The Azure Mist Forest was never truly silent at night. It breathed.
The buzzing of nocturnal insects sounded like tiny saws, the rustle of leaves brushed by the wind, and the distant howls of monsters created a constant symphony of death.
But tonight, a different rhythm disrupted the forest's harmony.
The rhythm of iron and heavy boots.
Elian crouched high atop an Ironbark branch, his slender frame melting into the shadows.
His skin, now as white as jade, reflected the faint moonlight filtering through the canopy, but he had smeared his face and arms with mud and Shadowleaf sap to mask his presence.
Below him, about fifty meters to the south, a group of humans moved in a tactical formation.
They were Imperial Trackers. A special unit trained to hunt political fugitives and dangerous monsters.
Their black leather armor was reinforced with light Mithril plates over vital areas. Their weapons—longswords, crossbows, and spears—emitted the faint glow of low-level magic runes.
"Careful," a heavy voice commanded. It was their captain, a burly warrior with a burn scar across his face.
He radiated a faint reddish Aura—a Tier 3 Warrior.
"The mana signal stopped around here. The target might be hiding."
In the center of the formation, a man in dark blue robes held a staff with a glowing tip. A Tier 4 Mage. His eyes were closed, scanning the surrounding mana flow.
"Strange," the Mage muttered, frowning. "The trail is... scattered. It's as if the target has merged with the forest itself. But I sense faint Void residue. Perhaps it's a remnant from the attack two years ago, or the boy is carrying a forbidden artifact."
Up in the tree, Elian held his breath. His heart hammered against his ribs.
These weren't mindless monsters like the Gale Wolf. These were humans. They could think, strategize, and wield magic.
Remember Master's teachings, Elian thought, suppressing his fear. Individually, they are strong. But this forest is my home.
Be the mist. Be a ghost.
Lunaria was nowhere to be seen. As agreed, she would only intervene if the Mage attempted to level the forest with high-tier magic.
The rest was Elian's test.
Elian picked up a small stone. He infused it with a tiny sliver of killing intent, then threw it toward a bush on the opposite side, about twenty meters from his position.
Crack!
The sound of the snapping twig was deafening in the silence.
"There! Nine o'clock!" one tracker shouted.
Three trackers immediately fired their crossbows. Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Steel bolts shredded the bush, hitting nothing but empty air.
"Check it!" the Captain ordered.
Two men advanced cautiously. As their formation opened up slightly, Elian saw his opening.
Now.
Elian didn't jump. He used the flexibility of his new body—tempered in the cauldron of dragon blood—to slide down the tree trunk like a drop of water. Silent. Fluid.
He landed on the soft earth behind the rear guard on the far edge.
His target was a young tracker tasked with watching their six.
Elian moved fast. His footsteps were muffled by the basic Wind Step technique Lunaria had taught him—not magic, but a technique of shifting body weight to flow with the air currents.
In a heartbeat, Elian was behind the man. His left hand clamped over the tracker's mouth, while his right hand, gripping the Elven short sword, swung with cold precision.
Slice.
The sharp blade severed the tracker's carotid artery, slipping right through the gap between his helmet and neck guard.
Warm blood sprayed over Elian's hand. The tracker's body went rigid, then limp.
Elian caught the body before it could hit the ground, dragging it slowly behind the roots of a massive tree.
Elian's heart felt like it was going to explode. Nausea hit his stomach as the metallic scent of human blood assaulted his nose.
This was different from killing a wolf. This was a person. Someone who might have a family.
Don't think. Kill or die. They killed Father. They are hunting Elara.
He repeated the mantra in his head to numb the guilt.
"Hans? You see anything?" another tracker called out from ten meters away.
No answer.
"Hans?"
The second tracker approached. As he passed the tree where Elian was hiding, a small shadow shot down from above.
Elian dropped from a low branch, his knees driving into the tracker's shoulders, slamming him to the ground.
Before the man could scream, Elian drove his blade straight into his heart through the gaps in his rib armor.
"Ugh..." The man coughed blood, his eyes staring at Elian in horror.
He saw a beautiful face smeared with mud and blood, black eyes cold and devoid of emotion.
"Two," Elian whispered.
But this time, the sound of armor clattering against the ground couldn't be hidden.
"AMBUSH!" the Captain roared. "Defensive formation!"
The Mage immediately raised his staff. "Light Flare!"
A ball of light exploded in the air, illuminating the forest area like high noon. The shadows vanished instantly.
And there, standing over the corpse of the second tracker, Elian was revealed.
A small child with long black hair, wearing a tattered tunic, holding a bloody sword.
The trackers stunned for a moment.
"A... child?" the Captain muttered in disbelief. "That's the target? Young Master Vane?"
"He killed Hans and Gerg!" one of his men shouted. "He's no ordinary child! He's a monster!"
"Capture him alive! The Emperor wants his information!" the Mage ordered.
Elian smirked. A smile that didn't reach his eyes. A smile he copied from Lunaria when facing danger.
"Catch me if you can," Elian challenged, his voice soft but carrying a strange echo.
