ã€ŠOne-Eyed Swordsman [LitRPG]ã€‹


 Chapter 1: Red at Night

    Oswald had little to his name. But he was quick, and when it came down to a fight, he was better than most. A street rat like him had to earn money somehow, and for someone like him, gangwork was a natural choice.

    Backstreets and alleyways had become his battleground. Tonight was no different.

    The air in the alleyway was suffocating. The foul stench of sweat, blood, and stale ale crawled up Oswald¡¯s nose and latched onto his senses. Light from a nearby lantern cast jagged shadows on crumbling brick walls, its glow barely penetrating the darkness.

    Oswald wiped his shortsword clean on a scrap of cloth, the dark smear of blood staining the fabric. His gaze soon dropped to the man crumpled at his feet, bound tightly, his limbs twisted unnaturally as if the cords themselves mocked his efforts.

    The man¡¯s face was grotesquely swollen, one eye completely sealed shut by bruising, while the other flitted wildly. A streak of blood painted his cheek, trailing downward until it disappeared into the shredded remnants of his shirt. It was all the work of Oswald''s "companions", though allies of convenience would likely be the more appropriate term. He should''ve quit while he had the chance.

    One of Oswald''s "companions", a burly thug with a tattoo of a Black Hound on his neck, leaned closer to the captive, ¡°tell us who¡¯s runnin¡¯ the whole operation. Ain¡¯t got all night.¡±

    Another thug, taller and with a jagged scar that bisected his upper lip, chuckled. ¡°Tough little rat, isn¡¯t he? Not too smart, though. Keep actin¡¯ stubborn, and Black Eye here¡¯ll teach you a lesson you won¡¯t forget. Not that you¡¯ll live long enough to remember.¡± He gestured toward Oswald with a lazy flick of his wrist, as if passing him a chore.

    The prisoner wheezed. ¡°I told you, I¡¯m not sayin¡¯ a damn thing. You¡¯ll¡­ you¡¯ll have to kill me first.¡±

    The scarred thug clicked his tongue, shaking his head with mock pity. ¡°Your funeral,¡± he sneered. Then, the man stepped aside and smiled, his scar stretching grotesquely as he motioned toward Oswald. ¡°Oi, Black Eye. Let¡¯s see if he¡¯s still got that fire when you¡¯re done with him.¡±

    Sorry, man. You picked the wrong night for this. Oswald thought to himself, stepping forward.

    ¡°I ain''t talkin'',¡± the captive man spat, blood flecking onto Oswald¡¯s boots.

    Dumbass. Oswald thought.

    He crouched slowly, before moving a hand to the strap of the patch over his right eye, working it loose. The faint rustle of leather against his skin was the only sound, filling the alley with a tension so thick it felt as though the air itself was holding its breath. Behind him, the thugs shifted uneasily.

    When the eyepatch came away, Oswald didn¡¯t say a word. He didn¡¯t need to.

    The man tied before him stiffened instantly, his breath hitching as though an invisible hand had clamped around his throat. The rise and fall of his chest grew increasingly erratic, as if he couldn¡¯t draw enough air.

    A whimper escaped his lips as his body convulsed slightly, jerking against the ropes that held him, the bindings cutting into his skin as though they shared in his torment. He clenched his jaw, but the tremor in his chin betrayed him. The man¡¯s terror was almost physical, radiating from him like a fever, and the thugs around him leaned away instinctively, as though afraid they might catch it.

    ¡°P-please,¡± the man croaked.

    His cracked lips trembled as his tongue darted out to wet them, but it did little to mask the sheer desperation etched into his features. His good eye darted frantically, searching the narrow alley for an escape that didn¡¯t exist.

    Oswald blinked, then slipped the eyepatch back into place. And that¡¯s that.

    The man crumpled against the ground, his body folding like a discarded marionette. His head hung forward, limp, as though the terror had hollowed him out completely.

    Oswald rose quickly, his cloak trailing behind him. He stepped back, looking over the ring of thugs encircling him.

    Their earlier jeers had withered into silence, the bravado drained from their faces. Some shifted uneasily, glancing at one another, their confidence unraveling thread by thread. The fear radiating from the broken man at Oswald¡¯s feet had seeped into them, sinking its claws deep. Funny how quick they shut up when things get real.

    ¡°Talk,¡± Oswald said flatly.

    The man wheezed, his voice hoarse and trembling. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you¡­ I¡¯ll tell you everything. Just¡­ don¡¯t look at me again. Don¡¯t make me¡­ feel that again.¡±

    The silence splintered as the thugs erupted into raucous laughter. One of them clapped his companion on the shoulder, yellowed teeth bared in a crooked grin. ¡°Ain¡¯t no one keeps their mouth shut after Black Eye¡¯s had a go at ¡¯em,¡±

    ¡°Good work,¡± added the scarred thug, his jagged lip twisting into a smirk as he nudged Oswald with an elbow. ¡°We¡¯ll take it from here. You¡¯ve done your part.¡±

    Oswald stifled the urge to sigh. It was always the same: gratitude, desperation, then the moment they thought they had control again, entitlement crept back in. Doesn¡¯t matter. Not like I enjoy bein¡¯ around ¡®em anyway.

    Before turning to leave, he asked, ¡°What about my pay for the month?"

    The scarred thug froze mid-laugh, dragging a rough hand over the stubble on his chin. His grin twisted into something mocking. ¡°Pay? Right. You¡¯d best try askin¡¯ Jorven about that. He¡¯s the one holdin¡¯ the purse tonight.¡±

    Oswald met his gaze for a brief second, then gave a curt nod. No use arguing.

    He turned and strode away. The laughter and murmured insults trailed behind him, fading away gradually as he slipped deeper into the darkened streets. That bastard¡¯s probably at the usual place.

    Finding Jorven would be easy enough, but the thought of dealing with him again sent a slow coil of irritation twisting through Oswald¡¯s gut. He hated this, hated every second of playing errand boy for the Black Hounds. But if he got his pay tonight, that would be it. He¡¯d finally have enough money to pay all the fees at the adventurer''s guild. Enough to leave this wretched gang behind and chase what he really wanted. Finally, I''m gonna be an adventurer¡­

    The thought softened something in his chest, and for the first time in weeks, the corners of his mouth lifted. Just a little. He pictured himself standing at the adventurer''s guild, drinking ale and counting piles of coins after finishing a quest.

    But as he passed another Black Hound thug loitering near a street corner, the smile vanished. His face fell back into its usual mask of indifference. No point in looking too eager. They¡¯d smell it like blood in the water.

    Eventually, the warehouse came into view, a hulking shadow against the night sky, its jagged roofline like broken teeth. The walls were smeared with grime, their original color lost beneath decades of neglect. Across one side, graffiti stretched in bold, jagged strokes: a snarling black hound with gleaming red eyes, its fangs bared in a threatening snarl. The signature mark of the Black Hounds.

    Subtle as ever, Oswald thought, his lips twisting into a faint sneer. Nothing says "stay away" like a slobbering mutt painted on a wall.

    Inside, thugs lounged around makeshift tables, playing cards or throwing dice. The dim lighting painted everything in a grimy hue, and the clatter of weapons being sharpened echoed faintly from the far corner.

    Oswald¡¯s eyes swept over the room until they settled on Jorven. The man sat behind a counter lined with rusted barbed wire.

    A small slit in the wire allowed for the exchange of coin, but the setup was clearly designed to give Jorven the upper hand. His greasy, thinning hair clung to his forehead, and his narrow, rat-like face was split into a crooked grin as he counted a pile of coins. That bastard¡¯s been acting all high and mighty ever since he got promoted to pack leader.

    When he approached, Jorven¡¯s beady eyes flicked up, the grin widening. ¡°Well, if it ain¡¯t Black Eye himself. Come t¡¯collect, eh?¡±

    Oswald stopped just short of the counter. ¡°I¡¯m here for my pay. The cut for the month. Is it ready?¡±

    Jorven barely spared him a glance, flicking a coin into a growing pile with a lazy clink. ¡°Ah, ¡®bout that. There¡¯s been¡­ complications. Y¡¯know how it is, times bein¡¯ tough an¡¯ all. Ain¡¯t no cut for ya this month.¡±

    "You think I¡¯m stupid? I know damn well you got more than enough to pay me double my cut and then some. Just hand over what you owe me."

    ¡°Ain¡¯t my problem. If ya got a complaint, take it up with the big boss. I¡¯m just the one holdin¡¯ the purse strings, see?¡±

    "You can''t keep doin'' things this way, Jorven."

    ¡°Oh yeah? An¡¯ what¡¯s a rat like you gonna do, huh? Ya got yer head so far up yer own ass, ya ain¡¯t got a clue how the world works. Should be grateful I¡¯m still playin¡¯ nice with ya since yer just a kid.¡±

    "I''m sixteen."

    "So? Like I said, a kid."

    Oswald stared at him, barely restraining the urge to drive his fist straight through that smug expression. The Black Hounds had always been the best way to make money in the slums if you didn¡¯t mind getting your hands dirty.

    But when it came to actually paying their own, they had a long, ugly history of conveniently forgetting debts. And Oswald knew better than to expect anything different. He didn¡¯t like them nearly enough to put up with their antics anymore.

    He planted both hands on the counter and leaned in slightly. ¡°I worked and bled for this crew for years. But now you¡¯re tellin¡¯ me I get nothin¡¯?¡±

    Jorven let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head like Oswald was some na?ve fool who just didn¡¯t get it. ¡°Ain¡¯t personal, just how it is. We got bigger things on the horizon, means everyone¡¯s gotta make sacrifices."

    ¡°Funny how ¡®sacrifices¡¯ always mean we get shorted while you and the big boss don¡¯t miss a meal.¡±

    ¡°Watch that mouth, boy. I like ya, but likin¡¯ someone don¡¯t mean much in this business. You got a problem, take it up with the boss.¡±

    Oswald let out a sharp breath through his nose, reining in the urge to lunge over the counter. He¡¯d been in the Black Hounds long enough to know how this game was played. Pushing too hard now wouldn¡¯t get him his money, it¡¯d just get him a knife in the ribs when he wasn¡¯t looking.

    Jorven was enjoying this, knowing damn well Oswald couldn¡¯t do a thing about it here and now. The bastard thought he¡¯d won. Fine.

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    Oswald exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the counter. Ain¡¯t a chance he¡¯s coughing it up now. But I¡¯ll get what I¡¯m owed, one way or another.

    Forcing a polite smile, one as hollow as Jorven¡¯s excuses, Oswald straightened his posture. ¡°That¡¯s all good, I¡¯ll just be on my way then.¡±

    Jorven blinked, his grin faltering as confusion crept across his rat-like features. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but after a moment, he gave a grunt and waved Oswald off with a dismissive flick of his hand. ¡°Suit yerself,¡± he muttered, already turning back to his pile of coins.

    Oswald pivoted on his heel as he left without another word. Just need to find a place where I can wait things out.

    Soon, he found an abandoned building not too far from the warehouse. Even in the best of times, the place was a rotting husk, its walls bowing inward. The wooden beams overhead creaked faintly in the chill breeze, riddled with cracks and moss. Oswald slipped through a jagged hole where a door might have stood long ago, brushing past dangling cobwebs that clung to his sleeve.

    Not much, but it¡¯ll do, he thought, settling into a corner where the damp smell of mildew was strongest. Resting his back against the cold, crumbling wall, he tugged his cloak tighter around himself. I''ll head out again in a few hours.

    ***

    Oswald had spent years under the Black Hounds¡¯ thumb, long enough to learn their patterns: their vices, their lapses, their blind spots. More importantly, he knew precisely when the warehouse would be at its most vulnerable.

    Having finished his nap, Oswald finally left the abandoned building he hid in and went back to the warehouse. Except this time, he had no plans on using the front entrance.

    The rear entrance stood just as he had anticipated, neglected and barely watched. A single door slouched between two rusting oil drums, while a measly two thugs guarded the area. This should be easy.

    When Oswald stepped closer, the guards snapped to attention as they recognized him. ¡°Black Eye?¡± one of them said, clearly skeptical. ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯ sneakin¡¯ ¡®round the back?¡±

    Oswald spread his hands in a gesture of mock innocence. ¡°Just wanted to say hi."

    The thug opened his mouth, but before another word could escape, Oswald¡¯s foot lashed out in a brutal arc, catching him square in the stomach. The man let out a choked grunt as he staggered backward, clutching at his midsection.

    But immediately after, Oswald drove the hilt of his shortsword into the side of the thug¡¯s head with enough force to send him sprawling into the dirt. The second guard, caught off-guard, fumbled for the cudgel at his belt, but Oswald closed the distance in a heartbeat.

    Grabbing the man¡¯s wrist, he twisted sharply, forcing the weapon from his grasp. A sharp elbow to the jaw followed, and the thug crumpled like a rag doll, collapsing in a heap beside his companion.

    Oswald straightened, his breaths steady as he cast a quick glance around. Still clear. He crouched to ensure both men were fully unconscious, then dragged their limp forms into the shadows, leaving the back entrance unguarded.

    Afterwards, he knelt beside the unconscious guards as he began his search. He patted down their belts and pockets, careful to make no unnecessary noise. One of the guards wore a pouch that jangled faintly as he opened it: a mix of coins and a small brass key. This should be it, he thought, slipping the key into his own pouch.

    He rose to his feet, casting a final glance at the two guards to confirm they were still out cold. Satisfied, he turned to the back door. The brass key fit snugly into the lock, and with a faint click, the mechanism disengaged.

    Oswald eased the door open, the hinges letting out only the faintest whisper of protest. The interior was cloaked in dim light thanks to a few scattered lanterns. Crates and barrels lined the walls in careless stacks, casting jagged silhouettes across the floor.

    It wasn''t difficult for Oswald to slip deeper into the warehouse, every creaking board, every passage had long been burned into his memory. Naturally, he was keenly aware of where the true prize was waiting. There, Jorven¡¯s black box.

    A reinforced strongbox, always kept close. Jorven never trusted banks, never trusted his own men half the time either, so he made sure his most valuable possessions stayed within arm¡¯s reach. He wouldn¡¯t leave it sitting out in the open, but he also wouldn¡¯t keep it far. He liked knowing his wealth was always nearby.

    Oswald looked to the far corner, where a heavy wooden table sat half-buried under scattered ledgers and loose coins. Beneath it, tucked out of sight but not nearly well enough, rested the black box. Good. Now, let¡¯s see what you¡¯re hiding.

    Crouching beside it, he traced a finger over the lock, feeling its shape, its weight. A careless thief would try to brute-force it, maybe smash it open or pry at the hinges. But Oswald was smarter than that.

    His gaze darted across the warehouse, scanning for anything he could use. There were several discarded tools near a toppled crate: rusted wrenches, splintered wooden handles, bent nails. And among them, there was also a thin metal pick. That¡¯ll do.

    Oswald slipped it free and returned to the strongbox, kneeling as he inserted the makeshift tool into the lock. Each shift of the pick sent the faintest tremor through his fingertips. The tumblers resisted, stubborn but predictable. He exhaled slowly, drowning out the noise of his own heartbeat.

    A breath. A slight twist. Pressure in just the right place. The lock fought him, but only for a moment, and then¡ª

    Footsteps, many of them. Shit. Whole lotta people are comin''

    Oswald kept his head down, slipping away from the box. No sudden movements. No wasted motion.

    The creak of the back entrance splintered the silence, followed by the sound of boots on stone. When Oswald stood up and turned his head, he saw faces emerging from the gloom, eyes glinting with the smug certainty of men who knew they had the upper hand.

    ¡°Well, well. Thought ya could just stroll in and help yerself, eh, Black Eye?¡±

    Oswald finally lifted his gaze, scanning the group with a single measured sweep. Twelve of Jorven''s dogs, not ideal.

    A figure stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with slow pops. The man was built like a battering ram, his coat pulled taut over broad shoulders. At his hip, a heavy cudgel rested against his belt. ¡°Did ya really think Jorven wouldn¡¯t be expectin¡¯ somethin¡¯ like this? Yer clever, but ya ain¡¯t that clever.¡±

    Oswald rolled his shoulders, exhaling through his nose. ¡°Not here for trouble. Just want what¡¯s mine.¡±

    The first thug snorted. ¡°That ain¡¯t our problem. But tell ya what, come along quietly, and maybe we won¡¯t rough ya up too bad.¡±

    Oswald tilted his head, his lips curling into a dry smirk. ¡°What, took all of ya just to say that? Damn, I¡¯m honored.¡±

    Laughter stirred through the group, but it carried an uneasy edge. These weren¡¯t men eager for a fight. They were men under orders to teach a lesson, or worse.

    The lead thug¡¯s grin faltered, just for a heartbeat, before he forced a sneer back into place. ¡°We ain¡¯t takin¡¯ no risks.¡± His hand dropped fully to his weapon, fingers tightening around the handle. ¡°Last chance. Come quiet.¡±

    Oswald sighed, rolling his shoulders like he was shrugging off an old weight. Not exactly keen on usin¡¯ my eye¡­ but don¡¯t think I got much of a choice.

    He reached up to the strap of his eyepatch. The leather slipped free, and the moment it fell away, his gaze locked onto the nearest thug.

    In an instant, the man¡¯s breath hitched in his throat, pupils blown wide with sheer terror. His entire body seized, his chest heaving like something unseen had wrapped around his lungs and squeezed.

    A strangled, wet gasp forced its way past his lips as he staggered backward, hands scrabbling at his own chest. His mouth stretched open in a silent scream as his limbs trembled violently.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look at him!¡± someone yelled.

    ¡°Take him down, now!¡±

    The club swung toward his skull in a clumsy arc. Oswald saw it coming. He knew exactly how to dodge, how to counter, how to kill. But he never made the decision to move.

    His body dropped low, slipping beneath the attack as if guided by invisible strings. The air above him stirred, a whisper of wind against his skin as the club whooshed past. Fuck, this always happens.

    His fingers tightened around his sword¡¯s hilt, but even that felt distant, like he was holding it through layers of fabric. Before the thug¡¯s swing had even finished, his own blade was already rising.

