ã€ŠThe Not-So-Great Villainã€‹


 1. A Place far Away

    A Place Far Away

    Someone asked, "Poison or the System?"

    ¡°I''d rather drink the poison."

    A lone, bitter soul¡ªsaid when? Who knows.

    The first month of spring arrived like a long-awaited breath, warming the earth with its golden touch.

    The thick blankets of snow had begun to shrink under the gentle yet insistent rays of the sun. Beneath the retreating frost, the earth stirred awake. Blades of grass, timid yet determined, pierced through the damp soil, their emerald tips catching the light as if stretching toward the warmth. Flowers, once buried in winter¡¯s grasp, slowly unfurled delicate petals. Hints of green spread across the landscape like ink spilling over a blank canvas. The air, crisp with the fading memory of winter, carried the sweet scent of damp earth and budding life. In the trees, branches no longer weighed down by ice trembled with motion as birds flitted from limb to limb, their songs exuberant.

    In the Old Wood village, it was a day of celebration.

    Every house and hut stood empty, abandoned in favor of the gathering. Even the tavern at the far end of the village, where the useless drunkards bathed in ale from morning till night, had shut its doors¡ªa rarity that spoke to the importance of the occasion.

    Among the throng of villagers heading toward the clan¡¯s manor, a small boy, no older than six, skipped hopped along the muddy road.

    His tiny hands, still round with childhood, clutched tightly around his mother¡¯s rough, calloused fingers. The cool dampness of the earth squelched beneath his boots, but he paid it no mind, his excitement lifting his feet as if they barely touched the ground.

    Despite the importance of the day, his father was not among them. His work was too crucial to leave, though he had promised¡ªsolemnly, sincerely¡ªthat he would be there. North did not blame him. He understood.

    He had always been told he was a smart child¡ªnot just by his mother, who loved him too much to say otherwise, but by the teachers at school, and they would have no reason to lie to a small kid. So, he believed it. Understanding things beyond his years had never been difficult for him, and neither was accepting the absence of his father. Promises were like that, he supposed¡ªspoken with the best intentions but not always kept.

    ¡°North, walk properly.¡± His mother¡¯s firm yet gentle voice pulled him to a sudden stop.

    She tightened her grip on his small hand, her other hand resting on her hip as she surveyed the damage. ¡°You¡¯ll ruin your clothes before the Hope ceremony even begins.¡± A sigh escaped her lips as she crouched down, carefully dusting off the fresh mud clinging to his new pants before adjusting the cuffs.

    ¡°You know the entire village will be there,¡± she murmured, half to herself, half to him. ¡°What would people say? That I couldn¡¯t even dress my boy properly?¡± She clicked her tongue in mild frustration, but her fingers were tender as they smoothed out the fabric.

    North, unfazed, whined dramatically, ¡°Mum! Why don¡¯t you tell this mud to stop sticking to my shoes? It¡¯s all its fault!¡± He threw his arms up as if pleading his case to the sky, his small brows furrowing in frustration.

    His mother snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. ¡°Oh, is that so? The mud is to blame now?¡± She patted his knee one last time before standing.

    ¡°Yes! And the road too!¡± North stomped a foot, only for another squelch of mud to attach itself to his boots. ¡°See? It¡¯s following me!¡±

    His mother shook her head, laughing under her breath. ¡°The road is just doing its job. You, on the other hand, are doing your best to bring the entire field along with you.¡±

    He pouted, crossing his arms. ¡°Not fair. If Dad were here, he¡¯d tell you I¡¯m right.¡±

    His mother¡¯s smile softened at the mention of his father. ¡°Oh? And what would he say?¡±

    ¡°That you can¡¯t fight the mud, only walk over it bravely,¡± North declared, straightening his posture as if he had just recited the most profound wisdom.

    Fern, his mother, could only shake her head at his theatrics. What was she supposed to say to that? She had long learned that reasoning with North¡¯s strange logic was like trying to convince the wind not to blow. But she wasn¡¯t without tricks of her own.

    A sly smile tugged at her lips as she leaned in conspiratorially. ¡°I heard Hope Bugs likes clean and well-behaved boys.¡±

    Gasp!

    North gasped so loudly it could have startled the birds from the trees.

    His wide eyes darted down to his mud-streaked pants and dirt-speckled shoes, horror dawning across his face. Without hesitation, he started furiously dusting them off, his tiny hands moving in frantic desperation.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me first?!¡± he wailed, the panic in his voice real enough to make Fern stifle a chuckle.

    His lower lip trembled, and then, as if the weight of his predicament was too much to bear, fat tears welled in his eyes before rolling down his cheeks.

    ¡°UuuWu, UUuuWuu,¡± he sobbed, his little body shaking with exaggerated despair.

    Though sharp-witted beyond his years, North was also hopelessly gullible.

    Fern simply smiled, smoothing back his unruly hair. ¡°What¡¯s done is done,¡± she said lightly. ¡°I¡¯ll clean them when we reach the clan¡¯s manor.¡±

    With that, she took his small hand in hers once more and tugged him along, his cries still bubbling up between sniffles.

    He followed, still sniffling, still fussing over his clothes, but with each step, his distress softened.

    By the time they were halfway through the road, what had started as a simple duo had grown into a bustling parade. Groups formed naturally¡ªwomen chattered away, so engrossed in their gossip that they momentarily forgot about their children.

    A few men trailed behind, their expressions distant, lost in quiet conversations of their own.

    Among the two dozen children, North walked alongside Fatty Heo, his schoolmate and self-proclaimed best friend.

    The boy, round-cheeked and always eager to share news, puffed out his chest with excitement.

    ¡°My father said that when the traveling caravan passes through the village next month, he¡¯ll buy me a silver tiger doll.¡± Fatty Heo¡¯s voice rang with pride, his grin wide enough to split his face.

    North, unimpressed, wrinkled his nose. ¡°Fattyyyy,¡± he drawled, stretching the word out as if saying it pained him. ¡°How could you still play with toys? You¡¯re Six years old! When are you gonna start acting like an adult?¡±

    Fatty Heo blinked, then tilted his head, as if genuinely perplexed by the idea. ¡°Why would I wanna be an adult?¡± He shook his head, his round face serious. ¡°Adults are bad.¡±

    North frowned at the unusual remark, but before he could ask, Fatty Heo leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. ¡°Two weeks ago, I woke up ¡®cause it was cold,¡± he confessed, eyes darting around as if making sure no one else could hear. ¡°I heard something strange. I think¡­ I think it was the old granny who used to live at the back of the mountain and died this winter freezing alone. It must be her ghost.¡±

    North¡¯s brows furrowed, his interest piqued, but Fatty Heo barely paused before continuing. ¡°I got scared and ran to Papa¡¯s room.¡± He hesitated, glancing at North before whispering even softer. ¡°He was beating my mum on the bed.¡±

    ¡°I got scared and ran back to my bed, but in the morning, my mum acted like nothing happened. She even gave him an extra egg.¡±

    North¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°An extra egg?¡±

    Fatty Heo nodded solemnly and followed with great distress. ¡°You know our two hens died from the cold, right? And two were stolen. The fourth one ran away with the neighbor¡¯s rooster. My papa even fought with him to get it back, but he couldn¡¯t, instead he came home beaten,¡± He sighed. ¡°Then a wolf ate three more. Now, we only have three hens left, and they only give eggs thrice a week.¡±

    He paused expression pained, ¡°Still, we only get one egg in the morning, but my mother gave Papa two.¡±

    "Does it make sense to you?" Fatty Heo asked, his round face scrunched up in confusion.

    North shook his head, his small fingers scratching at his scalp as if he could dig up the answer from the tangle of thoughts swirling in his mind. But no matter how he turned the question around, he couldn''t understand it. Why would Fatty Heo¡¯s mother give his father two eggs after being beaten the night before?

    "Did he beat her again?" North finally asked, his voice quieter now.

    Fatty Heo shrugged, then¡ªwithout hesitation¡ªstuck a finger up his nose, fished out a thick booger, and popped it into his mouth, chewing with a satisfaction that made North instinctively take two steps back.

    This was one of Fatty Heo¡¯s stranger habits, one that had earned him countless scoldings and smacks from their schoolteacher. Yet, despite the near-daily beatings at school, he remained stubbornly committed to his nasty little indulgence. At least, North noted, he wasn¡¯t doing it as much as before.

    "Every two days," Fatty Heo finally answered, swallowing down the booger like it was a piece of dried fruit.

    North pursed his lips, unsure of how to respond. His friend didn''t seem too bothered by it, but something about it made North feel uneasy. He couldn¡¯t understand the way adults worked, why they did the things they did, why promises were often broken, or why someone who was hurt would still give away something precious.

    "My papa said he''ll ask for more books from the chief. When I read them, I¡¯ll let you know the problem," North declared, puffing out his chest in determination. It was the only promise he could make for now.

    Fatty Heo grinned, showing off his missing front tooth. "Okay," he said simply.

    By then, the road had led them to the grand square in front of the clan¡¯s main manor. At least a hundred parents stood gathered, their children in tow, their voices merging into a dull, expectant murmur. And, outside the gate, everyone in the small village was watching expectantly.

    "Silence."

    A guard¡¯s metal hammer struck a heavy iron plate, and the sharp clang rang through the square like a sudden storm. Conversations cut off mid-sentence, laughter died on lips, and even the restless shuffling of children ceased. A hush settled over the crowd, thick and expectant.

    Following, The manor doors swung open, and the village chief stepped out, his pristine white robes flowing as he walked. The elders of the great families followed closely behind, their faces solemn. Among them, North¡¯s father walked with a slight hunch, his thick glasses slipping down his nose. Unlike the others, he held no authority, only numbers. The chief had made him the village¡¯s accountant for that reason alone.

    North wouldn¡¯t be lying if he said he didn¡¯t miss his father¡¯s presence all that much.

    Once, long ago¡ªor perhaps not so long¡ªhe had gone to play at Fatty Heo¡¯s house. It had rained that morning, turning the ground soft, perfect for playing in the mud. He and Fatty Heo, along with his five younger siblings, had spent the afternoon laughing, rolling in the dirt, building forts. His mother would have scolded him, but Fatty Heo¡¯s mother had said nothing.

    But then his father had come home for lunch.

    North could still remember the way the door had slammed open, the sound so sharp it had sliced through their joy. In an instant, Fatty Heo was yanked up by his ear, feet kicking helplessly in the air. Then, one by one, all six of them had been beaten¡ªno questions, no scoldings, just the heavy-handed lesson of discipline.

    North had never been so scared in his life.

    He ran like a startled deer, straight home, swearing never to set foot in that house again.

    Even now, sometimes in his sleep, he would dream of Fatty Heo¡¯s father¡¯s angry face, sprinting behind him.

    Too scary!

    Thus, North figured his papa was actually very good. He never beat him or his mother at night¡ªthough, to be fair, he was rarely home. Maybe he did it when North was at school. Not that it mattered to him anyway.

    Recently, his papa had given him an old, dusty poetry book written by a famous scholar from the world beyond the mountains. Ever since then, North had taken a deep interest in poems. And, kid you not, he had even written one himself¡ªone so impressive that it had turned him into the apple of his mother¡¯s eye and the pride of his father.

    The cold wind sighs as snow drifts high,

    Plum blossoms scent the moonlit sky.

    This was also why his father had agreed to get him more books from the clan¡¯s manor, where they hoarded all the precious texts brought in from the outside world.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The murmurs in the square faded as the village chief stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd.

    ¡°Today, let¡¯s begin our 234th generation Hope Ceremony.¡± His voice was steady and deep, carried across the square. Though he spoke plainly, his presence alone commanded attention.

    Despite being well into his sixties, the chief stood with the strength of a man in his prime. His face bore no wrinkles, and his knees never ached, even when he climbed the muddy, uneven paths of the mountains. But why would they? He was a Rank 4 Dungeon Master.

    Dungeon Master¡ªjust one of the many names for those who had awakened their systems. Some called them warriors, others Masters of Mountains and Thunder, and some had even grander titles for them. But in truth, there was no single, absolute term. The power that coursed through him, the abilities he wielded, were beyond mere labels.

    ¡°Follow me,¡± the chief commanded, turning without hesitation.

    The crowd stirred, and one by one, they moved to follow him toward the sacred grounds, where the ceremony would begin.

    Beside the chief, the manor guards moved swiftly, splitting the gathered crowd into two orderly lines. The villagers followed in quiet anticipation, their procession trailing alongside the manor before veering toward the mountain path.

    The melted snow had turned the winding trail into thick, clinging mud. With so many feet pressing down on the same spots, the ground became treacherous, and it wasn¡¯t long before a few unlucky souls lost their footing. Children stumbled, their clothes stained with wet earth, their faces scrunched in frustration or embarrassment. North¡¯s eyes naturally drifted to them, feeling a small pang of pity. Their brand-new ceremonial outfits, meant for such an important day, were now ruined.

    He glanced down at himself. His mother had warned him to be careful, and so far, he was still in the good zone¡ªas she had called it. His clothes were only a little dirty, nothing too bad. Hope wouldn¡¯t discriminate, she had told him. All he had to do was focus on what he loved the most, his happiest moment.

    The higher they climbed, the deeper they moved into the forest. The bright, open sky faded behind a canopy of towering trees, their dense branches casting shifting patterns of light and shadow along the ground. Grass thickened along the edges of the trail, brushing against their legs as the path narrowed.

    Time slipped by, the journey stretching into what felt like half an hour. Then, at last, the world of mud, snow, and dense forest fell away.

    Gasps rippled through the crowd.

    Before them, the valley opened like a painting come to life, an endless field of pretty red flowers stretching as far as the eye could see.

    The sight was so breathtaking that even the adults, who had seen this place before, couldn¡¯t help but let their eyes sparkle with awe. The children, still caught in their wonder, whispered to one another in excitement. Even North found himself staring, his usual thoughts quieted by the sheer beauty before him.

    The flower was simply called Heart Flower. It was also the only place where Hope Bugs lived. They couldn¡¯t survive anywhere else¡ªnot even a step outside. The moment they left this valley, they would simply die.

    ¡°Now, now, stop staring and talking.¡±

    A hush fell instantly over the children, their fidgeting ceasing as all eyes turned toward the old man standing in the center of the sacred valley. He was ancient¡ªfar older than even the chief. His face was a map of deep wrinkles, his hunched back curved. His hands trembled ever so slightly where they rested on the wooden staff that kept him upright.

    And yet, when he spoke, his voice was neither frail nor weak. It carried through the clearing like the steady chime of a temple bell.

    Yet, when he spoke, his voice was clear, steady.

    ¡°Let me explain the rules once again this year.¡±

    He shifted his weight forward slightly, scanning the young faces before him.

    ¡°Every child who has turned six is given a chance to be accepted by the Hope to form their Dungeon Boundary.¡±

    His cloudy yet sharp eyes swept over the small group of children, each standing stiff with anticipation. Some clenched their tiny fists, others shuffled nervously in the dirt. One boy even gulped audibly, earning a quiet chuckle from a nearby villager.

    The elder¡¯s lips twitched in amusement before he gestured toward them with a slow, deliberate movement. ¡°Now, come forward.¡±

    Silence. Then, the hesitant shuffling of small feet.

    North''s chest tightened. His little hands clenched at his sides. His feet wouldn¡¯t move. A strange fear gripped him, an invisible weight holding him back. Almost without thinking, he inched behind his mother¡¯s legs, suddenly too scared to take a step forward.

    Fern sighed softly. ¡°Oh, North,¡± she murmured, bending slightly so her warm breath tickled his curls.

    Her little sweetheart always acted brave, but inside, he was still terrified of the smallest things. Just last night, a frog had croaked too close to the house, and he had refused to close his eyes until she chased it away.

    She crouched down, gently prying his small fingers from her skirt. "No need to be scared. Didn¡¯t I tell you? Hope doesn¡¯t bite."

    Fern pinched his small, flushed cheeks, her warm eyes meeting his. Her face, beautiful and calm, held no trace of worry.

    "Remember what I told you? You have to think of your happiest moment and what you want to do when you grow up."

    North swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be a scholar and write poems."

    Fern¡¯s smile deepened. "Good¡­ my little poet."

    She squeezed his tiny hands, her grip firm, reassuring. "I¡¯ll be right here watching you. And look¡ªyour papa is smiling at you."

    North hesitated before glancing past the chief. His father stood there, watching, and sure enough, there was a small smile on his face. A warmth spread in his chest. Maybe this ceremony wasn¡¯t that scary after all.

