After bringing Lyra back to the settlent, a small group of embarrassed people ran up to Nox, bowing and apologizing profusely for the trouble their friend had caused.
Nox scratched his cheek awkwardly, smiling in that disarming way he’d practiced. He calmly explained how he found Lyra, how the butterfly’s poison had knocked her out, and how he’d carried her back before it spread too far. His tone was casual, but it only seed to make the group even more mortified.
“I’m so sorry about the inconvenience she caused you,” one of Lyra’s friends blurted, practically tripping over her words. “She might seem like a fool sotis, but she’s usually luckier than this! To think she’d run straight toward a poisonous creature—ugh, it’s so out of character! I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but we’ll try to keep her under control!”
She bowed so deeply and repeatedly that she nearly hit her head on the ground.
Nox couldn’t help but chuckle, crossing his arms as a faint grin tugged at his lips. “So… see you next ti when sothing like this happens again?”
“Yes!” the girl cried without thinking.
“But it was so pretty…” Lyra’s dreamy, airheaded voice floated from behind her friends as they tried to haul her away, still half-delirious and muttering about butterflies.
“Yeah, yeah, pretty poisonous death bug, we know,” one of them grumbled as they carried her off toward their resting area, muttering apologies between sighs.
Watching them go, Nox’s expression softened slightly.
“It really was beautiful,” he admitted under his breath.
The image of the creature lingered in his mind — wings that shimred in gold, blue, and soft pink hues, as if painted with the light of dawn and sunset all at once. Each delicate flap scattered iridescent trails through the air, colors shifting like oil across water, impossible to define or contain. It was beauty that didn’t belong here — beauty that shouldn’t exist.
Even the poison it released was srizing. The dust that drifted from its wings glowed faintly as it spread, cascading like glittering starlight across the forest floor. Each particle shimred with hypnotic grace — radiant and deadly — dancing in the wind like a cruel invitation.
Nox stared down at his hand, where faint traces of that dust still burned against his skin. The warmth it left behind was strangely gentle, almost comforting, as if poison itself were mocking the concept of pain.
“I got lucky,” he murmured. “If I wasn’t resistant to poison… she’d have been gone before anyone could reach her.”
He still rembered the terror that small, seemingly harmless butterfly radiated. When he had rushed forward to help Lyra, he had swung his sword at the creature — and in that instant, he could swear he wasn’t imagining it. The butterfly looked at him. Not in fear, not in anger, but with quiet disinterest, as if his attack were beneath notice.
Then, without effort, it released a shimr of dust from its wings. The sparkling haze t his sword mid-swing — and stopped it cold.
The impact sent a sharp pain up his arm, like striking a wall of steel. His blade trembled, the edge corroding in seconds. Instinct scread at him to flee.
By the ti he caught Lyra, the butterfly had already vanished. No flash, no sound — as though it had never been there at all.
He could still feel the faint ache in his fingers, a dull throb that hadn’t faded. Fearful of the lingering dust clinging to him, he dismissed his sword imdiately, retreating from the forest before it could eat through more of his gear. The only trace of that encounter was the burn across his hand — and the faint, beautiful shimr left behind where the creature had hovered.
When he finally returned Lyra to her friends, the forest felt unnaturally still, as though the world itself held its breath.
Nox exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting back toward the trees. The faint glimr of the butterfly’s trail still lingered in the distance, like a scar in the air.
“It really was beautiful,” he muttered — and shivered.
With a heavy sigh, he glanced at his sword. The Rusfang Longsword was barely holding together; its durability hovered near zero, cracks running faintly along the blade where venom had eaten the steel.
He sheathed it carefully, though he knew it wouldn’t last another fight.
“Guess I’ll need to fix this before sothing else kills .”
He made his way toward the blacksmithing area — a ring of rough stone furnaces and half-finished anvils glowing faintly with aetheric heat. Sparks flew as people experinted with crude alloys, lting scraps of monster chitin and ore.
