After a week, he was fully healed.
He was finally on his way out of the shelter he had been trapped in for months.
But just as he stepped past the rusted iron gates, a group of men blocked his path.
"Well, well… if it isn't the weakling."
One of them stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "What are you up to now?"
The man was massive—his frame broad as a fortress wall, a suffocating aura of power rolling off him like a storm cloud. Without another word, he made a casual gesture.
That was all it took.
His men descended on Silver.
Blows rained down—fists, boots, elbows. The gravel bit into his skin. Blood pooled beneath him. And then—
"Enough."
They stepped back immediately.
Silver lay there, bruised and bleeding… but strangely calm. He was used to this. Pain had long ago become background noise.
"Thunder Lord demands he stays alive," one of them muttered.
The men grinned.
To them, Silver had always been more burden than boon. If the Thunder Lord wanted him alive, it could only mean one thing—
The Thunder Lord would deal with him personally.
Even Philip—the man wrapped in that strange, shimmering aura of power—said nothing. He didn't question the order. He simply assumed the Thunder Lord was being merciful.
They all left.
Silver rose slowly, wiped the blood from his mouth, and continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Unfazed.
He desperately wanted to leave that shelter behind, but there was no other refuge nearby. And being weak in a shelter filled with elites was worse than being alone in the wild.
So he headed toward the Barrens.
Weapons forged in the human world were nearly useless there. They didn't even function properly in the Ash Lands—the lowest tier of the Barrens. Beyond that lay the Dark Lands, where even seasoned fighters hesitated to tread.
The only human-made weapons that had any value were forged from Sky Metal. Their sharpness was unimpressive, but their durability was extraordinary. With enough strength, one could even slay beasts in the Dark Lands.
And when a beast was killed, something miraculous happened.
Humans could inherit its power.
Defense. Weapons. Elemental abilities.
Silver was tired of his Sky Sword.
He wanted an Ability Sword.
But he was far too weak.
Still… he would try his luck.
He ventured deep into the outskirts of the Ash Lands, searching for injured or dying beasts—anything he might stand a chance against.
That's when he found it.
A beast lay collapsed between two blackened boulders. Its scales were cracked. Its breathing shallow. Dark energy leaked from its wounds.
Silver's heart pounded.
This was his chance.
He tightened his grip on the Sky Sword and lunged.
The blade struck—
—and shattered.
Not chipped.
Shattered.
The beast's eye snapped open.
Golden.
Uninjured.
Unmistakably aware.
The cracked scales dissolved like mist. The leaking "dark energy" evaporated.
It had been pretending.
The ground trembled as the creature rose, its full form towering over him—far larger than any Ash Land beast.
A presence descended from the sky like divine judgment.
Clouds split apart.
Thunder roared.
A voice echoed across the wasteland.
"So," it said calmly, almost amused, "this is the one you chose?"
Silver's blood ran cold.
The beast bowed.
Bowed.
"To the Thunder Lord."
And in that moment, Silver realized something far worse than death—
He had never been searching for a weak beast.
He had been bait.