    Fern gave his hands a small squeeze before straightening. ¡°Go now,¡± she urged, her voice gentle but firm.

    North swallowed hard. He took a breath.

    And this time, when his mother gave him a small push forward, he let his feet move.

    Soon, a hundred or so children stood before the old elder, a sea of tiny, fidgeting bodies gathered in a rough line. North stood beside Fatty Heo, their small hands gripping each other tightly, as if they needed to ward off some imaginary monster lurking nearby. Most of the children here were their age, all filled with the same jittery energy, their wide eyes flickering between the elder and the sacred valley beyond.

    The old elder''s smile stretched wide, revealing a mouth with no teeth, making his already wrinkled face bloom like a dried fruit.

    North swallowed a giggle and squeezed Fatty Heo¡¯s hand a little tighter.

    Heo, ever the troublemaker, had no such restraint. His chubby cheeks wobbled as he stifled a laugh, and his mouth opened so wide it looked like he might actually swallow a fly.

    North suddenly remembered a phrase from his poetry book:

    "A mouth like an old barn¡ªwide open, nothing inside!"

    The comparison was too perfect. The image of Heo¡¯s gaping mouth next to the toothless elder was almost too much. North clapped his hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. Luckily, the elder¡¯s eyesight had dulled with age, and he didn''t notice their mischief. Nor did he hear North¡¯s whispered poem¡ªotherwise, he would have smacked them both on the head right then and there, no doubt calling them shameful brats.

    Instead, the old elder, appearing quite pleased, let his sleeves billow gently in the breeze before raising a hand for silence.

    "There are three important rules you must remember before going in."

    He paused, scanning the young faces before him. Once every child had nodded, he continued:

    "One: Do not step on or break the Heart Flowers when walking inside.

    Two: Do not chase after a Hope Bug if you see one¡ªlet it come to you."

    "Three: If a Hope Bug chooses you, do not try to capture it."

    His gaze swept over the children, his voice steady.

    "And lastly, think of what you want to do when you grow up. Only if you already have hope in your heart will it grow. So dream big, let your aspirations be grand."

    He let the words settle, his wrinkled hands resting on his staff.

    "Understood?"

    "Yes, Grand Elder!"

    A chorus of small yet serious voices rang out, filled with both excitement and nervous energy.

    "Let¡¯s move forward then."

    The old elder led the children to the edge of the blossoming valley and instructed them to form a single horizontal line. They obeyed without hesitation.

    Now standing alone, North felt a strange mix of apprehension and excitement swelling in his chest. His heart pounded, but there was also a small flicker of happiness. Taking a deep breath, he turned back for one last glance at his mother and father. His mother¡¯s eyes held warmth, her hands clasped in silent encouragement. His father, still standing behind the chief, gave him a small nod.

    North steeled his gaze.

    Then, following the elder¡¯s motion, he carefully stepped forward.

    The moment his foot touched the soft earth between the Heart Flowers, their sweet, honey-like fragrance overwhelmed him. The scent curled through the air, wrapping around him like an invisible embrace. He wasn¡¯t the only one affected¡ªsome children let out quiet sighs, their eyes half-lidded as if they were about to drift into a dream.

    North felt his surroundings stretch, the world swaying slightly. His legs weakened, his vision blurred, and for a second, he almost lost his footing. His eyelids grew heavy, an urge to simply fall and let the flowers cradle him creeping over his mind.

    But he fought it.

    His feet pressed firmly into the ground, his hands clenched into small fists. He wouldn¡¯t fall asleep here¡ªnot when the ceremony had only just begun.

    He suddenly understood why Heart Flower Wine was so treasured. He had overheard his father and other villagers praising its sweetness, its ability to make a man feel light and happy. Now, he finally knew why.

    He moved carefully, appreciating the beauty of the flowers as he walked. Their soft petals brushed against his ankles, their deep red hues almost glowing under the sunlight.

    Yet, even as he admired them, he held onto the thought of his dream¡ªhis dream of becoming a poet and a scholar.

    Of course¡­ if he could also become a Dungeon Master like the village chief, that wouldn¡¯t just be good¡ªit would be great.

    Then, no one would stop him.

    Not his mother, who scolded him for reading too late into the night.

    Not his father, who always hesitated before buying him more books.

    If he became a Dungeon Master, he could do whatever he wanted.

    However, why wasn¡¯t a Hope Bug flying toward him?

    North glanced around, searching the air, the flowers, anywhere, but none of the glowing little creatures seemed interested in him.

    His eyes landed on a small girl nearby. She had barely taken ten steps into the valley, and already, a Hope Bug hovered curiously around her. Further ahead, a boy stretched out his hand, and a Hope Bug jumped out from a flower and landed right on his palm.

    Then came the third child. Then the fourth.

    As more children walked deeper into the valley, Hope Bugs began to emerge like fluttering butterflies. Tiny, glowing furballs danced through the air, flickering with warm light. Some hovered gently over children¡¯s heads, while others nestled into open hands like they had found something precious.

    North¡¯s chest tightened.

    He turned to Fatty Heo, who¡ªof course¡ªwas completely ignoring the elder¡¯s warning and stupidly trying to catch a Hope Bug.

    North wanted to smack his head, but then he noticed something that made his jaw drop.

    Fatty Heo wasn¡¯t struggling to get one Hope Bug¡ªhe had six of them floating around him, bouncing playfully in the air like they couldn¡¯t get enough of him.

    Maybe he didn¡¯t need to worry about angering them after all.

    North swallowed and looked down at himself.

    Nothing.

    No Hope Bugs.

    The anxious lump in his throat grew, his hands clenched, and suddenly, he wanted to cry.

    Then, it hit him.

    His clothes.

    His shoes.

    His dirty cuffs.

    His mother had cleaned them earlier, but what if the smell of mud still lingered? What if that was why no Hope Bug wanted to come near him? Regret slammed into him like a rock to the chest. Why, why, why did he have to jump in the mud while walking?! His mind raced for a solution. His eyes darted to the ground¡ªbroken Heart Flowers littered the field where other children had stepped carelessly.

    His mind latched onto an idea.

    If Hope Bugs liked Heart Flowers so much, then maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªif he rubbed the flowers on himself, the smell would attract them!

    Without hesitation, he ducked down, scooping up the fallen petals.

    He rubbed them on his clothes.

    He smeared them on his shoes.

    He scrubbed them on his hands.

    And, for good measure, he even smeared them all over his face. By the time he was done, he looked less like a six-year-old boy and more like a little red-faced monkey, completely covered in crushed petals.

    However, just as North was busy rubbing crushed Heart Flower petals all over himself, something¡ªor rather, someone¡¯s leg¡ªcollided hard with his head.

    Before he could even react, the other child toppled onto him.

    "Aaaa! Ouch!"

    They crashed into the flowers, the soft petals flattening beneath them. The scent of crushed blooms thickened in the air, but North barely noticed¡ªhe couldn¡¯t breathe with the weight pressing down on him. The other person groaned, slowly pushing themselves up, and North finally sucked in a breath, wincing as he managed to sit up. Then, his eyes fell on the ground around them.

    His already red face drained of all color.

    They had crushed so many flowers.

    Panic gripped his chest. His brilliant idea¡ªcompletely ruined by this stupid person.

    He clenched his fists, his emotions twisting between frustration and despair. But as his mind slowly pieced together the disaster, he turned to glare at the culprit.

    A girl.

    She stood over him, glaring down with an expression of pure annoyance, her nose scrunched up so high he could barely see her eyes. She was taller than him. North immediately realized he was in a difficult situation. He wanted to scold her¡ªreally, really wanted to¡ªbut if he did¡­ what if she beat him up? A strange, inexplicable feeling tugged at his chest. Then, his gaze landed on her closed hands, pressed tightly against her chest. Something clicked in his head.

    The Hope Bug.

    Realization struck like lightning, connecting the dots in an instant. Before he could say anything, the girl huffed, still looking at him with a mix of irritation and disbelief.

    ¡°Are you stupid or what?Who crouches in the middle of the valley during the ceremony? Do you want to get stepped on?¡±

    "I was¡ª"

    Her words stabbed straight into his little pride, and heat rushed to his face. Shame burned inside him. It really was his mistake. He had crouched down without thinking, hidden from sight. He should have realized someone might trip over him. His lips parted, but for once, North had no excuse.

    ¡°What if my Hope Bug died?¡± she continued, her voice trembling.

    Yet, as she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes out of nowhere. And so did North¡¯s.

    Neither of them knew why, but their faces were suddenly wet, tears falling faster than they could wipe them away. She wiped her face. He wiped his. But no matter how much they rubbed at their eyes, the tears wouldn¡¯t stop.

    The girl huffed one last time, sniffled hard, but her nose was already running. A strange feeling gripped her¡ªfear, frustration, confusion. Something about this red-faced boy unsettled her.

    He must be a ghost.

    That was the only explanation. She was terrified of ghosts¡ªall the children in the village were. And North, covered in crushed flowers, red-faced and crying, looked exactly like one. A ghost child. The lost child of the old granny behind the mountains. Her breath hitched, her fear took over, and without sparing North another glance, she turned and ran. But as she did, something happened.

    A small or perhaps her Hope Bug suddenly flew out of her hands. She froze. Her fists, clenched so tightly, loosened just a little. Did she lose it? She peeked through her fingers, heart pounding. No.Her Hope Bug was still there, glowing softly inside her palm. She must have imagined it. Shaking off the strange feeling, she picked up speed, running as fast as her feet could carry her.

    And then, as if drawn by something unseen, that Hope Bug finally appeared before North. It floated before his face, soft and glowing, like a tiny star. It circled him once, twice, three times¡ªas if inspecting him. Then, without hesitation, it quietly disappeared into his heart. North blinked. His tears kept flowing for no reason, but his lips curled into a wide, happy smile.

    He had found Hope.

    Now, he could be everything.

    A scholar.

    A poet.

    And, more importantly¡ª

    A Dungeon Master.

 2. A Bird With Soft Wings Gazes High

    A Bird With Soft Wings Gazes High

    As more and more children found their Hope Bugs, they walked out of the field one by one, forming a line before the Old Grand Elder. Despite his cloudy eyes, the elder could somehow still see the children before him. One by one, they stepped forward, and his shaky right hand roved over their heads, pausing briefly before moving on.

    North watched, but his little brain was too small to comprehend what the old elder was checking for.

    Only when the elder let him go did he bolt straight to his mother, throwing his arms around her as tightly as he could.

    Fern bent down, smiling as she looked at him with a strange expression. ¡°Did you cry inside?¡± she asked.

    North immediately shook his head.

    "Why would I cry?" He wiped his eyes hastily. ¡°Papa said big boys never cry.¡±

    Fern chuckled, ruffling his hair lightly. Meanwhile, his father, who had arrived beside them at some point, cleared his throat to get their attention. North had completely ignored him and ran straight to his mother. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his father¡¯s face. Was he lacking as a father? He silently wondered. Perhaps he was. But North always listened to him, always soaked in every word he said, and that, at least, made him content.

    "Papa!"

    North finally turned to him, and before he knew it, his father lifted him into his arms and¡ªThrew him into the air. North squealed with laughter as his father caught him, then tossed him up again. Once, twice, three, four times.

    His earlier anxieties vanished, replaced with pure joy. "More! More! More!" he whined between breathless giggles.

    But his father held him close this time, smiling fondly. "My son can finally become a Dungeon Master."

    His voice held something rare¡ªpride. Then, with a smirk, he used his fingers to tickle North¡¯s stomach, making him squirm and laugh even harder. He was happy. They all were.

    Aside, Fatty Heo basked in rarely seen affection from his parents. His mother smothered him with kisses, her voice dripping with pride, while his father''s chest was puffed out as if he had personally conquered a mountain. Their son had been chosen by the Hope Bug¡ªhe would be able to form a Dungeon Boundary. That alone was worth a celebration. In fact, his father had been so overcome with pride and joy that, out of nowhere, he had promised to slaughter another chicken that night. The news made Heo a little sad¡ªafter all, instead of three hens, they would be left with only two. But in the end, food was food.

    And why did it matter? Their son had a future.

    Beside the chief, a haughty girl stood with a calm expression, though her nose was still scrunched up from her earlier annoyance. She took another glance at North and finally realized the boy she had mistaken for a ghost was actually just a stupid little boy. After a few minutes of internal struggle, she made up her mind¡ªshe was going to teach him a lesson.

    How dare he make her fall?

    He needed to learn some manners. Of course, she reminded herself not to go overboard¡ªthis wasn¡¯t her home, and she had to be careful.

    But as always, happiness meant little in the life of a Dungeon Master. It was fleeting, gone in an instant, replaced by new problems jumping at you from every direction.

    Out of the hundred children who had stepped into Heart Flower Valley, only forty or so had been lucky enough to be chosen by the Hope Bug. For the rest, their dreams had already ended.

    The Chief sighed, his gaze sweeping over the gathered children, his expression unreadable. The number of those who had attracted Hope had been shrinking year after year, and this year was no different. Another generation with fewer chosen ones. This was not just a disappointment¡ªit was a warning. After all, there was an old saying:

    "The more, the better. The fewer the Dungeon Masters, the weaker the clan. And the weaker the clan, the greater the dangers lurking beyond the mountains."

    "Come back, all of you," the old elder¡¯s voice boomed, strong enough to carry through the valley, calling back every lost child still searching in vain.

    And then¡ªthe joyous occasion crumbled.

    Crying.

    Loud, gut-wrenching wails filled the air. The once-excited children who had hoped, who had believed, now stood devastated. Their sobs echoed through the field, so sharp and piercing that even the elders of the clan winced at the sound.

    The parents, however, stood frozen. What were they supposed to do? How could they possibly comfort their little sweethearts when their future had just been ripped away? How did they explain to them that they would spend the rest of their lives only looking up¡ªwatching others raise mountains, summon storms, and perform great feats they had only ever heard about in childhood stories? How did they tell them¡­ They would never be part of that world? That this was life. Not all dreams come true.

    After the ceremony, great changes would happen in the village''s usual routine.

    Those who had found a hope bug were led by their parents away happily, while those not, took short and hesitated steps. Their lives were about to get a little tough from now on.

    The next day, forty or so children gathered once again at the clan manor. More specifically, they stood in a courtyard connected to the kitchen, the air filled with the faint aroma of morning broth. Now that these children had a chance to form the Dungeon Boundary, they were no longer just clan¡¯s children. They were future Dungeon Masters. For the first few years¡ªuntil they turned ten or twelve, depending on how many resources the clan could gather¡ªthey would be raised and trained within the main manor.

    This was their first step toward a future beyond the ordinary.

    Fatty Heo nudged North with his elbow, making him squirm in his seat. Then with a grin so wide it nearly split his face, Fatty grabbed a skillfully roasted leg of meat, tearing into it like a starving beast. His eyes half-closed in bliss as he chewed, completely lost in the flavors.

    Earlier, the chef had told them they could eat as much as they wanted¡ªuntil their stomachs couldn¡¯t fit anymore. And Fatty Heo, true to his name, took full advantage of this offer. He devoured everything in sight, swallowing chunks of meat like a whale gulping down water.

    North watched with a mix of amusement and concern. At this rate, in a few days, he might not even recognize his best friend anymore. But he had to admit¡ªthe meat was something else. He had never tasted anything so juicy, so rich, so unbelievably good. Every bite was a burst of flavor, unlike anything he had ever eaten before.

    Yet, something strange happened every time he took a big bite. A warm sensation traveled down his throat, pooling deep in his stomach. It wasn¡¯t an uncomfortable heat, but it was different. It lingered, collected, as if his body was absorbing more than just food. He glanced around, half-expecting someone else to notice the same thing. But no one reacted. No one seemed to feel what he felt.

    He chewed in silence, lost in thought. Then, finally, he made up his mind. ¡°I¡¯ll ask the teacher.¡±

    After their morning meal, the children were allowed to rest for a few hours, their full stomachs making it easy to drift into sleep. When they woke up, they were once again met with an overwhelming feast, plates stacked high with meat, rich broths, and fragrant dishes.

    This routine continued, day after day.

    At first, North found it amusing¡ªwatching Fatty Heo grow rounder and rounder, stuffing himself like there was no tomorrow. But soon, he was no different.

    His belly, once small and flat, had rounded out just like Heo¡¯s, and every time he looked down at himself, he let out a deep sigh.