    The sensation barely registered before bone cracked beneath his strike. Warmth sprayed against his fingers, and a thick, gurgling sound clawed its way from the man¡¯s throat. Oswald¡¯s breath hitched, but his body didn¡¯t hesitate. His opponent collapsed in a heap, the club slipping from limp fingers with a hollow clatter against the floor.

    Oswald didn¡¯t stop. His arm twisted without his say-so as he turned sharply to meet another attack. Sparks erupted as steel screeched against steel. The impact should¡¯ve jarred him, sent tremors up his arm. But his muscles absorbed it too easily, reacting with a strength that wasn¡¯t his own.

    His free hand lashed out before he could think, knuckles slamming into his opponent¡¯s face with enough force to shatter bone. The man reeled, but Oswald didn¡¯t let him fall. His fingers seized the thug¡¯s collar, yanking him forward.

    Oi, body! Cut that out! Let the bastard go! Yet, his grip only tightened.

    A sickening crunch echoed as he drove the man¡¯s skull into the nearest table. The body slumped instantly, dead weight in his grasp. His fingers uncurled, letting it fall to the ground.

    Oswald took a step back, his mind racing while his body remained eerily calm. He should¡¯ve been gasping for breath, but he didn''t feel even the slightest bit tired.

    He felt like a prisoner in his own body, watching as his sword flicked through the air in a blur, and before he could process why, steel punched through flesh. A shocked gasp rasped from a thug''s lips as the tip of Oswald¡¯s blade buried itself in his throat.

    Panic flickered in the eyes of the remaining thugs. Oswald wasn¡¯t sure if they thought he was just skilled, or if they realized what he already knew. That he wasn¡¯t the one fighting.

    His legs adjusted their stance, weight shifting as a broad man charged him with an axe raised high. Oswald wanted to step back, to take a breath. But his body had already decided. He dropped low. His sword cut through the air in a smooth arc, slicing clean through the thick muscle of the man¡¯s hamstring. A howl of pain erupted, but Oswald barely heard it. His blade was already rising again.

    Steel plunged into the thug¡¯s chest, slipping through ribs with disturbing ease. The man shuddered, mouth open as if to speak, but no words came. His body sagged forward. Oswald wrenched his sword free, the blood-streaked steel gleaming in the dim light.

    Oswald had always known that using his right eye would make it harder for him to control his body. But this was the first time that he truly couldn''t control even a single finger. He wanted to stop fighting and just run. His body had other plans.

    Someone rushed from behind, and as if by instinct, Oswald''s sword lashed out, severing flesh before the attacker even reached him. The sensation was numb, distant. He felt the impact. He felt the warmth of blood spattering his arm. But none of it felt real.

    The Black Hound thugs quickly fell one after another. And Oswald, victorious and unscathed, had never felt more trapped in his own skin.

    When the ninth man lunged. Oswald barely moved. His blade drove forward, sinking deep into the thug¡¯s chest. The man¡¯s hands trembled, clawing at Oswald¡¯s arm in a final, futile attempt to break free. His body convulsed. Blood gushed.

    Oswald twisted the blade. A strangled gasp escaped the thug¡¯s lips, his body sagging against the steel before crumpling to the floor.

    Then, Something pulsed. The sword in Oswald''s hand darkened, shifting from silver to something deeper, something unnatural. A red gleam flickered along the edge, displaying energy that twisted like flames licking at the air.

    Tendrils of crimson rose from the blood pooling at his feet, curling around his legs in thin, ghostly strands. Cold, yet burning. Crawling up his skin, sinking deep beneath it.

    The remaining thugs faltered. ¡°What¡­ what is he?¡± One said, stumbling backward.

    Another turned, his weapon clattering to the ground. ¡°We¡¯ve gotta get out of here! He¡¯s not human!¡±

    Oswald didn¡¯t move. His fingers remained curled around the hilt, knuckles white, breath unsteady. The tendrils coiled tighter, pressing against his skin, wrapping around his arms, his chest, trying to drag him down.

    No! I ain''t goin'' out like this! Pain cracked through Oswald''s skull like splintering glass. A sharp gasp tore from his throat as he dropped to one knee, digging into the blood-slick floor. The tendrils tightened, refusing to let go, pulsing in rhythm with the unnatural energy still thrumming in his blade.

    His vision blurred. Darkness curled at the edges.

    By this point, Oswald knew there was only one way out. With every last bit of willpower he could monster, the boy forced his arm to move, clawing at his eyepatch. The moment his hand found the patch, the tendrils fought harder, snapping at him like starving beasts.

    Oswald gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. His fingers fumbled, shaking violently as he dragged the eyepatch back over his right eye. Yes!

    The tendrils froze. The unnatural energy recoiled, hissing like a dying ember before vanishing into the blood-slick floor. His sword dulled, its red gleam fading, returning to its ordinary steel. The air, once suffocating, lightened. But the echoes of what had just happened remained.

    Silence settled over the warehouse. Oswald exhaled, shoulders sagging. That¡­ was close.

    Oswald pushed himself upright, blinking against the haze still clinging to the edges of his vision. Blood pooled in dark puddles around him, bodies sprawled in grotesque stillness. He knew that he needed to go, before reinforcements came.

    Stepping over a lifeless hand, he moved toward the exit. His boots squelched against the blood-soaked floor, but he didn¡¯t stop. He slipped out into the alley, the night air thick with the scent of damp rot and filth.

    But before he could disappear into the shadows¡ª

    ¡°Over there! That¡¯s him!¡±

    A cluster of figures gathered at the far end of the street, weapons in hand. This is gonna be a long night.

 Chapter 2: Escape

    Oswald kept his head low as he moved, his boots barely making a sound. Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder to check for movement. He wasn¡¯t dumb enough to think the Black Hounds had forgotten about him.

    He slipped between several buildings, weaving through the maze of backstreets with practiced ease. Most people in these parts didn¡¯t look twice at someone keeping to themselves, but Oswald still stayed cautious, making sure to avoid open spaces as much as possible.

    After what felt like an eternity, he reached the alley he was looking for. It was a narrow gap wedged between two half-collapsed buildings, filled with stacks of old crates and barrels. The smell of damp wood and stagnant water lingered here, masking anything sharper.

    Oswald crouched down,  brushing against the damp, splintered wood of an overturned crate. His stash was around here, it had to be.

    He moved carefully, peeling back a rotting cloth covering one of the barrels. His pulse quickened as he reached inside, sifting through cold, damp straw. For a second, doubt gnawed at him. But then, his hand closed around familiar shapes, coarse fabric pouches, tied shut with simple twine. Gotcha.

    Oswald pulled the pouches free, brushing away the bits of straw clinging to them. They were just as he remembered. With a quick tug, he loosened the ties and peered inside. He saw the dull glint of copper coins, stacked unevenly against each other.

    He poured a few into his palm and did a rough count. Fifteen in one. Fifteen in the other. Thirty copper in total. Not bad, but not enough.

    He clicked his tongue, stuffing the coins back into their pouches. The last time he¡¯d checked, the adventurer¡¯s guild charged fifty copper, or around five silver just for registration. That was years ago, but places like that didn¡¯t lower their prices. Even in the best case, I''d still be twenty copper short. Ain¡¯t much, it''s a start.

    Oswald pulled a length of frayed rope from a nearby pile and threaded it through the loops of the pouches. With a firm knot, he secured them to his belt, making sure they wouldn¡¯t jostle too much when he moved.

    With the coins settled, he turned his attention to his gear. His boots were worn but solid, the reinforced stitching holding despite the scuffs and dried mud. His tunic and trousers were patched in places, but they still fit well enough. And his faded cloak did its job of keeping him concealed.

    Then, his hand moved to his hip, around the hilt of his shortsword. He pulled it free, the metal whispering against the sheath. Running his thumb carefully along its side, he felt the familiar bite of sharpness. Set me back quite a bit, but worth every damn coin.

    The shortsword was far from anything special. But having it at his side had always been enough to help him sleep a little easier.

    He slid the sword back into its sheath, tightening the strap on his belt. Anyway, first thing¡¯s first, getting to the city proper. I¡¯ll find some odd jobs, pick up whatever work I can. Won¡¯t take long to scrounge up what I need.

    Oswald moved toward the alley¡¯s exit, pressing his back against the cold stone of the nearest wall. He leaned out slightly, scanning the narrow street ahead. If the Black Hounds are still hunting me, they¡¯ll split up to cover more ground.

    He exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. Can¡¯t stay put. They wouldn¡¯t have given up so quickly, but I can¡¯t waste time waiting for them to show up either.

    Keeping low, Oswald slipped out of the alley, sticking close to the buildings. Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder, checking the rooftops and the street ahead for movement. His heartbeat remained steady, but tension coiled in his chest like a drawn bowstring.

    At every corner, he stopped and listened. So far, there was nothing out of place.

    Once he was satisfied no one was following, he looked up and surveyed his surroundings. The buildings here were taller than the ones deeper in the slums. Most looked like they had once been homes or workshops, now hollowed out and abandoned.

    Oswald eyed the closest building, a three-story structure with its roof partially caved in. A rickety wooden ladder clung to its side. That ladder should be sturdy enough to hold me¡­ I think.

    He darted across the alley and gripped the ladder, climbing quickly but carefully, testing each rung before putting his full weight on it. The wood groaned under him, a sound that sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins, but he pressed on.

    Reaching the first landing, he paused, his back pressed against the wall. He scanned the ground below, his breath steady despite the tension coiling in his chest. Still clear.

    He continued upward, his muscles burning as he hauled himself onto the roof. The shingles were loose, a few sliding under his weight as he moved cautiously across the surface.

    From here, Oswald could see the chaotic sprawl in all its miserable glory. Narrow alleys twisted like veins through clusters of dilapidated buildings. But further out, the buildings grew taller, more orderly, marking the edge of the slums where the rest of the city began. There it is.

    Carefully, he made his way back across the roof, crouching low to avoid catching the attention of anyone below. As he dropped to the ground, he pressed himself against the wall, checking the alley for any signs of life.

    The street stretched out in shadows, empty except for discarded trash and broken crates. Good. still no one here.

    After nearly an hour of weaving through the labyrinthine streets of the slums, Oswald stopped at the edge of a shadowed corner. Pressing his back against the cracked and grime-streaked wall, he leaned out just enough to peer into the open space ahead. The bridge! Just a bit more, and I¡¯m free.

    To say the bridge was in bad condition would be an understatement. It was little more than a rickety stretch of rotting wood barely holding together.

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    Most of its planks were warped and slick with moss, some so decayed they looked ready to snap under the slightest weight. Gaps had been patched with whatever scraps of wood people could scavenge. Rusted nails jutted out at odd angles, doing little to hold the structure together. Below, stagnant water festered, thick with filth and an oily sheen that smelled as bad as it looked.

    Oswald stepped into the open, hovering a hand near the hilt of his sword. I''m close, but can''t afford to get careless here.

    For a few moments, Oswald was in the clear. But when he made it halfway across the bridge, a harsh voice shattered the quiet.

    ¡°Well, well, well! If it ain¡¯t Black Eye himself!¡±

    Oswald froze. His breath hitched as his hand flew instinctively to his sword hilt, gripping it tight enough that the leather bit into his palm. He turned toward the voice, his heart hammering in his chest. A figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the bridge. Jorven.

    The man¡¯s greasy, thinning hair clung in damp strands to his pockmarked forehead, and his yellowed teeth flashed as he swaggered forward.¡°Thought you could sneak outta here, did ya? Don¡¯t think I didn¡¯t notice you skulkin¡¯ about."

    Oswald¡¯s grip tightened on his sword. He forced his voice to remain steady, low, and sharp. ¡°Can''t say I''m happy to see you."

    Jorven chuckled. ¡°You didn¡¯t think I¡¯d let you off that easy, did ya? Not after the mess you made.¡± He gestured behind him, and several thugs armed with makeshift weapons stepped into view. One held a rusted machete, another had a club wrapped in nails, and the rest clutched a variety of makeshift implements.

    Oswald¡¯s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as more figures slipped out from the shadows behind him. A cold weight settled in his chest when he saw them fan out, cutting off his escape. Damn it, I''m surrounded.

    The thugs advanced slowly, the one clutching a crowbar flexed his fingers around the metal as if savoring the thought of the next blow, while another, brandishing a jagged shard of glass, grinned like a wolf baring its teeth. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes, and Oswald knew very well what would happen to him if he was caught.

    Jorven sauntered forward next. "Ya really thought ya could just piss off after makin¡¯ a fool outta me? Nah, don¡¯t work like that. Nobody pulls a stunt like that an¡¯ walks away, and ''specially not a filthy little street rat like you.¡±

    Oswald¡¯s gaze darted between the thugs, his mind working in overdrive. The bridge. The spacing. The angle of their approach. He had to find a gap, some misstep in their movements.

    His pulse pounded in his ears like a drumbeat, but his face remained impassive. Gotta find a way out somehow.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Black Eye? Gonna beg for mercy?¡± Jorven asked, chuckling eagerly.

    "Go on, then," Jorven sneered, throwing his arms wide like he was putting on a twisted show. "Any last words? Somethin¡¯ special before my boys carve ya up?"

    Oswald stayed silent as he stared Jorven down. His fingers brushed the edge of his eyepatch, almost reflexively. The thought whispered through his mind like a shadow: Take it off.

    The memory of the last time he¡¯d unleashed that power surged to the surface. He¡¯d been unstoppable.

    Yet, Oswald had no desire to lose control of himself so soon. Besides, he still hadn''t forgotten the side effects of when he used his right eye the last time.

    With that, Oswald forced his hand away from the eyepatch. Just gonna have to do this on my own.

    Jorven¡¯s grin faltered slightly at Oswald¡¯s silence, irritation flashing across his face. He snapped his fingers, the sharp sound echoing across the bridge. ¡°Boys, get him!¡±

    The thugs pressed in, their footsteps reverberating against the stone bridge like a drumbeat heralding violence. Oswald drew a steadying breath, his focus sharpening as his chest rose and fell in measured rhythm. Stay calm. Think.

    The first thug barreled forward, the machete swinging in a wild, deadly arc. Oswald shifted his weight, twisting his body as the weapon smashed into the wooden planks of the bridge.

    The impact sent a jarring crack through the air, splinters flying like shrapnel. The whole structure groaned beneath the force. But before the thug could recover, Oswald spun sharply, driving the hilt of his sword into the man¡¯s stomach. The blow landed with a deep, satisfying thud, and the thug staggered backward, doubling over as a strangled wheeze escaped his lips.

    The bridge swayed beneath Oswald¡¯s feet, the old ropes creaking ominously in protest. His eyes darted left, catching the movement of another attacker rushing in with a nail-studded club. The weapon whistled through the air, missing his head by inches.

    Oswald ducked low and drove his boot into the thug¡¯s knee. A sickening snap echoed in the air, followed by the man¡¯s guttural howl. He swayed dangerously near the edge of the bridge, arms pinwheeling as he fought for balance.

    The rotten wood beneath him splintered with a groan, offering no mercy. His scream cut through the night before it was abruptly silenced by a wet splash as he hit the sewage water below.

    Oswald sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes flicked across the narrow wooden bridge, every step from the advancing thugs making the rotting planks groan beneath their weight. Holdin¡¯ ¡®em off here ain¡¯t gonna last. If I stay too long on this bridge, they¡¯ll swarm me in no time.

    A glint of movement tore his attention to the left. Another thug charged, clutching a shard of glass that caught the moonlight like a jagged tooth. The man lunged, stabbing downward with reckless force.

    In response, Oswald sidestepped, pivoting smoothly on the balls of his feet. His blade flashed as he slashed downward, slicing the crude weapon cleanly in two. The shattered glass rained onto the planks as the thug stumbled, disoriented, clutching his now-empty hand.

    Oswald''s boot shot out, kicking the thug square in the chest. The man staggered back, colliding with another behind him. Both toppled sideways, their combined weight breaking a rotted section of the bridge. They plummeted through the gap, their screams mingling as the filthy water swallowed them whole.

    The bridge trembled beneath Oswald¡¯s feet, the tension in the ropes straining against the chaos. Yet, Jorven¡¯s enraged voice cut through the air like a whip. ¡°Get him, you useless idiots!¡±

    Oswald''s gaze darted to the opposite end of the bridge, his salvation. But between him and escape stood three more thugs. They¡¯ll block me if I go straight through. I need to create an opening.

    The thug closest to him lunged with a broken pipe, the jagged edge streaked with grime. Oswald sidestepped once more and drove his blade into the man¡¯s thigh.

    Immediately, the thug collapsed with a scream, clutching his wound. Another came at him, swinging a makeshift club in a clumsy arc. Oswald ducked low, letting the club pass harmlessly over his head, before surging upward to slam his shoulder into the thug¡¯s chest. The impact sent the man reeling backward into the third attacker, the two crashing into the side railing with a splintering crack.

    The wooden barrier gave way, and both men tumbled over the edge. But their screams were drowned by the roar of the water below.

    Oswald¡¯s chest burned as he bolted toward the far end of the bridge. His legs pumped furiously, each step rattling the fragile planks beneath him. The entire structure groaned, swaying under the strain, but he didn¡¯t slow. Behind him, Jorven¡¯s curses rang out, followed by the thundering footsteps of those still in pursuit.

    This is it! Oswald thought as he made a mad dash for the edge of the bridge.

 Chapter 3: Dreams

    The bridge led to Old Town, a place caught between the slums and the main city. Year by year, more of its land had been swallowed, its buildings torn down to make way for finer homes and cleaner streets. But for now, there were still plenty of abandoned buildings left standing.

    Oswald stumbled into one of the many old buildings in the area. Once inside, he fought to steady his breath, chest heaving, his vision blurring as grit clung to his lashes. Each inhale filled his throat with dry, stale air, and the faintest traces of piss from some vagrant long gone. Damn.  At least I lost the Black Hounds.

    The thought barely settled before he pushed against the wall, trying to get back on his feet. The moment he shifted, pain tore through him, like claws raking through his side. The breath left his lungs in a choked gasp.

    His legs buckled, and he collapsed back onto the floor with a choked gasp. It was as if fire coursed through his veins, but the worst of it came from his right eye. Oswald felt like something had burrowed into his skull, twisting, pulling, carving into him.

