- Kyle Valtier’s POV -
I didn’t wait another second to marvel at the grandeur of that bloody waterfall or the nightmare factory boiling below.
I wasn’t a hero in an epic tale who would stand and face an army born from the womb of mountains; I was just a human rat who had just realized he had entered a dragon’s lair.
I turned—and ran.
I ran away from the cliff’s edge, away from the heavy tallic scent that clogged the pores of my skin.
I didn’t look back.
I was leaping from one jagged rock to another, weaving around black volcanic formations that looked like petrified demon fingers trying to claw at the sky.
My tactical boots were slipping on the dead gray moss, and every jump demanded focus that drained what little G-rank Eitra energy remained in my veins.
"Haaah... haaah..."
My breaths ca out like the hiss of a steam boiler on the verge of exploding.
I leapt over a small chasm separating two miniature mountains, landing harshly on my knee as the fabric of my pants tore and I felt the burn of friction against the rough stone.
I raised my head and looked at the horizon ahead.
The black mountains stretched, and stretched, and stretched endlessly. Low gray clouds concealed their true peaks.
"I haven’t even... passed its beginning yet..." I spat a glob of saliva mixed with blood onto the ground.
"All this running, all this terror, and I’m still in the foothills of Erebus! What a ridiculous cosmic joke!"
I sat on a relatively flat rock, trying to calm my heart that was pounding like mad drums.
I wiped my face, covered in cold sweat and monster blood.
My fingers touched the surface of the black mask I wore.
That smooth mask, with dark blue lines forming a mockingly smiling face.
I touched its cold surface, and amidst all this hell and death surrounding , my mind suddenly drifted to a narrow alley in the lower sector of Elysium.
To that rotten shop filled with magical junk.
That damned old man’s shop... "Gideon."
That sly bastard with the remaining yellow teeth and the stench of cheap tobacco that preceded him by two ters!
He always scamd on the price, and I, like an idiot, fell into his trap every ti I tried to buy cheap gear for my heists.
I rembered the day I bought this mask.
I was standing before him, turning the black mask over skeptically.
"This mask is imported from Novarion, boy!" Gideon told back then with unwavering confidence, waving his wrinkled hand as if offering an emperor’s crown.
"It was forged by the famous blacksmith ’Garnok’! A legend of Eitral tal crafting!"
Novarion... just saying the na makes you feel poor.
Elysium is known as the capital of the New World, but in truth, the world we survived in holds three colossal tropolises—three cities that represent humanity’s last fortified bastions.
Elysium lies in South Arica, the city where I live (or die).
Novarion lies in Europe, known as the stronghold of magical technology and luxury forging.
And finally, the city of Zerathion, located in Asia.
These three cities are not ruled by politicians in elegant suits, but by three of the "Seven Supres."
Kaiser Dravion rules Elysium with an iron and fire grip, while Orian Kazith governs Novarion with terrifying intelligence and absolute laws, and Lucian Harcourt sits upon Zerathion’s throne like an imposing, invincible specter.
For a swindling old man in a filthy alley to tell this mask ca from Novarion, made by a famous blacksmith there, was like telling he caught a rmaid in a sewer!
"An unbreakable mask! I guarantee it, Kyle!"
That’s how Gideon kept lying shalessly.
"Hit it! Go on, take this hamr and strike it with all your strength!"
Back then, I took the iron hamr and struck the mask with all my strength.
To my surprise, it didn’t break—not even a scratch. The hamr rebounded so hard my wrist nearly dislocated!
So... I thought he was telling the truth.
Stupidity and desperation pushed to bargain with him.
"Fifty dollars!" I said with forced firmness.
"One hundred and twenty! This is Garnok, you idiot!" he shouted in my face.
"Sixty! And I won’t pay a cent more!"
"One hundred! I’m already losing on it!"
"Seventy dollars, and that’s my final offer, Gideon!"
"Fine, boy—eighty dollars, because I pity your miserable face!"
And so, thanks to my "legendary" bargaining skills, I paid a full eighty dollars!
Eighty dollars that could have fed for two weeks!
"That thieving bastard..." I muttered now as I sat on a rock in Erebus, smiling bitterly beneath the mask.
"Well, I’m a thief too—but I’m not like him! I steal from corrupt guilds, he steals from a broke orphan!"
And when I fought that damned FBI squad, and that black-haired bitch Eva Blackwood... the mask broke!
The sniper’s bullet scratched it, and Eva’s blows cracked it.
The first thing I thought of after miraculously surviving was to go to that old man’s shop, steal all his junk in revenge, then beat him senseless with his wooden cane!
What kind of curse would haunt in people’s eyes if I beat an elderly man to a pulp?
Well, I don’t really care what people say, but... maybe I didn’t want to hurt him because of my humanity?
Yes, that’s the only logical reason. I have a kind heart despite everything...
Humanity? I paused my thoughts for a mont.
But I’m a damn thief! I’m ready to slit the throat of anyone standing between and survival!
So why am I even thinking of this ridiculous moral justification?
I was just too lazy to go to his shop—that’s the real explanation.
But what’s surprising is that the mask... in a strange, completely magical way... regenerated.
After I slept in my apartnt and woke up, I found the cracks had fused, the scratches had vanished, and it was as good as new! It seems the shadow Eitra feeding on my blood rged with its tal. That’s why I changed my mind about beating Gideon... temporarily.
I returned to the bitter reality when a cold wind blew, carrying the scent of approaching rain.
I stood up and dusted off my coat.
As I searched for a way to advance through this cursed mountain range to reach the abyssal tunnels, my eyes fell upon a dark opening in the wall of a nearby mountain.
It was... a small cave.
I approached it cautiously.
I examined the rock formations around it.
Not it. This cave looked nothing like the massive one I saw in the future vision.
"Am I supposed to enter from here to get there? Is this a side tunnel?" I muttered in confusion.
"I really don’t know."
I decided to ask the worst tour guide in existence.
"Hey, System!" I shouted in my mind.
"Is this the right path? Will this miserable hole lead to the Forgotten Blade?"
Silence.
"Hello? Hellish custor service? You damned system, answer !"
No response. The red screen didn’t flicker.
No annoying text appeared.
The system was ignoring completely—as usual when I needed it—as if it enjoyed watching stumble in the dark.
"Damn you, your missions, and the day you appeared before !" I cursed out loud, spitting on the ground.
But the wind began to intensify, and the distant growls of monsters started echoing through the valley. I had no choice. Staying out in the open ant death.
I gritted my teeth until they nearly cracked, pulled out my empty pistol.
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