Nox glanced down at the handful of coins he’d earned from his recent hunts.
Not even a full silver.
“Maybe they’ll co up with a better way to handle financial resources for all of us,” Nox muttered, glancing at the few dull coins in his hand. “But in the anti, I should get this sword fixed. And with these eyes… maybe I can learn how to repair equipnt myself. Maybe even do it better than the blacksmiths here.”
He approached the forge, where sparks flew and heat shimred in the air. The head blacksmith was instructing a few apprentices.
“Good morning,” Nox greeted politely. “I was wondering if you’d be able to fix my equipnt.”
The blacksmith took one look at the corroded sword and raised an eyebrow. “Common grade, huh? That’s a first. Everything we’ve seen so far has been uncommon grade.” He turned the weapon over in his hands, inspecting the dull, pitted edge. “Sure, leave it with —but this thing’s in rough shape. Might take a while. You must be quite the fighter to push a sword this far… and yourself, too.”
Nox smiled faintly. “Heh, I guess you could say that. Been lucky, really.” He paused before adding, “By any chance, could you teach blacksmithing too? I don’t have much coin, but maybe I could work it off once I get decent enough?”
The blacksmith’s brow furrowed thoughtfully before he nodded. “I don’t mind. Considering this world and how everything wants to kill us, the more hands we have to repair gear, the better. Don’t worry about paynt. As long as you’re willing to persevere and work hard, you’ll get results.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Even I was a novice once—now I’m stuck trying to teach others just so we can survive a little longer.”
Nox smirked. “You’re not exactly great at motivational speeches, are you?”
The blacksmith barked a laugh. “Guess not.”
He gestured for Nox to follow and began showing him around the forge—how the bellows pumped air into the flas, how the ores were slted, how the molten tal was poured and shaped. As he explained, Nox quietly activated his ocular skill. The world shifted. Web-like threads of perception spread from his pupils, tracing vibrations in the air, the rhythm of the hamr strikes, and even the faint stress fractures within the glowing tal.
His aether drained steadily as the skill remained active, but Nox didn’t care. Every flicker, every imperfection in the process told him sothing new. The disturbance in his ocular webs pulsed like a heartbeat with each strike of the hamr.
After a ti, the blacksmith handed him a chance to try for himself. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got. Start by heating those spare ores. Watch the color—when it turns orange-red, it’s ready.”
Nox nodded, carefully placing the ore into the forge, the heat washing over him in waves. Minutes passed. The others watched as he leaned close, his pupils tightening, eyes reflecting faint threads of motion and energy. Then, without warning, he reached in with tongs and pulled the ore out earlier than expected.
“Wait—shouldn’t he leave it in longer?” one apprentice whispered.
“Yeah, that’s too soon,” another said, frowning.
Ignoring them, Nox grabbed a hamr and began striking. Sparks danced across the tal as the rhythmic clangs filled the air.
The apprentices exchanged uncertain glances, but before anyone could comnt, the blacksmith’s deep voice cut through their murmurs.
“You lot would do well to stay quiet,” he said evenly. “Just like you, he’s learning. The best way to learn is by doing—whether it’s too early or too late doesn’t matter. As long as he keeps swinging, even his mistakes will turn to skill.”
The sound of hamring echoed through the forge, the heat flaring brighter with each strike. Though Nox’s body ached, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. For the first ti in days, he felt focused — grounded.
However, the disturbances in his vision began to spike again. The webs in his eyes trembled and warped with every blow, signaling instability. It didn’t take long for him to realize the issue.
He was too weak.
Nox wasn’t a muscular person. Each strike lacked the weight to fully shape the tal, and his arms were beginning to tremble. Without hesitation, he opened his status screen and distributed the five skill points he had earned after reaching Level 1 — all into Strength.