    A cough wracked Oswald''s body, and he felt the unmistakable warmth of blood rising in his throat before he spat it onto the floor. He curled in on himself, trembling as he rode out the agony. Damn it... knew usin¡¯ the eye was gonna catch up to me sooner or later. This shit¡¯s gettin¡¯ worse. Used to have a few days before it hit, now I¡¯m feelin¡¯ it in just a few hours.

    Using his right eye always came at a cost. Even Oswald understood that much.

    But knowing didn''t make it hurt any less. The burning in his skull, the sick lurch of his stomach, the weakness clawing at his muscles, it was all getting worse. Despite this, he forced himself to breathe, the way he always did when he needed to pull himself together. After all, he had no plans on dying here. Not after all the effort he put into running away.

    When the shaking finally dulled to a tremor, he pressed his palms to the ground and pushed himself upright slowly. His limbs felt heavy, but he managed to get one foot under him, then the other. The pain hadn''t faded, but he could move, and that was enough.

    Oswald pressed a hand to his ribs, wincing as he shuffled forward. Every step sent sharp jolts of pain through his body, but standing still wasn¡¯t an option. He needed to move, if only to keep his mind from sinking too deep into the pit of exhaustion clawing at him.

    He dragged himself along the wall, brushing against rough, peeling plaster. A long breath rattled from his throat. Shouldn''t have used the eye so much. Should¡¯ve held back a little. Maybe then I wouldn¡¯t be coughin¡¯ up blood in some abandoned dump.

    But even as the thought crossed his mind, something twisted inside him. But what was I supposed to do? Get torn apart by those bastards? Let ¡®em drag me back? Nah. Ain¡¯t a single damn part of me that believes I¡¯d still be breathin¡¯ if I didn¡¯t have this power.

    His right eye throbbed, like it was reminding him of that truth. He lifted a hand, pressing his fingers against the patch covering it. Just the thought of peeling it back made his stomach churn. It wasn¡¯t the pain that got to him. It was the way it made him feel like something else was lurking behind that eye.

    Damn thing¡¯s like a damn weight chained to me. Hurts a lot, makes me sick, but it¡¯s kept me alive. If I didn¡¯t have it¡­ I¡¯d be dead. Simple as.

    That was the truth, wasn¡¯t it? He could regret it all he wanted, could curse the pain and the exhaustion, but at the end of the day, it was a part of him. A part he couldn¡¯t afford to hate.

    His grip on the wall tightened. I¡¯m gonna survive. And I ain¡¯t just gonna scrape by. Gonna be the kinda adventurer people talk about for years, a legend. Someone who don¡¯t gotta run anymore.

    The weight in his chest didn¡¯t vanish, but something in him settled, like a tether pulling taut instead of fraying apart. His body still ached, but he shoved himself forward, step by step.

    Oswald gradually explored the building as he stumbled around. A broken table was near the entrance, its legs snapped clean through. A few scattered chairs sat in the far corner, coated in dust thick enough to smother any trace of color. This place was probably a tavern once. Bet it used to be packed too.

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    At the very least, the bar still stood, though time had worn it thin. Splintered shelves loomed behind the counter, stripped of their bottles, their emptiness echoing the silence of the place.

    But what caught Oswald¡¯s eye wasn¡¯t the bar. Against the back wall, a cluster of old posters clung stubbornly to the crumbling plaster.

    The edges curled in on themselves, and most had faded into obscurity, the ink bleeding into yellowed parchment. Despite this, he stepped closer and let his gaze drag over them.

    There were still a few posters that were legible. One in particular caught his eye.

    THANK YOU, SELENE WHITEHEART! SLAYER OF THE WORLD EATER!

    Below the words, an illustration depicted a towering dragon, coiled in death at the feet of a lone swordswoman. The details of her face had faded over time, but Oswald didn¡¯t need to see them to know exactly who she was.

    He huffed out a breath, a rare smile tugging at his lips. Damn. She really took down a dragon all by herself?

    Oswald''s fingers hovered just over the image, tracing the outline of the beast¡¯s massive head. That''s what a real adventurer looks like¡­ One day, I wanna be like that. Not just scraping by, not just running. I wanna be the kind of person who don¡¯t gotta run at all.

    His smile faded slightly as his hand fell away. The boy knew he wasn¡¯t there yet. But every great adventurer had to start somewhere, right?

    Oswald¡¯s gaze drifted from the dragon-slaying legend to another poster tacked haphazardly beside it. This one, had artwork depicting a large colosseum.

    THE 44TH TOURNAMENT OF CHAMPIONS -  FINAL RESULTS

    1st Place: Aldric Fane (Reward: 10,000 gold)

    2nd Place: Rodrick Vale (Reward: 5,000 gold)

    3rd Place: Cassian Draeven (Reward:  1,000 gold)

    Even Oswald recognized these names. Aldric was called a prodigy, a master of the blade, untouchable in the arena. Rodrick was no pushover either. That guy fought like a berserker, breaking through his opponents¡¯ defenses with sheer force. And Cassian was a duelist with a sword so fast it left afterimages in its wake.

    Oswald clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose. Would¡¯ve killed to see them all fight in person¡­ too bad I can''t afford tickets.

    He tried to picture the roar of the crowd, feeling the thrill of warriors pushing themselves beyond their limits for the chance at glory. A tournament like that wasn¡¯t just about who was the strongest, it was about proving you belonged among the best. One day, I''ll be sure to win the whole thing. If I get 1st place, I can probably buy a mansion filled with servants. Imagine that, having dozens of people to do all the boring stuff in the house.

    But the more Oswald thought about it, the more he came to accept how unprepared he was. If he wanted to even be able to compete, there was one skill that he desperately needed. All of the champs knew how to use their mana cores. Can''t imagine I''d last long without bein'' able to at least do that.

    Oswald exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. He could fight, sure. But without being able to use mana? It wouldn''t be enough. Ain¡¯t got nothin¡¯ but time right now. No reason not to try, at least one more time.

    He moved away from the posters, stepping carefully through the wreckage of the abandoned tavern until he found a relatively clear patch of floor near the bar. Lowering himself down, he crossed his legs, placing his hands on his knees as he rolled his shoulders back. Alright. Just gotta focus.

    Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose, holding the breath for a moment before exhaling slowly. The world around him dulled, the dim light behind his eyelids flickering as he turned his focus inward. At first, there was only the steady thud of his own heartbeat. But then, beneath that, he saw something.

    Faint, thread-thin glimmers in the dark.  That¡¯s gotta be it, mana.

    He narrowed his focus, trying to pull those strands closer, to grasp them, to will them into something real. But the more he tried, the more they slipped away, dissolving like mist between his fingers. He furrowed his brow, pushing harder, only for the threads to scatter entirely.

    Oswald gritted his teeth. Tch. Figures.

    With a sharp exhale, he opened his eyes. Gotta figure this whole mana core thing out. Ain¡¯t gonna get far as an adventurer if I can¡¯t even use my own damn core properly.

    But brooding on it wasn¡¯t gonna change anything right now. He pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders. No point sittin¡¯ around. I should head to the city proper, maybe try my luck at the adventurer''s guild again. Not like I got much of a future here in the slums anymore after that stunt I pulled.

    Oswald flexed his fingers, then took a moment to remind himself where he kept his hidden stash of coins. But first things first, I still got that money tucked away. Should be enough to get by for a bit, if I can find it.

    With that thought, Oswald turned toward the door and stepped out into the empty streets. He couldn''t stay hiding forever. Once I¡¯m outta Old Town, I''ll head to the adventurer''s guild and sign up proper. It''ll be a new start for me.

 Chapter 4: Legend in the Flesh

    The cold gnawed at Oswald¡¯s skin, sinking deep into his bones as wakefulness dragged him from the fragile grasp of sleep. The cobblestones beneath him were as unyielding as ever, pressing into sore muscles that had long since grown accustomed to discomfort. He exhaled, watching the morning chill clinging stubbornly to the alley¡¯s deep shadows.

    At least I made it through the night without Jorven and his mutts sniffin¡¯ me out. Knew they wouldn¡¯t act too brazenly here in the good part of the city.

    A quiet grunt rumbled in his throat as he pushed himself upright, peeling away the ragged scrap of cloth that had served as his blanket. It was threadbare, riddled with holes, but it had done its job well enough.

    He stretched to ease the stiffness creeping through his limbs, wincing as his joints crackled in protest. Should try to find the adventurer¡¯s guild soon.

    Yet, as he shifted, his palm pressed against something unexpectedly warm and soft. Fur?

    Oswald  looked down, half-expecting to find a rat scurrying away. Instead, a sleek black cat lay curled beside him, tail wrapped snugly around its body. Its ears twitched, and as if sensing his scrutiny, its golden eyes flickered open, sharp and unblinking.

    He stared at the cat for a few seconds. Then, a slow smile tugged at his lips. Didn¡¯t expect company.

    Careful not to startle the creature, he eased himself away, but even the slightest movement was enough to rouse it. The cat stretched, arching its back with a satisfied shudder before settling into an upright position.

    Oswald huffed a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don¡¯t have any food, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re waitin¡¯ for."

    The cat blinked at him. Then, it rose to its feet and pressed against his leg, weaving between his ankles. A low, contented purr rumbled from its chest, rich with warmth, despite the cold morning air.

    Oswald exhaled through his nose, crouching down to run his fingers over its sleek fur. The warmth of it was a stark contrast to the biting chill that clung to his skin, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to indulge in the simple sensation. This somebody¡¯s pet? Fur¡¯s way too nice for a street cat.

    ¡°Alright, alright. You¡¯re cute, but I gotta go,¡± he muttered, giving the feline a final pat before pushing himself upright.

    The cat let out a slow blink, utterly unconcerned with his departure. Oswald shook his head, stepping out of the alleyway and into the open street.

    The city was bathed in the muted glow of dawn. The usual chaos of merchants, beggars, and travelers had yet to take hold, leaving the roads mostly quiet.

    He took a deep breath, already mapping his next steps in his mind. Find the adventurer¡¯s guild, see if they¡¯re hiring, maybe even¡ª

    A hint of movement in the corner of his eye pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder.

    The cat padded after him, gliding effortlessly across the uneven cobblestones. It was as if it had already made up its mind to follow him to the ends of the earth.

    Oswald narrowed his eyes. Why is this cat followin¡¯ me?

    Exhaling sharply, he picked up his pace, hoping it would get bored and lose interest. ¡°Don¡¯t you have somewhere else to be?¡±

    Apparently, the cat had nowhere else better to be, because it trotted faster. You''ve gotta be kiddin'' me.

    Stopping in his tracks, Oswald turned on his heel and planted his feet firmly on the ground. ¡°Shoo,¡± he said, waving a hand as if that alone would send the creature scurrying off. ¡°Go find someone with actual food.¡±

    Instead of running, the cat leapt forward with the kind of grace only felines possessed, claws catching briefly against the fabric of his tunic before it climbed up his body. Oswald barely had time to react before it perched itself squarely on his shoulder, tail curling lazily around the back of his neck like it belonged there.

    "Are you serious?" Oswald asked, looking at the cat.

    The cat just blinked at him a few times. But it didn''t seem like it was going to move anytime soon.

    Oswald let out a breathless chuckle. ¡°Fine. Do what you want."

    The cat meowed in response. Oswald didn¡¯t speak cat, but he was pretty sure it was feeling really smug.

    With a resigned sigh, he carefully lifted the cat off his shoulder. Holding it at arm¡¯s length, he squinted. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s see¡­ you a boy or a girl?¡±

    The cat let out an indignant meow, wriggling midair as if offended by the intrusion. Oswald huffed a quiet chuckle, setting the feline back onto his shoulder once satisfied. ¡°A girl, huh? Guess that makes namin¡¯ you easier. How ¡®bout¡­ Vivi?¡±

    A soft, approving meow left the cat''s throat. Oswald huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. ¡°Vivi it is, then.¡±

    And so, with a cat draped over his shoulder like it had always been there, he set out to find the adventurer¡¯s guild. Oswald started by asking around, but most people barely spared him a glance, while others wrinkled their noses at his disheveled state and took a step back before he could even ask a question to begin with. Guess bein¡¯ half-starved and covered in alley dust don¡¯t exactly invite friendly conversation.

    Eventually, after more dismissive looks than he cared to count, an old man took pity on him. ¡°The adventurer¡¯s guild? Head down that road till you see the biggest building around. You can¡¯t miss it.¡±

    Oswald dipped his head in thanks. ¡°Appreciate it, thanks, gramps.¡±

    As he set off in the given direction, Vivi let out a small, pleased purr, shifting slightly on his shoulder to get more comfortable. Guess I¡¯ve got company now.

    ***

    It took a lot of walking, but Oswald eventually managed to navigate the city streets to find the adventurer''s guild. Because quite frankly, it was a difficult place to miss.

    The building rose like a fortress, its towering walls constructed from dark, weathered stone while massive iron sconces flanked the main entrance. Above the entrance, an ornate emblem of a sword crossed with a shield had been carved into the stonework.

    But more impressive than the adventurer''s guild itself, was the sheer mass of people that were trying to get inside of it. This¡­ this insane.

    Everywhere he looked, there was a restless tide of bodies. Lines snaked from the entrance of the adventurer¡¯s guild, weaving through the open square and spilling into the surrounding streets.

    Oswald¡¯s eye swept over the teeming crowd which filled the entire plaza and thensome. Grizzled mercenaries with weathered armor and notched swords slung across their backs barked at each other in hoarse voices. Younger adventurers, still green behind the ears, fidgeted as they adjusted straps and pouches, their excitement barely masking the nervous tremor in their hands. Even the merchants had squeezed themselves into the fray, hawking their wares.

    ¡°Get your Selene Whiteheart pendants here!¡± one bellowed, holding up a tiny sword-shaped charm.

    She¡¯s got her own trinkets now, damn? Oswald knew who Selene Whiteheart was, of course, who hadn¡¯t?

    He¡¯d seen her face on posters, heard about her in passing, but that wasn¡¯t the same as seeing her up close. And if she was really inside, then he really wanted to be there. Not every day you get to lay eyes on a living legend.

    Now, if only he could figure out where the line started. Has to be somewhere nearby.

    He pushed forward, skirting around knots of adventurers barking orders at one another, sidestepping merchants thrusting cheap baubles at anyone who so much as looked in their direction. But no matter where he turned, there was just more people, more noise, more confusion.

    Oswald huffed, adjusting Vivi¡¯s position on his shoulder as she flicked her tail against his cheek. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know, this is a mess.¡±

    Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of weaving through the tangled mess of people, he the end of the line. Or rather, the distant end of the line, which snaked so far back it nearly reached the neighboring district.

    Oswald exhaled sharply. This is gonna take forever.

    Still, he stepped into place, arms crossed as he settled in for what was sure to be a long wait. At least Vivi made for decent company. He scratched under her chin, grinning as she purred in contentment. ¡°Guess we¡¯re both stuck here, huh?¡±

    Vivi chirped, nuzzling against his collar. Oswald chuckled. At least one of us is having fun.

    The hours dragged by, the morning sun creeping toward its peak, then dipping lower as afternoon stretched onward. The line inched forward at an agonizing pace, no matter how patient he was, he was still standing in the same damn place for far too long.

    Oswald''s stomach growled. He pressed a hand to his gut, grimacing. He should¡¯ve grabbed food first, but leaving now meant giving up his spot. Not happening.

    The line shuffled forward again, just a little. He sighed, shifting his weight. ¡°You better be worth all this, Whiteheart,¡± he muttered under his breath. Vivi flicked her ears, unimpressed.

    Just as Oswald reached the front, standing mere feet from the towering guild doors, everything unraveled in an instant. A line of heavily armored guards stepped forward, shields locking together like an impenetrable wall.

    The tallest of them, his armor adorned with an insignia Oswald didn¡¯t recognize, raised a gauntleted hand. "Selene Whiteheart is no longer taking visitors. She will be leaving shortly!"

    The reaction was immediate. A ripple of disbelief rolled through the masses, followed swiftly by outrage.

    ¡°What do you mean she¡¯s leaving? I waited for hours!¡±

    ¡°This is bullshit! Let us in!¡±

    ¡°Oi, I paid for an express pass!¡±

    The protests swelled as the crowd pressed forward with growing aggression. However, the guards didn¡¯t flinch. Their shields edged higher as some of them started to push against the crowd.

    The crowd teetered on the edge, their frustration crackling in the air like a storm about to break. Voices sharpened, hands clenched, bodies pressed too close. It wouldn¡¯t take much for the whole thing to explode. This is about to turn ugly. Not worth stickin¡¯ around.

    Oswald took a slow step back. Then another. He slipped through the restless bodies, letting the rising tension swallow his absence. The deeper he wove, the more distant the heat of the crowd felt, like stepping out of a fire¡¯s reach before the embers flared into something dangerous.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    A soft trill vibrated against his ear. Vivi, perched snug on his shoulder, flicked her tail across his cheek, as if it was her way of saying, Told you so.

    Oswald smirked, rubbing a thumb over her ear as he walked. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I know. Total waste of time.¡±

    His stomach let out another low, grumbling protest as he weaved through the thinning crowd. He exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his ribs like that would somehow quiet the hollow ache growing there. Great, hours wasted for nothin¡¯, and now I¡¯m starvin¡¯.

    Vivi let out a soft chirp from her perch, tail flicking lazily across his shoulder. He turned his head slightly, glancing at her. "What about you? Hungry too?"

    The feline lifted her head, then let out a high, expectant meow. Oswald huffed a quiet chuckle. "Figured."

    Now came the harder part, actually finding a place to eat that wouldn¡¯t rob him blind. He knew better than to try his luck in the city center. No, he needed to find somewhere cheaper, preferably further from all the polished stone and fancy shops that catered to nobles and high-rolling adventurers.

    Adjusting his grip on Vivi as she shifted, he set off down the winding streets, straying from the bustling main avenues and into the quieter, grittier parts of the city. The buildings here looked older, and after some more walking, he finally spotted a modest-looking market tucked between two sloping alleyways.

    It wasn¡¯t nearly as grand as the plazas near the guild, but it looked cheap, or at least cheaper than anything he¡¯d come across so far. He scanned the stalls, his eye landing on one where thick, golden-brown pieces of fried bread sat piled on a wooden tray.