    He wanted to eat less, but his father and mother wouldn¡¯t allow it.

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± his father had told him one evening. ¡°This is a huge opportunity for you. Not even we are allowed to eat the kind of food you¡¯re being given.¡±

    His mother nodded in agreement. ¡°Every day, teams of hunters go deeper into the mountains, using their Dungeon Boundaries strength to hunt. They bring back the most powerful creatures they can find, and that¡¯s what you¡¯re eating.¡±

    North listened carefully, his mind piecing things together.

    This wasn¡¯t just about feeding them. This was about building strength.

    Though, North still hadn¡¯t found an answer to the tingling sensation in his stomach after every meal. Every bite sent a strange warmth spreading through his body, collecting deep inside his stomach, but no one seemed to notice or question it.

    When he finally gathered the courage to ask, his teacher simply said, ¡°It will be explained later. When you are big enough to understand.¡±

    So, for now, he let it go.

    Instead, he allowed himself to enjoy the feast, savoring every bite of the rich, juicy meals set before them.

    As more time passed, the years slipped by, and soon, North and Fatty Heo were ten years old.

    By now, the little but fat poet and the boy who ate too much had built a strange reputation for themselves.

    Every day, after their meals, while the other children napped, the two of them would sneak to the courtyard boundary, restless from eating too much. They would stand there, watching the older boys practice and fight, their eyes glued to the spectacle before them.

    Of course, it was always North who dragged Fatty Heo along. At first, Fatty grumbled, but after a while, even he had to admit¡ªthe fights were something else.

    Like most days, the summer sky stretched wide above them, dotted with big, fluffy clouds. Despite the heat, a cool breeze swept through the air, carrying the soft rustling of bamboo leaves.

    The long, thick stalks of green bamboo swayed in the wind, their fluttering leaves creating a chime-like melody.

    The pleasant atmosphere made them extra sleepy, their full stomachs adding to the drowsiness. But North kept his eyes open.

    On the mud stage, nestled between the circle of towering bamboo, two boys fought. Or rather, they practiced¡ªtheir wooden swords clashing with sharp, precise movements. Both of them had impressive physiques, their shirts off, revealing lean, defined muscles.

    The first boy lunged forward, his speed unnatural for his age, but the second boy reacted just as fast, blocking the strike effortlessly before they separated again. The first boy attacked from another angle, swinging with practiced ease. Again, the second boy blocked efficiently, his movements smooth, controlled¡ªalmost effortless.

    North didn¡¯t recognize the first boy, but the second one was different. He was from a high-ranking family in the village¡ªhis grandparent was an elder of high position. North had seen the elder from afar before, standing among the most respected figures of the clan. Watching them fight, something stirred inside North. He wasn¡¯t sure what it was¡ªbut he knew he wanted to understand it.

    "Hey, stupid poet and little fatty!" Someone called out. "Come here."Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    North and Fatty Heo¡¯s entertainment came to an abrupt halt. Both of them froze like spooked cats, their heads slowly turning toward the source of the voice. The moment North laid eyes on the figure standing before them, his face twisted in horror. It was a girl. No¡ªa monster. No¡ªfar worse than a monster.

    "I said come down," the little girl commanded, arms crossed over her chest. Her tone was casual, but her posture was anything but.

    "Do you want me to beat you two?" she asked, flashing a sweet, innocent smile¡ªwhile her fist lifted in clear threat.

    Fatty Heo, filled with instant fear, jumped down without hesitation, his feet barely touching the ground before he stood at attention. North, however, hesitated. He knew exactly what she wanted¡ªand he wanted no part of it.

    The girl clicked her tongue. "Tsk, tsk," she muttered, shaking her head dramatically. "Someone has actually gotten brave and doesn''t remember his last beating."

    North¡¯s face immediately paled. Memories of past suffering surfaced. Without another word, he leapt down, landing beside Fatty Heo in surrender. The girl¡¯s smug grin widened as she placed both hands behind her back, imitating the way elders stood when giving lectures. North swallowed his complaints.

    Actually, he had no idea where this girl had come from. All he knew was that one day, right before their ceremony a few years ago, someone from the outside world had dropped her here. Since then, she had lived in the chief¡¯s house¡ªand from that day forward, she had made his life a living nightmare.

    And the reason why he and Fatty Heo had gotten beaten in the first place was, ultimately, his own fault.

    One day, he had felt a little too confident, a little too carefree, his curiosity getting the better of him.

    This girl was too mysterious, always keeping to herself, so he had gathered all the courage he had and walked up to her. With his most polite and gentlemanly tone, he had asked her¡ª

    ¡°Do you want to play with us?¡±

    But the reply he received was sharp and insulting. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror first?"

    North had stood there, stunned, confused. What was wrong with her? Yes, he was a little fat, but that was because he ate too much! And he needed to eat to grow stronger, didn¡¯t he? Even the elders said so! Besides, in his neighborhood, there wasn¡¯t a single girl who didn¡¯t like pinching his cheeks and calling him handsome and smart. He had always been told¡ªNorth was the handsomest and smartest little boy they had ever seen. He was the apple of many aunties'' eyes. So, it must be her eyes that were broken.

    That day, he came to that conclusion, and something stirred deep within him. His inner poet awoke, taking a bold leap into the air.

    With the confidence of a true scholar, he spoke his thoughts through a poem on the spot:

    Rain falls on green fields, ponds overflow,

    A cow sees her reflection, a swan in show.

    And that was the moment everything went wrong.

    The poem had angered her so much that she had beaten both him and Fatty Heo red and blue. And North¡¯s fear of her was no joke. She was terrifyingly good at fighting. Even with his and Fatty Heo¡¯s combined weight, they couldn¡¯t overpower her¡ªa tall but skinny girl. She had humiliated them effortlessly, making sure they never forgot who was stronger.

    Finally, she beckoned them forward, and North and Fatty Heo had no choice but to follow her. The path led them to a quiet courtyard, far from prying eyes. A cool breeze rustled the bamboo leaves, but for the two unwilling lackeys, there was no peace here¡ªonly suffering.

    Jade flopped onto a reclining chair, stretching out as if she owned the place. She let out a long, exaggerated sigh and threw her feet onto the wooden table in front of her.

    "I had to practice too much today..." she complained, her voice dripping with exhaustion.

    North and Fatty Heo exchanged a glance¡ªthey both knew exactly what was coming next. They weren¡¯t just lackeys. They were her personal servants. And whom could they even complain to? The girl lived in the chief¡¯s house. With resigned sighs, North and Heo stepped forward. North grabbed one of her arms, Fatty Heo took the other, and they began kneading her muscles, their small hands working their way up slowly, squeezing and pressing with careful precision.

    Fifteen minutes passed.

    Fatty Heo, ever the opportunist, suddenly had an idea. His voice turned pitiful, his tone as sweet as honey.

    "Big Sister Jade..." he began, blinking up at her with his round, pleading eyes.

    Jade merely raised a brow but said nothing, so he continued.

    "You''re so pretty and elegant," he said, his voice laced with pure flattery. "Why don¡¯t you let us go? I still have to finish the homework the teacher gave me, and I¡¯m so pitiful¡­"

    He sighed dramatically.

    "My papa beats me every day if I don¡¯t help him cut grass for our cows in the morning. I don¡¯t even get full sleep. So why don¡¯t you let me go?"

    North¡¯s jaw nearly hit the floor. This traitor! Was he really trying to bribe her with compliments?! When he had called her a cow on her face!

    Jade¡¯s lips curled into a snigger, her silver-moonlike eyes filled with amusement.

    "Stop calling me ¡®Big Sister,¡¯ you fatty," she said lazily. "Unless you want to be beaten up again."

    Heo immediately shut his mouth, shrinking slightly.

    Then, she turned her glare onto North. "And you."

    North stiffened. "Why are your hands stiff today?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Massage my shoulders better. Otherwise..."

    "Otherwise what?"

    North¡¯s anger flared. His little heart couldn¡¯t take the humiliation anymore. He took two steps back, his small fists clenching at his sides. Enough was enough. All those afternoons spent watching the older boys fight on the bamboo stage, all those hours wasted staring at half-naked men swinging wooden swords instead of enjoying his precious afternoon naps¡ªIt was time to put everything he had learned to the test.

    His stance shifted, determination blazing in his eyes. He was going to fight her.

    Fatty Heo panicked immediately. "Stop it! What are you doing?"

    He rushed to North¡¯s side, his pudgy arms wrapping around his waist, trying to hold him back. "Do you want to be beaten?!" Heo hissed, his voice filled with pure terror.

    North fake-struggled, wriggling just enough to make it look real¡ªbut truthfully, his courage was only skin-deep. He was still scared of Jade. But how could he always let her walk all over them? If this continued, it would one day become a black mark on his career of scholar, poet and mighty Dungeon Master.

    "Don¡¯t stop me, Heo! I¡¯m going to fight her now!" His voice was filled with righteous fury¡ªthough deep down, he was praying Heo would actually keep holding him back.

    "How could she always humiliate you and me?" he argued, still twisting in Heo¡¯s grip. "She needs to be taught a lesson¡ªto appreciate others!"

    His words were noble. His resolve was weak.

    And Jade?

    She was watching. And she was amused by the stupid boy¡¯s sudden courage.

    However, before North could take a single step forward, an unexpected interruption arrived in the form of an unwelcome fly.

    "How dare you speak to Little Sister Jade like that?"

    A boy, the same age as them, strode over with an unmistakable haughty expression. His posture reeked of arrogance, chin lifted high, arms crossed like he owned the place. The grandchild of the chief. North and Heo exchanged a look¡ªof all people, it had to be him.

    Jade¡¯s frown deepened. She didn¡¯t like this boy.

    Not because he was arrogant, not because he flaunted his status, but because he always inserted himself into everything she did.

    If she wanted to train in fighting, he wanted to train with her. If she wanted to learn how to swing a sword, he suddenly took an interest in swordplay. And when she changed her focus to learning how to sew clothes, he actually requested his mother to let him learn with her.

    He never left her alone. He was always there, breathing down her neck, sticking his nose where it didn¡¯t belong. And she hated it. But what could she do? She was merely a guest in this village. Despite being here for three and a half years, no one here was her family. So, she couldn¡¯t complain.

    Her fists clenched behind her back.

    "What do you want?" Heo immediately snapped, glaring at the unwelcome guest.

    "Why are you here?" Jade asked, her voice laced with pure annoyance.

    But Cleo ignored her. Instead, he walked straight up to North and Heo, his lips curling into a smug snigger.

    "Why are you two lowlifes complaining if little sister Jade asked for some help?"

    His voice carried undisguised arrogance, his gaze looking down on them like they were insects.

    "Are you or your families in a position to complain? To refuse anything we ask of you?"

    North¡¯s glare sharpened. "What?" His brows furrowed, not fully understanding what this idiot was even trying to say.

    "Who are you calling lowlife?!" Heo barked, his face already turning red with anger.

    "You," Cleo spat with pure disdain.

    His eyes held the unshaken arrogance of someone who had never been challenged before. After all, he was the grandson of the chief. He had grown up differently from North and Heo, raised in an environment of power and privilege.

    It was natural for him to look down on the weak¡ªor so he believed. Perhaps this was how his father had taught him, how his family had molded him. Strength ruled, and those without it deserved to be beneath others. Fatty Heo raised a trembling finger, his mouth opening¡ªbut no words came out. He wanted to argue, to fight back, but the sheer rage on North¡¯s face had already surpassed his own.

    North didn¡¯t hesitate. He lunged forward. His fist connected with Cleo¡¯s face.

    A sharp thwack echoed in the courtyard, followed by a stunned silence.

    North had always believed¡ªif you¡¯re not helping, and if you¡¯re not affected by something, then you have no right to talk badly about others.

    Cleo had spoken too much. But Cleo wasn¡¯t just some spoiled brat. For the past two years, he had been learning how to fight¡ªand not just from anyone. He had trained with Jade. And she was a much fiercer opponent than North could ever dream of being. So, before North could even think about what he had done, Cleo lunged back.

    Fists and legs flew. North barely dodged the first punch before another came straight at his ribs. Heo yelped but had no time to escape¡ªhe was dragged into the cHeos. Soon, the three boys were brawling in the dirt, rolling, clothes torn and covered in dust. One leg flailed in one direction, a fist landed somewhere else¡ªit was a wild mess of limbs and anger.

    Though, unsurprisingly¡­

    It was mostly North and Heo getting beaten. Their faces turned red with bruises, their bodies sore from the relentless punches. Yet, they didn¡¯t back down.

    Jade hurriedly got up, her expression shifting from amusement to urgency as she stepped between them, arms outstretched to force them apart. It took more effort than expected, but after much grappling and shoving, she finally managed to pry the three boys apart before they completely tore their clothes to shreds.

    Breathing hard, she turned to North, her golden eyes narrowing at his already swollen face.

    "Are you okay?" she asked, her tone somewhere between concern and exasperation.

    North huffed, ignoring her, his bruised body aching from head to toe. Fatty Heo, looking equally battered and bruised, trailed right behind him as they stormed off the courtyard, their dignity in shambles. Today had been a hard lesson. As North strode forward, his mind burned with a single thought¡ª These rich and powerful people were not like him. They lived by different rules, they humiliated anyone and made things difficult for everyone.

    And if he had any sense, he should stay away from them as much as possible.

    But they didn¡¯t go home immediately. Instead, they wandered through the mountain village, circling aimlessly until they arrived at a quiet valley, a place where few people ventured.

    There, they climbed onto a thick tree branch, letting the cool air wash over them. Shame burned deep. Humiliation shimmered on their faces. Beaten black and blue, they sat in silence, their pride wounded more than their bodies.

    After a long pause, Heo sniffled.

    ¡°Why are we even here?¡± he muttered, his voice thick with suppressed tears.

    He rubbed at his nose, his lip trembling. ¡°We should just go home. It¡¯s about to get dark. What if¡­ what if the old granny ghost finds us?¡± His voice dropped to a whisper.

    He was terrified of the dark.

    North turned to him, his own face still swollen and sore. ¡°And when you go home,¡± he asked slowly, ¡°do you want to get beaten by your papa too?¡±

    Heo¡¯s eyes widened. He hadn¡¯t thought about that.

    But then, Heo shook his head. "Why would my papa beat me? He always comes home beaten by others." His voice carried a strange mix of resignation and amusement, as if it were just a fact of life.

    "My mum even bought a special medicine from the doctor on the corner for his wounds. He gives us a discount because we buy it so often." He shook his head again, sighing.

    North, however, wasn¡¯t as lucky. Getting beaten by Jade was one thing. At the end of the day, if they listened to what she said, she would often give them sweets¡ªor, on rare occasions, a precious copper coin. And copper coins were no joke. Even his mother never gave him that. Besides, Even when Jade hit them, she never struck hard enough to leave a bruise, so he never had to explain anything at home.

    But what was he going to tell his mother now? He had come home beaten by the village chief¡¯s grandson. Instead of giving him medicine, she might knock him over the head and drag him straight to their house to apologize. He had seen it happen before. And it never ended well.

    "Fatty," North called out, his voice low with intent. "I heard your papa is part of the hunting group that collects our meals?"

    Heo scratched his head, blinking in confusion. "Yeah. He says it¡¯s really dangerous to hunt those beasts in the mountains. Every month, at least two or three people get killed by them."

    North nodded, his little brain working through the bits and pieces of information he had gathered over the years. If it was so dangerous, then the beasts must be powerful. And if they were powerful, then eating them must have some effect on their bodies.

    He pondered for a moment before making up his mind.

    "Then, let¡¯s go on a hunt tomorrow."

    Heo froze.

    Then he exclaimed in horror¡ª"Did his kicks damage your head?"

    North immediately smacked his leg, making Heo yelp.

    "Do you think I¡¯m stupid? I¡¯m not talking about fighting big beasts¡ªI¡¯m talking about small game. A rabbit, or maybe a little snake. We need to learn how to be adults. Otherwise, everyone will keep bullying us. Even a nobody. "

    Heo¡¯s face lit up at the idea, but the excitement sent a jolt of pain through his swollen face, making him wince. Still, his belly jiggled as he grinned.

    "I¡¯ll grab my papa¡¯s old tools! We don¡¯t have to listen to that stupid Jade anymore. She¡¯s too much."

    "Yeah." North agreed, feeling a new spark of excitement bubbling in his chest. And he suddenly remembered a phrase from his poem book:

    A bird with soft wings gazes high,

    While the great roc rides winds and splits the sky.

