Heavy clouds sagged low, thunder rumbling overhead.
A black-robed figure crouched beside a bisected corpse, skeletal fingers tearing open the sack it carried.
After rummaging through it, he gripped the half-bag left in frustration and shook it violently, spilling its contents into the mud.
The other attackers soon gathered, dumping the goods from the other three sacks into a pile as well.
Eight black-robed figures knelt in the dirt, searching as if picking yellow beans out of a rice heap.
But what they sought was nowhere to be found.
The leader crushed a crystal in his hand with a sharp crack. The others quickly backed away, whether from flying shards or his anger, it was unclear.
“Nothing… nothing… why is there nothing!?”
The guttural snarl wasn’t spoken in human language, but the fury carried through.
“The intel was correct. These lowly humans couldn’t possibly have discovered it already. Sothing is wrong!”
“Milord,” one subordinate edged closer, speaking cautiously, “perhaps… it was on one of the bodies?”
“Then why are you still talking? Go search!”
“Yes, sir!”
The robed figures scattered in alarm to search the other three corpses.
Ten minutes later, all eight gathered again at the ambush site, staring at the bloodstained arrow lying in the dirt.
The leader picked it up, whispering, “Aivina?”
One of the black-robed figures dropped to her knees imdiately. “Lord Lakus, I swear, that arrow pierced his heart without fail!”
“Then how do you explain this?” He pressed the arrowhead against her forehead, ready to drive it through.
Aivina dared not twitch, trembling as she pleaded. “Th-there must have been another life-saving thod! Please, allow to atone—I can track him down!”
A suffocating silence stretched, then the arrow stabbed into the soil just in front of her.
“Track him. If we don’t recover what the higher-ups want… prepare to beco blood cattle.”
At those words, not only Aivina but all the black-robed figures shuddered, answering in unison:
“Yes!”
——
Rain pattered steadily through the forest, soaking the rotting leaves. Dilan’s boots sank into the muck, each step dragging clumps of wet earth.
He braced against a tree, panting, chest heaving violently.
After sprinting nonstop for ten minutes, his stamina was nearly spent.
Becoming half-mushroom hadn’t boosted his stats—but at least his heart no longer throbbed in pain.
No sounds of pursuit reached him. Maybe he’d already lost them? Maybe they hadn’t even noticed he fled?
Finding a slope with so cover, he crouched to wait out the storm.
The rain on his face actually felt refreshing, but if his clothes soaked through, it would be misery.
And then—there was still that book.
Right. The book.
Dilan pulled it out, running his hand over the wrinkled cover.
What was inside this thing?
He opened it instinctively.
Blank. Blank. Blank.
Every page was empty parchnt.
He flipped all the way to the back—still nothing written.
So it was… a brand-new book with no writing?
And he’d carried it all this way, even while fleeing? What a waste.
But then—he noticed it.
A neat line of script had appeared on the page.
[Not running anymore? They’ll catch you, you know.]
The hairs on Dilan’s neck stood up.
Magical tools with rudintary intelligence weren’t rare—rings that cast shields automatically, golems that could identify intruders.
But those had only the vaguest instincts.
For an artifact to converse fluently ant only one thing—
A soul.
Not all soul-forged artifacts were evil, but the brutal process ant their creators were rarely virtuous. And such items were almost always dangerous.
A dozen horror stories about soul-bound tools flashed through his mind.
He nearly flung it away.
Yet… the words nagged at him.
What did it an? Were those black-robed pursuers still after him?
He hesitated, then opened it again.
The writing had changed.
[Six minutes left.]
“What does ‘six minutes left’ an?” he muttered aloud.
The text vanished, replaced instantly.
[Five minutes until they catch up.]
!!!
Dilan didn’t wait to test it. He bolted back into the rain.
He didn’t know if the book was lying—but right now, it was safer to believe it.
Rain soaked his clothes, but the book in his hands stayed dry, pages untouched by water.
As he ran, he opened it again—only to find new words already written.
[This won’t work. Run southeast.]
With no other choice, Dilan quickly got his bearings and veered southeast.
He didn’t know how long he kept running, only that exhaustion crushed his legs again.
Then suddenly, the ground gave way.
“Uwaaah—!”
He plumted into a deep pit, tumbling end over end.
——
“Here, is it?”
At the edge of the pit, Lakus glanced back.
Aivina stepped forward. “Yes. For so reason, the prey suddenly abandoned resting and kept running. But from his final tracks, his stamina was spent. Likely he stumbled and fell in.”
Lakus gazed into the pit, then leapt in without hesitation. The others followed.
He landed lightly at the bottom, boots not even disturbing the pooled water.
His n weren’t as graceful—so struck the mud hard enough to leave craters—but none dared splash him.
Before them stretched a natural cave.
These wild caverns were nothing like the vast dungeons belowground—smaller, shallower.
No risk of the prey escaping for long.
Especially since—
In the puddles at his feet, faint streaks of blood trailed deeper inside.
Lakus’s tongue slid across sharp fangs. “Little worm, you’ve wasted enough of my ti. Your blood had better be worth the trouble.”
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