    Oswald wasted no time approaching the vendor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and flour-dusted hands. "How much for one?"

    "Five copper."  The woman said dryly.

    "...What?"

    "Five copper."

    "You sure that¡¯s right?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t afford to sell it for less, lad. Prices are what they are.¡±

    Oswald chewed the inside of his cheek, shifting his weight. Five copper wasn¡¯t everything he had, but it was still a chunk of his dwindling funds. For a piece of bread? But damn, I really am hungry.

    With a reluctant sigh, he untied one of the small pouches on his belt, fishing out five copper coins. The weight of them in his palm felt heavier than it should have. He hesitated a moment longer, then placed them in the woman¡¯s outstretched hand.

    "Much appreciated," she said warmly, passing him a piece of bread wrapped in a thin scrap of cloth.

    Oswald barely muttered a thanks before biting into it. The crisp outer layer gave way to soft, warm dough, the oil still faintly clinging to his fingertips. It was simple, but good, and after hours of standing in that damned line, he needed it.

    Then, just as he was starting to enjoy his first proper meal in what felt like forever, Vivi licked his cheek. Oswald blinked, mid-bite, turning his head just enough to meet her stare.

    He exhaled a quiet laugh, wiping his face with the back of his hand. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I know,¡± he muttered, breaking off a small piece of the bread. ¡°Can¡¯t forget about you, huh?¡±

    Vivi let out a pleased trill as he lowered the piece toward her, and immediately, she daintily took it between her teeth. Oswald smirked, shaking his head.

    ¡°Did you like it?¡± he murmured, taking another bite for himself.

    Vivi nodded, looking at Oswald''s hand. More specifically, on the remaining piece of fried bread he hadn¡¯t finished yet. She flicked her tail, then nudged her nose against his cheek.

    Oswald snorted. ¡°Yeah, nice try. Pretty sure cats need meat, not greasy bread,¡± he said, popping the last bit into his mouth before she could swipe it. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can find.¡±

    Still chewing, he wandered further into the market, scanning the stalls with a sharper eye this time. Now that food was on his mind, the smell of sizzling fat and roasting meat became impossible to ignore. Eventually, his gaze landed on a vendor selling meat skewers, glistening with juices as they rested over smoldering coals.

    He approached the stall, eyeing the skewers. ¡°How much for one?¡±

    The vendor, a burly man with thick arms and an apron stained with grease, barely spared him a glance. ¡°Six copper.¡±

    ¡°Six? For one skewer?¡±

    ¡°Meat ain¡¯t cheap, boy. Take it or leave it.¡±

    Oswald sucked his teeth, already feeling the weight of his thinning coin pouch. First the overpriced bread, now this. But Vivi needed food, and she wasn¡¯t about to hunt in the middle of a crowded city. With a resigned sigh, he dug into his pouch again, pulling out the six copper coins and dropping them onto the vendor¡¯s outstretched palm.

    The man counted the coins, grunted, then handed over a freshly grilled skewer without another word.

    Oswald exhaled sharply as he walked away. Rude bastard. At least the food looks good.

    Just as he was about to take his first bite, a sudden tug at his hand made him jolt. Vivi had quickly latched onto one of the meat chunks, sinking her fangs into the tender flesh before ripping it free.

    Oswald blinked, then barked out a laugh. ¡°You little thief.¡±

    Vivi didn¡¯t even acknowledge the accusation, far too busy savoring her prize. Oswald just shook his head, biting into the remaining skewer as he strolled away from the market, letting the warmth of the food settle in his stomach.

    But as he walked, his spending came to mind. Oswald had spent eleven copper, just like that. All for a bit of food. He still had some left, but if this was how much things cost, he¡¯d burn through his funds fast. He needed work, and soon. Can¡¯t afford to just¡ª

    The thought died as a shiver crawled up his spine. Oswald slowed his steps, then, without making it obvious, glanced back over his shoulder.

    Two men followed him from a distance. They weren¡¯t part of the Black Hounds, at least, not from what he could tell. No insignias, no familiar faces. But trouble was still trouble, and they looked like the type to cause it.

    Oswald exhaled through his nose and picked up his pace, weaving through the streets, taking a less direct route than before. He stole another glance. Those bastards are still following me.

    His fingers twitched at his side. Alright. Let¡¯s see how much you can keep up.

    Immediately, he cut through a busier street, slipping between carts and groups of passing pedestrians, making it harder to track him. Then he turned left, ducking into an alley before emerging on another road. Still, no matter where he turned, there were more of them. Not just the first two, others now, lurking at various corners.

    Oswald clenched his jaw, heart kicking up a notch. Tch. Should¡¯ve known.

    He made his move before they could tighten the net, slipping into a narrower alleyway and quickening his pace. His boots clapped against the stone as he ran, the muffled din of the market growing distant. Only when he was a fair distance in did he stop, panting lightly as he placed Vivi down from his shoulder.

    ¡°Alright, that was annoying,¡± he muttered, resting a hand against the wall to steady himself. He had planned to catch his breath, maybe even figure out his next move, but before he could¡ª

    A low, gruff chuckle echoed from behind him. Oswald stiffened.

    Slowly, he turned, eyes narrowing as five men stepped into the alley, blocking the only exit. They were large, with broad shoulders and thick arms straining against well-worn tunics and patched leathers. Some held clubs, others short blades.

    One of them, the tallest, grinned through a crooked row of teeth. ¡°Was startin¡¯ to think you¡¯d never stop runnin¡¯.¡±

    Oswald kept his stance loose, hands open at his sides.  "Look, I ain''t lookin'' for trouble."

    The tallest thug let out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. "Neither are we." The way the others snickered behind him made it clear that wasn¡¯t the whole truth.

    Oswald¡¯s eye flicked between them, assessing. Five, plus two more lingering near the alley¡¯s entrance now. Shit. That made seven. Even worse odds than he¡¯d hoped.

    One of the men, stockier than the rest with a thick scar running down his jaw, stepped forward. "You look like a kid who could use a bit of work. Lucky for you, we got a proposition."

    "That so? And what exactly do you lot want?"

    "Nothin'' complicated. Just a few errands, here and there. You help us out, we let you walk."

    "And the pay?"

    That earned a round of laughter from the group, rough and mean. The tallest thug wiped at his nose, still grinning. "The pay is we don¡¯t beat your face into the ground."

    Oswald sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Great.

    Options flickered through his mind. Talking wasn¡¯t going to work, not with men like these. Fighting his way out was possible, but there were too many of them, and he wasn¡¯t arrogant enough to think he could take on seven armed men by himself. Not unless I take off the eyepatch.

    Oswald crouched low, carefully lifting Vivi from his shoulder and setting her down. She clung to his sleeve for a second, her golden eyes flicking up at him, uncertain. He nudged her back with the side of his boot, not hard, just enough to send a message. Stay outta this.

    She let out a soft trill, hesitation curling in the sound, but she obeyed, slinking backward just far enough to keep clear. Good, least she''ll be safe.

    Across from him, the tallest thug cocked a brow, arms folding over his chest like this was all some big joke. "What, you plannin¡¯ to do somethin¡¯ stupid?"

    Oswald met his gaze, a slow grin creeping across his face. ¡°Yep.¡±

    Before any of them could react, he reached up and tugged his eyepatch free. Screw it.

    The moment his uncovered eye locked onto the closest thug, the man stiffened. A sharp inhale left his lips before his knees buckled, his entire body collapsing like his strength had been ripped straight from his bones. He gasped, clawing at his throat as life drained from him in seconds.

    "Shit! What is that!?"

    "Get him!"

    The remaining thugs surged forward, weapons flashing as they lunged. Oswald moved in response, drawing his shortsword.

    The first thug came at him with a wild swing. He sidestepped, driving his blade deep into the man¡¯s side before wrenching it free. Blood sprayed against the damp cobblestones, the man crumpling with a strangled gurgle.

    Another came from behind. Oswald turned sharply, catching the downward strike of a club on the flat of his blade. His arms shook from the impact, but he shifted his weight, twisting the thug¡¯s wrist until the weapon slipped from his grasp. With a quick motion, he plunged his sword into the man¡¯s chest. The thug gasped before Oswald shoved him off the blade with a brutal kick.

    The scent of blood thickened in the air, almost intoxicating. Oswald barely registered the next man rushing him, as his body moved before thought. He ducked under a wide swing, rolling forward before springing up behind his attacker.

    His blade traced a clean path across the thug¡¯s throat. A spray of crimson followed, splattering against the walls.

    Oswald exhaled sharply, but his grip tightened on his sword. His pulse pounded in his ears, the world narrowing to nothing but the glint of steel and the cries of dying men.

    Bodies dropped one by one. It was a massacre.

    ¡°Fuck, he¡¯s not normal!¡±

    ¡°I-I ain¡¯t dyin¡¯ for this¡ª¡±

    They turned, boots scuffing against the alley floor as they scrambled to flee. Cowards.

    Oswald took a step forward, his breathing heavy, gaze flicking between them like a predator watching wounded prey. He clenched his jaw as he breathed heavily. The scent of blood clung to his skin, as if it had seeped into his very being. His grip on his sword trembled, fingers locked so tightly around the hilt that his knuckles burned.

    A voracious hunger coiled deep inside him, restless and unsatisfied, gnawing at the edges of his mind. Oswald gritted his teeth, shaking his head as if he could physically dislodge the thought. His chest heaved, his breath sharp and shallow.

    No, he had to fight it. Had to stay in control. But the more he tried to pull away, the more the voice dug in its claws, wrapping tighter around his thoughts, urging him deeper into hunger.

    Then, Oswald sensed movement. His body reacted before thought could catch up, immediately turning around and swinging his shortsword in a vicious arc.

    Steel met steel. A sharp, ringing clash split the silence, the force reverberating up his arm.

    His blade had been caught mid-swing, parried easily. Oswald''s eyes widened in shock.

    Before him stood a woman, poised and motionless. No strain marred her grip, no effort showed in her stance. It was as if she had deflected his attack out of idle amusement.

    Long, silvery-white hair cascaded behind her, shifting like liquid moonlight. But her deep violet eyes held him in place, stripping him bare with a gaze so unwavering, that it sent waves of unease down his spine.

    A breath hitched in his throat. His arms tensed, but something was wrong.

    No matter how hard Oswald tried, he couldn''t move. He strained, tried to wrench free from whatever force bound him, but his muscles remained frozen in place. Even the voice that had haunted him so far, had gone completely silent.

    What''s goin'' on? His chest tightened, something thick and suffocating pressing down on him. This wasn¡¯t fear. This was something deeper, something far worse.

    The woman''s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "I detected an Animus in the area. But I did not expect to find a boy wielding it."

    Oswald tried to speak, but no sound came. Even his breath felt sluggish, as though the air around him had thickened into something unyielding.

    The woman exhaled softly, closing her eyes. "Rest, for now."

    Rest? Oswald had no idea how she could even say something like that.

    But when the woman opened her eyes. He didn''t know what to say.

    A black sigil flared to life in both irises, a five-pointed star shifting, pulsing, breathing as if it were something alive. Immediately after, a wave of pressure crashed over Oswald.

    His vision blurred, the world twisting at the edges. Consciousness slipped from his grasp like sand through his fingers. One of the last things he registered before the darkness took him was the weight of that gaze: calm, inescapable, and utterly beyond him. That, and the strange words which manifested in his mind.

    [Animus System Initiated]

    [Displaying Status]

    Souls: 0

    Resonance: 1

    Invocations: ???

    Skills:

    <ol>

    <li> True Sight (Tier 1: Grants the ability to see through darkness and illusion magic)</li>

    <li> Gaze of Doom (Tier 1: When activated, drains the life force of any target that makes direct eye contact)</li>

    <li> Exalted Trance (Tier 1: Temporarily increases bloodlust after each kill. Stacks with consecutive kills.)</li>

    </ol>

 Chapter 5: Relentless Resolve

    Softness cradled his back, an unfamiliar sensation that pulled him from the depths of unconsciousness. When Oswald stirred awake, he was utterly confused. How did I get here?

    His body recoiled at the unnatural comfort. The sensation was almost suffocating, as if he were sinking into something that wasn¡¯t meant for him.

    Despite this, Oswald pushed himself upright. A thick wool blanket slipped from his chest as he sat up. He glanced down, shocked at the sight of crisp white sheets and a sturdy wooden frame beneath him. Well ain''t this place fancy.

    He had no memory of crawling into an inn. Someone took me here.

    Oswald looked around and saw immaculate walls, polished wooden furniture, as well as a small table tucked into the corner. It was nothing like the places he usually woke up in. After all, there was no scent of piss and cheap ale clinging to the walls.

    Panic gnawed at the edges of his mind, but before he could think any further, a violent cough tore through his chest, wrenching him forward. The force of it sent pain splintering through his skull, and a fresh wave of dizziness crashed over him.

    He barely had time to brace himself before his vision blurred. His stomach twisted in protest, and with no strength to hold it back, bile surged up his throat. He lurched forward, vomiting onto the wooden floor with a sickening splatter. Shit, this has to be ''cause I used the damn eye.

    He''d felt bad after using his right eye before, but never quite like this. It was as if the strength had been sucked right out of him, leaving only an empty husk behind.

    His gaze darted around the room, frantic despite his exhaustion, searching for anything that might help soothe him. And then, he saw his salvation, resting atop a small table. A glass of water and a plate with bread.

    Relief surged through him, raw and desperate. He didn''t stop to wonder who had left it there or if it was meant for him. His body moved before his mind could catch up, driven by sheer survival instinct. He reached out, fingers weak and trembling, barely managing to grasp the glass. Lifting it to his lips, he drank in greedy gulps, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat.

    Some of it spilled down his chin, but he didn¡¯t care. The moment the glass was empty, he turned his attention to the bread, tearing into it with shaking hands. It was soft, fresh, and slightly warm, so much better than the stale scraps he was used to scrounging from market stalls or trash bins. He devoured it with a hunger that surprised even him.

    The food settled in his stomach, and though the nausea didn¡¯t disappear entirely, the dizziness eased a little. Okay... okay... let''s think about how I got here.

    Oswald'' mind struggled to piece together the events that had led him here. He remembered the alley where he fought those thugs. He¡¯d taken them down one by one. But after that¡­ What happened next?

    There was a gap in his memory. He shut his eyes, trying to force the recollection, but all he got were flashes: strange words floating in the air, shimmering faintly before his eyes. Souls. Resonance. Skills.

    The words felt important, but their meaning slipped through his fingers like sand. He could almost remember, but then the memory would flicker and fade, leaving him with nothing but confusion and unease.

    Yet, a sudden creak made his breath hitch. His body tensed, and his head snapped toward the door just as it eased open. A woman stepped in. That¡¯s the lady I saw in the alley!

    She was tall and striking. Her long, white hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her alabaster skin looked like something out of a legend, almost too flawless.

    The woman wore a pristine white cloak draped over her shoulders. It obscured much of her figure, but he could still see the outline of a sword strapped to her waist. No, not just one, but two. The second sword was bound in chains, an odd sight that made Oswald uneasy. Who goes around carryin¡¯ a weapon all locked up in chains?

    Oswald swallowed hard. His hand twitched toward his side before he remembered that he was completely unarmed. If she meant trouble, he was in no condition to stop her.

    The woman looked at the mess on the floor, then looked back at him. Her violet eyes held his, assessing, weighing, before she spoke. ¡°You¡¯ve quite the audacity. Not only did you help yourself to my food and drink, but you also had the discourtesy to vomit on the floor.¡±

    Oswald winced. He forced himself to sit straighter, ignoring the way his muscles ached and his head swam. Shit¡­ that was hers?

    ¡°Uh, Lady, I¡­ didn¡¯t know it was yours. I just¡­ I was desperate. And as for the vomit¡­¡± He glanced at the mess, grimacing. ¡°That''s my bad, couldn¡¯t really help it.¡±

    The woman chuckled. ¡°This reminds me of a certain incident in a desert outpost. There was a goat, a spice merchant, and far too much fermented cactus wine involved.¡±

    Oswald blinked. ¡°Huh?¡±

    A wry smile ghosted across her lips. ¡°Never mind, tell me, how do you feel now?¡±

    Oswald rubbed his face with the back of his hand. The water had helped, but his insides still churned and his head throbbed with dull pain.  ¡°Not great, but not bad either."

    The corner of her mouth twitched, whether in amusement or pity, he couldn¡¯t tell. She stepped around the puddle of sick on the floor and pulled a wooden chair close to the bed. ¡°You were fortunate I found you when I did, had it been any later, I doubt you would have survived.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯re you talkin¡¯ about, Lady? Survived what, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Surely you must have felt more¡­ ill, recently? And over time, you must have noticed your condition worsening.¡±

    Oswald was unsure how he should answer. So, he decided to give a vague answer, but not necessarily a lie. ¡°Yeah, I¡­ ain¡¯t exactly been feelin¡¯ great lately. Might just be ¡®cause of the way I live, though. Shouldn''t be hard to tell that I don¡¯t got it easy.¡±

    ¡°That would explain part of it. But not all.¡±

    ¡°You think this is somethin¡¯ else?¡±

    "I am quite certain of it. Illness from exhaustion and hunger will pass with rest. But what troubles you now comes from elsewhere. I believe, deep down, you know that too."

    ¡°Lady, I¡­ I dunno what you¡¯re talkin¡¯ about.¡±

    She exhaled slowly. ¡°Listen, I know what dwells in your right eye. It¡¯s called an Animus. A power not commonly found in someone like you¡­ and certainly not without consequence.¡±

    Animus¡­ The word dropped into Oswald¡¯s thoughts like a stone into deep water, pulling everything else down with it. It didn¡¯t feel like something meant for someone like him, like it belonged to a world far beyond what he knew. But more than the word, it was the memory that struck hardest.

    Oswald could still remember his last moments in the alley. When the woman saved her, and how odd her eyes were.

    At first, they looked normal. Striking, sure, but human. Then they changed. Strange, pulsing sigils bloomed across her irises, each shaped like a five-pointed star. Her eyes were weird too. So, maybe¡­

    ¡°Wait¡­ Lady, you¡­ do you have one too? An¡­ uh, an Animus, I mean.¡±

    "Yes, I have an Animus.¡± The woman said, chuckling lightly.