    Tomorrow, they would hunt.

 3. A Mistake of Lifetime

    Finally, as the sun began to set, the boys decided it was time to head home. But it wasn¡¯t their wounds or exhaustion that pushed them off the tree¡ªit was the fear of the old granny ghost in the mountains. Had it not been for the creeping darkness and the stories of wandering spirits, they might have stayed there all night, waiting for their swollen faces to heal and their pride to recover.

    North¡¯s steps were heavy and short. The journey home felt longer than usual, but the weight of what awaited him made it even worse. By the time he reached the small wooden house, his heart sank. Fern was already at the door.

    She stood there, bathed in the dim glow of the lantern light, her arms crossed, and in her right hand¡ªa thin stick meant for punishment.

    North sucked in a cold breath. His mother¡¯s face was red with anger, her eyes staring straight through the darkness. She had been waiting. He was late. He had not come home at time, and his mother¡¯s patience had run out.

    But then, as he stepped closer, her expression changed. Her sharp gaze landed on his swollen face, taking in the bruises on his cheeks, the cut on his lip, the mud and torn fabric of his clothes. The moment he reached her, everything crashed down on him. Tears welled up without warning.

    His chest shook with the force of his sobs, and in the next instant, he buried his face in his mother¡¯s skirt, gripping the fabric tightly as if it was the only thing holding him together. The thin stick slipped from Fern¡¯s fingers, forgotten. She stared down at him, completely caught off guard.

    Her sweetheart, the same boy who always spoke about being brave, the same boy who boasted about scaring away thieves and vicious demons with his poems¡ªWas now sobbing in her arms.

    Her heart tightened. Something must have happened.

    Slowly, she crouched to his level, brushing his disheveled hair back, her touch gentle despite the earlier anger.

    "What happened?" she asked, her voice softer now.

    North sniffled, but didn¡¯t answer. Fern tilted his face toward hers, looking straight into his swollen, tear-filled eyes. "Who made my baby cry?"

    But North only cried harder. How could he tell her? How could he say he had been beaten by the village chief¡¯s grandson? If he did, it might create an even bigger problem.

    Instead of pressing further, Fern sighed and stood up."Come on," she murmured, leading him inside.

    She took him to the bathroom, helping him out of his dirty, torn clothes before guiding him into the warm bathwater. The heat soothed his aching body, and for a moment, he let himself relax, sinking into the warmth.

    By the time he finished bathing, the house smelled sweet.

    In the small kitchen, Fern had already prepared his favorite food. When he sat down, she placed a steaming bowl before him, the scent of warm milk and honey drifting into the air.

    As he picked up his spoon, she sat across from him, watching carefully. "You fought with someone?" she asked, her voice careful but firm.

    North hesitated, but then nodded slowly. "Got beaten up?" she pressed further.

    Tears threatened to spill again, but before he could let them fall, Fern picked up a spoon and gently put food into his mouth.

    He chewed, swallowing his emotions along with the sweet dish. She watched him closely, but didn¡¯t ask again. If he wouldn¡¯t tell her, then she would have to find out herself. For now, she let him enjoy the warmth of home, the comfort of a good meal, and the safety of knowing that no matter what happened outside¡ªShe would always be here.

    ¡­

    The next day, after their unusual feast in the morning, North and Heo set off toward the mountains. They weren¡¯t going too deep, nor were they aiming for anything big¡ªjust small rabbits or whatever little animals they could catch.

    As North had so proudly proclaimed, "To become a man."

    Though, what exactly he meant by that, only he and his books knew.

    "Heo," North called out as they trekked through the uneven trail, dodging thick roots and overgrown bushes. "You brought everything, right?"

    Heo, always prepared in his own way, shuffled through his small cloth bag, his round face scrunching in concentration. "A rope, a knife, food, meat, and water. I think I have it all."

    "I''ll roast you a good meat today, Heo." North grinned, satisfied. They were finally doing something. It was small, just a simple hunt, but it was still their first. And wasn¡¯t the first catch the most exciting part? Besides, North had read enough books written by renowned scholars by the age of ten to claim he had a surface-level knowledge of many subjects. Though, if he was being honest, he had never paid much attention to survival books¡ªhis favorites were always poetry and literature. Still, he read everything, always tucking knowledge away for the future.

    The sky stretched clear and bright, not a single cloud in sight. A pleasant wind blew from the east to the west, carrying the scent of damp earth and wildflowers.

    After some searching, they found the perfect spot in a nearby wooded area. The patch of land was overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, a good sign that small creatures might be scurrying around. More importantly, it was close enough to the village that there was no danger of running into bigger predators or accidentally stumbling into a beast¡¯s territory.

    North took a deep breath, his chest swelling with excitement.

    They dropped their bags, marking their small makeshift base before North surveyed their surroundings. Satisfied, he set his bag down on a small patch of grass, then glanced at Heo.

    "Let¡¯s quickly set up a trap."

    Heo nodded immediately. The deeper parts of the forest didn¡¯t interest him one bit¡ªnot when the stories of beasts lurking in the shadows still lingered in his mind. So, they got to work. For over an hour, the boys struggled, dug, and sweated, their small hands clawing into the earth as they created a deep pit. By the time it was done, their fingernails were caked with dirt, and their arms ached.

    They covered the hole with fresh grass, making sure it blended in seamlessly with the forest floor.

    Then, as bait, they placed fresh fruits¡ªones they had sneaked out from the clan¡¯s manor¡ªright in the center of the disguised trap. But North wasn¡¯t done yet. With a grin full of mischief, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small, fresh piece of meat.

    Heo¡¯s eyes widened. "Where did you get that?"

    "Stole it from the kitchen," North admitted shamelessly. "One of the chefs wasn¡¯t looking."

    Heo gasped. Not because North had stolen¡ªthey had done that before¡ªbut because North had taken meat. Precious meat.

    "Why would you waste that?!" he whispered furiously.

    But North simply placed it right over the grass, looking proud of himself.

    "Think about it," he explained confidently. "We eat this meat and grow stronger, right? So why wouldn¡¯t animals like it too? They¡¯ll be drawn in for sure."

    Heo still didn¡¯t agree, but he had already dug a hole for an hour, so at this point, he wasn¡¯t about to argue.

    With their trap set, they hurried behind a nearby tree, pressing themselves against the rough bark. Then, they waited.

    "Do you think we¡¯ll catch something?" Heo finally asked. His tone wasn¡¯t very optimistic.

    If anything, he felt like they had wasted perfectly good fruit when they could have eaten it themselves. But he had already agreed, so he kept quiet, his eyes fixed on the trap just like North¡¯s.

    The pleasant wind continued to blow between the tall trees, the leaves whispering in the gentle breeze.

    The boys, full from their heavy morning meal, sat quietly, watching, and without realizing it¡­

    They fell asleep.

    ¡­You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Time passed, and when North¡¯s eyes fluttered open, he noticed that the sun had drifted behind a large patch of clouds, casting a long shadow over the verdant mountain across the valley. He groggily smacked his head with his small hands, annoyed that he had fallen asleep on their first hunt. But just as he was about to sit up, his ears caught a sound.

    Something rustling. His gaze snapped toward the trap¡ªand there it was. A rabbit. And not just any rabbit¡ªa big, plump, snow-white rabbit, sitting right on top of their trap, nibbling on the fruit¡­ and the stolen piece of meat. North was speechless.

    What was wrong with the trap?

    Why didn¡¯t it work?! The rabbit sat there, completely unbothered, enjoying its feast as if their elaborate setup was nothing more than a picnic mat. Panic surged through North. He quickly shook Heo awake, the other boy groaning in irritation. Before Heo could let out a loud yawn, North slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with urgency.

    ¡°Shhh! Don¡¯t make a sound¡ª¡±

    But it was too late. The rabbit¡¯s ears twitched. Its round, beady eyes met theirs. For a single second, they stared at each other. Then¡ªWith impossible speed, the rabbit darted off into the underbrush.

    "Fatty, let''s go!" North yelled, grabbing his backpack and bolting after it.

    "It ate our precious meat!"

    Heo let out a frustrated groan but scrambled to his feet, quickly chasing after North. However¡ªchasing was easier said than done. Two years ago, North could run like a rabbit himself, but now? After all those endless feasts, the meat-heavy meals, and the countless naps after eating¡­ They had gotten fat. And fat boys were not fast. Their legs pounded against the ground, but each step felt like dragging a cartload of bricks.

    They huffed. They wheezed.

    Their arms flopped uselessly, their bellies jiggled with each step. Soon enough, their breath gave out. They both staggered to a stop, hands grabbing their knees, struggling to suck in air. Never in his life had North felt so disappointed in himself. Two years ago, he could run without effort. Now? He could barely last a minute.

    He straightened up, frustration boiling in his chest, and turned to glare at Heo. "You made it run!"

    Heo''s mouth dropped open. "What did I do?!"

    "You took a loud yawn while waking up," North accused, his hands on his hips. "That¡¯s when it escaped!"

    Heo looked wounded, his round face full of betrayal. He opened his mouth to argue, but after a moment of thought, he realized¡­He had no defense. With no way to prove his innocence, he could only swallow his frustration silently.

    Meanwhile, North scanned the ground, searching for tracks¡ªsmall disturbances in the soil, bent blades of grass, anything that hinted at where the rabbit had disappeared. He had seen it leap toward a nearby burrow, disappearing somewhere into the tangle of undergrowth. Maybe they could lure it out again. Determined, he got to work, digging another trap beneath the canopies of the tall trees, their dense leaves casting cool shadows over the ground.

    This time, he made sure to keep the trap thinner than before, adjusting for what he had learned from their failed attempt. Heo, still a little wary after being blamed, simply watched North work, offering help only when asked. He wasn¡¯t about to get scolded again. After some time, North wiped his forehead, then reached into his pocket¡ªpulling out yet another small piece of meat.

    Heo¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief.

    "You have more?!" he exclaimed.

    "This is the last one," North muttered, carefully placing it over the fresh grass patch.

    With the trap set, they hurried behind the thick trunk of a tree, crouching low, their breathing shallow and controlled. This time, North kept his eyes wide open. No drowsiness. No mistakes. He also held his knife tightly, recalling the many times he had watched his father skin rabbits and chickens. If they caught it, he was confident he could mirror at least some of his father¡¯s technique.

    Minutes passed.

    The forest was calm, only the soft whistle of wind through the trees filling the air.

    Then. A rustling. Not from the wind¡ªbut from something moving through the undergrowth. North held his breath. Heo gripped his knees tightly. A pair of small feet hopped into view¡ªthe white rabbit. Its movements were delicate, but quick, its big, dark eyes darting around, scanning for danger. For a moment, it stood still, ears twitching.

    Then, seemingly satisfied, it hopped forward. Right over the trap. North¡¯s careful adjustments paid off. The thin grass layer gave way instantly, and the rabbit fell inside.

    North and Heo reacted immediately. They sprang forward, surrounding the hole in seconds, their knives drawn, eyes sharp with determination. Their feet planted firmly, their bellies tight as they held their breath, waiting. This time, they wouldn¡¯t let it escape.

    The rabbit had no chance of escaping easily now.

    North dove in, arms outstretched to capture it. But the moment his fingers brushed its fur, something impossible happened. The rabbit jumped¡ªbut it didn¡¯t just jump. It passed right through his body. Through his stomach.

    For a fleeting second, North felt something cold and sharp rip through him. His eyes widened in shock, and before he could even process what had happened, his body collapsed onto the ground.

    A soul-crushing pain twisted through his stomach and mind, like something deep inside him had been torn away. Through his fading vision, he saw the rabbit with something glowing in his mouth, dart into the bushes, disappearing in an instant.

    "What?! What happened?!"

    Heo¡¯s panicked voice rang in his ears, but North couldn¡¯t respond. His lungs burned, his chest tightened¡ªhe was struggling just to breathe.

    "Did it bite you?!" Heo frantically checked him over, eyes darting over his arms, his legs, looking for any wounds.

    But there was nothing. No blood. No bite. Yet North¡¯s face was twisted in agony, his body shaking, his fingers clawing at his stomach as if something was missing. For the first time, Heo felt real fear. This wasn¡¯t a normal injury. Something was wrong. But he didn¡¯t know what.

    For all his laziness, Heo wasn¡¯t weak. His small but sturdy body was actually filled with surprising strength. Without wasting a second, he hoisted North onto his back, gripping him tightly. Then, with every ounce of energy he had, he ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, the weight of his friend heavy on his back, but the fear pushing him forward even faster.

    "Hold on, North!" he panted, arms tightening around him.

    His feet pounded against the dirt path, his breath ragged, his heart racing. He didn¡¯t stop. Not when his legs burned. Not when his lungs screamed for air. Not until he reached the clan¡¯s headquarters. All the while, silently cursing that damned rabbit.

    ¡­

    ¡­

    ¡­

    "You¡¯re sure it was a rabbit?"

    The elder stood over North¡¯s unconscious body, his expression unreadable as he watched the boy sprawled on the bed, his breathing slow and steady from the medication.

    Heo nodded frantically, his hands clenched into fists. "Yes, Elder! It was a white rabbit! We both saw it with our own eyes!"

    The elder hummed thoughtfully, stroking his long white beard, his mind clearly working through something. "And what were you two doing in the woods?"

    Heo¡¯s stomach twisted at the sharp tone. The elder¡¯s piercing gaze made him feel small, but he gulped and answered truthfully. "We were just trying to catch a rabbit for dinner."

    The elder¡¯s brows furrowed. "Catch a rabbit?" he repeated, his voice carrying a strange weight.

    "Y-Yes," Heo stuttered, his throat dry.

    The elder stared at him for a long moment, then waved his hand. "Go outside."

    Heo didn¡¯t need to be told twice. He bolted for the door, his heart hammering in his chest, leaving behind the heavy atmosphere of the room.

    Inside, North¡¯s parents hovered over their son, his mother sobbing softly, while his father sat still, his jaw clenched tightly.

    The boy lay there, his face pale, his body completely still, wrapped in layers of blankets.

    The elder let out a slow breath, his brows furrowing even deeper. "That rabbit was no ordinary creature."

    His voice held a grave seriousness, making both parents tense. "It must have been a Moon Rabbit. They feast on ghosts and illusory things."

    North''s father¡¯s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing at the elder. "Are you sure, Elder Mel?"

    His voice was firm, controlled¡ªbut there was a sharp edge of disbelief.

    "Moon Rabbits only appear on full moon nights," he reasoned, his hands balling into fists. "How could one be anywhere near the mountains? We have multiple Rank 2 Dungeon Masters patrolling the area day and night. This shouldn¡¯t be possible."

    The elder¡¯s wrinkled face remained solemn. "I know," he admitted, "and yet, here we are."

    Silence filled the room.

    Elder Mel exhaled through his nose, his expression grim. "I can only assume it was left behind by someone from the three neighboring clans."

    North¡¯s father stiffened. A foreign Dungeon Master had left behind a Moon Rabbit? Why? And worse¡ªwhat did it mean for their clan?

    "My child..." Fern didn¡¯t let go of North¡¯s small, limp hand, her grip tight as she gazed at the elder, her voice barely above a whisper. "Will he be okay?"

    Elder Mel sighed, his expression grim, his usual wisdom weighed down by uncertainty. "He¡¯ll be fine... if he successfully wakes up."

    Fern¡¯s breath hitched. "But his future..." the elder continued, his tone darkening, "might not be bright anymore. His Dungeon Boundary has been ripped, and forming a new one..."

    He didn¡¯t finish. Because there was no need. Everyone in the room knew what that meant.

    Instead, he simply shook his head and turned toward the door, his mood clearly ruined. "I¡¯ll take my leave." And just like that, he was gone.

    Fern looked at her husband, her eyes wet but determined. "Why don¡¯t you call another doctor?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

    "Maybe someone else has better medicine¡ªmaybe they know something Elder Mel doesn¡¯t." But her husband only shook his head.

    Disappointment lingered in his gaze. He didn¡¯t answer immediately, but his thoughts were dark and heavy. What would become of his son now?

    Perhaps... he would have to try for another child. It was common in the village¡ªmany had four or five children, all to ensure at least one became a Dungeon Master. But he and Fern had been lucky. Both of them were Rank 2 Dungeon Masters, and by some stroke of fortune, they had a son who had successfully awakened Hope and had the chance to become one too.