In that mont, it seed like the logical choice. The disturbances in his ocular webs eased slightly, and he was able to adjust the weight of his strikes, finding a rhythm that made the vibrations flow smoother. The hamr’s impact grew steadier, cleaner, and the tal responded better beneath his blows.
But what he hadn’t considered was the balance of stats — how Strength intertwined with Dexterity, and Constitution. His muscles now carried more force than his body could properly handle. The recoil from each swing sent faint shocks through his bones. Still, he ignored the pain. His eyes glowed faintly with determination.
He kept hamring.
Bit by bit, the crude lump of ore began to take shape — the silhouette of a blade forming under his strikes. His aether reserves dwindled rapidly, but Nox refused to stop. He could feel it — the weight of progress, the promise of creation.
When the final shaping ca, his vision blurred. The webs in his eyes flickered violently before going still — his aether had reached zero. Exhaustion crashed over him, his body screaming to stop.
But he didn’t.
Even without sight through his ocular webs, he trusted his mory of their vibrations. Anticipating each disturbance before it happened, he swung with instinct alone. His movents were sluggish yet precise, guided by stubborn will.
With a final strike, he plunged the glowing blade into the quenching trough. Steam burst upward, wrapping him in a shroud of heat and light.
When it cleared, the forge fell silent.
There, gleaming faintly under the light, was a sword — smooth, balanced, and unmistakably his creation, a Common Grade weapon.
A notification blinked before his fading eyes:
[Title Acquired: Breaker of Limits]
Through perseverance and will, you have achieved what none have before — the first Common Grade equipnt forged in the Expanse.
The head blacksmith’s rough voice broke the silence. “Well, would you look at that,” he said with a proud grin. “Seems I’ve got a prized disciple on my hands.”
Before Nox could respond, his body gave out. The sword slipped from his hands, clattering against the ground — and he followed it, collapsing from exhaustion.
The blacksmith caught him just before he hit the floor, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Guess even prodigies need rest.”
Giving him his ti to rest, they placed the weapon he created next to him — a modest steel longsword known simply asWebcutter — a symbol not only of his hard work and perseverance but also of hope for those around him. If one man could forge sothing of worth in this unforgiving world, then maybe, with enough resolve, the rest of them could survive it too.
By the ti Nox woke, murmurs filled the forge — people whispering his na with admiration. When he sat up, the Head Blacksmith approached, smiling as he handed him the sword. “You should take it,” he said simply.
“But the materials used weren’t mine,” Nox protested. “I should at least pay for it.”
The Head Blacksmith waved him off. “If you really want to repay , co back and learn. Help us build. Every bit of skill and strength we gain here helps humanity survive a little longer.”
“Help humanity, huh…” Nox murmured, fingers brushing the hilt of Webcutter. “Maybe I can — in my own way. I just need the power to do it.”
He clenched his fist, the faint heat of the forge reflecting in his eyes.
After resting, healing, and filling his stomach, Nox stepped once more toward the forest’s edge, his new weapon strapped to his back. He glanced down at the blade, its simple polish catching the morning light.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“It’s not as good as Rustfang Longsword,” he said with a faint smile, “but it’ll do for now.”
He wove in and out of combat, every motion a careful dance between instinct and observation. The forest ca alive with movent — shrieks, splashes, and the echoing chatter of Chitter Monkeys. They were small, fast creatures with moss-green fur and twitching tails, their bodies pulsing faintly with aether.
At first, they were little more than a nuisance. But as Nox’s eyes sharpened, he noticed the patterns — faint vibrations cutting through the air. The disturbances his ocular webs traced began to form a rhythm, a map of motion. Within hours, he could predict their attacks before they even lunged.
A Water Chitter Monkey leapt from above, a swirling geyser coiling around its fist like a miniature cyclone. Nox’s eyes flashed. He raised his hand and used a skill he’d been refining since his last fight —
[Toxic Lattice] — A web-casting technique that creates a spreading net of corrosive silk, tightening based on the target’s movent.
