At sunrise, the pair stood once more outside the medical center.
Tora's shoulder was bandaged. His sword had been re-wrapped. He moved with a limp, but his eyes were sharp again.
"You sure about this?" Tora asked.
"Yeah."
"You're unrated. You don't even know how the system works."
"I learn fast."
Tora sighed. "Alright. First, we find a registration outpost. Then we figure out a way to qualify for the Pupil and Specialist trials."
Avilio nodded once. "Let's go."
Together, they turned toward the north. The wind was humid now. The cliffs loomed in the distance—white, sharp, and waiting.
But this time, he wasn't walking alone.
Avilio and Tora moved through the thick marshland, where twisted trees stretched like twisted hands toward the grey sky and insects buzzed beneath a greenish fog. The air reeked of wet rot and decay, and each step sank slightly into the muddy ground. It was a miserable place for most, but Tora walked ahead with steady steps.
He had been here before.
The moment his boots touched the mossy earth, memories clawed up from the past, his former party, the screams, the poison, the betrayal of hope. But Tora didn't flinch. He simply pulled out a tattered piece of parchment and spread it out on a flat rock.
"This path curves along the elevated strips of those thorned trees," he said, pointing with his gloved hand. "We'll circle around the old well. There's a ruined shack near it—we can rest there if needed. The monsters here aren't the strongest, but they're unpredictable."
Avilio nodded, eyes fixed on the terrain rather than the map. "You know this place well."
Tora gave a dry chuckle. "Knowing it didn't stop my comrades from dying."
The silence lingered for a few beats before Avilio shifted the conversation. "You said the poison got most of them?"
"Yeah. High Orcs cursed the water. The antidote was too far. They withered before my eyes." His voice held no tremble. Only weight. "But I'm here now. Breathing. And that counts."
Suddenly, a shrill screech sliced through the stillness. Then another.
From the mist, five figures emerged—Flame Hounds—fiery canine-like beasts with ribcage armor and glowing red fangs dripping with lava and fire around their armor.. They were flanked by a giant arachnoid creature, its upper shell gleaming with swamp dirts, and its mandibles clacking in hunger.
Tora instinctively stepped forward, drawing his heavy broadsword with both hands. "Get behind me, Avilio!"
But Avilio didn't move. He placed a hand gently on Tora's shoulder. "You're not in shape for this. Let me handle it."
Before Tora could protest, Avilio stepped into the fog alone.
The monsters surged forward—fangs bared, claws slashing.
Then the mist exploded with silver light.
In a single, fluid movement, Avilio unsheathed his blade. It was unlike any weapon Tora had ever seen—long, narrow, etched with glyphs that pulsed faintly with violet light. He moved with impossible speed—not running, but gliding. Every motion felt deliberate yet untamed, like a wild wind given a purpose.
One Flame Hound lunged—and was split in half mid-air. The others attacked as a pack—but Avilio vanished from sight.
A heartbeat later, he stood on the other side of them—his sword held low, dripping with an eerie blue glow.
Behind him, the monsters froze... then tore apart in gory synchrony, sliced through so cleanly they hadn't realized they were dead.
The arachnoid shrieked and launched its claws—but Avilio didn't even blink. He raised his free hand.
From the glyphs etched into his blade, a sigil flared to life—and with a crack like thunder, a wave of pressure surged forward, slamming the monster backward like it had been hit by a mountain. Its body crumpled against a boulder, motionless.
Silence reclaimed the marsh.
Tora, standing breathless with sword half-raised, stared at the scene in disbelief.
"...What... the hell are you?" he muttered.
Avilio sheathed his blade with a quiet click. "Just an adventurer."
He turned to Tora and extended a hand. "Shall we continue?"
Tora took it without a word. But in his mind, only one thought remained: That wasn't the strength of a beginner. That was the strength of a true warrior.
They kept walking through the marshland, the thick marsh curling around their boots and the occasional splash of movement in the murky water keeping them alert. A few low-level monsters lunged from the shadows, but Avilio dispatched them with effortless precision. His blade cut through them like air, leaving Tora more curious with each step.