    Now?

    That chance had been stolen. A Moon Rabbit had taken his Dungeon Boundary before it had even matured. There was no saying what would happen to North now. And worst of all¡ªthere had never been a case of someone recovering from this. When a Moon Rabbit stole someone¡¯s boundary, it was as if they had been erased from fate.

    But what troubled him most¡­ Moon Rabbits were rare. Rarer than a Rank 5 Dungeon Master. And yet, somehow, one had appeared in their mountains. Why? Where did it come from?

    He took a deep breath, rubbing Fern¡¯s head gently, then running his fingers through North¡¯s soft hair.

    "He¡¯ll be fine," he murmured, though he wasn¡¯t sure if he was saying it for her sake or his own.

    Then, with a heavy heart, he stepped toward the door. Leaving his voice echo through four closed walls.

    "I¡¯ll ask the other elders and chief if any of them know of a solution."

 4. Losing Old Friends, Making New Ones

    Losing Old Friends, Making New Ones

    Perhaps Heavens smiled on North, or maybe his time wasn¡¯t up yet¡ªbecause he survived. But that was it. He only survived. His premature Dungeon Boundary was lost.

    When he finally woke up, the first thing he saw was his parents'' tired, worn-out faces. They sat beside his bed, their eyes filled with a deep sorrow, and with great difficulty, they told him what had happened. How his reckless attempt at catching a simple rabbit had cost him everything. How his future as a Dungeon Master had been erased before it could even begin. At first, North didn¡¯t react. He just stared at them, their words sinking in like heavy stones, dragging him into a suffocating silence.

    Then, it hit him. And when it did, it crushed him.

    For a whole month, he refused to eat a single meal. His body withered, his round cheeks hollowed, and in just thirty days, the once plump, energetic ten-year-old had become skinny and frail. But the worst part?

    The clan¡¯s higher-ups had made a final decision.

    North would no longer be allowed to attend the feasts. They couldn¡¯t waste valuable resources on someone who would never become a Dungeon Master. Hearing this had been the final blow. His depression deepened, and he stopped stepping out of the house completely, choosing instead to lock himself away. He lived like a dead person. His parents, desperate and worried, tried everything to pull him out of it. They even called the neighbor kids, asking them to visit and play with him, hoping it would cheer him up.

    At first, it worked¡ªsort of. But after a month or two, even they stopped coming.

    Heo was the last one to hold on. For six months, he came every day, trying to coax North out of his shell, dragging him outside whenever he could. But as time passed, even Heo¡¯s visits became less frequent. After eight months, they stopped completely.

    The two best friends grew apart. And that was life. People grew. They met others, made new friends, moved on.

    But for North, time stood still. Yet, the world moved on¡ª with or without him.

    <hr>

    In the blink of an eye, four years passed.

    North was no longer the only child in the house. Now, there were two new members¡ªtwins, a young boy and girl, both energetic and lively, much like he had once been. His mother had given birth to them the same year he lost his Dungeon Boundary.

    And North, being as perceptive as he was, quickly figured out the truth. They were his replacement. His mother¡¯s attention had shifted. She doted on the twins, cared for them, spent all her time raising them.

    And North?

    He was left in the background. At first, he wasn¡¯t sure what he felt. Perhaps it was resentment. Perhaps it was denial¡ªa refusal to accept his new reality. But whatever it was, it made him hate the twins. Not in an active, vicious way¡ªbut in a quiet, cold detachment. From the moment they were born, he decided¡ªhe wanted nothing to do with them. So, he learned to avoid them. He never stayed in the same room as them. Never played with them. Never even acknowledged them when he could help it.

    But his avoidance only made things worse.

    His mother grew angry.

    "First, you make a foolish mistake," she would scold angrily sometimes, "and now you refuse to take any responsibility? They are your siblings,"

    His father, though quieter in his disappointment, had become more distant. North didn¡¯t fight back. He never argued. He simply endured.

    By fourteen, North had already read every single book in the village¡¯s small school. If nothing else, his father never refused his requests for more books. Perhaps he felt guilty. Perhaps it was just easier this way. North never asked. It didn¡¯t matter. Nothing ever mattered anymore.

    He understood himself better than most. He had read enough books to recognize the two types of people in the world: There were those who drowned themselves in the poison of resentment, unable to move forward. And then there were those who contradicted themselves, creating paradoxes within their own hearts¡ªtrapping themselves inside.

    North was the second.

    He was fully aware of the resentment festering inside him. He knew it would only grow, only consume him if he let it. And yet, even knowing that, even understanding it, he couldn¡¯t stop it.

    It was just another day, no different from the countless ones before it.

    North sat in his usual silent corner, his back against the old wooden wall, an old notebook resting on his lap. It was the same one his father had bought him over a year ago, before he decided North wasn¡¯t worth another one.

    ¡°You refuse to help with the chores,¡± his father had said, ¡°so don¡¯t expect more books.¡±

    North didn¡¯t argue. He simply kept using the old one, writing over and over again, filling the worn pages with the same thoughts, words, and dreams that no longer mattered. Despite everything, his younger siblings never stopped coming to him. They had sensed the distance he kept, the way he never looked at them for too long, never let himself be alone with them. But being young and innocent, they still ran toward him every night, eager to hear stories from their big brother.

    That morning was no different.

    His little sister came running toward him, full of enthusiasm, her small feet bare against the wooden floor.

    ¡°Big Brother! Big Brother!¡± she chirped, her cheeks flushed with excitement. ¡°I brought pudding for you!¡±

    She held up a small ceramic bowl, filled with the sweet pudding their mother had made especially for her.

    But she didn¡¯t want it for herself, She wanted North to have the first taste. Trailing behind her, the small boy followed, though his steps were hesitant, uncertain. Unlike his sister, he didn¡¯t run straight into North¡¯s space. He lingered a few steps back, watching carefully.

    Because even though North had never yelled at them, never once raised his voice: He had always pushed them away. And the boy was smart enough to have learned that his big brother didn¡¯t want him close. Even in his young, childlike mind, he had slowly picked up on things, understanding in his own way that North was someone they could only approach so much before being turned away.

    North looked at his sister, his chest tightening for a brief moment.

    But before that feeling could take root, before he could let himself feel anything at all, he silently pushed her hands away. The little bowl wobbled slightly, but she managed to keep her grip on it, blinking up at him in confusion.

    He didn¡¯t meet her eyes. Or his brother¡¯s. He knew that if he did, he might start to love them. And that was something he couldn¡¯t afford. Without a word, he stood up, his movements quiet and calculated.

    It was morning, the sun barely peeking through the mist-covered sky.

    He tucked his notebook under his arm, already preparing to leave, when¡ª

    ¡°North, I need to go to the market today,¡± his mother¡¯s voice rang out from the kitchen. ¡°I need you to watch the twins or take them with you if you¡¯re going out.¡±

    North¡¯s footsteps froze. His stomach coiled in frustration.

    He wished, more than anything, that he could simply disappear from this place. And so he did. Before his mother could open her mouth again, before she could yell at him for being useless or not helping with anything, North bolted. He ran out the door, his feet hitting the dirt road as he escaped before she could catch him.

    All he wanted was peace. His notebook, his thoughts¡­ and maybe, just maybe, to jump off a cliff.

    But he still couldn¡¯t quite gather the courage.

    As North walked down the muddy street, his footsteps suddenly halted. For a brief moment, his breath stopped, his instincts screaming at him to turn around. Then¡ªhe moved. With quick, silent steps, he ducked into another street, pressing his back against the wooden wall of a house.

    His heart thumped against his ribs. A gang of five boys had just turned the corner¡ªthe same boys who had successfully formed their Dungeon Boundaries. They were supposed to be his batchmates. They knew who he was. And every time they saw him, North could never predict what would happen. Half the teenagers in this village seemed to have nothing better to do than fight, as if their first instinct upon seeing another person was to punch them, wrestle them, or humiliate them.

    As if causing harm to others was some necessary proof of strength. So he hid. And he listened.

    The boys strode down the street, talking loudly, their voices carrying in the open air.

    ¡°Teacher finally explained Dungeon Boundaries today,¡± one of them said, his voice eager. ¡°He said a Dungeon Boundary is like a home. Just like we live inside our houses, the Dungeon Boundary is a house for dungeon Bugs. As Dungeon Masters, we¡¯re expected to build that house¡ªand the more we build, the higher our Rank becomes.¡±

    North¡¯s ears perked up despite himself. He had never heard this explanation before.

    He had lost his Dungeon Boundary before he even understood what it truly was.

    "But I still don''t get it," another boy, on the left, said, rubbing his head. "What¡¯s the difference between normal bugs on the ground and Dungeon Bugs? They look the same, except shinier."

    The leader of the group scoffed before smacking the back of his head. "You¡¯re stupid."

    The boy who had been hit didn¡¯t even complain. If anything, he smiled sheepishly, as if accepting his fate.

    The leader continued, grinning smugly. "The difference is that one is trash, crawling in the dirt, and the other is a piece of gold."

    Then, his voice lowered slightly, his expression darkening. "But most importantly, Dungeon Bugs have intelligence. Like Elder Dai said, they contain a small piece of Heaven itself."

    North¡¯s chest tightened. A piece of Heaven?

    "Heaven is all-encompassing and all-governing," the boy went on, his voice full of certainty. "Anything that contains a piece of it is, of course, something extraordinary. That¡¯s why it¡¯s so important. That¡¯s why Dungeon Masters are different from normal people. A Dungeon Bug can¡¯t be used by humans, but if they become Dungeon Master, they can use their Dungeon Boundary to manipulate and use them for their personal use."

    ¡°Oh!¡±

    North clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms.

    ¡°I just need to wait for my father to pay the academy fees,¡± the boy continued, "and then they¡¯ll finally let me choose my first dungeon bug."

    His fingers curled into a tight fist, his voice turning bitter.

    "And then I¡¯ll let that bitch Jade know my power. How dare she beat me when were just practicing simple moves teacher told us to practice?"

    North¡¯s breath hitched. So the girl from chief house was still going strong as ever.

    In his eyes as he now had a lot of free time in his hand to thought things through: Jade had always been strong, skilled, and fearless. And this boy¡ªCleo¡ªhad always been obsessed with proving himself stronger than her. A dangerous kind of hatred flickered in his voice, a grudge buried deep.

    North exhaled slowly, pressing himself further into the shadows. He had no intention of getting caught up in this.

    But, just as North pressed himself deeper into the shadows, hoping to stay invisible, a boy¡¯s excited voice shattered his hopes.

    ¡°Boss, boss, look! North¡¯s hiding there!¡±

    The boy grabbed the sleeve of another, tugging like a child eager to show off a prize. North cursed under his breath and smacked his forehead against the wooden wall in frustration. Damn it. He didn¡¯t wait for them to close in. Instead, he bolted.

    "Where?!" Lain¡¯s head snapped toward the alley, his sharp eyes locking onto North.

    The other boys followed his gaze, and within seconds, they were on his tail. North could hear them laughing, their footsteps pounding against the dirt path, closing in fast. Lain, their self-proclaimed leader, looked the most eager¡ªhe wanted to catch North, humiliate him, and show off his strength. After all, he was now a Rank 1 Dungeon Boundary Master, just one step away from becoming an official Dungeon Master.

    And North? North was nothing. A failure. A perfect target. Or so they thought.

    "I should¡¯ve run earlier," North scolded himself as he ducked under a merchant¡¯s stall, nearly knocking over a basket of apples.

    But it was too late for regrets. Now, he had to focus on outrunning them. Luckily, he wasn¡¯t as weak as they thought. His thin frame made him quick, and years of climbing trees, jumping cliffs, and sneaking through tight spaces had honed him into a natural escape artist. He dashed through narrow alleys, vaulted over low fences, and slid under hanging laundry lines, using every shortcut he knew. But his pursuers were relentless. Unlike him, they had feasted on the meat of powerful beasts for six years, their bodies stronger, their stamina endless.

    And his luck today was terrible.

    North¡¯s heart sank when he turned a corner¡ªonly to hit a dead end. Tall wooden walls surrounded him on three sides. No escape. His breathing was uneven, his fists clenched. Behind him, the boys slowed their steps, grinning as they realized he was finally cornered.

    Lain stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, his lips curled into a smirk of pure amusement. ¡°Let¡¯s see how much you¡¯ve improved since the last time I beat you.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    His lackeys snickered, their laughter filled with anticipation. But Lain had conveniently forgotten something. The last time they fought, it took all five of them to take North down. Had he been alone, or even with only two others¡ªHe would¡¯ve been beaten like wet laundry on a rock. But now that he had his Dungeon Boundary, he thought he was unstoppable. So he did something stupid. Instead of waiting for his group, he lunged forward alone. North¡¯s eyes sharpened. He knew he was going to get beaten today. But if that was the case, he might as well enjoy landing a few punches first.

    North didn¡¯t hesitate. He didn¡¯t give Lain a chance to blink before his fist connected perfectly with his nose. A sharp crack echoed through the alley. Lain let out a bloodcurdling scream, stumbling back as blood gushed from his nostrils. But North didn¡¯t stop. He dashed forward, throwing another punch, then another. For a brief moment, he had the upper hand.

    Then, reality caught up. The other boys, momentarily stunned by Lain¡¯s pain, quickly snapped out of it and jumped in.

    Fists.

    Kicks.

    A knee to his ribs.

    North fought back for as long as he could, but it didn¡¯t take long before he was on the ground, curled up in pain. One foot pressed against his back. Another on his legs. A third against his shoulder. They kicked him, over and over, until their satisfaction outweighed their anger.

    It wasn¡¯t until a shout came from the distance that they finally stopped.

    "OI! What kind of kids did your parents raise?!" An old, weathered voice echoed through the alley.

    The boys turned to see Granny Pei, carrying a heavy bundle of grass on her head, making her way from the fields.

    Her face was stern, her steps slow but unwavering. "I¡¯ll be complaining to your parents, you little brats!"

    At the mention of parental involvement, Lain and his group immediately scattered, running off without a word. North lay there, groaning, dirt in his mouth, bruises already forming along his ribs.

    Granny Pei sighed heavily, dropping her bundle of grass to the side before walking over and helping him sit up.

    "Thank you, Granny Pei," North muttered, bowing slightly despite the pain.

    The old woman clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "Boy, why is it that every time I see you, you''re getting beaten by someone?"

    She dusted off his clothes, her frail but steady hands brushing the dirt off his shoulders.

    North let out a dry chuckle. "Maybe I just have a face people like to punch."

    Granny Pei rolled her eyes. "Let¡¯s go," she said, waving her hand. "Help me carry this bundle home, and I¡¯ll make you a medicine so those kicks don¡¯t hurt as much."

    North nodded immediately. He glanced at the ground, spotting his notebook¡ªnow covered in dust and footprints. With a quiet sigh, he picked it up, dusted it off, and tucked it back into his pocket. Then, despite Granny Pei¡¯s protests, he lifted the heavy bundle of grass onto his own head and walked beside her. She talked about her day, mostly complaining about her old bones, the price of rice, and how the new generation had no manners.

    North listened silently, enjoying her presence.

    Granny Pei had once been part of a big family, but they had all died on a clan mission outside the mountains, leaving her alone. North often wondered¡ªif he had grandparents, would they have loved him despite his failures? Would they have treated him kindly even though he was no longer special? But before his thoughts could wander too deep, he shook his head.

    He turned to Granny Pei and said, "Why don¡¯t you call me when you go to cut grass? I¡¯ll help you carry it home every day. It¡¯s not like I have anything better to do. And it¡¯ll help pass the time."

    Granny Pei paused mid-step, looking at him.

    For a moment, there was a flicker of sadness in her old eyes.

    "Stop talking like that," she scolded, her voice sharper than before. "You¡¯re still fourteen. You have a long life ahead of you. So, why you want to take care of these old bones. Even if you can¡¯t become a Dungeon Master, the world doesn¡¯t end."

    She fell silent after that, as if contemplating something. Finally, she sighed and spoke again. "Outside these Soaring Dragon Mountains, there¡¯s a great kingdom called the Brilliant Kingdom," she said.

    North¡¯s ears perked up slightly.

    "I¡¯ve heard the Dungeon Masters in Caravan talk about it," she continued. "Every year, they hold scholar examinations. People travel from all over to take the test. If they pass, they become ministers, officials... they earn money, fame, and power. Even without a Dungeon Boundary."