The air shimred as threads burst outward, weaving together into a translucent do. The monkey’s reflexes failed it; each step only drew the threads tighter. It screeched and thrashed, caught mid-air, venom sizzling through the fibers. Yet to Nox’s surprise, the silk burned softer than before. The poison had dulled. The web felt closer to ordinary silk than a death trap.
“Huh… less posion,” he murmured, watching the trapped creature writhe. “Progress.”
He swung Webcutter, slicing through the restrained monkey. Even weakened and restrained, the beast fought wildly — his strikes barely keeping up with its thrashing. When it finally fell, Nox exhaled, shaking sweat from his brow.
He didn’t stop. The Expanse wouldn’t wait for him to recover.
He pressed forward through the underbrush, each encounter sharpening his understanding of the strange equilibrium his body now held between toxin and vitality.
The Venom Wasps, the Rotback Frogs, the Fangroot Snakes — every poisonous creature he t beca part of a grim experint. Where others would fall gasping and foaming from a single sting, Nox felt only a pulse of warmth spreading through his veins. Torn skin knit together. The dull ache of fatigue ebbed away.
Still, he wanted proof. He let the next Fangroot coil its way up his arm and bite down hard. His health bar climbed instead of dropping.
“…Healing?” he whispered, disbelief and curiosity twisting together.
He tried again, deliberately provoking another beast — a bloated Rotback Frog crouched in a pool of green water. He sealed off its retreat with webs, forcing it to face him. The frog’s body swelled; bubbles of toxin rippled beneath its translucent skin.
When the venom burst forth, he braced himself for warmth. Instead, his nerves scread. The poison scorched his skin, and his health plunged.
“Shit!” He slashed instinctively. One arc of Webcutter, and the creature split apart before he even registered the motion.
Panting, he looked down at the burn on his arm. The pain was sharp but fleeting — a reminder of how wrong he’d been.
“So if it’s injected, I can handle it,” he muttered. “But anything that hits from the outside still hurts… that sucks.”
It wasn’t immunity. It was inversion. Poison introduced into his bloodstream beca dicine; poison outside his body remained death.
He tested again and again until the pattern was undeniable. The stronger the toxin delivered directly into his veins, the greater the surge of vitality. But when he overdid it — when the venom was too potent or the dosage too high — his body trembled and his vision dimd, his veins glowing faintly green as if burning from within.
That was when Nox learned his first true limit: even the body that turned poison into life could still be poisoned by excess life itself.
The realization hit him like a wave of molten and frozen agony.
The lesson — that even his body had limits — slithered right before his eyes. Two serpents, both massive, both radiant with deadly beauty, ignored his trembling form entirely as they passed. They didn’t even bother to attack. To them, he was already finished.
The ground beneath each writhed with elental violence. The first left behind a smoldering trail of ember-ash, the soil glowing red as heat shimred in the air. The second carved a mirrored path of Frostbane, each movent frosting the earth into brittle glass. Together, they painted destruction in opposite colors — fla and frost — and Nox’s body bore the marks of both. His veins flickered blue and red where the twin toxins warred inside him, searing and freezing him from within.
He fell to one knee, coughing, smoke and frost curling from his lips.
“Well… at least there’s no harm in using my first life to learn what not to do,” he muttered, forcing a dry laugh between gasps. Acceptance replaced panic — resignation to pain as lesson.
Then ca the voice. Smooth. Mocking. Unseen.
“Hmmm… are you really going to die like that? Weak and useless?”
Nox froze. His breath hitched. “…Heh. Worse ways to go, I guess.” His half-smile faltered. “Wait—what? Who the hell are you?”
A chuckle echoed around him, neither near nor far.