    "Guess that explains a lot." Oswald said.

    The woman leaned back slightly in her chair,. ¡°Do you know what the Animus actually is?¡±

    ¡°No clue. Just thought it was some kinda curse. Gives me power, but it rips me apart every time I use it.¡±

    ¡°Then do you at least understand the cost of using it?¡±

    ¡°I got a guess, feels like it¡¯s killin¡¯ me slowly. Ain¡¯t just pain. it¡¯s like it¡¯s drainin¡¯ me dry."

    ¡°That is not an inaccurate understanding. Without control, the Animus will eat away at your body. Piece by piece, until you are no longer capable of surviving its weight.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Oswald didn¡¯t flinch. He¡¯d known. Deep down, he¡¯d always known. ¡°So there ain¡¯t a way out?¡±

    ¡°There might be, I could teach you how to wield your Animus properly and how to keep it from destroying you. But it will not be easy.¡± The woman said bluntly.

    Oswald¡¯s fingers curled tightly around the blanket as the woman¡¯s offer echoed in his head. She¡¯s offering a way out. A real one.

    ¡°I¡¯m willin¡¯ to do whatever it takes. Doesn¡¯t matter how hard it is. I ain¡¯t afraid.¡±

    But the woman lifted a hand, halting him. ¡°You are far too hasty, boy. Training under me is not merely difficult, it is dangerous. You may yet die, even with instruction. In all honesty, I am not entirely certain your body will withstand the process."

    ¡°I don¡¯t care. I got nothin¡¯ left to lose. So if you¡¯re willin¡¯ to tell me what to do, I¡¯ll listen to whatever you say.¡±

    Her expression didn¡¯t change. Then, she slowly closed her eyes. Oswald¡¯s breath caught in his throat the moment she opened them again.

    Her Animus was active now, two violet irises laced with black sigils, each shaped like a five-pointed star. They pulsed with unnatural power, drawing him in and pushing him away all at once.

    He staggered, chest locked tight. It was like a mountain had dropped onto his shoulders, crushing the air from his lungs. I can¡¯t move¡­  can¡¯t even breathe. What is she?

    Terror flooded his veins. He couldn¡¯t blink, couldn¡¯t look away, even though every part of him screamed to run. His body refused to listen.

    ¡°This is but a fraction of what you will endure if you choose to follow me.¡± The woman said.

    I¡¯m gonna die, he thought. If she wanted to, she could tear me apart right now. I don¡¯t stand a chance against her. Maybe I never will.

    For a split second, fear almost won. A whisper in the back of his mind told him to stop deluding himself. That he was a fool chasing something way above his reach.

    But Oswald pushed those thoughts aside, as he reminded himself of what few options he had. What else is there? She¡¯s the only shot I¡¯ve got at makin¡¯ it out alive.

    The woman¡¯s eyes closed once more. The crushing pressure lifted. Oswald gasped, sucking in air like he¡¯d been drowning.

    When she opened her eyes again, they were back to their normal purple, without the terrible gleam. ¡°To host an Animus is to carry both a gift and curse. It is not a path for the faint of heart. Tell me, are you truly prepared to accept that burden?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m ready for whatever you got for me. I wanna be somebody, and if that means takin¡¯ the hard road, so be it.¡±

    ¡°Even if it costs you your life?¡±

    Oswald let out a short breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. ¡°Lady, I¡¯m already halfway there.¡±

    The woman smiled, a hint of mischief flickering behind her composed expression.

    ¡°Then I shall remember your words.¡±

    Oswald tilted his head, raising a brow. ¡°So¡­ does that mean you¡¯re gonna help me?"

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not. You do appear quite desperate, after all.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­ thanks?"

    She gave a soft chuckle. ¡°No, I should be thanking you. I have searched far longer than you¡¯d imagine for another Animus host worth training. Because¡ª¡±

    But suddenly, she stopped herself, as if she''d caught the edge of some deeper thought and decided against it. ¡°In any case, if we¡¯re to travel and train together, I shall at least need to know your name.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Right, it¡¯s Oswald. Just Oswald. No last names or nothin¡¯ like that. What about you?"

    ¡°Selene Whiteheart, it¡¯s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Oswald.¡±

    His jaw dropped. ¡°Wait, what? You¡¯re Selene Whiteheart?¡±

    Selene gave a small nod, evidently amused by his reaction. Perhaps it was rare for her to find someone who didn''t recognize her.

    ¡°You¡¯re really Selene? The sword-saint? The dragon slayer? The woman on all those posters? That Selene?¡± Oswald asked, still partially in disbelief.

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve been called worse.¡±

    Oswald stared, utterly floored. How the fuck didn¡¯t I recognize her? I¡¯ve seen her face a hundred times. Heard stories from every barkeep and beggar. But looking at her now¡­ she looked even more striking in person. The stories didn¡¯t do her justice. She¡¯s way prettier up close, he thought, before immediately pushing that thought down with a curse. Nope. Stop. Not the time.

    ¡°Is something the matter?¡± Selene asked.

    Yet, before Oswald could answer, a violent cough ripped through him without warning. His body jolted forward, muscles clenching as pain flared in his chest like fire. He gasped, one hand clutching his ribs as the fit worsened.

    His vision swam, threatening to swallow him whole. He gasped for air, but instead of relief, the sharp tang of iron flooded his mouth. Thick, hot blood rushed up his throat and splattered against the sheets, painting them in deep crimson.

    Selene moved faster than he could process, her hands clamped down on his shoulders. ¡°If you want to live, you¡¯re going to have to make a contract with your Animus Spirit.¡±

    Oswald¡¯s head lolled slightly, his breaths shallow and ragged. ¡°Wha¡­?¡±

    ¡°An entity lives within your Animus, it¡¯s the source of your power. If you can strike a deal with it, you will survive. If not, you will die.¡±

    The words cut through the haze, sinking deep. A deal? With the thing inside my eye?

    His body had no strength left to fight, no room left to argue. He barely managed a weak nod. ¡°What¡­ what do I gotta do?¡±

    ¡°Take off your eyepatch, I¡¯ll handle the rest.¡±

    Oswald hesitated initially. This would be far from the first time he took off the eyepatch. But for some reason, the thought of exposing his right eye now felt like stripping away the last layer of protection he had.

    But the boy pushed his doubts aside as he felt his condition becoming worse. Selene knows way more about this stuff than I do. Gotta trust she¡¯s got it figured out.

    With a shaky breath, his fingers fumbled at the strap. Slowly, he pulled the eyepatch away.

    In response, Selene closed her eyes briefly. The air in the room thickened, pressing down on him like something unseen had stirred awake. When she opened her eyes again, Oswald barely had time to register the change.

    Her irises weren¡¯t just violet anymore. A black sigil glowed within them, forming a five-pointed star. It flickered like fire, shifting, twisting, alive.

    ¡°This will hurt a great deal.¡± Selene warned.

    Oswald exhaled shakily, bracing himself, though he had no idea what for. "All good, I''m ready."

    ¡°We don¡¯t have time for a proper ritual, I am¡­ sorry.¡±

    His stomach twisted. ¡°Sorry for¡ª?¡±

    The question never left his tongue. Oswald saw a flash of steel. Then, he felt a sharp pressure in his chest.

    His body jerked violently, vision snapping white with pain. The world around him dissolved into raw agony.

    Something cold pierced straight through his heart. He barely registered the steel buried inside him, but the fire it unleashed in his veins burned through every nerve, every inch of him screaming at once. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, but no sound came out.

    There was only pain. So much fucking pain.

    His body sagged against the blade, the last of his strength crumbling away. The edges of his vision blurred, shadows creeping in, dragging him under.

    Yet, even as everything slipped away. It was her eyes he couldn¡¯t look away from.

    ***

    A sharp inhale ripped through Oswald¡¯s throat as his body jolted awake. His lungs burned like he¡¯d just been dragged up from drowning, and a sick warmth clung to his skin.

    His stomach twisted as he forced himself upright, palms pressing into something warm and wet. The ground wasn¡¯t earth or stone but a shifting mass of crimson liquid, rippling under his weight. Veins of thick blood carved through the landscape, dragging along limbs, shattered bones, and skulls staring up before vanishing beneath the surface. What is this place? Am I dead?

    The sky stretched endlessly overhead, nothing but swirling red clouds that pulsed like they were alive. No sun. No stars. Just a smothering, oppressive void pressing down, swallowing everything in that same sick, bloody hue.

    Oswald swallowed hard, his throat burning with the acrid taste of bile. The air felt thick, clinging to his skin, but he forced himself to move. Yet, no matter where he turned, nothing changed. The same endless nightmare stretched in every direction. I need to get out of here.

    He looked down, scanning himself with an uneasy urgency. Clothes? Still there. Gear? Nothing missing. His fingers brushed over his face, pausing at the bare skin around his right eye. No eyepatch.

    Oswald sucked in a slow breath, tapping the exposed area. It¡¯s uncovered¡­ but I don¡¯t feel anything weird.

    His chest tightened as he took in his surroundings, an endless stretch of blood-red earth, stained and cracked, stretching out as far as he could see. If this place¡¯s tied to my Animus somehow, then that means¡­ my Animus Spirit should be here too. And maybe findin¡¯ it is my way out.

    ¡°Hey! Animus Spirit!¡± Oswald yelled out, but nothing stirred. No wind, no response, just more silence pressing in like a weight on his chest.

    He shifted his footing, rolling his shoulders before trying again. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±

    Still nothing. Am I actually alone here?

    He scowled, irritation creeping in to mask the unease building in his gut. ¡°I know you¡¯re here somewhere! If you¡¯re¡ª¡±

    Then, a sharp whistle tore through the air. Oswald barely had time to react before a crimson spear slammed into the ground inches from where he stood, sending a shockwave through the bloodied soil.

    He stumbled back, heat rushing to his limbs as he drew his shortsword. His breath came sharp as he looked towards the source of the attack.

    Through a swirling red haze, a figure stepped forward. Long red hair cascaded over her shoulders, blending into the eerie glow of the battlefield. But it was her lone crimson eye that locked him in place. It bore into him, heavy with something ancient, something dangerous, sending a creeping chill down his spine. The other eye was hidden beneath a black eyepatch, one that looked far too much like his own.

    His grip on his sword tightened as he took her in. Black horns curved from her head, smooth and ridged like something carved from obsidian, and pointed ears twitched slightly beneath the weight of her hair. She wore a fitted black ensemble lined with crisscrossing straps, sculpted for movement and agility.

    Obsidian-black wings unfurled from her back, stretching wide. The thin webbing shimmered with an unnatural sheen, the faintest movement catching the sickly red light above.

    But as he stared at her, realization settled in. She¡¯s gotta be my Animus Spirit.

 Chapter 6: Bargaining

    Oswald¡¯s fingers locked around the hilt of his sword with a grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to act, yet an unseen force held him rooted to the spot.

    His instincts roared in the back of his mind, a primal warning that the demoness standing before him was seconds away from striking. "Good instincts, but instincts alone? Tsk."

    She clicked her tongue, tilting her head as if appraising him. "That will not be enough."

    Oswald swallowed hard, the weight of her gaze settling over him like a shroud. His fingers twitched against his sword. What is she waiting for? If she¡¯s gonna kill me, she should just do it already.

    "You planning to talk me to death, or are you actually gonna do something?" Oswald taunted. Better to die with my head up than cowering like some gutter rat.

    The Animus Spirit let out a low chuckle. "Ah¡­ there it is, the little bite, the little fire. I like that."

    In the space of a breath, darkness coiled around her outstretched hand, congealing into the shape of a blade. It was unlike any sword Oswald had ever seen, its color an abyssal black that seemed to swallow the very light around it.

    Then she moved. Oswald barely registered the flicker of motion before searing agony tore through his chest. The force of the slash sent him staggering, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth as his vision swam. Before he could fully comprehend the wound, another wave of pain erupted in his stomach.

    A strangled gasp escaped him as his knees threatened to buckle. His sword slipped slightly in his grip, fingers twitching as red spread across his clothes. He coughed, crimson splattering against the rippling blood-soaked ground.

    The Animus Spirit tilted her head, her smirk widening as she wrenched the blade free. Oswald crumpled, his body folding as he barely caught himself on one knee.

    "If this is all you can do¡­ then you should never have come here."

    Oswald coughed, tasting blood, his vision swimming at the edges. He forced his gaze upward, the world shifting, unstable. The demoness stood over him, poised, her weapon already angled for the next strike, like she had all the time in the world.

    His fingers dug into the earth, wet and cold, dirt grinding beneath his nails. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs barely responded. Move, damn it. Move!

    The blade descended. And then, to Oswald''s surprise, time stilled.

    Oswald could see every tiny motion, every shift in the demoness¡¯s stance, the way her sword cleaved through the air with terrifying precision. The pain that had consumed him only moments before was¡­ gone. Instead, a strange, boundless energy surged through his veins, a feeling of weightless, limitless power that thrummed through his limbs.

    He had no idea how long this moment would last, but he knew what he had to do. Now or never! With a sharp inhale, Oswald tightened his grip around his sword and lunged.

    His blade found its mark, plunging deep into the demoness¡¯s neck. The sensation was almost surreal.

    But the instant steel met flesh, time snapped back into motion. The demoness¡¯s eyes widened, her lips parting in a soundless gasp as her weapon faltered, her knees buckling beneath her.

    Pain soon returned. Oswald¡¯s body convulsed as every ounce of damage he had sustained crashed over him at once. He swayed, legs screaming for relief, but he refused to collapse just yet. Can''t¡­ lose¡­ now.

    Oswald¡¯s chest heaved, his breath rasping against the blood pooling in his lungs. His vision swam, a haze of agony and exhaustion clouding the edges, yet he forced himself to look up at the demoness. She''s smiling?

    Her lips curled into an expression not of pain or fear, but of amusement. Even with his sword buried in her throat, she appeared completely confident. Slowly, her fingers rose to the blade impaling her neck.

    "Not bad," she murmured.

    Oswald''s fingers twitched against his hilt as he watched in horror. The wound that should have been fatal was closing before his very eyes, the flesh knitting itself back together in an unnatural, seamless flow. The next second, she grasped the sword and wrenched it free.

    The Animus Spirit regarded the blood dripping from the edge, then wiped it clean against the dark fabric of her sleeve, utterly indifferent to what should have been a fatal strike. Her smirk widened as she tilted her head. "Ah¡­ you are a tenacious fighter, yes? This, I will grant you."

    Rage ignited in Oswald¡¯s chest, burning hotter than any wound. She¡¯s messing with me.

    In an instant, the pain that had wracked Oswald¡¯s body melted away. One moment, agony burned through his limbs; the next, it vanished like smoke in the wind. His torn flesh knitted itself back together. Even the blood on his tunic reversed its course, sinking back into his body as though time itself had unraveled.

    Oswald sucked in a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling as he flexed his fingers. Strength surged through him, every ache erased, every wound restored. Huh? I feel¡­ fine?

    He staggered slightly, disbelief warring with instinct. This wasn¡¯t normal by any stretch, but there was no time for doubt, there was still someone Oswald needed to deal with. ¡°What the fuck are you?¡±

    She laughed. Not a polite chuckle or a cruel cackle. This was something richer, something brimming with amusement. ¡°Oh? Have you truly not figured it out yet?¡±

    Oswald gritted his teeth. "I know you''re my Animus Spirit or whatever, but I wanna know more than just that."

    Her smirk widened, amusement dancing in her crimson eye. ¡°Very well, I shall make things clear, yes?¡±

    With a slow, languid motion, she lifted a hand and gestured toward him, as if even explaining this was beneath her. ¡°You are an idiot.¡±

    Then, she pointed to herself. ¡°And I am a demon.¡±

    Oswald didn¡¯t so much as bat an eye. Yeah, no shit. Horns, black wings, and a smug grin that said she was enjoying this far too much, she almost perfectly fitted just about every description and story he¡¯d ever heard about demons.

    What did throw him off, though, was how human she looked. The way she carried herself, the expressions that flickered across her face, the way she spoke with a blend of mockery and something that almost felt... familiar. He hadn¡¯t expected that.

    ¡°Dp all demons look like you?¡± Oswald asked.

    The demoness let out an exaggerated scoff, rolling her eye. ¡°How would you feel if I asked whether all humans looked like you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, alright. That was a dumb question.¡±

    ¡°I expected nothing less from someone like you.¡±

    Oswald huffed a laugh, shaking his head. ¡°Nice try, but you¡¯re gonna have to do better than that. I¡¯ve been through too much to get shaken up by a few insults.¡±

    The demoness clapped her hands together once, slow and mocking. ¡°Oh, how inspiring. Then perhaps you should try asking better questions, yes? Or shall we simply return to fighting?¡±

    Oswald crossed his arms, leveling her with a look. ¡°Fine. Then what¡¯s your name?¡±

    "Foolish human, names are a powerful thing where I am from. What makes you think I''d give you my name so easily?"

    ¡°I don¡¯t like talkin¡¯ to people I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Then it is a good thing I am not a person, is it not?¡±

    Oswald tried his best to think about the demoness''s words. If she really wanted me dead, she could¡¯ve done it by now. So why play this game?

    A sigh cut through his thoughts, bored and expectant. ¡°Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me, boy? Or do you intend to make this encounter worth my time?¡±

    Oswald gave a small shake of his head, grounding himself. ¡°Someone wanted me to come here. Said I needed to talk to you.¡±

    ¡°Oh? And who, I wonder, has the audacity to send you to face me?¡±

    "Selene Whiteheart."

    ¡°Ah. Now that is interesting. Either she is bolder than I expected¡­ or she simply does not care whether you live or die.¡±

    ¡°I''m sure she knew I¡¯d do fine.¡±

    ¡°Did she? Either way, you are a fool for coming here.¡±

    ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Because you seek to control me, yes? And that is something I will not allow.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s only fair, considerin¡¯ you keep tryin¡¯ to take over my body every time I take off my eyepatch.¡±

    "And that is only because you rarely use my power for anything worthwhile. So when the opportunity arises, I will seize it.¡±

    ¡°Yeah? Well, I don¡¯t like it when someone controls my body.¡±

    ¡°And I do not enjoy watching a fool stumble through existence, squandering the gifts he possesses. Yet, here we are.¡±

    Oswald exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing down the irritation clawing at his ribs. If she¡¯s tryin¡¯ to piss me off, she¡¯s doin¡¯ a damn good job of it.