    She gave him a knowing look. "It¡¯s a path different from being a Dungeon Master... but it is still a path."

    North absorbed her words, letting them settle in his mind.

    A different path.

    One that didn¡¯t rely on Hope Bugs or Dungeon Boundaries.

    Soon, They reached home and he carefully dropped the bundle of grass inside her small wooden house. Despite the day¡¯s beating, North felt oddly content. Perhaps it was the silence, or maybe it was just being in her presence¡ªsomeone who didn¡¯t judge him, scold him, or expect anything from him. Meanwhile, Granny Pei poured two cups of water, one for herself and one for him, after all the walking. They sat side by side on a four-footed woven bed, watching her two cows graze on the fresh grass in the courtyard.

    The quiet stretched between them, but it wasn¡¯t uncomfortable.

    "It¡¯s hard to leave the boundaries of these mountains," Granny Pei murmured, breaking the silence.

    Her tired eyes watched the sky, the vastness beyond the peaks of the Soaring Dragon Mountains. "But that doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t make a name for yourself here in the clan."

    She gestured toward his notebook, dirt-streaked and worn from use. "Why do you study so much if you don¡¯t plan to put those words to use?"

    North¡¯s fingers instinctively tightened around the notebook in his lap. He had no answer.

    Granny Pei¡¯s expression shifted, turning serious. "We are all members of the Three Leaf Clan," she said, "and we are supposed to live like a family."

    But then, she let out a short, humorless laugh. "But the world doesn¡¯t work like that."

    North turned his head toward her, listening intently. "There is good and bad in people¡¯s hearts," she continued. "Mostly a lot more bad than good."

    Her fingers rubbed against her worn-out sleeves, as if recalling something distant.

    "When a family is small, there are fewer mouths to feed, and fewer worries overall. But when a family grows too large¡­ feeding more mouths becomes harder. Raising them all becomes impossible."

    She sighed, her voice heavy with knowing. "So what do clans do? They choose the best and nurture them forward."

    North stared at the ground, unmoving. It was the ugly truth¡ªone he had already known but never accepted. He was not one of the chosen. And that meant he had no place in the clan¡¯s future.

    Granny Pei looked at him patiently, sensing the storm in his heart.

    She reached out, lightly patting his arm. "So you shouldn''t feel resentment toward it," she said, her voice gentle but firm.

    "Resentment only burns you from the inside out. It doesn¡¯t harm others¡ªit only destroys you."

    North let out a slow breath. The anger, the bitterness, the ache in his chest¡ªthey had nowhere to go. Maybe she was somewhere right.

    After spending some time with Granny Pei, chatting about nothing and everything, North finally left her house, his feet leading him toward the towering mountains. The village, despite being the heart of their clan, was not the only settlement in these mountains. There were small villages scattered across the ridges and valleys, hidden between thick forests and winding rivers. And three more clans like his: Blue Fire, Mountain Shouldering, and Majestic Bear.

    Though he knew of their existence, he had never ventured beyond his own home. And today wasn¡¯t going to be any different. He had no plans to wander aimlessly. He only wanted to feel the cold air against his skin, let the wind rush through his hair, and¡ªjust for a moment¡ªenjoy the silence.

    His feet found their way to the edge of a steep cliff, where the land dropped sharply into an endless sea of emerald trees below. One wrong step and he could easily fall. But fear didn¡¯t cross his mind. Instead, he sat down, letting his legs dangle dangerously over the ledge.

    The sky stretched wide and endless above him, the clouds drifting like lost dreams.

    With a calm exhale, he pulled out a charcoal pencil and a tattered notebook. And he began to write. He wrote without thinking, letting the words flow as they wished.

    He sketched the mountains, the sharp lines of the ridges, the twisting patterns of the wind. He had no direction, but Granny Pei¡¯s words lingered in his mind, giving him something to mull over in the quiet afternoon. He had always dreamed of leaving. Of walking away from this place, from his family, his village, his clan. Of going somewhere new¡ªsomewhere no one knew him, no one pitied him, no one remembered his failures. But those thoughts were nothing more than fleeting ideas. A boy like him, weak and alone, had no way to cross these mountains. With his meager strength, getting past them was harder than flying.

    His grip tightened around the charcoal pencil, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

    How can I form another Dungeon Boundary again?

    How can I still become a Dungeon Master?

    These questions had haunted him for years. Lately, these thoughts had become even louder, more suffocating¡ªespecially after hearing the news. The other children from his batch had finally started their official training, entering the clan¡¯s school to become real Dungeon Masters. They were learning to rank up using their Dungeon Boundaries, how to use Dungeon bugs, growing stronger every day. And him? He was stuck in the same place, drowning in his own what-ifs and regrets. Or maybe, those questions had always been there, whispering in the back of his mind, since the day he lost everything.

    A soft rustling in the tall wild grass startled North. His body jerked in alarm, his hands gripping tightly onto the thick stalks of grass to keep himself from falling off the cliff. His breath hitched, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he slowly turned his head, expecting to see a mountain bear or worse¡ªa territorial beast from the deeper forests.

    Instead, his eyes landed on a girl.

    She stood near a centuries-old tree, her delicate fingers tracing the tree¡¯s weathered, white bark. She inspected it curiously, almost absentmindedly, as if she had merely wandered there by chance. North¡¯s mind went blank. For a long second, he forgot how to breathe, forgot how to think.

    The girl finally turned slightly, her silver gaze catching his stunned expression. Her lips curled into a smirk¡ªthe same familiar, mischievous smirk that once terrified him years ago.

    "What?" she said, taking a step forward, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I thought I was a cow looking at myself in a puddle, thinking I was a swan."

    North immediately snapped back to reality, his face flushing slightly. Damn it. He was so stupid when he was younger, spouting any poem that came to mind. And she remembered. How could she not? That poem was the reason she had beaten him black and blue the first time they met. But things had changed. The fake cow, it seemed, had truly become a swan.

    Jade reached into the pocket of her long skirts, pulling out a shiny gold coin.

    She twirled it between her fingers, letting the light glint off its polished surface. "Tell me a good poem," she said simply.

    Then, she held up the coin. "I¡¯ll give you this."

    North¡¯s gaze locked onto the coin instantly. Gold. These rich people in big houses really had the luxury of throwing money away so carelessly. But North? He knew exactly what that gold coin could buy. With that money, his entire household could survive for four, maybe five months. His fingers itched, already reaching for his notebook. He quickly flipped through the pages, scanning for the perfect phrase¡ªsomething to capture her completely. For a gold coin, if she wanted, he was even willing to write a hundred copies of an essay.

    But before he could choose, Jade¡¯s hand shot forward, snapping his book shut. "No," she interrupted, her voice firm.

    North blinked up at her, confused.

    "You have to make a new one," she said, her gaze unwavering. "Like you did in the past."

    North stared at her, his mind spinning. She wanted something fresh. Unscripted. Something that came from him, at this moment.

    It wasn¡¯t hard for North to think. After all, that was all he ever did. Think. Think. And think some more. His mind never rested, never stopped. He was always trapped in his own thoughts, always turning words over in his head, shaping them, molding them into something worth speaking.

    So when he looked at her, when he saw her molten-silver-moon like eyes glinting under the afternoon light,

    The words came naturally..

    She blinks¡ª

    the heavens lose colors,

    Thoughts scatter with the wind,

    ¡ªlose for words.

    Jade¡¯s eyes widened slightly, then her face split into a triumphant grin. She clapped her hands together, cheerful and smug. "Much better! You finally learned to appreciate others" she declared.

    At this moment, she was very happy, because the stupid boy had finally said something good. Thus, she decided to hand him the gold coin. If he hadn¡¯t, well, she was definitely planning to beat him red and blue.

    North accepted the coin immediately, enthusiasm lighting up his face. His first payment ever. A wave of joy rolled through his heart¡ªnot just because of the money, but because it was his words that had earned it. Then, a thought struck him. Maybe, just maybe, he could write poems for these rich ladies and earn even more money. They were pretty stupid anyway.

    As soon as the idea took root, another poem formed in his head.

    A fool trades gold for fleeting words,

    A poet smiles, richer than kings.

    He smirked, hiding the thought away for later. While his thoughts continued to crash:

    Ink flows like spring rain,

    Words bloom like morning flowers.

    One verse serves all courts, Like jade fits any setting.

    A few pretty words about grace,

    Some flowery praise about face,

    Tell her she''s rare,

    Beyond all compare.

    They¡¯ll think it''s divine,

    These recycled lines,

    While I think the profit''s sublime.

    North swallowed a sudden chuckle that threatened to spill out.

    "What are you thinking?" Jade¡¯s voice pulled North from his thoughts as she took a seat beside him, her legs dangling freely over the cliff¡¯s edge, just like his.

    North shifted slightly to the side, discomfort creeping up his spine. It had been four years since they last spoke. And now, suddenly, she was here, asking him for poems, handing him gold coins, and acting as if they were still familiar with each other. It was far too suspicious.

    His brows furrowed as he turned toward her. "Why are you here?"

    His voice was clipped, cautious¡ªas if an intruder had trespassed into his home.

    Jade didn¡¯t seem bothered by his hostility. Instead, she simply gazed at the wide chasm below, her silver eyes reflecting the endless stretch of valleys and towering mountains. "I just wanted to take a stroll today."

    North didn¡¯t buy it. But he also didn¡¯t care. "Okay."

    Without another word, he stood up. If she wanted to sit here and admire the view, she was free to do so. But he was going somewhere else¡ªone of his other secret places where he wouldn¡¯t have to deal with her presence. So what if the girl was pretty? So what if he felt drawn to her¡ªa strange, magnetic pull that had always been there since they were children? That kind of thing didn¡¯t matter anymore. Maybe four years ago, he would have folded easily if she had simply spoken to him like this. Maybe four years ago, he would have listened to her without suspicion.

    But now?

    Now, he rarely trusted anyone¡¯s words. Because trusting people meant giving them power over you. And North had already lost too much because of his own stupidity.

    "Wait!" Jade yelled from behind him, frustration in her voice.

    "Where are you going?" North didn¡¯t even look back as he walked away. "Letting you enjoy the peace and quiet." His voice was flat, indifferent. Then, after a beat, he added, "Also, I don¡¯t like people barging into my personal space."

    "Rude." Jade pouted dramatically, but then her voice shifted, teasing yet serious. "If you sit here, I¡¯ll show you something interesting."

    North¡¯s footsteps halted instantly. For a brief moment, he hesitated¡ªthen slowly, he turned back.

    Jade was twirling something between her fingers. North squinted, trying to make out what it was. A thin, dark object¡ªsomething small and hard-shelled.

    It looked like¡­

    A beetle?

    Something she must have picked up from the ground?

    "It¡¯s a Dungeon Bug, stupid," Jade said, sounding almost exasperated.

    North¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief.

    A Dungeon Bug.

    An actual Dungeon Bug.

    Despite being beaten to a pulp earlier, today had been surprisingly good¡ªhe had earned his first gold coin, gained valuable knowledge, and now¡ªhe was staring at something even the poor kids in the village had never been lucky enough to touch. His suspicion deepened. Slowly, he walked back and sat beside her, his entire focus glued to the small beetle in her hand. He didn¡¯t blink. Didn¡¯t breathe too loudly. Didn¡¯t even move.

    "This¡­ this is a Dungeon Bug?" he asked, voice low with pure curiosity.

    Because nothing about it looked special. It just looked like a normal bug as one of the boy in the hooligan group had said.

    "Hmm." Jade nodded, twirling it between her fingers. "It¡¯s called a Rock Skin Beetle. It can turn a person¡¯s skin into stone for a few seconds."

    North¡¯s mind raced, trying to process what that meant. But before he could react, Jade closed her hand around it. North flinched slightly, coming back to his senses. Something was wrong with this situation. Why was she showing him this? Why now?

    "Why are you showing me this?" he asked cautiously. His sharp eyes flicked up to hers. "Do you want something from me?"

    Jade suddenly smiled sweetly.

 5. Renewed Hope & Trying to Level Up

    Renewed Hope & Trying to Level Up

    "Tell me, what do you know about being a Dungeon Master?"

    Jade''s voice carried a rare seriousness, her silver eyes locking onto his. North wanted to look away, but he didn¡¯t. Instead, he forced himself to meet her gaze, his mind sorting through everything he knew, pulling knowledge from different corners of his memory.

    Finally, he spoke. "They have a Dungeon Boundary and can control Dungeon Bugs."

    Jade leaned back, planting both arms on the ground, her legs swinging lazily over the valley cliff. "That¡¯s it?" Her tone held a mix of amusement.

    North straightened, taking a more serious posture. He understood something important was happening here¡ªthis was a rare opportunity to learn. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice steady. "I¡¯m not privileged like someone."

    Jade¡¯s lips curled, and a soft giggle escaped her. "Hehe. Then let me give you a demonstration."

    By the time she spoke, the Stone Skin Beetle that had been in her palm was gone. North barely had time to process where it went before Jade lightly dusted the sleeve of his shirt. And suddenly, all the dirt, mud, and dust on his clothes simply fell away, drifting to the ground like fine sand.

    His ragged shirt, worn and faded, now looked as fresh as new linen.

    North¡¯s eyes widened in shock. It was as if she had performed magic. "What did you just do?" he looked at her with disbelief.

    Jade smirked, clearly pleased by his reaction. "Nothing much," she said with a small shrug.

    Then, she tilted her head, her silver eyes glinting in the afternoon light. "It was just a simple Rank 1 Self-Cleaning Bug."

    North was still in shock, his fingers running over the now spotless fabric of his sleeve, trying to process what had just happened.

    Jade watched him with amusement before adding, "Your mom might have something similar. Have you never noticed?"

    North¡¯s brows furrowed at the question. "What do you mean?"

    "It might not be the same," Jade continued, "but perhaps related to cooking, heating, or cleaning."

    North thought back, recalling small, subtle things from his home. His mother never seemed to struggle with heating food, nor did she ever scrub clothes endlessly like some of the poorer families did. Could she have been using Dungeon Bugs all this time?

    "Dungeon Bugs come in every shape and kind," Jade explained, flicking the cloth once before letting it rest on her palm. "Some are meant for fighting, others for daily tasks. They can warm your tea, clean your clothes, sharpen your skills¡ªsome can even make you faster, stronger, or let you manipulate elements. Then there are rare ones... the kind that allow you to regrow lost limbs, soar through the clouds, or even sink into the earth like a shadow."

    North listened carefully, her words painting an entirely new perspective in his mind. He had always thought of Dungeon Bugs as weapons, tools of power wielded by Dungeon Masters. But he had never considered that they could be used for simple, everyday tasks.

    "If they can do all that," North muttered, glancing at the small scrap of cloth in her hand, "why doesn¡¯t everyone use them?"

    Jade smirked, tilting her head. "Because they¡¯re rare. And the best ones?" She raised an eyebrow. "They don¡¯t come cheap."

    "They also have ranks," Jade continued. "Just like Dungeon Masters have ranks from one to nine, Dungeon Bugs are also categorized based on their abilities. This Self-Cleaning Bug, for example, is a simple Rank 1."

    She flicked her wrist, and the small piece of white cloth shifted slightly, its edges shimmering faintly in the light before settling again.

    North, who had been staring at it intently, finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at him.

    "That doesn¡¯t look like a bug," he said, his expression shifting into one of confusion. "The beetle from earlier, that looked like an insect. But this? It¡¯s just a piece of cloth."

    His eyes narrowed slightly, "So why do you still call it a bug?"

    Jade leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just enough to make him unconsciously do the same. "Dungeon Bugs don¡¯t always look like insects." She lifted the piece of cloth between two fingers, letting the wind catch its edges slightly. "When a Dungeon Master bonds with a bug, it changes."

    North¡¯s eyes darkened with thought, his mind struggling to process what she was saying.

    "Changes how?"

    "It depends on the bug," she said simply. "Some keep their original form, others turn into something completely different."

    She ran a finger along the soft surface of the cloth, and as she did, its color shifted slightly, becoming more translucent, like woven threads of silk.

    "Some turn into weapons," she continued. "Some into armor, some into tools, some into things like this."

    North stared at the cloth, realization sinking in. It wasn¡¯t just a fabric scrap. It was alive. His thoughts spun in every direction. He had always wondered how Dungeon Masters carried their bugs without them flying away or dying. He had assumed they kept them in boxes, jars, or even cages. But this? This was something else entirely. He had spent years longing for a second chance, dreaming of ways to reclaim what he had lost. Yet, he had never truly understood what he had lost.

