Creed turned around with a raised brow.
There he was.
Standing right at the spot where he was sitting before was the old monk again—pure white robes fluttering in the breeze like he was modeling for an ancient laundry detergent comrcial.
A single, absurdly long strand of beard dangled from his chin like so mystical fishing line, and his eyes? Oh boy.
The dark circles under them had grown even deeper since the last ti Creed had seen him. At this point, they looked less like shadows and more like two tiny voids trying to eat the rest of his face!
Creed couldn’t help himself.
He smirked. "Old man, are you sure you’re not moonlighting as a panda? Or have those dark circles upgraded into dinsional rifts of their own?"
The monk didn’t even flinch. He put his hands behind his back, tilted his head like a bird observing a curious worm, and smiled the exact sa creepy smile from before.
"You little brat. Fa’s already gotten to your head, huh? Maybe I should drag you to the back of my mountain and give you a whooping you’ll never forget."
Creed chuckled, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. "You’re welco to try, old tir. Just don’t pull your back again."
The monk gasped in feigned offense and placed a hand over his heart like Creed had insulted his ancestors.
"You dare speak to your elder like this after I gifted you sothing so divine? So miraculous? Kids these days... no gratitude."
But as the banter faded, Creed’s smile softened. He took a step forward, bowed slightly—not dramatically, just enough to show sincerity—and said,
"Seriously, though. Thank you. The gloves... they were incredible. They helped stabilize my will and actually comprehend two paths."
The monk blinked once. Then twice. "Two?" he echoed, squinting at Creed like he had just told him he grew wings and flew to the moon.
Creed nodded, the mory of blood, insight, and screaming winds flashing through his mind. "Path of the Mountain. Path of Freedom."
The monk whistled and rubbed his temples. "Hah... those gloves weren’t supposed to do that. I gave them to you thinking maybe they’d help you comprehend one Path if the stars aligned and you ate enough at."
Creed shrugged. "Guess I’m greedier than the stars."
"You’re sothing, alright," the monk muttered, then his face lit up with that sa strange glint he had the last ti they t.
The one that said: I know sothing you don’t, and it’s hilarious. "You really are a freak. In a good way."
Creed’s grin faded just a bit, not out of offense, but because his mind was now swimming in more serious thoughts.
The man before him wasn’t just so quirky wanderer. That was an act. The truth peeked through in monts like this, monts where sothing ancient settled behind those sleepy eyes.
Creed had questions, too many to count. But one stuck with him the hardest. He straightened his back and asked, "During our first eting... you called a child of the mountains. What did you an by that?"
The monk blinked once, slowly, before the mischievous glint returned. "Wanna play a ga?"
The shift in Creed was instant. Gone was the joking tone. His hands dropped loosely to his sides, one leg sliding back a step as his body tilted into a casual but alert stance.
He didn’t fully trust this man. He was grateful, yes, but gratitude didn’t an blindness.
This world didn’t hand out blessings without a price, and Creed was soone who paid attention to the hidden receipt behind every good deed.
"What kind of ga are we talking?" he asked, voice low and even. "Because I don’t like to play blind."
The monk burst into laughter, slapping his thigh like Creed had just told the world’s funniest joke. "Ahhh! You really remind of her!"
Creed’s ears perked up. His instincts sharpened. Her?
His thoughts instantly kicked into overdrive. Who the hell was her? The way the old man said it wasn’t just so offhand comnt.
There was a kind of softness in his tone, a careful fondness that didn’t match his usual sarcasm and sly smiles. And that was a problem.
Because people like this old monk didn’t casually say things. Everything ant sothing. Everything was deliberate.
And if this man was bringing up a mysterious "her" in a way that clearly tied to Creed, then that ant one thing.
’He knows soone from my past. Or soone related to !’
Creed didn’t panic, though. No. His expression stayed calm, even a little curious. But inside? Inside, he was piecing together possibilities like a detective solving a puzzle with one eye closed and a dagger to his neck.