    "You act like you hold all the cards, but I know better."

    ¡°Oh? Then enlighten me, boy.¡±

    "If you wanted me gone, you¡¯d have done it already. So either you got a reason not to kill me¡­ or you can¡¯t kill me.¡±

    A pause. A brief, fleeting one, but he caught it.

    ¡°That is correct,¡± she admitted, albeit reluctantly.

    Oswald let out a short, dry laugh. ¡°Since I can¡¯t get rid of you either, guess we¡¯re stuck together. Might as well set some terms.¡±

    The demoness smiled. ¡°Oh, how charming. You wish to establish rules, yes?"

    ¡°You got a problem with that?¡±

    ¡°No, no, of course not. I adore rules. Shall we write them in a little book? Perhaps seal them with a handshake, yes?"

    ¡°Huh?"

    The demoness blinked. Then, for a moment, she just stared at him. ¡°You¡ª¡± She stopped, pressing her fingers against her temple. ¡°Boy, do you ever recognize sarcasm?¡±

    He squinted at her. ¡°You were jokin¡¯?¡±

    A long, suffering silence stretched between them before she exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°By the fallen lords¡­¡±

    Oswald shifted his weight onto his back foot, watching her with mild impatience. ¡°So are you gonna listen or not?¡±

    She dropped her hand and regarded him with something resembling exhaustion. ¡°Very well, enlighten me. What rules do you wish to impose upon a being such as myself?¡±

    "Hold on, before we negotiate proper, I want your name."

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    "Still grasping for power you do not understand, yes? I will not give you my name."

    "Then we don¡¯t negotiate. I ain¡¯t making a deal with someone I don''t even really know."

    The demoness exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound carrying the frayed edges of her dwindling patience. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword. "You absolute imbecile, I may not be able to kill you, but rest assured, I can make you wish I could."

    Oswald met her gaze, raising his shortsword. "Fuck off, I ain''t afraid of you. Never was, never will."

    The words left his lips before he could think twice. If I can''t die here, then I got nothin'' to lose.

    In the blink of an eye, the demoness lunged. Oswald''s shortsword met her black blade with a thunderous clang. He barely had time to brace before she twisted her blade, disengaging then striking again.

    He parried, but the impact sent shockwaves up his arms, numbing his fingers. Her attacks never stopped, a relentless storm of slashes, thrusts, and counters, each one faster than the last. No mortal fighter could move like this. Every attack was honed to an unnatural precision.

    Despite this, Oswald fought back with everything he could muster. He struggled even as the demoness''s blade found his side, tearing through flesh.

    But before his mind could even register the pain, his skin knit itself back together. He was completely healed.

    The demoness continued slicing deep into his thigh. Yet, his body refused to stay wounded. The injury sealed, muscle reforming as if the attack had never happened. I''ll do this for as long as it takes.

    The fight gradually turned into a vicious cycle. Oswald attacked, the demoness dodged. She struck, he fell. He rose, only for her blade to carve into him once more. Over and over, the cycle of combat repeated.

    Time lost meaning. Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes stretched into something longer. He had no way of knowing how long they had been fighting.

    Oswald''s body no longer felt his own. He moved on instinct alone, reacting before his thoughts could catch up. There was no strategy anymore, no careful planning, just the next block, the next strike, the next wound that would heal before pain could truly set in.

    I¡­ gotta keep fightin''. Oswald should have collapsed by now. Any normal person would have succumbed to exhaustion, but he didn¡¯t. His body refused to break. Each time he fell, his legs carried him back up. Each time he was run through, his wounds stitched themselves back together.

    The demoness continued the fight regardless, but something had changed. At the start, she looked like she was enjoying their duel.

    Every strike had been sharpened by cruel delight, every clash of their blades filled with an unspoken hunger. She had tested him, pushed him, eager to see how much he could endure. Now, that hunger dulled.

    Seeing a chance to strike, Oswald ducked low, sweeping his sword in a brutal arc. His blade cut deep, biting into her ribs. Blood splattered across the ground, but the demoness barely reacted. No hiss of pain, no sharp intake of breath.

    She simply looked down at the wound, watching as dark blood leaked from the gash. She then flicked her gaze back to him, and without much fanfare, buried her sword in his chest.

    Oswald gasped as the blade tore through him. His knees wavered, but he caught himself before he could collapse.

    The hole in his chest sealed shut, flesh knitting together once more. The demoness exhaled through her nose. Another stab. Another clean cut. Oswald barely had time to raise his weapon before she slashed a wound across his shoulder.

    However, Oswald could tell that the demoness had stopped trying. Her movements were still efficient, but hollow. She still fought with inhuman capability, but the excitement was gone.

    With a final clash, their blades locked for an instant before both fighters stepped back. Oswald¡¯s chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. Sweat stung his eyes, mixing with the grime and blood smeared across his face. Across from him, the demoness barely looked winded. If anything, she looked bored.

    A sigh slipped past her lips. "Do you want to stop?"

    Oswald swayed but he forced himself to straighten, spitting a thick glob of blood onto the ground before meeting her gaze. "Not¡­ until you tell me your damn name."

    For a moment, the demoness''s head tilted ever so slightly. Then, at last, she introduced herself. "Zvarah Soulbane."

    Oswald let out a breathless chuckle, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Didn¡¯t expect you to just give it to me like that."

    Zvarah shrugged as her wounds stitched themselves closed. "I underestimated your tenacity, that is all."

    Oswald exhaled sharply as his own wounds followed suit, sealing over as if they had never existed. But still, he planted his feet firmly. "I¡¯ll fight you for all eternity if I have to."

    Zvarah sighed again before driving her sword into the ground. "Now I know better than to fight someone who has nothing to lose."

    "What do you mean?" Oswald asked.

    Her crimson eye gleamed as she regarded him with something close to pity. "I have seen your life, Oswald. Even if you cover your right eye with that pitiful scrap of cloth, I see everything. No parents. No real friends you can trust. No home to return to. Nothing."

    Oswald didn¡¯t bristle at her words, didn¡¯t spit back some half-hearted denial. Instead, a dry, bitter laugh escaped his lips. He reached for his shortsword, not to fight, but to sheath it. "You¡¯re not wrong, I don¡¯t really have much to hold onto."

    "Then tell me, boy, why fight so hard?"

    "Cause I¡¯ve been surviving my whole damn life, but I dunno if I¡¯ve ever really lived. When I was a kid, I used to sneak into the city, steal whatever I could get my hands on. Then I¡¯d slip back into the slums, dodging guards just to eat scraps. But every time I saw other kids runnin¡¯ around, playin¡¯ together, walkin¡¯ home with their folks¡­ I hated ¡®em for it."

    "I wanted a family. Wanted an easier life. But I never got a damn choice. So I did what I had to. Stole. Conned. Broke into houses and ran before anyone woke up. And eventually¡­ I killed. Just did whatever a street rat had to do to stay alive."

    Oswald lifted his chin. "But now? I wanna be somebody. And I don¡¯t give a damn what I gotta do to make that happen."

    Slowly, Zvarah''s lips curled into a smirk. ¡°If nothing else, I respect your resolve.¡± She lifted her sword from the ground, resting the flat of the blade against her shoulder as renewed interest sparked in her crimson eye. ¡°So, about that contract¡­¡±

    ¡°If we¡¯re doing this, it has to be fair. No tricks,¡± Oswald said.

    Zvarah let out a soft chuckle. ¡°That depends on what fair means to you, yes?¡±

    ¡°Simple. If I don¡¯t like what¡¯s in the contract, then it ain''t happening."

    ¡°And you believe you¡¯re in a position to make that sort of demand?¡±

    Oswald rolled his shoulders, already feeling his strength creeping back. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll find out, won¡¯t we? I ain¡¯t asking for special treatment. Just a fair deal. If fairness doesn¡¯t sit well with you, we can go back to fighting.¡±

    Zvarah exhaled sharply, tapping her fingers against the hilt of her sword. ¡°Tsk. Fighting you over and over would be a dreadful bore. Very well, I shall negotiate with you properly.¡±

    "First thing I want, you gotta stop suckin¡¯ the life outta me. Every time I use this damn eye, I feel like I¡¯m gettin¡¯ worse and worse after."

    ¡°You wish for me to stop killing you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s the first thing I want.¡±

    A sigh slipped past Zvarah''s lips. ¡°You misunderstand, boy. I do not kill you, I take from you."

    Oswald narrowed his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s the same damn thing.¡±

    ¡°Is it? If I wanted to kill you, I would have just done so from the day you were born, yes?"

    ¡°That ain¡¯t the point."

    Zvarah waved a hand dismissively. ¡°A necessary cost. You do not provide enough souls for me to sustain myself, so I take what I require from your own.¡±

    ¡°And you didn¡¯t think to tell me that before?¡±

    "Would you have listened? Would you have cared? I think not. Besides, you ought to be grateful, yes? You have wielded my power all this time, all without ever providing enough for me."

    Oswald¡¯s jaw clenched, irritation flaring hot in his chest. She¡¯s actin¡¯ like I was just supposed to know all this from the start. ¡°Ain¡¯t no way I could¡¯ve known how many souls you needed. If I had, I would¡¯ve¡ª¡±

    Zvarah¡¯s smirk widened, cutting him off before he could finish. ¡°Oh? And would you have killed more had you known?¡±

    Oswald fell silent. He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them thick enough to smother the air itself.

    Then, his lips parted. ¡°I¡¯d do what it takes to live.¡±

    Something flickered in Zvarah¡¯s crimson eye: approval, amusement, curiosity? It was hard to tell. But she smiled regardless. ¡°Then let us test that resolve.¡±

    She stepped forward, closing the space between them, and lifted a finger, pointing it toward his chest. ¡°If you are serious, then you must pledge to me a soul a day, starting from the moment you leave this place.¡±

    Oswald¡¯s fingers twitched at his sides. ¡°Hold on, do monsters count?¡±

    "Ah¡­ I see. You are having second thoughts about killing, after all, yes?"

    "I¡¯ve killed plenty of people, but I¡¯d rather know all my options first."

    Her smirk remained, but there was something sharper about it now. ¡°Very well. Monster souls can be¡­ suitable. But weaker ones will not do. I will only accept monsters strong enough to rival a human soul, or those greater still.¡±

    ¡°In that case, to make things fair, I want to pay up at the end of every thirty days.¡± Oswald said.

    Zvarah¡¯s smile vanished. ¡°Unacceptable.¡±

    ¡°Even loan sharks give me time to pay. What, you worse than them?¡±

    A flicker of something sharp passed through her crimson eye, her lips pressing into a thin line. Yea, she didn¡¯t like that one bit.

    Her fingers curled tighter around her sword before she exhaled, slow and measured. ¡°Tsk. You test my patience, boy.¡±

    ¡°I just want a fair deal. I¡¯ll pay up the souls in time, and you quit tryin¡¯ to drain the life outta me.¡±

    ¡°Fine. But in exchange, should you fail to meet your tribute within the agreed time, I reserve the right to claim your soul immediately, yes?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I ain¡¯t gonna let you get anywhere close. So, we got a deal or what?¡±

    She regarded him in silence, her crimson eye trailing over him, like she was weighing whether it was worth driving her sword through his chest just to make a point. Then, with obvious reluctance, she sighed. ¡°I am not pleased with your terms¡­ but I shall accept them, yes.¡±

    "Good enough for me." Oswald said.

    ¡°Now, I shall add your dues to the system accordingly.¡±

    ¡°The system?¡±

    ¡°Tell me, boy, do you even know how to use the system?¡±

    ¡°Nope, I dunno what it even is.¡±

    A sharp exhale slipped past her lips, halfway between frustration and disappointment. ¡°Of course you do not.¡±

    She stepped closer, lifting her hand slightly, like she was about to pluck something from thin air, before lowering it again. ¡°Then listen well. Focus. Reach deep within yourself and see.¡±

    Oswald raised a brow. ¡°You¡¯re just talkin¡¯ nonsense now.¡±

    Zvarah smirked. ¡°It is far easier for you to witness it than for me to explain, yes? Now, do as I said.¡±

    Oswald clenched his jaw, forcing down the urge to snap back. Fine, ain''t like I got much to lose from doin'' this.

    He shut his eyes, breathing slow and steady, and tried to do what she said. He had no clue what he was even looking for, but he focused anyway. His thoughts drifted, past the aches in his muscles, past the exhaustion clawing at his bones, past the lingering buzz of whatever this place was.

    Then, something shifted. Like a lock clicking open. Words formed in the air, hovering in his vision like they had always been there.

    Souls: 0

    Resonance: 1

    Invocations: ???

    Days until Tribute: 30

    Skills:

    <ol>

    <li> True Sight (Tier 1: Grants the ability to see through darkness and illusion magic)</li>

    <li> Gaze of Doom (Tier 1: When activated, drains the life force of any target that makes direct eye contact)</li>

    <li> Exalted Trance (Tier 1: Temporarily increases bloodlust after each kill. Stacks with consecutive kills.)</li>

    </ol>

    Oswald¡¯s breath caught. The words weren¡¯t written anywhere physical, but he saw them all the same, as though they existed just outside the bounds of reality.

    ¡°This is the system?"

    ¡°Now you see it, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. But what is this? How¡¯s this just¡­ appearing in my head?¡±

    ¡°Listen carefully, because I''m not going to repeat myself. The system is a framework by which your power and my power are governed. It has always been present, you simply never bothered to look.¡±

    ¡°I only started seeing this system stuff after I met Selene the first time.¡±

    ¡°Then she merely helped you look. You could have done it yourself, eventually.¡±

    Oswald shrugged. There were bigger things to focus on. ¡°Alright, then. Can you explain what all of this actually means?¡±

    Zvarah cocked her head, watching him with something that hovered between amusement and condescension. ¡°Do you truly have no idea?¡±

    ¡°Nope, I''m lost here.¡±

    A long, suffering sigh left Zvarah¡¯s lips, but she answered him anyway. ¡°Souls are simple. The system tracks how many you have collected, how much you have killed.¡±

    ¡°However, I will only track souls that hold proper value. The weak are of no use to me. A soul must be at least equal to that of a human''s for it to be counted. Stronger monsters will be worth far more. Some could be ten times the worth of a human soul¡­ perhaps even more.¡±

    Oswald nodded slowly, turning that over in his mind. So it ain''t just about numbers. Quality matters too.

    After a brief pause, he asked, ¡°And the rest of it?¡±

    ¡°Resonance measures the connection between you and me. The stronger it becomes, the stronger we become.¡±

    That makes sense. Oswald had already felt something shift between them since stepping into this place. There was no doubt their bond had grown in some way.

    ¡°And ¡®days until tribute¡¯ is exactly what it says. The number of days you have left until your next payment of souls is due. It always counts down.¡±

    His gaze flicked back to the system floating in his vision. One thing still stood out. ¡°And what about invocations?¡±

    Zvarah¡¯s smirk returned, though there was something almost teasing about it this time. ¡°That¡­ you will know in time.¡±

    ¡°Why are you dodgin¡¯ that one?¡±

    ¡°Because it is beyond you right now. You will not reach that point for quite some time. So, instead of dwelling on it, I will tell you about what does concern you: skills.¡±

    "Go on."

    ¡°The system only tracks skills related to the Animus and myself. For example, things like swordsmanship, crafting, and even magic that does not require an Animus will not be recorded. Those are your own to develop as you see fit."

    Oswald absorbed the information carefully, his fingers unconsciously curling at his sides. So the system ain¡¯t some all-knowing force that tracks everything I do. Good to know.

    He ran through everything she¡¯d told him in his head. Souls count my kills, but only if they¡¯re strong enough. Resonance makes us both stronger. My skills are just the ones tied to the Animus. And the countdown¡­ well, that¡¯s just a clock ticking over my head.

    ¡°Alright. Thanks for explaining.¡±

    Zvarah clicked her tongue. ¡°No need for gratitude. It only means you are slightly less ignorant than before.¡±

    Oswald rolled his eye, but instead of snapping back, he hesitated. The boy shifted his weight slightly, then met her gaze with a more serious expression.

    ¡°Actually, can you help me get stronger?¡±

    "That depends, what are you willing to do for that strength?¡±

 Chapter 7: Souls

    Oswald didn''t go this far just to back down. He knew what he had to do. ¡°I¡¯m ready to do whatever I can¡­ within reason.¡±

    ¡°Within reason, yes? How very reassuring.¡± Zvarah said.

    ¡°Yeah, well, I ain¡¯t makin¡¯ any commitments ¡®til I¡¯m sure what I¡¯m gettin¡¯ into. You¡¯re a demon, after all.¡±

    ¡°Ah, you do have some sense, after all. I was beginning to wonder.¡± She lifted a hand, and suddenly, something shifted in the air between them.

    [Displaying Skill Shop]

    1 New Pactbound Skill [Cost: 300 Souls]

    Note: Pactbound Skills always start at a minimum of Tier 3!

    Oswald raised an eyebrow as his eyes flicked to the floating text hovering in front of him. "This it? Don¡¯t look all that impressive to me."

    Zvarah let out a sharp scoff, wings shifting behind her in irritation as her red eyes narrowed. "Any skill granted through me will be at least Tier Three. That is a considerable leap above those pitiful Tier One scraps you currently rely on, yes?"

    Oswald frowned, jaw tightening. She¡¯s got a point, but still... "Can¡¯t I just train my way up to Tier Three skills on my own?"

    She tilted her head, almost pitying. "Please. Skills acquired through mundane effort will plateau at Tier Three, yes? The skills I offer start there. And unlike your self-taught abilities, mine have the potential to grow far beyond."

    "How far we talkin¡¯?"

    "There are nine tiers in total, each one vastly more powerful than the last."

    "Alright... so I just hand over 300 souls every time I want a new skill?"

    "Three hundred souls is merely the starting price, yes. As the number of your skills grow, so too shall the cost."

    "What? That¡¯s bullshit. Why do you get to just up the price whenever you feel like it?"

    "Because I am the one bestowing power, boy. Therefore, I decide the price. If you disapprove, you¡¯re welcome to stumble about and find your own skills, yes?"

