The disparity between an outskirts rat like Zephyr and the scions of power was immeasurable, an abyss too vast to be bridged by mere effort alone. The boy he had just faced was still immature, yet even in that immaturity, there was a dangerous edge. His arrogance, his unrestrained anger toward those of lower standing within the human domain, had ironically worked in Zephyr's favor this time.
"Luck…" Zephyr muttered under his breath, a faint, bitter smile forming on his cracked lips. "I suppose I am fortunate for now. But what of tomorrow? And the days that follow?"
His gaze dimmed as reality settled heavily upon him. Fortune was fleeting, and survival demanded more than chance. He understood that truth with painful clarity, yet understanding alone could not elevate him. Power was required, and power was something he sorely lacked.
"I need to grow stronger… no matter what..."
At present, however, even that resolve felt distant. His body was in no condition to support such ambitions. He could not even activate his passive ability; the strain would likely shatter what little remained intact within him. His muscles were torn, fibers frayed and screaming in protest with every slight movement. Each step sent waves of agony coursing through his body, as though his very flesh rejected motion itself.
Still, he moved his battered body slowly.
"I just need to rest for a while… then continue hunting," he murmured, more to convince himself than anything else.
After scanning his surroundings and sensing no immediate threat, Zephyr allowed himself to limp forward, dragging his battered frame across the uneven terrain.
"I just hope that Mountain Boar hasn't been devoured into nothingness…"
The thought lingered with surprising weight. It wasn't merely about sustenance anymore. He wanted something more,something deeper. If the boar's soul had been preserved… if it had been absorbed into the Devourer Pillar… then perhaps he could gain something from it. Strength... A step forward.
Or perhaps… it was nothing more than wishful thinking.
Closing his eyes briefly, Zephyr stilled his physical body and dove inward into the depths of his own consciousness.
As always, he was greeted by the same awe-inspiring sight.
A vast, silent world unfolded before him, dominated by a temple of indescribable grandeur. It stood as a monument of ancient majesty, its towering pillars etched with incomprehensible runes that seemed to whisper secrets of forgotten eras. At its center rose the Devourer's Pillar, a colossal structure that pierced the heavens themselves, its presence both oppressive and divine.
Zephyr walked forward, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness of that inner realm.
There was no wind. No sound. Only existence.
When he finally stood before the Devourer's Pillar, he paused.
His expression darkened.
The disappointment was unmistakable.
"So… its soul didn't survive."Zephyr voice was hollow, tinged with quiet resignation.
He had hoped...perhaps foolishly that the Mountain Boar's soul would have endured long enough to be consumed and stored. Merging with it could have granted him a fragment of its strength. It was a desperate thought, but desperation often gave birth to ambition.
He exhaled softly.
"Well… dreaming isn't a sin right??"
There was no point lingering any longer. The pillar remained unchanged, silent and indifferent to his expectations. Whatever had happened to the boar's soul, it was no longer within his reach.
With that, Zephyr withdrew from his consciousness, returning to the harsh reality of his injured body.
There was nothing he could do...at least, not now.
*****
Elsewhere, far from Zephyr's struggling form, a starkly different scene unfolded.
Aiden Drakonis stood atop the corpse of a massive, fiery lion. The beast's body still radiated heat, embers faintly flickering across its charred mane. Its head was gone, completely severed as though erased from existence itself.
And yet, Aiden remained untouched.
Not a single wound marred his body. His armor gleamed as if freshly forged, immaculate and unblemished, reflecting his overwhelming superiority.
Perched upon his shoulder was a dragon's head, ethereal, yet vividly defined. The Wisp.
Unlike the crude and underdeveloped wisp Zephyr had encountered, this one radiated intelligence and authority. It did not speak in words, nor did it need to. Its thoughts flowed seamlessly into Aiden's mind, clear and precise.
A perfect connection indicating a strong Wisp.
Aiden tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the information being conveyed. His expression remained calm almost indifferent, but his eyes sharpened with purpose.
Without hesitation, he stepped off the fiery lion's corpse.
The moment his feet touched the ground, he surged forward, sprinting with explosive speed in the direction indicated by the dragon Wisp.
There was no wasted movement. No uncertainty.
Only absolute control.
*****
Meanwhile, within a secluded chamber, an assembly of powerful figures sat around a grand table.
The atmosphere was heavy thick with authority and unspoken dominance.
These were no ordinary individuals. They were the founders of Clans, architects of power, rulers behind the veil. Each presence alone was enough to suffocate lesser beings.
"Everything is proceeding without complication," one of them stated calmly.
Several others nodded in agreement.
So far, the training camp had unfolded exactly as intended.
As expected, the top rankings remained firmly in the hands of heirs and scions from the Great Clans, along with a few exceptional vassals from minor Clans. Talent and bloodline continued to dictate the hierarchy.
Nothing unusual, nothing unexpected.
"Release the Fallen...."
The voice that uttered those words was deep, resonant, and absolute. It reverberated across the entire chamber, carrying with it an undeniable sense of finality.
A shift occurred.
Chris, who stood among them, gave a slight nod, an acknowledgment of the command.
There was no hesitation everything was part of the plan.
By the second day of the training camp, the true horrors would be unleashed.
The Fallen.
Unlike ordinary beasts, the Fallen were entities of corruption and destruction existences that defied natural order. While it was possible to capture some of them, control was another matter entirely.
Only lower thralls could be restrained.
And even then…
"Thralls may be the weakest among the Fallen," one figure muttered, "but that classification is deceptive."
Indeed, it was....
Even the lowest-tier thralls possessed strength far beyond that of ordinary creatures. Their bodies were warped by corruption, their instincts reduced to pure violence. They knew no fear. No hesitation.
Only destruction.
"A single thrall," another added, "is capable of killing countless dormant humans without any trouble through sheer brute force, through unrelenting savagery and through the spread of their rabid corruption, a force that consumed everything it touched.
The room fell silent there was no need for further discussion.
The decision had been made long before this moment.
Now…the true test was about to begin...