Elian turned and ran. Not aimlessly—he sprinted toward the Mist Swamp.
"After him! Don't let him escape!"
The chase began.
On paper, it was an uneven contest. The trackers had Aura to strengthen their legs.
But Elian had the forest.
Every time a tracker raised a crossbow, a tree branch seemed to "coincidentally" dip, blocking the line of fire. Whenever they tried to speed up, roots snagged their ankles or the ground suddenly turned soft.
Elian led them deeper into the Mist Swamp.
Thick water vapor began to limit visibility to less than three meters. The solid ground gave way to treacherous quicksand.
"Stop!" the Mage shouted. "It's a trap! This mist contains hallucinogenic mana!"
Too late.
Elian stopped running. He stood atop a large rock protruding from the center of the bog. White mist swirled around him, making him look like a phantom silhouette.
The trackers halted, gasping for breath, their boots sunk knee-deep in mud. They were surrounded by difficult terrain.
"You entered my home without permission," Elian's voice echoed from all directions, amplified by the swamp's acoustics.
"Damn brat!" The Captain raged. He leaped from one mound of earth to another, his greatsword ablaze with aura.
"Die!"
The Captain lunged, swinging down at Elian.
A Tier 3 Warrior's attack carried weight that could split boulders. Elian knew it. His body would shatter if he tried to block.
Elian's eyes narrowed. His Nature Sense showed the wind flow of the slash before the blade even arrived.
Elian threw his body backward, as if slipping. The flaming sword slashed through the air just an inch above his nose, singing the tips of his hair.
As he fell back, Elian kicked swamp mud straight into the Captain's eyes.
"Argh! My eyes!"
This wasn't a knightly duel. This was a street fight. A beast's struggle.
Elian landed in the mud, rolled, and slashed the Captain's Achilles tendon from behind.
Slash!
The Captain fell to his knees, roaring in pain.
"Protect the Captain!" the other trackers shouted. They tried to advance, but the mud hampered their movements.
The Mage, standing on firmer ground at the edge of the swamp, began to chant. A massive fireball formed at the tip of his staff. "I will burn this entire swamp along with that rat!"
Elian turned, eyes widening. If that spell was released, the flammable swamp gas would ignite. He would die.
But before the spell finished...
Ping!
The sound of shattering glass rang through the air. A transparent crystal arrow shot from the deep darkness of the forest, piercing the Mage's Mana Shield as if it were paper, and burying itself in his right shoulder—the arm holding the staff.
"Aaaargh!" The Mage screamed, dropping his staff. The spell fizzled out and backfired, exploding in a small burst in his own hand.
Elian knew it was Lunaria's aid. He didn't waste the opportunity.
While the trackers panicked at seeing their Mage go down, Elian jumped onto the back of the kneeling Captain.
He wrapped his arm around the thick man's neck and, with all his strength, drove his short sword into the gap of the helmet at the base of the neck.
Blood sprayed violently. The massive body convulsed, trying to throw Elian off, but Elian held on like a stubborn tick.
Slowly, the Captain's struggles weakened, and finally, he collapsed into the mud, dead.
The remaining trackers—about twelve men—saw their leader killed by a child. Their morale shattered. Combined with the mysterious archer (Lunaria) lurking in the dark, terror took hold.
"Retreat! Retreat!" the vice-captain shouted.
They turned and ran for their lives, leaving the corpses of their comrades behind.
Elian didn't chase. His body had reached its limit. The adrenaline began to fade, replaced by the agony of overexerted muscles and new cuts.
He stood over the Captain's corpse, chest heaving, steam rising from his mouth in the cold air. He was covered in blood, mud, and gore.
He looked at his trembling hands. Not from fear anymore. But from a coldness creeping into his heart.
He had just killed four people today. And the scariest part was... he didn't feel sad.
He felt alive.
"Good work."
Lunaria emerged from the mist, walking atop the mud's surface as if it were a marble floor. She didn't sink.
She looked at the bodies, then at Elian.
"You used your environment. You targeted the leader. And you were ruthless," Lunaria praised.
She touched Elian's dirty cheek with her clean finger. "You are starting to look like a true warrior, Elian."
"They... ran," Elian said hoarsely.
"Let them run," Lunaria replied. "Fear is a stronger message than death. Let them tell the Empire that the Azure Mist Forest has a new demon."
Elian nodded weakly. He wiped the blood from his eyes.
"Master..."
"Yes?"
"I want to be stronger. This isn't enough. I almost died," Elian said, staring at the Captain's corpse that had nearly cleaved him in two.
"Of course," Lunaria smiled, a smile that promised more suffering. "Your training has only just begun. Now, loot their valuables. We need money and supplies if you want to survive in the outside world later."
That night, Elian learned one more thing: looting enemy corpses. He took pouches of gold coins, healing potions, and spare daggers.
When he picked up a gold coin stamped with the Imperial crest—the symbol his father had once protected—Elian squeezed the coin until his knuckles turned white.
One day, I will buy the Emperor's life with this coin, Elian vowed silently.
In the distance, dawn began to break, but for Elian, the sun of his childhood had set forever.