    Jade, watching his expression shift from confusion to deep thought, smirked. "That¡¯s why I call it a bug." She flicked the cloth one last time before tucking it away into her sleeve.

    North exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering where the strange piece of fabric had vanished. It was intriguing, mysterious even, but his mind quickly snapped back to something more important¡ªsomething he hadn¡¯t forgotten.

    He squinted as he turned back to Jade. "So, why are you here? And what do you want from me?"

    Jade tilted her head, "What do you think?" she countered.

    North shifted uncomfortably, not enjoying this little game. "Well¡­" he hesitated, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "I¡¯m kinda useless unless you want me to write poems for you. I¡¯m not really good at anything. I might have become a Dungeon Master if everything had gone right, but even that¡¯s not possible anymore."

    Jade visibly shivered, shaking her entire body dramatically. "Ugh! You¡¯re depressing to talk to."

    Her voice carried genuine irritation, as if his words had physically drained her energy. But then, she brushed it off with a sigh and got to the point. "Anyway, I want your help."

    North''s brows furrowed deeper, his confusion growing tenfold. "For what?"

    "I want to leave this village."

    For a moment, North thought he had misheard her. His entire body tensed, his mind struggling to process what she had just said. Leave? She wanted to leave the village? His gaze snapped to hers, searching for a hint of mockery or jest, but she looked dead serious.

    "As you know, I¡¯m not really from here," Jade continued, her voice measured. "My uncle dropped me off when I was little."

    She waved her hand dismissively, as if brushing aside a trivial matter. "But let¡¯s not talk about that. What¡¯s important is this¡ªI don¡¯t belong here. And I don¡¯t want to stay here all my life."

    Her silver eyes gleamed with determination. "I want to leave these mountains."

    North stared at her, still trying to understand whether she was being serious or just saying things for effect. But then, she dropped the real bombshell. "And I want you to come with me."

    North''s mouth fell open. His jaw hung so low he might as well have dislocated it. After a moment of processing, he snorted, then outright laughed. "You haven¡¯t changed a bit from when you were little."

    He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye, still grinning as if he had just heard the most ridiculous joke of his life. Then, after a pause, his grin fell slightly. "No¡ªactually, I think you¡¯ve become more unhinged."

    Jade¡¯s expression soured instantly. She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Unhinged?" she muttered, clearly offended. "What do you mean unhinged? I¡¯m perfectly rational!"

    "Oh, sure." North nodded sarcastically.

    Jade¡¯s patience thinned instantly. "Are you agreeing or not?" she asked impatiently.

    North laughed again, shaking his head. "Why would I sign my own death certificate with my own hand?"

    He tapped his forehead with his index finger, as if checking for an imaginary label. "Do you see the word ¡®fool¡¯ written here?"

    Jade poked his head. "Not yet, but I could write it for you."

    North ignored her and continued. "Do you even realize how dangerous it is to cross these mountains?"

    He pointed toward the vast expanse of treacherous cliffs and endless ridges stretching as far as the eye could see. "Except for trained warriors and clan learners, no one dares to go beyond our village¡¯s territory. Not more than ten kilometers, at least. There are countless dangerous beast and monsters hidden inside those even the clan chief itself didn¡¯t want to fight."

    He folded his arms. "And let¡¯s not forget¡ªthere are no proper routes, no roads, nothing. You¡¯d be walking into unknown territory. Who¡¯s going to climb these mountains and pave a path ahead? Us?"

    North gestured between the two of them, his disbelief clear in his voice. "That¡¯s insane. Even if I¡¯m weak, I¡¯m not stupid enough to have such daring thoughts. I¡¯m somewhat content with my pitiful life."

    Jade clicked her tongue, shaking her head as if she found his words pathetic. "Of course, I¡¯m not asking you to do it for free." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "I have a deal."

    North¡¯s ears perked up instantly, but not out of excitement¡ªonly curiosity.

    His interest wasn¡¯t in her so-called grand plan, her escape, or whatever madness she was plotting. It was her knowledge. "What kind of deal?" he asked cautiously.

    Jade smiled, but it wasn¡¯t her usual smug or teasing grin. It was something deeper¡ªsomething knowing. "I might have a way to break your curse of never becoming a Dungeon Master."

    She spoke slowly, deliberately, her silver eyes locked onto his. "And I can give you a new chance."

    North visibly recoiled from her words. For the first time in this conversation, his casual demeanor shattered. His heart skipped a beat, his breath caught in his throat. "What did you just say?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, the words laced with something dangerously close to hope.

    Jade looked away, ignoring him. "You heard me once. I¡¯m not repeating myself."

    She was steady, confident¡ªlike someone who knew she held the upper hand. North exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. His mind was telling him this was nonsense, but his heart wasn¡¯t so sure. He had spent four years drowning in regret, being reminded at every corner that he was a failure¡ªsomeone who had lost his only chance at becoming a Dungeon Master. But now, Jade sat there, claiming that everything he had believed for years might be false. It was too much. He didn¡¯t like it. Didn¡¯t like the way it shook the foundation of his misery, the way it threatened to pull him out of the hole he had sunk into.

    "Do you somehow think you know more than the elders?"

    Jade rolled her eyes so hard, North thought they might just get stuck. "What do these backwater elders calling themselves Dungeon Masters even know?" she scoffed, flipping her hair back dramatically.

    "My father¡­"

    She stopped herself half sentence.

    A flicker of something guarded flashed in her eyes before she smoothly corrected herself.

    "I once heard my father say¡ªHope Bugs are just the easiest way to form a Dungeon Boundary, but not the only way."

    Hope Bugs were¡­ the easiest? What the hell was that supposed to mean? North confusion deepened.

    Jade continued, her voice taking on a more thoughtful tone. "There can be countless ways to form a Dungeon Boundary, just like there are countless Dungeon Bugs."

    She leaned back on her palms, tilting her face toward the sky, as if pondering something beyond their little world. "Why is it that Hope Bugs help us form a Dungeon Boundary so easily?"

    She let the question hang in the air, waiting to see if North had an answer. But he didn¡¯t. Because he had never even thought to question it before.

    "I once asked¡­" she said, her voice softer now, but still filled with certainty. "My father told me that Hope is like a beacon. Its job is to guide us, so naturally, as humans, we follow the most efficient and simplest method."

    Then, she turned to face him, her silver eyes locking onto his. "But as humans, should we really allow ourselves to be confined to one path? Should we let ourselves be stuck on a single ideal?"

    Her words carried weight, as if she had spent a long time thinking about this, doubting it, challenging it. And now, she had dropped that challenge right in front of him. North didn¡¯t respond. He couldn¡¯t. Because the more she spoke, the more uncomfortable he became. He had spent years resenting his fate, mourning the loss of his Dungeon Boundary. He had spent years believing he was doomed, that he would never step onto the path of a Dungeon Master again.

    Because that¡¯s what the elders told him.

    That¡¯s what the entire clan believed.

    But what if they were wrong?

    North forced himself to steady his breath, though his mind was racing wildly. The possibility that he could still become a Dungeon Master had sent a rush of excitement through him. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was hope or just another trap of wishful thinking. Either way, he needed to know more.

    "So you''re saying I still might have a chance?" His voice was calmer now, measured, but his fingers twitched against his knee.

    Jade''s silver eyes locked onto his, unwavering. "Yes."

    Her confidence should have reassured him, but instead, it only made his stomach twist harder. "You might have lost your chance with Hope, but there are still some ways to become a Dungeon Master."

    North¡¯s didn''t know if he wanted to jump to his feet and shout in triumph or scream at her for teasing him with something so uncertain. He swallowed the storm of emotions brewing inside him and asked the only question that mattered. "How?" His voice cracked slightly at the edges. It carried everything¡ªhis desperation, his impatience, his buried frustration from years of being told that he would never have another chance.

    But Jade? She just shrugged. "I don¡¯t know."

    North¡¯s world nearly tipped over the cliff. "What?" He stared at her, his expression frozen, his mind going utterly blank.

    Jade, in contrast, looked completely unbothered. She crossed her arms, looking far too comfortable for someone who had just dangled his dream in front of him and then snatched it away.

    "My father never explained it to me," she said, flicking her silver hair away from her face. "He always said I was too young to have such talks with him. Once I grow up, he¡¯d tell me everything."

    North barely heard her. The words rang hollow in his ears.

    Jade continued, her tone turning more thoughtful. "Though, he did say one thing."

    She let her fingers trace invisible shapes in the dirt beside her. "In the end, if a person keeps working on themselves, one day they¡¯ll reach a point where their ability and hard work are enough to transform into a Dungeon Boundary itself."

    She paused, letting the weight of the words settle between them. "That''s all I know."

    North felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. His heart had soared for a moment, thinking she had an actual method, something real¡ªsomething concrete. But instead, she handed him a vague, cryptic riddle that made less sense the more he thought about it.

    His excitement sputtered out like a dying candle. "That doesn¡¯t make any sense."

    His voice was hollow, tinged with frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping at the strands before letting go. "How is someone supposed to ¡®become¡¯ a Dungeon Boundary?"

    His brows knitted together, irritation flickering in his eyes. "That sounds like nonsense."

    Jade just watched him, waiting. She didn¡¯t look offended or annoyed by his reaction¡ªif anything, she almost looked like she expected it. "You don¡¯t believe me?" she asked after a moment, tilting her head slightly.

    North let out a short, humorless laugh. "I want to."

    His fingers curled against his palm, his nails pressing into the skin. "I really do."

    But how could he? How could he believe something that had no explanation, no proof?

    Jade leaned back on her hands, her gaze drifting toward the sky. "Maybe it¡¯s not about understanding it now."

    Her silver eyes flickered as she turned back to him. And then she smirked. "Maybe it¡¯s about having the guts to try anyway."

    North felt something stir deep in his chest, a spark of something he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time. And damn her, because she was getting to him.

    "So, what do you have in mind?" It was the last flicker of hope in his heart, grasping onto the chance that maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªshe had something real to offer.

    But Jade just shook her head. "Your answer first."

    North rolled his eyes. She really wasn¡¯t letting go of this stupid idea, was she? Still, he knew there were ways to leave the village¡ªthe traveling merchants, the large caravans that moved between mountains, selling and collecting supplies. Maybe they could follow them, slip away unnoticed. But the real reason she had come to him, It wasn¡¯t because he was special. It was because he was desperate.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    "I know what you''re thinking."

    Jade raised an eyebrow, but North pressed on.

    "You want me to be your fodder if we face death. So you can push me in front and save yourself."

    Jade¡¯s face twitched slightly, but North wasn¡¯t done.

    "And as for why you chose me¡ªout of anyone in the village, even someone like Heo, who you''re actually friends with¡ªit¡¯s because you think that if you indebt me with something, I¡¯ll be more likely to throw my life away for you than anyone else."

    He shook his head, playfully, mockingly, his lips curling. "I never knew you were so cunning."

    For once, Jade was caught off guard. Her expression flickered¡ªshock, then quick recovery. She crossed her arms, her voice defensive, annoyed. "So what?" she snapped. "Was I wrong to think like that?"

    North scoffed, shaking his head. "You weren¡¯t wrong."

    His voice was calm, almost amused. "But I¡¯m also not stupid, though I might look like one."

    He lifted his hand, tracing lazy circles in the dirt, his expression contemplative. Then, he looked up at her, "But I¡¯ll make you a deal."

    Jade¡¯s ears perked up, intrigued. North¡¯s lips curled slightly, his voice steady, deliberate. "If I successfully form a Dungeon Boundary because of you, I¡¯ll owe you three chances at my life."

    Jade blinked. "Three?"

    North nodded. "Three times, if we ever get into danger, I¡¯ll be willing to throw myself in front of death for you. Willingly."

    His eyes darkened slightly. "But after those three times? We go our separate ways. No debts. No attachments. Like we never knew each other. Strangers!"

    He leaned back, arms crossed. "A life sacrificed for a life given."

    Jade chewed on that for a minute. Then suddenly grinned, her silver eyes lighting up like she''d won something.

    "Deal."

    She extended her hand, waiting. North sighed, staring at it for a moment. Then, with a slow smile, he reached out and shook her hand. Their fingers clasped tightly, sealing a contract that neither of them could predict the outcome of. When they let go, Jade stretched like a cat, looking way too pleased with herself.

    North stared at her, "So¡­ what should we do now?"

    <hr>

    Tall shadows stretched across the mountain valley as North and Jade stood at the cliff''s edge, their newly hatched plan hanging between them like mist. The afternoon Sun spilled over the ancient peaks like liquid gold pouring, a reminder of how much time they''d spent arguing over this crazy scheme.

    Finally, North watched Jade''s retreating figure as they finally parted ways, his mind still churning over their agreement. He''d help her escape these mountains - fair enough. But her plan to help him form a new boundary? That part left him cursing under his breath. He wasn¡¯t sure whether he had just signed up for his salvation or a slow, miserable death. Jade¡¯s thoughts were as bizarre as her plan, both sounding equally ridiculous and impossible, but North had long since stopped expecting normalcy from her. Still, despite how absolutely absurd it all sounded, the idea of forming a Dungeon Boundary again was enough for him to swallow his doubts and push forward.

    Even if this plan ended in utter failure, it was still more than what the clan or elders ever gave him.

    And he would rather die trying than live with nothing.

    As they had stood on the mountain valley cliff, the wind ruffling Jade¡¯s pretty clothes, she had said it with absolute confidence¡ª

    "We¡¯ll simply have to try everything."

    North had blinked at her, frowning. "What do you mean by ¡®try everything¡¯?"

    Jade, completely unfazed by his skepticism, had simply crossed her arms. "It means you¡¯ll have to learn new skills¡ªto master them, or better yet, to reach perfection."

    That was the moment when North truly started doubting her sanity. He had given her a long, deadpan stare, but before he could call her out on her nonsense, she had continued¡ª

    "I think what my father meant to say back then wasn¡¯t just about learning and becoming good at a profession. But ultimately understanding¡ªwhat does it mean to be that?"

    North had raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced. "What are you even talking about?"

    Jade had simply sighed, as if she was explaining something incredibly simple to an idiot. "For example, is blacksmithing just about forging metal?"

    North had opened his mouth to say yes, but she cut him off before he could answer. "Don¡¯t you think there¡¯s more to it?

    ¡°For example. Most people think it''s just about hammering metal into shape. But there''s so much more beneath the surface. It''s about understanding how temperature changes the very nature of metal, how each strike sends ripples through the material like waves through a pond. When you really think about it, maybe it''s all about the art of transformation - breaking down barriers between what is and what could be."

    She had stepped closer, her voice lowering slightly, as if sharing some profound secret. "Beyond just swinging a hammer wildly, there''s a deeper truth. That''s what you need to grasp - the essence of it all. The fundamental nature of change itself."

    North had stood there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The way she spoke, the sheer conviction in her voice¡ªshe actually believed this nonsense. And yet¡­Something about her words dug into his mind like a thorn that refused to be plucked out.

    The essence of things.

    What the hell did that even mean? Did she mean he had to become so skilled at something that it became a part of him? Or was she talking about something deeper, something beyond skill itself? Either way, North was highly skeptical. But at this point, what did he have to lose? If nothing else, it was a direction.

    And he hadn¡¯t had one of those in a long, long time.

    Standing atop that mountain valley cliff, the wind whipping through their hair, he had smirked slightly and proposed an idea. "Then why don¡¯t I try to understand the essence of poetry first?"

    Jade had arched an eyebrow, arms crossed. And North had lifted his chin slightly, confidence flickering back into his voice. "After all, I¡¯ve been writing since I was four. And I¡¯d say there¡¯s no one better than me at writing in the village¡ªor the entire clan, for that matter."

    Jade had snorted, unimpressed. "You can try," she allowed. "It might even be better and faster."

    For a moment, North had thought she was agreeing with him. But then she smirked, and his stomach immediately dropped. "But I¡¯m not even sure if you understand the first letter of poetry."

    North¡¯s brows twitched. "Excuse me?"

    Jade smirk widened as she tilted her head. "I mean, sure, you string words together nicely. But do you really know what poetry is? Do you understand its essence? Or are you just another fool playing with pretty words?"

    That had stung. North had genuinely scowled, glaring at her. "Of course, I understand it."

    Jade had simply shrugged, completely unconvinced. "Then prove it."