“Hehe… an interesting bunch, this batch of first-tirs in the Expanse. First that vine girl preparing to face the Flood Hare Apex Boss, and now you — a man whose body can circulate and endure toxins of opposing elents. Even the venom of fla and frost.” The laughter grew softer, almost nostalgic. “I thought being exiled to this backwater Expanse as punishnt to guard an Exalted Dungeon would be dull, but… maybe not. Hehehe… not bad.”
The air grew heavy, pressing down with invisible weight. The twin serpents vanished into the distance, their elental trails fading — yet the voice remained, ancient and amused.
Nox’s vision blurred as heat and cold tore at his insides, but through the pain, one thought surfaced:
Guarding an Exalted Dungeon…?
Whoever this was, they weren’t another explorer. They were sothing else entirely — sothing that watched.
The voice’s tone turned analytical — dissecting him as though reading his body’s blueprint.
“Hmm… your body’s quite the oddity,” the voice mused, the words dripping with detached fascination. “You were born with an Innate Body of Dual Extremis — a vessel that thrives only when pushed beyond reason. When sothing reaches its absolute edge within you, it doesn’t collapse… it reverses. Life becos death, heat becos frost, poison becos cure. You exist on the knife’s edge between opposites — and sohow, your body survives the crossing.”
A faint chuckle followed. “You’re a poison force user, so naturally your body leans toward corruption and decay. But the mont those traits reach their limit, they invert — turning venom into vitality. It’s a body designed for contradiction… but your Force Progression is pitifully low, and your talent? Even among your kind, you’re bottom-tier.”
Nox frowned, his tone strained but calm. “Well, even if I’m less talented than others, isn’t that to be expected? It’s our first ti dealing with sothing like this.”
Silence — then the faint sound of laughter, sharp and echoing through the void.
“So that’s your takeaway? Heh… not even a flicker of surprise at the idea of Extres. You’ve already accepted it, haven’t you? You see no balance — only polarity. It’s more than belief to you… it’s intent. You want to force existence itself to pick a side.”
The voice’s tone deepened, almost reverent. “In a world like this — one that responds to will, to aning — it’s no wonder your body crystallized intoDual Extremis. You’ve already chosen your path. You don’t seek harmony. You seek tocollapse it — to prove that all things, when driven far enough, beco their own destruction.”
Nox tilted his head slightly, forcing a half-smile despite the pain coursing through him. “Sounds poetic when you say it like that.”
“Poetic?” The voice chuckled again, dark amusent threading through the words. “No. It’s dangerous. You’re a paradox that the world itself might reject.”
Then, softer — almost impressed — it added:
“Still… I can’t tell whether you’ll break first… or if you’ll break the world trying.”
“Heh. Not bad at all, little spider. Not bad.”
Suddenly, an ancient scroll unfurled before Nox — suspended in the air, rotating slowly. Its parchnt radiated an overwhelming pressure, an age-old weight that didn’t belong to this reality. The very symbols etched into its surface pulsed with power that predated human history — the kind of energy that felt older than Earth itself.
The voice, now clearer and closer, carried a tone between amusent and reverence.
“If you truly wish to chase the extres and force your world to choose,” it said, “then I might as well lend a hand.”
Before Nox could respond, his surroundings shifted violently. The air grew heavy, still, almost thick enough to choke on. Panic surged through him as he instinctively reached for his system — but no interface appeared. The familiar hum of its presence was gone.
“What—?! Why can’t I—”
“Don’t bother calling that paltry leech,” the voice interrupted coldly. “To think that such a parasitic chanism embedded itself into mortal cultivation… disgusting. A glorified life-sucking overseer that fools you into believing you’re growing.”
The words reverberated through him, deeper than sound — more like aning itself vibrating in his bones.
“Relax,” the voice continued, now tinged with a smirk. “I rely pulled you into a space free from the system’s surveillance. Here, you can learn sothing of real worth — a physical cultivation technique, one suited to that twisted body of yours. You haven’t yet reached the first stage of the physical path, but this… this should be perfect for you.”
The ancient scroll rotated faster, each character along its surface glowing faintly with alternating light and darkness, creation and ruin, life and decay.