    "Can¡¯t you at least lower it a bit? Three hundred¡¯s a steep ask."

    "My price is final."

    "I just don¡¯t like feelin¡¯ like I¡¯m bein¡¯ scammed."

    "And I don¡¯t enjoy having my services treated as common favors. But I will promise you this, whatever skill you acquire from me, it will be worth the price."

    A long silence stretched between them. Then Oswald sighed and muttered, "Fine."

    For a moment, Oswald studied the floating text again, but the longer it lingered, the more it pressed against his mind, like an itch he couldn¡¯t scratch. He waved a hand through it, but nothing changed. Damn thing ain¡¯t going away on its own, huh?

    ¡°Anyway, how do I get rid of all this system stuff? Feels like it¡¯s just sittin¡¯ in my head now.¡±

    ¡°Tsk. Just will it to vanish. The system is yours to control.¡±

    Oswald did as she said, focusing on making the text disappear. In an instant, it faded away completely.

    "Huh, guess it really is that easy."

    Zvarah let out a sharp breath, rolling her eye. ¡°Now, we shall formalize this contract, yes?¡±

    Oswald nodded. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s get this over with.¡±

    Zvarah lifted her black blade and sliced a shallow cut across her palm. Thick, black blood welled up against her skin as she extended her hand toward him. ¡°Now, you must do the same.¡±

    Oswald drew his own blade, pressing the edge to his palm. He hissed as he dragged it across, crimson welling up against his skin. He moved to shake her hand, but stopped at the last moment.¡°Hold on. Say the full terms of the contract again.¡±

    Zvarah¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Do you doubt me?¡±

    Oswald smirked. ¡°Damn right, I do. You ain''t gonna catch me signin¡¯ somethin¡¯ without readin¡¯ the fine print.¡±

    Zvarah let out a slow breath, but she relented. ¡°Very well.¡±

    ¡°You shall owe me one soul per day, to be paid in full at the end of every thirty days, yes. In exchange, I shall cease draining your soul for sustenance.¡±

    ¡°Furthermore, I shall grant you power in exchange for a set number of souls, the cost increasing with the strength of the skills you wish to obtain.¡±

    Oswald listened carefully, nodding along. It was fair enough. But there was one more thing.

    ¡°Add this, you stop tryin¡¯ to take over my mind whenever I use my right eye.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come now. I help you fight better. You should be thanking me, yes?¡±

    ¡°I hate it when I ain¡¯t in control of my own body. That¡¯s not negotiable.¡±

    Zvarah clicked her tongue, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. ¡°Then if you do not wish for my guidance, perhaps you should at least take on more of my power.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°You shall grow stronger. Faster. Sharper. In addition, you will feel a greater¡­ appreciation for battle."

    Oswald scowled. ¡°I ain¡¯t tryna turn into some starvin¡¯ bloodhound.¡±

    Zvarah let out a quiet chuckle. "Oh, hardly. You will not lose yourself, boy. Rather, you''ll simply come to appreciate the thrill of combat, just as I do. As you can plainly see, I''m perfectly capable of speaking, reasoning, and negotiating, yes? You shall remain yourself, merely enhanced."

    "So, you''re sayin'' I''m gonna start likin'' fightin'' a bit more?"

    "Precisely. Your mind will not be lost to blind bloodlust. You''ll merely find greater enjoyment in battle, yes?"

    Oswald sighed lightly. "Alright, fine. Guess I''m okay with that."

    ¡°Good. Then have we settled all your demands, or do you wish to waste more of my time?¡±

    Oswald rolled his wrist, shaking a bit of the blood from his cut palm before extending his hand. ¡°Nah, we¡¯re good. Pleasure doin¡¯ business with you.¡±

    Zvarah snorted, her lips curling into a smirk. ¡°I cannot say the same.¡±

    Still, she clasped his hand in hers, sealing the deal. The moment their bloodied palms connected, a force unlike anything Oswald had ever felt surged through him.

    Heat and cold crashed together, as if fire and ice had entwined within his veins. His breath hitched as dark energy coiled around their joined hands, twisting and writhing.

    The ground beneath him cracked, veins of abyssal blackness splintering through the stone, pulsing with ancient power. A deep, resonant hum filled the space, vibrating through his bones, shaking the air with a power that was neither sound nor silence, but something in between.

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    Strange symbols carved themselves into the back of his hand, burning like molten iron pressed against his flesh. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still even as the pain licked up his arm, searing itself into his very being.

    Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the air grew still. The ground quieted as the symbols on Oswald''s hand vanished, sinking deep into his flesh.

    Zvarah pulled her hand away, tilting her head slightly as she inspected him. ¡°It is done.¡±

    Oswald flexed his fingers, shaking off the lingering sensation. His palm still tingled where their blood had mixed. But regardless, the pact was sealed. No goin'' back now.

    ¡°Alright. So, how do I get outta here?¡± He asked.

    Zvarah¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°Oh, I do know of a way, yes.¡±

    ¡°Why are you smilin¡¯ like that?¡±

    ¡°Do you wish to leave, or not?¡±

    Oswald clicked his tongue. ¡°Yeah, but you better not try anything funny.¡±

    She lifted a hand to her eyepatch. ¡°I would do nothing of the sort.¡±

    Then, without another word, she pulled it away. The instant her eyepatch slipped free, Oswald¡¯s breath caught in his throat.

    The eye beneath was the same as his own. Red, with an X-shaped pupil carved into its depths, pulsing with an eerie, undeniable power.

    His own right eye burned the moment it met hers. A violent shock tore through his skull, as if his mind had been split open from the inside. His vision blurred into a storm of red, the world around him shattering apart like broken glass.

    [You are now pactbound with Zvarah Soulbane]

    [You have gained a new Tier 1 skill: Ascended Physique]

    [A Previous Skill has Evolved! "Exalted Trance" has evolved into "Slaughterborn"]

    ***

    A faint crackling reached Oswald¡¯s ears, the slow, steady pop of burning wood. His mind drifted in a haze, caught between the edges of sleep and wakefulness, thoughts sluggish, body heavy. The scent of roasting meat lingered in the air, rich and smoky, coaxing his senses back into focus.

    His fingers twitched, pressing against the ground. The rough texture of dirt and scattered leaves met his touch. How am I outside?

    With a low groan, he pushed himself up slowly. His vision swam for a moment before sharpening, and the world around him settled into view.

    Towering trees stretched high above, their thick canopy swallowing much of the night sky, leaving only fractured slivers of moonlight to filter through the leaves. To his left was a large wooden cabin, its windows catching faint reflections of the bonfire¡¯s glow.

    Oswald¡¯s fingers twitched as a stray thought struck him. He reached up, brushing his hand over his right eye. His eyepatch was still there. Did I put this back on?

    A wave of relief coursed through him, but unease followed close behind. He had no memory of putting it back in place. His last clear recollection was of Zvarah and their¡­ enigmatic encounter. Guess Selene must have put my eyepatch back on.

    Turning his gaze toward the center of the clearing, he found the bonfire crackling steadily within a ring of stones. Around the fire, logs had been arranged as makeshift seats.

    Just beyond the glow, Selene sat while cooking several tantalizing meat skewers. The juices dripped onto the burning wood below, sending up wisps of fragrant smoke that curled into the night air.

    Oswald''s stomach grumbled loudly, cutting through the quiet night air. The scent of the roasting meat had firmly hooked him now, drawing him closer like a starving wolf.

    He looked toward Selene, watching the flames flicker gently across her features. The amber glow illuminated her pale skin and set her violet eyes sparkling with a soft intensity. She turned a skewer slowly over the crackling fire, juices sizzling as they dripped down onto the wood below.

    Oswald shuffled toward her. "Did you¡­ uh, bring me here?"

    Selene glanced up briefly, her eyes softening at his approach. "I did, you were unconscious for quite a while. Three days, to be precise."

    Oswald froze mid-step, shock rippling through him. Three days? Nah, that can''t be right.

    "Three days?" Oswald repeated incredulously. "Damn, felt way longer than that."

    "Time flows differently in that place. You''d do best not to dwell upon it." Selene said, turning over another skewer.

    Oswald chuckled softly at the absurdity of it all. He took another slow step forward, nearly reaching the log beside Selene when a sudden thought pierced him like a knife.

    His pulse quickened, the pleasant fog shattering instantly. Vivi. The last time he''d seen his feline companion had been in the city. Ah shit, don''t tell me we left her behind.

    Selene, sensing his discomfort, raised her gaze again. "Something troubling you?"

    Oswald opened his mouth, fumbling awkwardly over his words. "Ah¡­ yeah. Look, this is gonna sound kinda weird, but did you happen to see a black cat when you picked me up back at the inn?"

    He wasn''t expecting much. Truth be told, the question sounded ridiculous to his own ears. Ain''t no way Selene Whiteheart of all people had time to worry about some stray cat.

    Yet, to his surprise, Selene raised one graceful hand and pointed calmly just beyond his shoulder, saying, "Do you mean that one?"

    Oswald whipped his head around so fast he nearly toppled from dizziness. His heart thundered against his ribs as he stared into the shadowy darkness between two towering trees.

    From behind the rough trunk of an ancient oak, a pair of familiar golden eyes glimmered softly in the moonlight. Vivi stepped casually into the clearing, whiskers twitching in mild curiosity.

    "Vivi?" Oswald whispered in disbelief, kneeling down instantly. "Where did you come from, girl?"

    The cat padded silently over the uneven ground toward him. With an elegant leap, she landed beside him and began winding around his legs, purring warmly.

    Oswald chuckled softly, running gentle fingers over her fur. "Scared me half to death. Thought I''d lost ya for good."

    Selene watched quietly, amusement softening her features. She reached over, plucking one of the skewers from the fire, and held it toward Oswald. "She seems quite attached to you. Perhaps more than a mere cat should be."

    "Eh, guess we both got lucky then." Oswald said.

    Taking the skewer, Oswald bit into the tender meat, savoring the rich, smoky flavor. It tasted like home, simple yet comforting, easing some hidden tension he''d forgotten was there.

    He glanced back at Selene, curiosity piquing once more. "So, uh, where exactly are we anyway?"

    Selene adjusted herself comfortably on the log as she turned another skewer over the flames. The meat sizzled gently, a trail of fragrant smoke spiraling upward into the cool night air. "We''re in a forest west of Loria. My forest, to be precise. No one will disturb us here."

    Oswald paused mid-chew. He swallowed quickly, blinking at her in surprise. "Wait, your forest? As in¡­?"

    "As in, I quite literally own this entire forest."

    Oswald stared at her for a long moment, eyebrows raised, mouth half-open in astonishment. Well, ain''t that somethin''. Though, thinking about who exactly sat beside him, he figured this revelation shouldn''t shock him too much.

    "Guess with your reputation, I shouldn''t really be surprised."

    Selene chuckled softly in response. "Perhaps what should truly surprise you is that your feline friend managed to follow us all this way without me noticing her presence earlier. When I took you to the inn, I was certain we were alone."

    Oswald glanced down at Vivi for a second. Then, he lifted his gaze back to Selene, a playful grin spreading across his lips. "Ah, speaking off forgot. Selene, meet Vivi. Pretty sure she''s smarter than your average cat."

    Selene tilted her head slightly, scrutinizing Vivi with sudden intensity. Her deep violet eyes narrowed, gleaming with an unreadable depth as she studied the feline. Seconds ticked by, stretching longer than comfortable, and Oswald found himself shifting awkwardly beneath the strange silence. What''s she doin''? It''s like she''s tryin'' to look into her soul or somethin''.

    Finally, as if satisfied with whatever she''d been searching for, Selene turned back to the skewers cooking gently above the flames. "You would do well to keep a close eye on that cat."

    "Uh, why exactly?" Oswald asked.

    Selene didn''t look at him immediately, carefully rotating another skewer as though considering her words. Eventually, she raised an eyebrow, offering Oswald a faintly amused, enigmatic smile. "Tell me, Oswald, how often does a simple cat slip past someone like me unnoticed?"

    Oswald opened his mouth to answer, then promptly closed it, thoroughly perplexed. He frowned slightly, looking down at Vivi again. The feline stretched lazily, utterly unconcerned by the gravity of the conversation.

    "I don''t get it. You''re sayin'' she''s more than just a regular cat?"

    "You''ll understand in time."

    Oswald shrugged, hunger overriding his lingering confusion. He reached out eagerly for another skewer, only for Selene''s fingers to swiftly intercept, gently swatting his hand away.

    "If you want more, you''ll have to earn it," she said lightly.

    Oswald stared incredulously, giving her a sideways glance, "Hold up, didn''t you already give me food? Why''re you suddenly makin'' this difficult?"

    "I have my reasons, Oswald, since I hunted the meat and cooked the skewers, I believe it''s only fair I decide whether you get more."

    "Alright, fair enough. What exactly d''you want me to do?"

    For some reason, Selene¡¯s lips curved upward into a wider smile than usual. The expression stirred an uncomfortable sense of foreboding deep within Oswald''s gut.

    She inclined her head toward the surrounding trees. "Go punch a tree."

    Oswald blinked at her, his mouth dropping slightly open. He glanced at the looming trunks encircling them¡ªancient and solid, their bark gnarled and rough like weathered stone. She''s kiddin'', right? But the amused gleam in her eyes offered no reassurance.

    "Punch¡­a tree, you''re serious?"

    "Indeed, I am quite serious."

 Chapter 8: Newfound Strength

    Oswald exhaled deeply. He shot Selene one last doubtful glance before looking around. The boy searched for a tree that would be easier to handle, something thinner, and less likely to break his damn hand.

    Finally, he spotted a slender tree nearby. Yeah, that one oughta do. Looks punchable enough without splintering my knuckles.

    "How about that one?" Oswald asked, pointing to a tree.

    Selene barely spared the tree a glance. Instead, she pointed toward a towering behemoth looming beyond the firelight¡¯s edge. Its massive trunk looked impenetrable, and its twisted roots coiled around the soil like sleeping serpents.

    "Go and punch that one." Selene said.

    Oswald¡¯s jaw dropped slightly as he stared up at the enormous tree. You gotta be kiddin'' me¡­

    He swallowed nervously, eyeing the immense tree she had chosen with growing apprehension. No way my fist''s makin'' it out in one piece if I punch that thing.

    But Oswald knew arguing wouldn¡¯t get him anywhere. Selene¡¯s amused smile told him she wasn¡¯t about to let him worm his way out of this. With a sigh, he dragged his feet forward, every step feeling heavier than the last as he approached the massive tree.

    The closer he got, the more its sheer size pressed down on him. Its trunk was thick and unyielding, and its roots twisted like thick serpents across the ground, some half-buried, others jutting out like jagged bones. Yeah, I''m definitely gonna break somethin¡¯ tryin¡¯ to punch this thing.

    ¡°Do not worry, Oswald. Surely you feel better now than you did before?¡± Selene said.

    Her words gave him pause. Hmm, she''s actually not wrong.

    Oswald tested his muscles with cautious movements. They felt tighter, stronger, far sturdier than he remembered. He hadn''t really noticed it till now, but the strength surging beneath his skin felt oddly invigorating, maybe even unnatural.

    He glanced back over his shoulder at Selene, reluctantly conceding, "Guess you''re right. I''m feelin'' better than before. But I still ain''t sold on punchin'' this tree."

    Selene offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Just do it, Oswald. You''ve surely done far more ridiculous tasks in your lifetime."

    He let out a sharp laugh, remembering what the kinds of tasks he had to do in order to join the Black Hounds. "Yeah, can''t argue with ya there."

    Oswald took a deep breath and squared his stance as he faced the tree. His boots shifted, sinking slightly into the soft earth as he prepared himself.

    He lifted his right fist slowly, aligning his knuckles precisely with the tree''s weathered bark. Alright, gonna give it just a quick jab. Pull out fast, don''t gotta break my hand for this. He took another breath, visualizing the precise moment his knuckles would graze the bark, just enough impact to satisfy Selene without doing any real harm.

    The forest around him fell quiet, as though the world itself waited breathlessly for his strike. Oswald tightened his stance, legs bracing firmly beneath him.

    In one swift movement, Oswald threw his punch. He felt the rush of cool night air brushing against his knuckles as his fist drew ever closer to the tree.

    However, the moment his fist met the tree, something astonishing happened. Rather than bouncing painfully off the hardened bark, his knuckles pierced cleanly through, sinking effortlessly deep into the trunk.

    Bark exploded outward around him in a splintering shower, fragments scattering across the forest floor. A loud, resonant crack filled the air, echoing sharply off the distant trees. Oswald''s entire arm disappeared into the depths of the giant trunk, the sheer force of his blow sending vibrations rippling throughout the tree.

    Stunned, Oswald stared dumbly at his arm, now buried nearly to the shoulder inside the tree. Splinters littered the ground around his feet. Damn, I did that?

    He glanced backward at Selene, mouth agape in stunned silence. She sat calmly by the fire, looking very amused by what she saw. "I told you, you''re stronger now. Perhaps stronger than you imagine."

    Oswald slowly withdrew his arm from the tree, wood groaning and splintering further as he did. He flexed his fingers experimentally, marveling at the lack of pain or damage.

    Shock slowly gave way to awe, mingling with confusion in the depths of his mind. He turned his gaze to Vivi, who stared back at him as if thoroughly unimpressed by his newfound strength.

    A low chuckle rose from Oswald''s throat as he shook splinters from his sleeve. He turned back toward Selene, feeling a sudden rush of exhilaration bubbling within him.

    "Guess I''ll take another skewer now," he called out cheerfully, grinning widely.

    Selene nodded. "Well earned, Oswald."

    Oswald returned to sit across from Selene. He gratefully accepted the skewer she offered, savoring the rich scent of roasted meat drifting upward. Taking a hearty bite, he let the smoky flavor wash over his senses before curiosity nudged at him again.

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    "So, how exactly am I this strong now?" he asked, glancing down at his hand.

    "It''s the result of successfully making a contract with your Animus Spirit. If you wish to understand it more clearly, you should consult your system." Selene explained.

    "Wait, you got a system too, then?"

    "Of course, every person who is host to an Animus has one. However, you can''t see mine, just as I can''t see yours."