    Her silver eyes sparkled with challenge, and North had half a mind to shove her off the damn cliff. But the problem was¡ªshe had a point. Was he really the best in the village? Or had he simply been the best among people who didn¡¯t care about poetry in the first place? But why does being best even matter when it came to understanding the essence of poetry? He clenched his jaw, filing that thought away for later. Still, as much as Jade had agreed to let him start with poetry, she wasn¡¯t about to let him get comfortable.

    She had folded her arms, tapping her fingers lightly against her elbow. "Still, you can¡¯t push away the things I want you to try."

    North had exhaled sharply, already expecting that condition. Of course, she wouldn¡¯t make this easy for him. Then, she had lifted four fingers.

    "I¡¯ll wait four years at best."

    North¡¯s gaze had snapped to hers, sharp. "Four years?"

    Jade nodded. "Four years," she repeated firmly. "By then, I''ll have reached Rank 4 Dungeon Master. My strength will be strong enough to protect myself both in the mountains and beyond. And in that time, if you still haven¡¯t formed your Dungeon Boundary and advanced past minimum Rank 2, I¡¯ll look for someone else."

    Her voice was steady, unwavering. She was giving him time, but not infinite patience. North had frowned slightly, considering. Four years. To most people, that was a long time. But to someone trying to achieve the impossible? It was nothing.

    Still, North had gritted his teeth and agreed.

    "Fine. Four years."

    <hr>

    From the day onward, everything changed in North¡¯s life.

    His parents, at first, couldn¡¯t believe their eyes. Fern had nearly dropped a pot of boiling water, and his father had stared at him like he had suddenly grown three heads.

    "You woke up early?" his mother had asked, cautiously feeling his forehead, as if expecting to find a fever.

    "I always wake up early," North had muttered, dodging her hands.

    "Not willingly," his father had corrected, adjusting his glasses as if trying to confirm he wasn¡¯t hallucinating.

    His mother had simply narrowed her eyes, her voice lowering. "Did you get possessed by the Granny Ghost from behind the mountains?" Then she muttered to herself mindlessly, "I knew there was something wrong with that place. I should have stopped you from going their earlier."

    North had scoffed, slinging his worn-out poetry notebook over his shoulder. "I¡¯m not possessed," he had said, stepping out the door before she could pry further.

    The truth was, he had a plan. While the newly promoted Dungeon Master students headed toward the school for their lessons, North took a different path. He marched straight to the blacksmith¡¯s forge¡ªhis poetry notebook clutched tightly in one hand. His goal was simple: he was going to learn how to swing a hammer. The blacksmith¡¯s shop stood like a beast of iron and stone, thick black smoke curling from its chimney, the scent of burning coal and molten metal stinging the air. Inside, the sound of hammers striking anvils echoed in steady, rhythmic beats¡ªlike a heartbeat of steel and fire.

    North stood at the door, hesitating only for a second, before stepping inside. The forge¡¯s master, a broad-shouldered, heavyset man with a thick beard and a face like carved stone, barely spared him a glance.

    North cleared his throat, straightening his posture. "Master Blacksmith, I want to learn how to swing a hammer."

    Silence. The blacksmith continued hammering away at the heated blade in front of him, completely ignoring him.

    North bit his lip, but didn¡¯t back down. He had expected resistance. This wasn¡¯t just any forge¡ªit was the clan¡¯s blacksmith shop. And the man in front of him was a Rank 2 Dungeon Blacksmith. From what North had heard, he never taught anyone who didn¡¯t meet his strict conditions¡ªNo lazy students. No one without a Dungeon Boundary.

    North failed on both accounts. But that wasn¡¯t even the worst of it. The blacksmith finally lifted his head, resting his hammer against the anvil, and gave North a long, hard look.

    A look that screamed disappointment. "You¡¯re the useless brat, aren¡¯t you?"

    The words hit like a slap, but North didn¡¯t flinch. He had spent years being called useless. He simply tightened his grip on his notebook and straightened his back. "I won¡¯t be useless for long."

    The blacksmith let out a low grunt, unimpressed. Then, just as North was about to plead his case further, a voice interrupted. A servant from the chief¡¯s manor stepped into the forge, looking mildly annoyed as he dusted the soot from his robes. "Master Blacksmith, the young lady has sent a message."**

    The blacksmith¡¯s thick eyebrows twitched at that. "What message?" he grunted.

    The servant glanced at North, then back at the blacksmith. "She requests that you teach him."

    The room went silent. North felt his breath hitch, thinking how Jade even had accomplished this. The blacksmith turned, his thick, muscled arms crossing over his chest. "And if I refuse?"

    The servant gave a pointed look. "Then you¡¯ll owe her a favor."

    The blacksmith scowled. That was all it took. With a frustrated grunt, he wiped his soot-covered hands on his apron and finally looked North over properly, scanning every inch¡ªhis thin frame, his soft hands, his lack of muscle.

    Then, finally, he spoke. "Whatever you learn will depend on your talent."

    And just like that, North was allowed inside. The forge roared with heat, casting a deep red glow over the tools and unfinished weapons scattered across the room. The air was thick with the scent of burning coal, hot metal, and sweat.

    North took a deep breath, steeling himself. The blacksmith wasted no time. Without looking at him, he gestured toward the cluttered, dust-covered shelves at the back of the forge.

    "Your first job is to sort and clean everything."

    North blinked. For a moment, he thought he had misheard. "Clean?"

    The blacksmith didn¡¯t even spare him a glance. "You think you¡¯ll be swinging a hammer on your first day?"

    His voice was gruff, impatient. "If you can¡¯t even handle a simple task, how do you expect to handle the real work?"

    North gritted his teeth, swallowing down his irritation. It wasn¡¯t what he wanted, but he had expected something like this. Still, his resolve was unshaken. With a silent nod, he grabbed a cloth and a broom and got to work.

    But, Just five minutes inside the forge had turned him into a sweating mess, his skin burning like he''d been thrown into a pot of boiling water. There were four other people in the workshop. Two were young, around his age, their arms scarred with old burns, their fingers blackened with soot¡ªclear signs they had been here far longer than he had. Another was a man in his late thirties, his muscles corded like iron, moving with the kind of efficiency that only came from years of mastering one¡¯s craft. And then there was the oldest among them, a man whose hair had turned silver, but his movements were still sharp, practiced¡ªa man who had spent a lifetime shaping steel.

    Yet, none of them seemed affected by the blistering heat. They worked unbothered, unflinching, moving through the suffocating air as if it were nothing more than a gentle summer breeze.

    North, on the other hand, his breath hitched, his vision blurred with heat, and within minutes, he couldn''t take it. Gasping, he staggered toward the door, pushing past the thick air, and finally.

    Fresh air.

    He bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in deep gulps of air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Behind him, laughter rumbled from the forge. Mocking, knowing. The sound burned almost as much as the heat had. He turned slightly to see the three men watching him, their faces amused, entertained.

    One of the younger boys leaned against his anvil, smirking.

    ¡°Hah, the poet thought he could play with fire.¡±

    The older man wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking his head with a grin.

    "They always run the first day."

    North stared down at his hands - soft hands meant for holding brushes and turning pages, now blackened with soot and grime. Small cuts from wayward metal shards dotted his palms, tiny beads of blood welling up like crimson poetry. He sighed deeply, the mountain breeze cooling his flushed face.

    Just yesterday, he''d been standing on clifftops composing verses about the heavens above and the earth below, contemplating the ever-changing nature of the human heart. Now here he was, sweeping metal shavings in this man-made inferno.

    North exhaled slowly, letting the air fill his lungs, before turning back toward the forge. The heat would still be unbearable. His hands would still bleed and blister. But he had a Dungeon Boundary to form. He had no choice but to endure. And so, without a word, he stepped back inside, letting the flames swallow him once more. The blacksmith raised a brow but said nothing. The others watched in silence. North picked up the broom again, ignoring the throbbing in his fingers, the sweat dripping into his eyes, the ache that had already begun to settle in his bones.

    Patience.

    Steadiness.

    And above all¡ª

    He needed to learn.

    Faster. Smarter. Without hesitation.

    Because this was only the beginning.

    ¡­

    ¡­

    ¡­

    The forge had spat him back out, its heat too much for his frail body to endure for more than two hours a day. His lungs still felt coated in smoke, his arms ached from scrubbing grime, and his fingers throbbed from the small cuts he had gathered like war wounds.

    But North didn¡¯t go home. There was no time for rest.

    His feet carried him through the winding village paths, past stone houses with smoking chimneys, past the laughter of children chasing each other with wooden swords, past the market stalls where merchants bartered over sacks of rice and dried meat. His destination was a quieter part of the village¡ªwhere most people didn¡¯t bother to go. A small, timeworn house sat at the edge of the settlement, near the foot of a gentle hill, its walls made of earth-colored stone, its roof covered in moss. A faint scent of wet clay lingered in the air, mingling with the crisp breeze rolling down from the mountains.

    North stood before the wooden door, raising a hand hesitantly. The wood was rough beneath his knuckles as he knocked. There was a pause. Then, slow, shuffling footsteps approached from within. The door creaked open, revealing a figure bent with age, a man whose back had long since surrendered to time, his face a map of deep wrinkles.

    His eyes¡ªthough cloudy¡ªheld a sharpness that had not dulled with age.

    North straightened his posture, his hands instinctively tightening into fists. He expected resistance. He had expected to be sent away, told that he had no talent, that there was no place for someone like him in this craft.

    But the old man merely tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over North with quiet consideration.

    "You¡¯re the poet boy, aren¡¯t you?"

    North hesitated, then nodded. The old potter¡¯s lips twitched. "And now you want to learn pottery?"

    His voice was gravelly, but there was no mockery in it. North exhaled, steeling himself. "Yes."

    The old man hummed, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for something unseen. Then, to North¡¯s shock, he simply stepped aside, gesturing toward the open doorway. "Well, come in then."

    The workshop was small, but every inch of it was filled with life. Rows of clay pots, vases, and unfinished sculptures lined the walls, some cracked from age, others still fresh and damp. The scent of earth and water clung to the air, thick and grounding, a stark contrast to the sharp heat of the forge. In the center of the room sat a potter¡¯s wheel, its wooden base worn smooth from years of use. A large, shallow basin filled with murky water stood beside it, the surface rippling slightly as a single drop fell from the potter¡¯s wrinkled fingers.

    North lingered by the doorway, uncertain. There was no one else here, except for the old potter to learn the craft.

    The old man moved with unhurried grace, settling himself onto a stool with the ease of someone who had spent a lifetime molding clay beneath his hands.

    He patted the seat beside him. "Sit."

    North hesitated, then obeyed. The old potter studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Not many young people are interested in this craft anymore."

    His voice was calm, but there was something else underneath it¡ªa quiet kind of sadness. North watched as the old man reached for a lump of clay, pressing it firmly onto the wheel. "Good to see someone still willing."

    Then, without another word, he set the wheel spinning. North watched, transfixed, as the potter¡¯s hands moved with measured precision, his fingers shaping the clay as if guiding it toward its destined form. The soft squelch of wet earth filled the silence, the rhythm steady, soothing. It was different from the forge. There was no fire, no violence, no clashing of metal¡ªonly the quiet patience of hands molding earth. North¡¯s chest felt oddly light. He had come here expecting a struggle¡ªbut instead, he had been welcomed.

    ¡­

    By the time the sun crossed the half day mark, painting the sky in soft gold, North finally dusted the dried clay from his hands and looked toward the potter master. His muscles ached, his fingers felt stiff from the constant kneading, and his back protested after hours of sitting hunched over the potter¡¯s wheel. Still, there was something oddly satisfying about seeing the misshapen lumps of clay he had touched¡ªthe slow transformation from formless earth into something tangible, something real.

    But he had limits. His body reminded him of that with every sore muscle, every bead of sweat clinging to his skin.

    North let out a breath, wiping his hands against his pants. "Master, I can only do three hours a day."

    The old potter glanced up, his lined face betraying no disappointment, only understanding. His hands, still coated in wet clay, paused mid-motion. "That¡¯s fine," he said, his voice carrying no resentment.

    If anything, there was something almost content in the way he spoke, as if having someone to pass time with, even for a short while, was more than enough. "Few even last an hour."

    North exhaled a short, tired chuckle. "I can see why."

    The potter merely smirked, then went back to his work, shaping the clay between his fingers as if it were an extension of himself. North, despite the exhaustion settling in his bones, felt a flicker of something unfamiliar¡ªsomething close to peace.

    But there was no time to savor it. He had more doors to knock on.

    ¡­

    The scent hit him first.

    Thick. Metallic. Sharp with the iron tang of blood.

    The moment he stepped into the butcher¡¯s shop, he felt something twist in his stomach¡ªa deep, unsettling churn that nearly sent bile creeping up his throat. Carcasses hung from rusted hooks, swaying slightly in the evening draft. The walls, once white, were permanently stained with deep brown streaks¡ªevidence of years spent in the trade of cutting flesh and bone.

    A burly man stood behind the wooden counter, his massive arms slick with sweat, his apron splattered with fresh blood as he lifted a cleaver and brought it down in one swift motion.

    THUD.

    The heavy knife sank into the thick neck of a still alive cow, splitting it with ease using his Dungeon Master strength. North, standing at the entrance, swallowed hard. His fingers twitched at his sides, his body tense as his mind screamed at him to leave, to turn back. But he didn''t. He forced himself to step forward.

    The butcher finally looked up, his eyes squinting in curiosity at the boy standing before him.

    North straightened his back, his voice steady despite the churning in his gut. "I want to learn how to cut."

    The butcher raised a thick brow, then let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "You sure?"

    North nodded, clenching his fists to keep his resolve from slipping.

    The butcher wiped his hands on his apron, then gestured toward the bloodstained table. "Watch first. If you don¡¯t run, we¡¯ll talk."

    And so, North stood stone-still, forcing himself to watch. Every slice, every hack, every time the blade carved through muscle, through sinew, through bone¡ªhe watched.

    ¡­

    By the time the sky darkened, the once-blue expanse now heavy with clouds, North dragged his aching body toward the mountain valley cliff¡ªthe same place he and Jade had met the day before. His limbs felt as heavy as stones, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. His skin still smelled of soot from the forge, of clay from the potter¡¯s wheel, of blood from the butcher¡¯s shop. He wanted to collapse then and there. And the moment he saw Jade, standing at the edge of the valley, waiting for him¡ªhe did.

    His knees buckled, and he fell onto the dirt, groaning as he stretched his sore limbs.

    Jade stood over him, arms crossed, silver eyes dancing with amusement. "So, how was your day?" The smirk in her voice was unmistakable.

    "Don''t ask." North didn''t even bother lifting his head.

    The words rasped out of his throat, dry and hoarse from the forge''s heat, his hands numb from molding clay and cutting meat. His body felt like a corpse that had been dragged behind a merchant''s cart for ten miles. The worst part wasn''t even the physical exhaustion. He''d watched all four masters like a hawk today, studying their movements, their techniques, the way they handled their tools. But he hadn''t sensed even a hint of this "essence" Jade kept talking about.

    No special insight.

    No deeper understanding.

    Then¡ª

    "Get up," Jade demanded, her foot tapping impatiently against the dirt path. "I can only spare time to teach you techniques once a week, and I''m not wasting daylight because you''re tired." Her silver eyes narrowed as she looked down at his collapsed body. "You need to learn how to fight properly."

    North sucked in a sharp breath of cold mountain air, wincing as his muscles protested even that small movement.

    The day had already drained him completely - his arms felt like lead weights, his back was on fire, and even his eyelids seemed to weigh a ton. And now, just when he thought it couldn''t get worse, Jade wanted to use him as a practice dummy disguised as teaching.

    As if the only thing his day had been missing was a thorough beating from the youngest prodigy. Perfect.

    Still, he pushed himself onto his knees, lifting his head just enough to glare at her.

    "You''re actually serious about this, huh?"

    Jade¡¯s lips curled into a smirk.

    "Of course."

    She cracked her knuckles, the sound loud and deliberate.

    North winced. He had seen her fight before¡ªquick, ruthless, efficient. Jade never held back.

    He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back.

    The sky above had darkened, thick clouds swallowing the last traces of sunlight.

    A part of him wanted to refuse¡ªto say he¡¯d had enough for one day. But deep down, he knew, this was what he needed. This was part of the path he had chosen. So, swallowing his complaints, he forced himself to stand.

    Jade¡¯s grin widened.

    "Good. Let¡¯s begin."