Under the trees, a figure ran swiftly, heading back toward where that flicker of fire had trembled. This was Tyler, the leader of a small hidden village.
He was a rare fighter who had reached level two; his steps across the trees were agile, making no sound at all.
If anyone could observe him closely, they would notice his appearance: old, yet robust. His white hair remained still, indifferent to the wind and his rapid movement, while his worn clothes were the only things in motion.
As he advanced quickly, his eyes fixed on something: a small Terror following a young man about 1.78 m tall. A quick smile appeared on his face as he studied the youth. Finally, his voice came out calm but firm:
— This young man seems to have talent for hand-to-hand combat… or perhaps he's had prior training? Toned shoulders, agile footwork, a lean but strong body… a fighter's physique, with a sharp mind. Perhaps a good candidate.
He moved forward, landing on the Terror.
Boom!
Under the human's eyes, an explosion shook the area where the Terror stood, and black blood sprayed onto the ground. Surely, it should have died.
Yet, when the dust settled, a pool of blood surrounded the white-haired old man, his face still smiling.
— Y-you… you… you… — stammered the young man, pointing, trembling with fear.
The old man, indifferent, advanced with agility, grabbing the youth by the collar and taking him toward the flicker. Dante, the young man, was confused: the old man had saved him, but now he was being carried, without understanding what was happening.
Only when the old man spoke did he respond:
— Young man, what is your name? How old are you? Have you had any physical training before?
— My name is Dante — the young man said, stammering lightly. — I'm 15 years old, and yes, I did one year of kickboxing for self-defense.
— Kickboxing? — the old man asked, confused.
— Yes, the version of boxing that uses legs as well as fists.
— Well… I really don't know what that is, but you are not a true warrior. I dare say that, even with training, you are still a coward.
Dante merely nodded. He truly was a coward, always training to disguise it. Though skilled in combat, it was not something he enjoyed.
— Well, young man — the old man continued — you need to change that. Here, in this Dead Zone, a coward is nothing more than prey to the malignant gods.
— Malignant gods? Dead Zone? Are you joking? — Dante replied, confused.
— You don't know? — the old man asked, surprised. — Where do you come from? — he said, as if already suspecting the answer.
— I don't know. I don't remember, and when I try, I get a headache — Dante answered plainly.
The old man landed on a branch, and his hand went to Dante's chest. A tingling sensation ran through the young man's body.
— You haven't been infected by the malignant gods, and your mind is intact — said the old man, slightly confused. — I'll ask Viviane to examine you when we reach the village.
Without waiting for a response, he shot forward at high speed toward a small hidden village.
Located in a remote part of the forest, the village resembled more a fortress: surrounded by metal bars and wooden stakes.
Arriving at the front, the old man exhaled an imperceptible aura for Dante, and the large wooden gate opened.
Without wasting time, he entered, and as soon as he did, a screen enveloped the village, rendering it invisible to the naked eye.