Who did the monk know? Was it a relative? A ntor? Soone who walked the sa Path of the Mountain as him?
But Creed knew better than to ask directly. Questions like "Who’s her?" or "Do you know my family?" were too blunt. Too obvious.
They forced the other person to either lie or shut down.
And if this monk was anything like the mysterious powerhouses in stories, then he’d avoid giving straight answers unless you asked the right kind of question.
The kind of question that wasn’t really a question at all, but a trap made of words and aning.
So Creed smiled. Just a little. Enough to seem calm, even as his brain moved like a blade dancing on the edge of curiosity and strategy.
"Then let ask you sothing," he said slowly. "Sothing small."
The monk cocked his head. "Oh?"
Creed crossed his arms, leaned his weight to one side, and delivered the line smoothly:
"Did you give the gloves... or return them?"
The monk’s expression didn’t change for a full second. Not the twitch of a lip or a wrinkle of his brow.
But in that second, the stillness said more than an earthquake. His fingers curled slightly behind his back, and his gaze sharpened—not hostile, but focused, like a master being surprised by a student who moved ahead of schedule.
"Well now," the monk said slowly, smile softening into sothing... older. "That’s quite the question."
Creed took another step forward. "Because if you simply gave them to , then maybe you’re just so random old man who found sothing useful and tossed it my way.
"But if you returned them... that ans you might’ve known about for longer than I’ve known myself. It ans those gloves were mine once. Or supposed to be mine. Maybe through blood. Maybe by destiny. But either way, you’re not just helping a stranger."
The monk chuckled. "You know what I like about you? You don’t charge in swinging until you’ve checked the angles.
"That question... ha! It was mild on the surface, but if soone doesn’t think twice, they’ll miss the knife hidden in the wrapping paper."
Creed shrugged. "You said ’play a ga,’ so I figured I’d start with my opening move."
A silence settled between them for a mont, not awkward, but weighted. Then, the monk walked forward and stood just beside Creed, not looking at him.
"Tell , Creed. What do you know about this world?"
Creed blinked. "Oh no," he groaned, his mind racing in the wrong direction.
’Don’t tell this is that part of the story! The part where the ntor suddenly drops the bomb that everything I thought I understood is actually a teaspoon of truth in an ocean of cosmic lies!’
’And now I’m supposed to open so divine path to freedom through suffering and ridiculous training arcs. I just got so fa, man. I wanted a nap, not enlightennt!’
The monk snorted, sensing Creed’s withdrawal. "You’re always dramatic."
Creed threw up his hands.
"Look, I’ve read enough manga in my life to know this setup. You hit with a ’what do you know about the world?’ and next thing I know, I’m being chased by so soul-eating crown prince of the Void Realm because I accidentally activated a forbidden bloodline by sneezing near an ancient tomb!"
"Sounds about right."
"You’re not helping!"
They both laughed, and the monk’s next words ca quietly but clearly.
"The world is deeper than you think, Creed. Let ask you sothing in return. Where do you think the dinsional bracelets ca from?"
"..."
The monk stared at him blankly. "...What are you thinking about?"
Creed rubbed his temples. "I just wanted to vibe. Maybe find a few enemies to beat up, flirt with so girls, polish my spear techniques. But no.
"Now I have to find out the bracelets are actually cosmic shackles from so intergalactic force, and earth is probably the training ground for this force and we are all live stock to them?"
The monk burst into another round of laughter, wheezing this ti. "You... hahaha, you really are sothing else!"
Creed grumbled, crossing his arms. "If you say I’m the key to the multiverse or so nonsense like that, I’m jumping into the nearest rift."
"You’re not the key," the monk said, wiping tears from his eyes. "But you are... a very interesting pawn."
Creed’s eyes narrowed. "Pawn?"
"Relax," the monk said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You’re a pawn in a ga where even pawns can beco kings. But before we get there... answer seriously. Where do you think those dinsional bracelets ca from?"
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