It was a new day for the young Alaric. Constant nightmares haunted him—the destruction of his village replayed again and again in his mind. However, he was no longer alone. Accompanying him was Leofric, who was once a warrior.


    At the break of dawn, they woke and began dragging out the bodies of those who had once lived there. One by one, they moved over thirty bodies—it was a small village, after all. Some villagers watched from afar, while others waited for an opportunity to join them.


    Then, they went into the surrounding forest, now chopping down trees. With magic, anything was possible. Alaric cast Aetherforged, a spell that enchanted weapons and tools. Excitement filled Leofric’s eyes—he had never met someone as powerful and promising as Alaric.


    An hour passed, and the trees were chopped down. Now came the hardest part of the plan: dragging all the heavy wood back to where the bodies lay.


    A man who had been watching them from the shadows finally stepped out from behind the trees. Alaric and Leofric were already aware of his presence.


    “How long do you plan to hide back there?” they asked.


    The man looked around, uncertain if they were speaking to him. Suddenly, Leofric panicked and turned to run—only to see Alaric already standing behind him. The stranger’s eyes welled with tears. He could hardly get his words together.


    Taken by surprise, Alaric offered him some bread and gently told him not to worry. In the background, Leofric laughed and approached them.


    “See? I told you I should have done it,” Leofric said.


    “You would’ve scared him either way, Leofric,” Alaric replied.


    “Now that we have a third person, I guess moving these trees won’t take as long,” Leofric added.


    “Tonight, don’t share any food with the rest of the villagers,” Alaric instructed.


    “I suppose that''s part of your plan,” Leofric agreed.


    The man who joined them went by the name of Alfred. He wasn’t like anyone else in the village. Standing at six-foot-two, with short brown hair, pale white skin, and all muscle—he was a unit, some might say. His brown eyes carried the look of cavalry.


    With the three of them dragging the wood back, one log at a time, night eventually fell. Once finished, they began the cremation. Smoke filled the air. The rest of the villagers gathered around the fire. They were hungry, but Alaric shared none of the animals he had hunted. He believed that if you wanted to earn something, you had to work for it.


    Rage filled many hearts. Some thought Alaric was being selfish and egocentric. Nevertheless, Leofric and Alfred understood his decisions and stood by his side. Some villagers even thought of killing Alaric, but they knew they stood no chance against Alfred or Leofric. And so the night passed, and a new adventure awaited them in the morning.


    It was a bright morning. The sun shone on the horizon, and the wind blew stronger than ever. Today was the day to convince the stubborn villagers to fight for themselves. A sign was placed in the center of the village that read:


    “Looking for workers. You will be fed and learn how to fight.”


    Arguments broke out among the villagers. Some believed it was a trick to enslave them. Others saw it as their chance to fight for something meaningful. In the end, only four out of thirty showed up.


    Two women, both seemingly in their twenties. One was tall—over six feet—with blue eyes and long black hair. Her name was Clara. The other was short, with brown hair and brown eyes. Her name was Isla.


    The other two were young men, pale and skinny. One had dark brown hair, brown skin, and was short. His name was Leo. The last was also short, pale white, with long black hair. His name was Marcus.


    Disappointment hung in the air. Alaric had expected more, but this would have to do—for now.


    Then came the real test.


    Leofric explained, “Not far from here is a monster camp—and it’s no ordinary one. Inside are wolves, beastmen, trolls, and most importantly… a sorcerer.”


    In this day and age, monster parts could be sold for valuable goods and money. Their team had none. To rebuild the village, they would need blacksmiths, carpenters, builders—the list went on. But the immediate task was to clear that camp.


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    This would be the first hunt for Isla, Clara, Leo, and Marcus. Nervous, they hesitated, but Alaric reminded them: this was their best chance to gain strength and experience.


    The team set off. Three miles away stood the monster base. Once they arrived, to ensure everyone would return safely, Alaric cast Search—a spell that detects nearby enemies and their numbers.


    The magic revealed there were one hundred monsters. Alarmed, Leo questioned if this was still a good idea. To earn their trust, Alaric decided to go first.


    Like an assassin, he moved closer to the camp. Climbing a tree, he gazed at the base—it was larger and more fortified than their village. Huge wooden walls surrounded it, and archers stood watch from towers.


    Calling upon the spirits of nature, Alaric conjured a massive fireball. Wrapping his hands around it, he condensed it with pure mana. The flame turned blue.


    Blue flames reach temperatures of 1,400–1,600°C (2,552–2,912°F). He then summoned wind magic in his other hand, forming a small tornado. Finally, he combined the two—fire and wind—into an inferno of swirling blue flame.