Tora couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Hey… what's that glyph on your sword? Can you forge spells too?"
Avilio glanced at the blade, then shrugged.
"Nah. It's actually a family heirloom. My father gave it to me. The glyph only activates if someone from my bloodline wields it."
Tora's eyes widened. "Man… that sword's legendary. I've seen runic weapons, but nothing that responds to bloodline. That's next-level stuff."
Avilio chuckled. "Maybe. I don't really know its full potential yet."
"Still," Tora muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "All these years in the field, I've never heard of a weapon like that."
"By the way, how long have you been on your journey?" Avilio asked.
"I started when I was seventeen," Tora said, his tone shifting as he recalled the memories. "First year, I traveled with a merchant group. They weren't the strongest fighters, but they were smart—taught me how to survive. Lately, I've been with Sersi's party. She was our captain. It's been six, maybe seven months with them."
Avilio didn't reply immediately. The silence that followed was filled with the distant clash of metal and the guttural cries of monsters.
All around, other groups battled through the marshland. Some wore heavy armor, others elegant robes. A few nodded in respect or curiosity as they passed Avilio and Tora—clearly surprised to see two young men, one of them injured, braving the treacherous path alone.
Avilio noticed the ornate gear and badges on some of the passing warriors.
"They're academy graduates, right?" he asked. "Tell me more about them. How do they operate?"
Tora adjusted his sword strap and nodded.
"The academy... it started as a training ground. After monsters began appearing, there was chaos. No one knew how to fight them properly. So, the academy stepped in. Built a system. Trained hunters to be part of teams instead of just lone wolves. At first, it made sense. They wanted to create a new order."
"And now?" Avilio asked, eyebrows raised.
"Now, they run the show. Their graduates get the best assignments, highest pay, access to restricted zones. They basically own the ranking system. But not everyone agrees with them. Some of us..." Tora gave Avilio a look. "Some of us don't want to be told how to hunt, or where."
"They don't have official authority?" Avilio asked.
"They act like they do," Tora muttered. "But legally? No. The government recognizes the ranking system, sure, and the academy influences everything. But they can't force someone to join. That's why a lot of adventurers go rogue. Make their own name. Someone like you"
Avilio smiled faintly. "I'm not trying to make a name."
Tora gave him a sideways glance. "You will. Whether you want to or not."
They walked on in silence after that, the fog slowly thinning as they approached the edge of the marsh.
Ahead of them, the land began to rise—drier, darker, and far more dangerous. The sun had started its slow descent, casting long shadows across the marshland. The golden light filtered through the mist, painting the stagnant waters with hues of fire and ash. The air had grown colder, heavier—as if the land itself was preparing for nightfall.
"We should move," Tora said, glancing at the dimming sky. "There's an old hunter shack I told you about. Most travelers use it as a rest stop before crossing into the deeper zones."
Avilio nodded. The weight of the day, the battles, the conversations—it was beginning to settle on his shoulders.
They climbed a muddy slope, roots and stones making the path uneven. The marsh gave way to a denser region of tangled trees, and soon, a faint structure came into view—a wooden shack, worn by age but still standing, defiant against time.
As they approached, the quiet murmur of voices reached their ears. The dim glow of firelight flickered through the cracks in the wall. Tora pushed open the creaky door.
Inside, the room was dimly lit by a central brazier. A group of hunters had gathered—some sharpening blades, others nursing wounds or resting with tired eyes. A few looked up as Avilio and Tora stepped in, their gazes lingering on the sword at Avilio's back and the bloodstains still clinging to their clothes.
No words were exchanged, but something passed in the air—acknowledgment, curiosity, perhaps even silent respect.
Tora gave a quiet nod to a fellow hunter and led Avilio to a corner. As the door shut behind them, the wind howled outside, and the last sliver of sunlight vanished behind the hills.
Darkness fell and monsters began to rise violently.