    "Huh," Oswald muttered, nodding slowly. Guess that makes sense. It''s probably kinda personal.

    "Alright, I''ll give it a quick look."

    Closing his eyes, Oswald reached within, feeling that familiar warmth blossoming inside his chest. He summoned the system to the forefront of his consciousness, words shimmering clearly before him.

    Souls: 0

    Resonance: 1

    Invocations: ???

    Days until Tribute: 30

    Skills:

    <ol>

    <li> Slaughterborn (Special: Awakens a primal fervor for battle, enhancing reflexes, agility, and martial prowess as combat continues. These effects are amplified when facing stronger foes or overwhelming numbers of opponents.)</li>

    <li> True Sight (Tier 1: Grants the ability to see through darkness and illusion magic)</li>

    <li> Gaze of Doom (Tier 1: When activated, drains the life force of any target that makes direct eye contact)</li>

    <li> Ascended Physique (Tier 1: Grants enhanced physical capabilities, surpassing ordinary human limits.)</li>

    </ol>

    Oswald studied the list closely, excitement and confusion mixing in his chest. Ascended Physique? Makes sense, considerin'' what just happened. But the skill named Slaughterborn captured his attention most. It lacked a tier, simply labeled "Special."

    "You got the same skills as me? Like this Ascended Physique thing?"

    "Ascended Physique is common among those with an Animus Spirit. It¡¯s something of a foundation skill, so yes, we do share that one. But beyond certain basics, you''ll likely discover you possess abilities uniquely suited to your spirit."

    "What about ''Slaughterborn''? Ever heard of that?"

    "I can''t say that I recognize that one, no. What exactly does it do?"

    "Well, far as I can tell, it''s like¡­ the longer I''m fightin'', the stronger and faster I get. Kinda makes me better at handlin'' myself, especially when I''m up against tougher enemies or a whole lot of ''em."

    Selene chuckled softly. "That certainly sounds fitting for you, Oswald."

    "Now what''s that supposed to mean?"

    "It means I simply see great potential in you, that¡¯s all."

    Oswald felt warmth rising in his cheeks, quickly looking down at the nearly finished skewer to hide the embarrassment creeping onto his face. "Well, uh¡­ thanks, I guess."

    Selene smiled again, this time warmly, fondly even. She glanced briefly toward the wooden cabin behind them. "Go on and head inside, I have something prepared for you."

    "Prepared? For me?"

    "Indeed. Think of it as another reward, for your successful contract, and perhaps for your newfound strength."

    Oswald''s heart quickened slightly as he stepped into the cabin. Warm golden lantern-light filled the space, lighting up the interior. Vivi swiftly darted ahead, hopping gracefully onto a sturdy wooden table, her tail swishing back and forth as she surveyed the room.

    In the center of the cabin stood a large wooden box, polished and gleaming faintly in the lantern¡¯s glow. Oswald approached it cautiously. Wonder what she''s got waitin'' for me in here, he thought, gently running his fingers over the surface before carefully lifting the lid to see what''s inside.

    Whoa! Look at all this. There was an impressive assortment of new gear: a dark brown cloak, similar in color to his current one but sturdier, and impeccably crafted. Under it was a set of fresh tunics and pants, tailored precisely to his size, and a brand new leather eyepatch.

    But his gaze quickly fixed upon the pristine longsword resting at the bottom of the box, its polished blade gleaming flawlessly. Oswald ran his hand reverently along its grip, feeling an undeniable sense of awe surge through him.

    He turned quickly, hearing footsteps behind him. Selene had quietly entered. "What do you think?" .

    Oswald spun around at the sound of approaching footsteps, his muscles tensing on instinct. Selene stood in the doorway, her presence as effortless as a passing breeze. The soft glow of the room¡¯s light caught in her silver hair, and for a moment, she was just watching him, her violet eyes calm yet expectant.

    "What do you think?" she asked, her voice steady, as if she already knew the answer.

    ¡°This stuff¡­ it looks amazin¡¯. Ya really didn¡¯t have to go and do all this for me.¡±

    ¡°I chose to, consider it an investment, if you¡¯d like.¡±

    His shock broke into something more practical as he ran a hand over one of the tunics. ¡°Wait¡­ how¡¯d ya even find clothes in my size?¡±

    Selene¡¯s lips curved, but she only shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s a secret.¡±

    Oswald frowned. ¡°A secret? What¡¯s that supposed to mean¡ª¡±

    Instead of answering, she tilted her head slightly. ¡°Tell me, Oswald¡­ what do you want to do with your life?¡±

    "An adventurer? That''s far too simple a goal. Frankly, you could achieve that already, as you are now. Is there nothing greater you wish to accomplish?"

    Oswald fell silent, feeling slightly embarrassed by the simplicity of his initial answer. He searched his memories, mind wandering back to darker, colder days spent living in the slums. His heart clenched slightly, remembering a certain tattered poster.

    "Actually, for the longest time, I''ve thought about enterin'' the Tournament of Champions. Maybe even winnin'' it."

    ¡°Now that is a dream worth striving for. However, in your current state, I¡¯m afraid you would scarcely last beyond your first match.¡±

    ¡°Ah, but fighters who compete there are not mere brawlers swinging blindly in the dust. They are seasoned warriors, honed by battle and sharpened by experience. Even the adventurers who enter are typically C-rank or higher.¡±

    "Guess that just means I gotta work harder, right?"

    "Precisely. And I''m here to help you reach that goal." Selene said, gesturing toward the box. "Put on your new gear. From here on, I''ll prepare you properly to become the adventurer you wish to be."

    Oswald nodded, a spark of excitement flaring in his chest. The thought of pushing himself, of getting stronger, set his pulse racing. But just as fast, doubt set in. ¡°But, uh¡­ there¡¯s one problem. Every thirty days, I gotta pay a tribute of souls to my Animus Spirit, or else I''m dead. Dunno how I¡¯m gonna manage that while trainin¡¯ with you.¡±

    "Don''t worry yourself about that, Oswald. I''ll assist you when the time comes. For now, your priority must lie on more important things."

    "If you say so, guess I''ll trust ya on this."

    "Good. Now, get changed. Your training starts now."

 Chapter 9: Essence of Mana

    Selene stood at the center of a large clearing. Her expression remained composed, studying Oswald thoughtfully as she waited for him to adjust to his new gear.

    Across from her, Oswald shifted his stance awkwardly, feeling the weight of the new cloak settle comfortably upon his shoulders. His fingers curled hesitantly around the hilt of the longsword Selene had given him, its unfamiliar grip sleek beneath his fingertips.

    Taking a steady breath, he swung the weapon through the air. The sword was balanced perfectly, yet Oswald couldn''t help feeling somewhat clumsy wielding a blade longer and heavier than what he''d been accustomed to for most of his life.

    "Ain''t gonna lie, Selene, I''m not really used to a longsword like this. Been usin'' my shortsword this whole time, guess my body''s just got the feel for somethin'' shorter."

    "You''ll get used to the longsword in time, besides, there''s no need to worry about that just yet. We won''t be needing weapons for the next stage of your training." Selene said.

    Oswald nodded silently, returning the blade carefully to its sheath at his hip. "Alright, so if we ain''t trainin'' with swords yet, what exactly are we gonna be doin''?"

    "If you truly wish to become an adventurer and eventually compete in the Tournament of Champions, you must first learn to harness your mana core properly."

    Oswald''s brow knitted instantly into a deep frown. "Uh, I''ve actually tried channelin'' my mana core a couple of times before. Ain''t never worked out, no matter how hard I tried."

    Selene placed a hand on Oswald''s shoulder. "Things are different now. In the past, your Animus Spirit was in conflict with your mana core. That discord made channeling your mana nearly impossible. But since you''ve forged your contract, your Animus will no longer hold you back. Trust me when I say you¡¯re capable of far more than you''ve ever imagined."

    "Guess that makes sense," he finally responded, offering her a faint but hopeful smile. "Should I just close my eyes and focus, then? Like I''ve tried before?"

    "That''s exactly right, all you need to do now is trust yourself. The rest will follow."

    With a slight nod, Oswald exhaled slowly, then moved to lean against a tree. C''mon, you got this, he reassured himself, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes firmly.

    Darkness flooded Oswald''s vision. He steadied himself, reaching inward with practiced focus, yet this time clarity greeted him instantly, sharp and vivid, as if some unseen barrier had shattered at last.

    But doubt lingered stubbornly, whispering at the fringes of his mind, familiar and taunting. What if nothin¡¯s changed? What if I''m just kiddin'' myself again?

    Clenching his jaw tightly, Oswald shoved the nagging uncertainty aside, searching deep within his soul. Almost immediately, a strange heat stirred deep within his chest, answering his call.

    He sank into it eagerly, diving deeper and deeper into himself, until suddenly something, he saw it. A radiant force blazing fiercely in the very core of his being, brilliant like a star.

    Shock and awe surged through him, nearly shattering his fragile concentration. Yet Oswald held steady, irresistibly drawn toward that dazzling, burning power within.

    Crimson light erupted into the darkness, fierce and overwhelming, illuminating the depths of his consciousness. For the first time ever, Oswald saw clearly the pulsing source of his mana core, radiant and powerful, glowing like molten flame. It pulsed rhythmically, perfectly synchronized with the beating of his heart. Is this really mine? It''s... incredible.

    The mana core burned brighter still, flaring joyfully in response to his emotions. Warmth surged through his veins, flooding every muscle, filling him with newfound strength. It was raw and intense, but unmistakably, undeniably his.

    [You have gained a new Tier 1 skill: Mana Control]

    Oswald slowly opened his eyes, blinking as the vivid colors of the forest gently rushed back into focus. Breathless and exhilarated, a triumphant grin broke uncontrollably across his face. "I did it, I actually felt my mana core. It''s strong¡­ way stronger than I ever dreamed it''d be."

    "Of course, it is yours, after all."

    "But¡­ how come you sound like you''re sure I was gonna have a powerful mana core?"

    "Well, it''s only natural. Anyone who hosts an Animus Spirit possesses a potent mana core by default.

    "But how''s that make sense?"

    "Did you happen to receive a notification after you successfully channeled your mana core?"

    He paused, blinking as he recalled the message he''d seen flashing vividly in his vision only moments ago. "Yeah, actually, I did."

    Selene folded her arms confidently across her chest. "Then I''d wager good money your Animus Spirit informed you that you could only access skills directly related to the Animus or itself, correct?"

    "Pretty much."

    "Then we can conclude that if your skills must align with your Animus, that can only mean your mana core and Animus are inherently connected. The only question is how."

    Oswald blew out a slow breath, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Honestly, I ain''t got the slightest idea how any of that works."

    "Sit down," Selene instructed gently. "You''ll want to get comfortable for this explanation, it''s crucial if you wish to advance further in your training."

    Oswald complied, sliding down the rough bark of the oak until he was seated comfortably against its trunk. Selene mirrored his movement as she settled onto the soft grass opposite him.

    "Tell me, do you know where mana cores come from?"

    "I just know everyone''s born with one. ''Sides that, I ain''t too sure."

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Selene nodded. "That''s correct, at least in part. But mana cores have a deeper origin. They are tied to the Veil, the source and the end of all life."

    Oswald scratched his head thoughtfully. "Y''know... think I heard somethin'' about that once, from some drunk priest babblin'' nonsense in a tavern." He paused, a smirk spreading across his lips. "Wait, scratch that, pretty sure he was an ex-priest."

    "And did this... former priest say anything specific?"

    "Uh, well... I don''t exactly remember all the details. Just somethin'' about the Veil bein'' some kinda place outside our world. A realm beyond realms, y''know?"

    "The Veil is far more than merely another world. It is the gathering place of all souls, including those awaiting their turn to be born, and those who have already departed this life."

    "So, is the Veil kinda like a gateway between Earth and Heaven?"

    "You can think of it that way, yes. Though some priests would certainly call acknowledging the Veil''s existence heretical, but that''s neither here nor there."

    "But what''s this whole Veil stuff gotta do with mana cores and my Animus?"

    "Souls are born within the Veil itself. Each newborn soul is created complete with its mana core which functions to guide them from the Veil into our world. When someone dies in our world, their mana core will also serve to guide them through the veil, to their final resting place, wherever that may be."

    Oswald tried to wrap his mind around Selene''s words. His brow furrowed, and he finally let out a breath of confusion. "I get what you''re sayin'', but... what''s all this got to do with my Animus? And speakin'' of, I''ve still got a lot of questions about that, like why is there a demon livin'' inside it in the first place?"

    Selene raised an eyebrow, correcting him firmly but gently. "Animus Spirit, Oswald. ''Demon'' is a misleading term for entities residing within an Animus."

    "Well, my de¡ª Animus Spirit just straight-up told me she was a demon, so..."

    "Yes, because they hardly concern themselves with human classifications. However, whilst you''re under my guidance, I expect you to use the proper terms."

    She ain''t lettin'' that one slide, huh? Oswald sighed inwardly but offered a reluctant nod.

    "Regardless, there is much about the Veil and the Animus I intend to share with you. But to prevent overwhelming you, allow me to summarise."

    "Fair enough. Maybe start by tellin'' me how exactly the Animus ties into the mana core."

    "The Animus is not a natural phenomenon. It is artificial, created as an extension of the mana core itself. Its purpose is to grant the host not only access to their personal mana reserves, but also direct power drawn from the Veil."

    Shock surged through Oswald''s chest, making him sit up sharply. Artificial? "You''re sayin'' someone just... made eyes like ours? Just crafted ''em outta nowhere?"

    Selene''s expression grew distant, thoughtful. "Precisely. The Animus was forged a very long time ago, during a period when humanity stood upon the brink of extinction."

    "Wait, seriously? Tell me more."

    "In due time, Oswald. For now, to answer your final question clearly: the Animus functions by binding an Animus Spirit within, complete with all the power and dangers that entails."

    Oswald let out a low whistle, disbelief and admiration mixing in his expression. "Whoever made the first Animus must''ve been crazy strong."

    Selene nodded solemnly. "In fact, the Animus was conceived through the vision of an extraordinary soul, one who made unfathomable sacrifices to safeguard humanity¡¯s future. It is solely because of him that mankind endures as the world¡¯s dominant force to this day."

    "Damn¡­ how d''you even know all this stuff, anyway?"

    "Let us simply say that I had very capable teachers, and leave it at that."

    Figures, Oswald thought with a quiet sigh. "Well, I hope you''ll actually fill me in properly one of these days."

    "I shall," Selene assured him, rising gracefully. "But right now, we have training to resume. You still must master the basics of mana control."

    "Fair enough, what''s next?" Oswald said, straightening and stretching his shoulders.

    "Now that you''ve successfully channeled your mana core, it is time you learned how to sense the mana of others. All humans have mana cores, and certain monsters have them too, so being able to sense mana will be very important for you."

    "Got it. It does sound pretty important to know."

    "Start by trying to sense mine. It''ll serve as good practice."

    Oswald hesitated, glancing warily at Selene. He knew enough by now to trust her instructions, but the idea of peering into another person''s core felt strangely intrusive. Still, ain¡¯t no point hesitatin'' now. Might as well give it a shot.

    "How exactly do I do that?"

    "Close your eyes again, reach out mentally, just as you did to find your own mana core. Instead of focusing inward, extend your senses toward me. Feel the space between us, then search gently. Eventually, you''ll sense my presence."

    "Got it."

    Oswald drew in a slow, steady breath as his eyelids drifted shut. He focused inward, letting his attention settle on the steady glow of his mana core first. And as he centered himself, he followed the thread of that power outward.

    He reached beyond himself, stretching his awareness toward Selene. At first, the world came to him in fragments. But then, something else stirred at the edge of his perception.

    A chill seeped into him, subtle at first, like the ghost of a breeze tracing along his spine. His senses sharpened, and suddenly, he felt it: a presence beyond his own. It was foreign yet unmistakably tied to Selene. In his mind¡¯s eye, he caught the shape of it, an orb, similar to his own mana core. That¡¯s gotta be Selene''s mana core.

    [You have gained a new Tier 1 skill: Mana Sense]

    Oswald barely registered the message as he focused on the core before him. His own mana blazed bright and fierce, a near-overwhelming inferno within his body, yet Selene¡¯s was something else entirely.

    Even before he fully grasped it, he could tell that it was strong. No, more than that. It was potent, much denser than his own core. Compared to hers, his mana felt wild and untamed, like a raging firestorm. But Selene was controlled, contained within something vast and unfathomable.

    Then, a sudden, unnatural cold wrapped around his senses, slithering into his bones. A creeping sense of dread gripped his chest as Oswald instinctively pulled back, but it was something that was easier said than done.

    Swallowing hard, Oswald felt himself being pulled deeper as the weight of Selene''s mana pressed down on him. The further he reached, the darker it became, coiling like tendrils around his thoughts. His pulse pounded in his ears. What''s happening?

    As he brushed closer to it, an overwhelming wave of fear crashed into him. His heartbeat thundered frantically in his ears, and his breathing grew shallow and ragged.

    Oswald recoiled instinctively, but it was already too late. He had found Selene''s mana core, and it stared back at him: malevolent, hungry, and utterly terrifying.

    As seconds passed, it increasingly radiated pure menace, a dark storm swirling violently beneath a deceptively calm exterior. It felt predatory, monstrous, as though her core was alive with a visceral desire to consume him.

    Oswald shivered violently, chills racing uncontrollably down his limbs as he felt an unshakable certainty that whatever this thing was, it wanted him dead. Panic rose in his chest, clawing painfully at his throat.

    He struggled to pull away, but the suffocating terror held him, gripping his soul like iron shackles. Every instinct screamed at him to run, yet he couldn¡¯t move.

    But with great effort, Osswald eventually managed to force his eyes open, his heart nearly bursting from his chest as he frantically scrambled backward. Shit, thought I was gonna die.

    Selene regarded him in quiet surprise. "Oswald? What''s wrong?"

    Oswald stared at her, his body trembling uncontrollably. "What¡­ what was all that? What¡­ who the fuck are you really?"

    For a moment, silence lingered between them, heavy with tension. Then Selene¡¯s eyes twinkled mysteriously, and a small chuckle escaped her lips, unsettlingly calm despite his terror. "I had anticipated that something like this would occur eventually."