“Two toxins circulate your veins,” the voice continued, its tone now sharp with interest. “Opposing elents — frost and fla — both clawing at your insides, and yet you endure. That alone makes you suitable. But more than that…”
The voice paused, then almost chuckled.
“You carry traces of a Godveil Butterfly. Curious. Those things don’t belong to this world — they flutter beyond the boundaries of existence, drifting between realities. Normally, they appear only in the Ninth Expanse, where existence itself begins to unravel. Even I cannot peer into your past to understand how a fledgling like you crossed paths with one.”
A low hum filled the space, and for a mont, even the air seed to bow in reverence at the na.
“The impurities those creatures radiate are… exquisite,” the voice said with a tone of twisted admiration. “Perfect for this technique. It will hurt — far more than you think possible — but if you survive, your body will begin to refine the toxins rather than simply endure them.”
A pause — then a faint, bitter laugh.
“To think I’d find such an ideal candidate in the prison that was ant to be my punishnt… heh. Perhaps fate is mocking .”
The pressure around Nox deepened until his body trembled under it. The scroll stopped spinning — and the voice spoke once more, its tone shifting from mirth to command.
“Now listen closely, little Extremist. This technique is called The Reversal ridian Sutra — a forbidden cultivation path that tempers the body through opposing forces. Each cycle of breath forces your essence to collapse and rebuild, pushing the boundary of what can exist within you.”
“Master it,” the voice said softly, “and your body will no longer just endure contradictions — it will beco one. Fire will heal frost. Poison will birth purity. Death will forge life.”
Then, faintly amused again, it added,
“But fail… and you’ll die in ways your kind hasn’t yet imagined. Let’s see if your faith in Extres is worth your skin.”
…and finally, the voice’s tone sank into a low, dangerous whisper, as if speaking more to itself than to Nox.
“Impurities in the body will be turned into strength — a technique forged as the last hope to rival that pathetic system. If you’re content to riddle cultivators with impurities and flaw their bodies for your own ends, then I’ll make you regret ever implenting such a vile thing.”
The words hung in the still space like a promise and a threat, and the ancient scroll’s runes flared once more, sealing the bargain between a forgotten exile and the boy who wanted to force the world to choose.
Then ca the pain.
Nox’s voice tore through the void — hoarse, broken, desperate. Every nerve in his body scread as if he were being ripped apart from the inside out. The Reversal ridian Sutra worked without rcy, forcing every impurity in his body to ignite, freeze, and churn violently through his ridians. The two toxins — frost and fla — collided, burning and freezing him in alternating waves.
Each mont he considered surrendering, his nightmare replayed — the explosion, the cries of his people, the fire devouring everything he loved. It clawed at his mind, forcing him to hold on a second longer. Every second stretched into eternity, each one more agonizing than the last.
If there was such a thing as hell, this was it.
He wanted to die. He wanted it to stop. If there was rcy in this world, it would’ve been death — quick, clean, like his people had received when they were obliterated in a flash. But this pain… this dragged him through every inch of what it ant to be alive.
The opposing forces twisted and rged, and slowly — impossibly — his ridians adapted. Where others’ bodies would collapse under such strain, Nox’sDual Extremis Body responded differently. It didn’t reject the impurities; it consud them. The poison beca strength, the corruption beca refinent. His aether no longer resisted the toxins — it learned to coexist with them.
He didn’t know how long it lasted. Hours? Days? Years? The pain distorted all sense of ti. But at last, clarity began to surface. His breathing steadied. His vision dimd, then sharpened again as his consciousness reford.
The slumbering entity stirred, its massive presence waking with mild curiosity — not because of Nox, but because of two battles unfolding far beyond.
“Interesting…” it rumbled. “Not only is the Flood Hare facing a formidable opponent, but even the Zephyr Wind Monkey is on the ropes. Hah. That kid — he’s stealing the Apex Wind’s Force Control, even wresting its command over aether. A pair of freaks.”
