screamed rebellion against death itself.
Below him, the boar reared its grotesque head. Its mouth gaped, cavernous and savage, its interior a fleshy nightmare lined with tusks twisted into cruel crescents—fangs large enough to pulp a tree trunk into mulch.
Buzz's compound eyes reflected the abyss of that maw.
Then came the breath.
The boar exhaled with the force of a furnace unleashed. The gust it unleashed was laced with rot, heat, and spiritual pollution—the very essence of a beast whose flesh had soaked in decades of battles, blood, and malevolence. The air itself grew heavy, fetid, and sharp like smoke from burning entrails.
Buzz's wings faltered, even if only for a heartbeat.
He screamed inside his mind.
Push. Push harder. This isn't where I die!
His Blood Infusion burned like wildfire. The mystical technique devoured days of his accumulated lifespan like logs tossed into a greedy pyre. Veins pulsed violently beneath his chitin, radiating eerie crimson light that made his already monstrous form glow like a demon-star.
He was beginning to swell again.
Then, narrowly, the boar's jaws snapped shut just beneath him. The echo of those teeth slamming together reverberated through the forest like thunderstrikes. The sheer force of the impact produced a shockwave that sent smaller creatures into cardiac arrest instantly. Buzz's exoskeleton shivered, but he survived.
He soared, free for now, propelled by desperation and fury.
Below, the boar crashed to the earth in frustration, its titanic frame carving a crater where it landed. Dust exploded upward like battlefield smoke, clouding trees and shattering ancient bark.
But it wasn't done. Not by a longshot.
The creature's hide shifted, glowing faintly with muted gray radiance. Its epidermis shimmered like forged metal being cooled in ice water. A trait of its FFF-grade spiritual trait: Runemetal Hide.
Buzz watched in horrified awe as runic formations coiled across the boar's flesh—archaic patterns interwoven with the natural armor of the beast. It activated its own form of spiritual reinforcement, mana flowing through ancient gene-bound sigils buried deep in its marrow.
Then it ran.
A living siege engine.
Every footfall it took shattered the earth beneath it. Roots split, stone crumbled, and entire saplings were reduced to mulch beneath its relentless stampede.
Buzz watched it destroy half a hectare of forest with pure momentum.
"All this… over a few days of stolen time?" Buzz muttered with insectile disbelief, his voice internally sarcastic and almost admiring.
What a petty bastard.
But for all its godlike rage, the boar could not fly.
That was the boundary it could not cross. It could shatter trees, scream louder than a dying sun, even manifest runic might—but it was still ground-bound. Buzz was not.
As he escaped toward the ruined courtyard that had become his temporary fortress, the boar slowed. It saw the crumbling stone walls and stopped.
It snarled. Growled. Pawed the earth. But refused to cross.
Buzz didn't know why the courtyard deterred it, and frankly, he didn't care. He didn't need an explanation, only the result.
The boar turned away, roaring in frustration, before vanishing into the foliage like a displaced god of war.
Buzz collapsed into the corner of the ruined garden, his body trembling from burnout. Blood Infusion faded, his swollen form shrinking, every nerve ending screaming with exhaustion as he finally drifted into sleep.
---
In the far distant wilds, between green hills and ironclad spires, lay the Kingdom of Eldros.
A nation that is not governed by birthright, but by tradition of blood and battle.
Prior to its creation, this territory was the property of monsters- real demonic creatures that had swept over plains like a storm. Man had been no more than cattle, a miserable garnish on the feast table of the early carnivores.
Then one man came.
The First Magus.
Ethan Eldros.
A man who had tamed the theory of arcane, who had remade the world with blood of runes, who had used mana not as an instrument but as a declaration of rebellion.
He himself built the capital of Solvatem with his own hands and established the foundation of a kingdom which would be the greatest hope of man in a world dominated by claws and fangs.
The hub of this miracle?
The Emerald Green Forest of Thousand Beasts.
A place overwhelmed with wild spirituality. The abode of monsters and wizards. A lawless nursery in which evolution was not reckoned in generations, but in instants.
It was here, out of the sight of the capital, that destiny and danger played.
---
On the distant slopes of Mount Harrier, a little village was hanging on to life as a candle in the wind.
Mount Harrier Village.
Where the peasants led a short, brutal existence, fighting not politics, or taxes, but the harsh throws of the dice of nature itself. War, famine, tides of beasts. One ill child would mean the end of a family line.
But this time a rumor had kindled something new.
A wonder worker.
A man who broke the price of magic and was able to provide salvation not in exchange of gold or power- but at no cost.
Hope.
A line coiled outside his small wooden clinic, parents clutching feverish children, the scent of desperation thick in the air.
No laughter. No wailing. Just silence. The kind born from grief wrapped in reverence.
Not far away, a young man stood in polished chainmail, one hand resting atop a scabbard forged in the style of Radiant Knights.
Jack Velcrast.
Eyes sharp. Stance tense.
He wasn't relaxed. He couldn't be.
Something felt off.
Then came a voice. Casual. Amused. As if reading his tension like an open scroll.
"Hehehe… what's gotten a bright-eyed trainee all twisted up?"
Jack turned.
A wooden sword tapped against the path. An old man approached, wrinkles like ancient map lines crossing his leathery face.
Old Man Jung.
A former beast hunter, swordmaster, and local eccentric who, despite his frailty, carried himself with the poise of someone who had killed more things than most people had conversations.
"Old man," Jack greeted him cautiously, "I didn't even hear you."
"You're not supposed to. That's the point."
But their banter ended quickly.
Jack's eyes returned to the clinic. The sense of dread had not eased.
"My teacher… he's still not back. It's been days."
The old man's smile faltered.
"He's a Second Order Knight," Jung said after a pause, his voice grave. "If he's late… then something very, very wrong has happened."
His gaze followed Jack's.
"To be honest, there's something about that healer that stinks. And it's not just herbs and burnt mana."
Jack nodded slowly.
"I've already sent word to my sister. Her team should arrive soon."
"Good," Jung exhaled. "This village is my home. If something's burrowing in beneath the roots… I won't let it fester."
---
Back in the courtyard, time flowed without ceremony.
Buzz Windbreaker floated above the still body of the charred man.
The oppressive aura that had once crushed his soul like a god's breath had weakened—faded like sunlight behind thick clouds.
Today felt different.
Today, he dared approach.
Just as he leaned closer, his proboscis twitched uncontrollably, rattling like a broken sensor.
A signal.
Danger.
That spider. Tenebrisilk.
Its presence had magnified.
If the man's spiritual flame had dwindled, the guardian's had roared into a bonfire. Something had shifted. Something had evolved.
Buzz's legs curled in slight tremor.
That fruit-devouring abomination… had grown stronger.
And Buzz could only watch from the shadows, curiosity brewing beneath his caution, as a rival emerged stronger while he barely recovered.
How did that monster evolve so fast?
And more importantly…
Could he survive the next encounter?