    Taking a deep breath, he aimed. The blue fireball lit the ground wherever it passed. A troll spotted the attack and opened its mouth to scream, but a massive explosion cut it short. The base was consumed by wind and flame. A blue inferno tornado ripped through the camp, disintegrating everything in its path. Monsters fled in pain and terror as their bodies burned.


    Then, she appeared.


    The sorcerer.


    A shadowy figure emerged through the flames. A short woman, with long black hair and red lips, slim in figure. She wore a dark dress and a pointed mage’s hat. In her hand was a staff—Aether Brand.


    Carved from a rare, iridescent wood found only between realms, the staff shimmered with ancient silver runes. At its top floated a fractured crystal orb, suspended by crackling threads of raw arcane energy. Whispers of forgotten languages escaped from it.


    She was no ordinary sorcerer. She was high-level.


    In her mind, Alaric was just a boy—a tool. But as she looked around at the corpses, she realized he was anything but ordinary. Calling for her guards, there was no response. Confused, she looked out and saw five others in the distance—an old man, two women, and two men.


    A smile spread across Alaric’s face.


    “Don’t tell me you thought I came here alone?”


    She was unaware that Leofric, Isla, Leo, and Marcus had also joined the battlefield not long ago.


    “If you’re worried about those two trolls of yours,” Alaric said, “my friends are keeping them busy.”


    The sorcerer raised her hand, pointing in Leo’s direction, preparing to cast a spell. In that split second, her eyes widened as blood splattered across her face. She looked down—only to see her wrist on the ground. Snapping her gaze back up to Alaric, her expression twisted in shock.


    “Your opponent is me. Next time, it’ll be your head!”


    “Damn you, I’ll kill you!” the sorcerer screamed.


    She inspected her severed wrist. Placing her hand over the wound, a new limb grew—but one made of twisted tree bark and vines. Calling upon earth magic, a massive magic circle appeared in front of her. From it, wood vines erupted and flung themselves at Alaric with blinding speed.


    Alaric sprinted in a wide arc, dodging the incoming attacks. Still, one vine grazed his right cheek, leaving a fresh cut. As blood trickled down, the sorcerer let out a loud, deranged laugh. In her mind, she had already slain the slayer.


    Facing her, Alaric took a deep breath. His stance shifted—now fully offensive.


    To the sorcerer, Alaric vanished.


    He moved faster than her eyes could follow, delivering an unseen strike. She looked down in disbelief—her right arm now lay on the ground. She turned and leaped backward, only for her left arm to suddenly drop beside her. Then, Alaric appeared in front of her.


    “Finally, I got you.”


    As she began to speak, her gaze fell—not to Alaric’s eyes, but to the ground. Her head had been severed.


    In that instant, the sorcerer felt true dread. She couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. It was like slamming into a wall—an unbreakable wall. The idea of being bested by someone younger enraged her.


    A dark aura surged around her dismembered body. Her head slowly disintegrated into ash. Her body began to rise from the ground, transforming. Her arms twisted into thick vines, bark spread across her limbs, and her body morphed into a massive, monstrous tree.


    Standing twelve feet tall, she was no longer a sorcerer—she had become a terrifying tree-beast.


    She screamed, unleashing vines in every direction. Alaric did his best to dodge, spinning and weaving through the chaos. One vine sliced across his left cheek. Another impaled his right leg. Still, he kept moving, doing everything he could to survive.


    His silver blade—plain but reliable—shattered under the pressure of deflecting the monstrous strikes. Now unarmed and injured, Alaric sprinted through the battlefield. Doubt crept into his heart. He felt overwhelmed… disappointed in himself.


    Then, something shifted.


    He stopped running.


    Closing his eyes, he focused all of his mana into a single form—shaping it into a sword of pure energy. A mana sword.


    With resolve burning in his chest, Alaric dashed toward the towering creature, dodging each vine with agile precision. He closed the gap, leaped into the air, and pierced the beast’s chest.


    Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “Combust.”


    The tree mutant ignited in blue flames and disintegrated into ash and embers. As the fire faded, the original body of the sorcerer lay before him.


    She trembled, gazing up at Alaric. His face was emotionless, unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes alone struck terror into her soul. They radiated fearlessness, cold and quiet, like death itself.


    She turned to flee.


    Before she could take another step, Alaric drove his mana sword into her heart. Fire erupted across her body. She screamed in agony, her cries piercing the air. Then silence. Her body fell to the ground—lifeless.


    Her suffering had ended.


    “A fierce opponent,” Alaric thought to himself. “Truly… quite the experience.”