Marcus sat alone amid the ruin of the goblin camp, surrounded by still-burning embers and the iron scent of blood. His body ached, his stamina low, and his blade was stained with the remnants of the night's fury. But the pain didn't concern him. What unsettled him was the silence.
Not the quiet of nature. That had returned, cautiously—chirping insects, the distant rustle of something moving through the trees. No, this silence came from within. From a voice in his chest that used to flinch at killing, now coldly reviewing his efficiency.
He exhaled slowly, pulling up his status screen.
Name: Marcus Haymon
Race: Human ★
Age: 17
Class: N/A
Level: 14 (EXP: 1,400/4,100)
Health: 79 / 100
Mana: 0 / 80
Stamina: 18 / 100
Karmic Level: Neutral
STR: 19
AGI: 48
END: 8
INT: 8
SPT: 10
Stat Points (Unassigned): 20
Skills:
Instinctive Footwork (Lv. 3)
Momentum Slash (Lv. 3)
Battle Focus (Lv. 3)
Dao: N/A
Gifts:
Great Comprehension [Epic]
Godly Learning [Unique]
Effects: [Expand]
His thumb hovered for a moment over the [Assign Points] icon. The logical part of him—the part sharpened by battle—had already run the numbers.
Agility to 50. Break a threshold. Reflexes improve. Speed tightens.
Intelligence and Endurance—need both if I'm going to survive longer fights. Eight each.
Two in Strength. Not much, but every bit helps swing the blade cleaner.
He did it. The screen shimmered. His body pulsed with invisible adjustments, like the world itself shifted a fraction to accommodate the change.
Updated Stats:
STR: 21
AGI: 50
END: 16
INT: 16
SPT: 10
Stat Points (Unassigned): 0
Marcus flexed his fingers. Breathing felt easier. Focus came sharper. There was always a rush when leveling up, but this felt… different. Like something inside had aligned.
He wiped the Blade of the Hollow Fang clean on a goblin cloak and sheathed it. Despite the exhaustion, despite the guilt still clinging to the edges of his thoughts, something called to him.
A whisper. Not with words, but intent.
He turned toward the forest. Not the edge where the sun still reached through the canopy in warm fingers of gold—but deeper. Toward where the trees grew ancient and overgrown, where light bent strangely and sound vanished under layers of shadow.
Even the goblins had avoided that place.
He paused at the treeline. Every instinct in him, every scrap of logic, screamed caution. But the whisper grew louder now—not sound, but pressure. Like invisible hands nudging his shoulders forward.
Why am I going this way?
Because you're not the same boy who ran screaming when the first monster attacked your camp.
You killed a shaman. Won.
Now something's pulling you forward, and you're too changed to ignore it.
His legs moved before he fully decided. Roots tangled beneath his boots. The chill deepened with every step forward. The air thickened, as if the forest resented his intrusion.
The forest here was ancient in a way that defied explanation. The trees didn't just grow—they loomed. Massive trunks rose like the pillars of forgotten temples, their bark gnarled and cracked with veins of faint, pulsing blue. Moss hung in sheets, dripping with dew that never touched the ground. Vines curled like tendrils of thought, reaching, retreating.
The deeper he went, the less the world felt like his own. Time didn't pass correctly. His internal clock drifted. One moment he was stepping past a fallen log; the next, he stood on a ridge he didn't remember climbing.
Insects didn't chirp here. Wind didn't rustle the leaves. It wasn't silence—just… suspension. Like reality had inhaled and forgotten to exhale.
Marcus's thoughts twisted with the stillness. What was this pull in his chest? Not panic. Not curiosity. Something more… sacred. The whisper returned—not a voice, not even a sound, but a clarity.
This is the path.
He'd never believed in fate. Not really. But now?
Every step felt chosen. His feet found footing on the right stones. The light broke through the canopy at precise angles—sometimes guiding him toward a clearing, sometimes warning him away from false paths.
When he hesitated, the air grew thick. When he followed, it eased.
He didn't understand it. Couldn't explain it. But it was real.
Sometimes, he saw glimpses—flashes of movement in the trees that disappeared when he turned his head. Sometimes, the branches above arched just right, forming doorways in the foliage. Once, he passed beneath a twisted tree and felt a shiver run down his spine, like stepping into sacred ground.
He tried to speak once. To ask aloud, "Who's guiding me?" But the sound felt wrong here—like speaking during a funeral, or laughing in a cathedral. The forest wasn't silent. It was listening.
He swallowed the question and kept walking.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was only minutes. He no longer trusted time.
Then—he felt it.
A subtle shift in the earth beneath his boots. Not a tremor. Not sound. Just… alignment. A straightening of some invisible compass.
The trees began to thin.
Not by much—but just enough for pale light to filter through. Not sunlight. Something cooler. Bluer. Moonlight without a moon.
The ground rose gradually. Roots curled around old stone. At first, Marcus thought it was just another outcropping—but then the symmetry became clear. Pillars. Arches. Steps.
A ruin.
It wasn't massive. Not a towering ziggurat or castle overtaken by vines. Just a structure partially reclaimed by the woods—modest, half-swallowed, half-resisting. Like it had chosen to stay hidden until now.
Vines ran like veins over the stone, but the carvings beneath them still glowed faintly. Blue-green light pulsed like a heartbeat, illuminating symbols he couldn't read.
Marcus stepped into the clearing and felt the pressure return. Not physical. Spiritual.
Like he had arrived at the doorstep of something ancient. Something alive.
His HUD flickered.
Warning: Unstable magical field detected.
System interface may experience latency.
He grunted. "No shit."
He didn't move for a long moment. Just stared.
Something in this place knew him. Not his name, not his class, not even his victories. Something older. It recognized the motion in his step. The weight in his decisions.
A place that didn't open for everyone. But it opened for him.
He passed through the archway.
The pressure doubled. The very air trembled. Not violently—just… with anticipation.
No monsters. No enemies. No sound.
But in the far distance, past broken columns and shattered tile, a pulse.
Like something waiting to be remembered.