Rathmur knew how foolish his actions had been. The strength of that fat boy's father wasn't just because he was the village chief—it stemmed from the man's sheer cruelty. Behind the villagers' backs, he had committed all manner of atrocities: murder, kidnapping, even worse. On top of that, his family boasted two Spirit Refiners—the father and his brother, Rathmur realized.
Spirit Refiners were far beyond ordinary humans. They could harness Spirit Energy from the environment, cultivating it to amplify their strength and skill, steadily climbing toward immortality. Becoming a Spirit Refiner was no simple feat—it demanded immense experience, abundant resources, and relentless training. Only a rare few could even begin the journey, and fewer still could endure it.
Rathmur's thoughts raced as he ran, blindly charging into a direction he shouldn't have gone. Fear had taken over completely; he barely registered the path beneath his feet.
Though he knew little about Spirit Refiners, he understood enough to be both awed and envious. Their power far surpassed that of ordinary humans, and they could earn wealth effortlessly—sometimes from tasks as simple as collecting herbs or guarding estates. Rathmur longed to become one himself, not just for the coin, but to protect his mother from any threat.
Yet in his village, Spirit Refiners were scarce—only three in total: Fat Patrick's father, his uncle, and the village guards' commander.
Without realizing it, Rathmur had ventured deep into the Black-Fog Forest. He came to a halt, heart pounding, and looked around. The forest was shrouded in an almost unnatural darkness, with a thick, grayish haze weaving between the twisted trunks and gnarled branches. Shadows seemed to move just beyond his vision, and the faint rustle of leaves sounded like whispers in the fog.
From somewhere deeper, he could hear the distant growls and snarls of creatures—Spirit Beasts, their presences heavy and primal. Occasionally, a branch snapped or a low rumble echoed, reminding him that he was no longer among the safety of the village paths. The air was damp, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves, and a cold chill crawled along his skin, making him shiver despite his hurried pace.
Every step felt uncertain, the forest itself seeming alive, watching, and waiting.
"Huff… huff…"
Rathmur realized where he had ended up, and a wave of fear spread through his body. He was in the Black-Fog Forest, a forbidden place no villager dared enter. Legends spoke of it as a den of the strongest and most dangerous Spirit Beasts, creatures that occasionally crawled out of the forest to attack the village and its people.
His chest heaved, lungs burning from running so long without pause. Fear and exhaustion tangled within him, making every breath a struggle. Suddenly, a chilling thought struck him—his mother was still back in the village, completely vulnerable. And the chief's family? They could harm her with ease. How could I have been so stupid? he thought, panic surging through his mind. Without considering the dangers ahead, he spun around, desperate to flee in the opposite direction.
But fate had other plans. His foot caught on a thick root, and a low-hanging branch smacked him across the head. He lost his balance and plunged—not onto solid ground, but into a dark, gaping hole hidden beside the tree roots, like an entrance to some unseen underground chamber.
"Ahh… fuck… ahhhhhh!" he screamed, the sound swallowed by the oppressive darkness.
Author's Note:
"Thanks for reading, everyone! I know this chapter was a bit short, but the upcoming ones will be longer and dive deeper into the story. If you enjoyed it, don't forget to share your thoughts in the commen
ts—I'd love to hear from you."