Its attention drifted lazily toward Nox. “Hmm. Still alive, are you?”
The boy was trembling, drenched in sweat, gasping for air but upright.
“Impressive,” the entity said, almost to itself. “Though not as impressive as those two.”
It leaned forward slightly, amusent flickering through its tone. “Seems like you’ve now gained the potential to stand against the special races of the multiverse — those born with advantages etched into their very blood.”
“Special races?” Nox managed between ragged breaths. “Beings born with advantages… what do they do with them? Serve others? Or just themselves?”
The question gave the entity pause. Then, with a soft, dark chuckle, it replied, “Heh. Mostly the latter. But you can always kill them if that offends you.”
Nox’s eyes flickered, calm yet sharp. “Or I can make them kneel beneath if I find their existence aningless.”
“Sure,” the entity said. “That’s an option too.”
It waved a hand lazily. “Anyway, those frost and fire toxins should no longer be an issue.”
The world blurred.
In an instant, Nox found himself back where he had been before — the sa forest, the sa air, nothing out of place. It was as if the entire ordeal had been a fever dream. He looked around cautiously, expecting so sign of change, but everything was still.
He reached out, calling up hissystem interface — and this ti, it responded instantly.
“Relax,” the entity’s voice echoed faintly, now distant and fading. “Barely a second passed here. Ti bends differently in my space. I simply gave you room to adapt to your new technique.”
Its tone grew drier, almost amused. “Now go on. Keep playing your part in this little world of yours. I’ve got rewards to deliver… and a few brats to observe.”
Nox fired a line of silk toward a nearby tree, holding his breath. For a brief mont, hope flickered in his chest—only for disappointnt to follow as the web hissed faintly and began eating through the bark, corroding the trunk in seconds.
“...Of course,” he sighed. “Still poisonous.”
The familiar, dry voice echoed in his head, brimming with sarcasm.
“What were you expecting? I gave you a chance to follow your ideals, not an instant power-up. Lazy brat.”
Nox blinked, glancing around the quiet forest as the voice continued ranting, now seemingly talking to itself.
“Now, where did I put that worldstone fragnt—ah, here it is. Ti to hand it over to that wind kid as a reward… wait, what do you an he refused it?!”
The voice grew louder, angrier. “Fine! Give it to the girl instead! Useless damn system—you trap in this place, force to babysit, and you can’t even help do the damn job!”
Nox could only stand there, perplexed. “…What just happened?”
The voice cut out completely, leaving him in silence once more.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… I still have to fix the poison problem myself. Great.” His tone was dry, but a faint glint of determination returned to his eyes. “At least I’ve got a new technique to practice. Maybe I can be more useful to the settlent.”
He gathered the remains of his recent kills, hauling them back through the trees toward the camp. The cooks waved him over the mont they saw him, eager to turn the at into sothing edible. He dropped off the ingredients and was just about to leave when a large, calloused hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“My prized disciple!”
Nox froze.
The booming, cheerful voice of the Head Blacksmith made several nearby trainees flinch instinctively. “Perfect timing! We’ve got a mountain of work to do, and you’re just the man I needed!”
Before Nox could protest, he was being dragged back toward the forge, where piles of dented armor and broken weapons waited.
“Uh… you actually haven’t taught how to repair anything yet,” Nox said awkwardly, hoping for rcy.
The blacksmith’s grin widened. “Then today’s lesson begins now!”
The other trainees groaned in unison, muttering under their breath as the Head Blacksmith clapped his hands together.
“Alright, everyone! Let’s make this place sing! Rember—tal’s like people. The harder you hit it, the more it listens!”
As the hamrs started swinging, one apprentice whispered bitterly to Nox, “Welco to the real nightmare.”
Nox just laughed, rolling up his sleeves. “Guess I’ll fit right in.”
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