The night clung to Forest of Death like a heavy curtain, thick and lightless, as if the sky had swallowed every star whole.
Only the restless rustling of beasts and the sighing of cold wind stitched the darkness together.
Suddenly, two separate waves of footsteps shattered the silence, one after another, entering the forest like predators chasing prey, though who was predator and who was prey remained unclear.
The first figure was a burly man, broad as a door frame and carrying the smell of blood like a second robe.
A jagged scar stretched from the corner of his eye down to his cheek, a mark left by either a blade or a beast; it did not matter which, for both were creatures he clearly knew well.
Even though his clothes were soaked in drying blood and his breath shallow from running, he moved with an unsettling steadiness, like a man far too accustomed to fleeing death and dragging it behind him like an old friend.
He did not panic.
He did not curse.
He simply grinned with a twisted, predator's curl of the lips, and dove into the Forest of Death without hesitation, as though entering hell was preferable to being caught.
A few breaths later, six figures burst into the treeline, five men and one woman, all dressed in uniform white warrior robes bearing a small silver badge on the chest.
Under the wash of faint moonlight, the badge's engraved word, "Nine Cities, gleamed sharply.
The six young warriors radiated exhaustion and fury in equal measure, their chests rising with ragged breaths, eyes locked ahead with a hatred that came from real blood loss, not imagined insult.
It was clear they had been chasing the bearded man Chang Bo for a long time, too long, and still could not close the distance.
"Leader, what now? Chang Bo just ran into Forest of Death!" one young man asked, sweat dripping from his chin.
Their leader, the only woman among them, slowed her steps. Shang Jiao, with sharp brows, focused eyes, and short black hair brushing her jawline, looked nothing like the delicate women common in the inner families.
Her entire posture radiated competence and steel. Yet beneath her hard expression, a storm churned. Her hands trembled, not with fear, but with controlled rage and grief.
When they accepted this mission, they thought Chang Bo was just a dangerous bandit. They did not expect that he was a monster wearing human skin.
The Red Scorpion Mercenary Corps originally had ten members.
Now… only six remained.
The other four, including Lan Ming, who always joked he would retire early and run a noodle shop, lay behind them in unmarked graves left along the chase.
Shang Jiao closed her eyes briefly, forcing her breath steady. "I didn't expect Chang Bo to be this strong," she whispered, voice tight to the point of breaking. "It's my fault. I underestimated him. I killed Lan Ming and the others…"
One of the men stepped forward immediately. "Head Shang, don't. You're not the one who killed them, he is."
The others echoed with low growls of agreement.
"We chose this path knowing death could come."
"If our brothers fell, then we must take vengeance for them."
"Head, just say the word, we'll follow you."
Their unity was quiet but fierce, like metal striking metal.
But the forest was not kind, and Shang Jiao knew it. "Forest of Death is deadly at night," she said, scanning the shadows where unknown monsters lurked. "Chang Bo hides in the dark now. If we chase him rashly, he'll pick us off one by one. We have no advantage."
The group fell silent. The reasoning was cold, clear, and cruel, and correct.
Yet…
Shang Jiao clenched her jaw, eyes darkening. "Still… I will go."
She lifted her sword in both hands. "I made the decision that sent our comrades to their death. I'll chase Chang Bo even if it costs me my life. But this time, each of you must choose for yourselves. If anyone wants to withdraw, I won't blame you. Life matters. Once you turn back, you won't hear this mission mentioned again."
There was a short pause.
Then...
"Leader, whatever you choose, we follow."
"Even if we die, we die killing that bastard!"
"Today, either Chang Bo dies, or we join the brothers who fell!"
"Whoever turns back is a coward's grandson!"
Every voice was a vow.
Shang Jiao's eyes glistened, not with tears, but with sharpened resolve. "Good. Then tonight, we settle this. We will take Chang Bo's head back to Heavenly Cold City."
"Take his head back to Heavenly Cold City!" the five men roared as one.
Under the shadow of the dark forest, their silhouettes tightened formation and plunged after the bearded murderer.
Meanwhile, deeper in the forest, Ryan stood amid a scarred battlefield of his own making. All around him, creatures lay broken, shattered bones, twisted limbs, and charred remains littering the ground in heaps.
His breath came out slow and even. His pulse barely rose. The storm of power within him was finally quieting.
Breaking the Mountain twice had slaughtered nearly everything within range. Only a few stragglers remained, which he had already finished off. The result: Ryan had risen sharply to become a six-star Upper Elite, strength roaring through every limb.
He still had thirty points of God of War value. Two more uses of the finishing move. And he planned to spend them well.
His eyes gleamed with new ambition. If I pull stronger monsters… my level will soar again.
He was about to leave, returning deeper into the forest to lure more beasts, when faint sounds drifted through the night. Feet crunching on branches. Breathing. Heartbeats.
Not one heartbeat. Several.
In this silent, death-soaked forest, the sounds were painfully distinct to his enhanced senses.
Human.
Several of them.
He turned toward the noise just as the first figure stumbled into view, a large, blood-soaked man, beard wild, scar sharp enough to cut moonlight. His eyes were fierce, predatory, and the moment he saw Ryan standing amidst the crater of corpses, a flicker of confusion passed over his face.
But only briefly.
Because behind him, several more figures appeared, the Red Scorpion mercenaries.
Ryan frowned. Trouble.
It had nothing to do with him, and he preferred it stay that way. He had no interest in unnecessary entanglements now that leveling was within reach.
If they simply passed through, he would quietly step aside and leave.
But fate preferred complications.
The bearded man's gaze landed on him with sudden intensity. His steps quickened. He ran straight toward Ryan, not in fear, but with a calculating glint, like a wolf spotting a convenient hostage.
Chang Bo had made up his mind. The boy standing in the middle of monster corpses looked harmless, an easy shield to hide behind. The perfect tool to stall his pursuers.
He didn't even consider the possibility that Ryan was the cause of the destruction around him. The idea was too absurd.
A sixteen-year-old destroying hundreds of monsters?
Impossible.
Chang Bo's stride lengthened, his body turning slightly as he prepared to seize Ryan by the throat.
Behind him, Shang Jiao and the others burst into the clearing. Their expressions changed the instant they saw Ryan, standing alone amid corpses and craters, untouched by blood.
All six froze.
Shang Jiao's steps faltered. Her sword hand trembled.
"What… what happened here?"
Before anyone could process the hellish scene,
Chang Bo lunged directly toward Ryan, with his eyes gleaming with malice and muttering under his breath, "Perfect. Little brat, your life is mine."
The moment Shang Jiao cried out, "Look, head!", the Red Scorpion mercenaries halted behind her, their eyes locking onto the lone youth standing in the clearing, Ryan.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
The scene around him stunned them into silence.
The ground was scorched and cracked in spiderweb patterns. Smoke drifted upward in thin, ghostly threads. Corpses, dozens, perhaps hundreds, lay scattered like discarded rags: twisted limbs, shattered bones, torn hides. The stench of blood and burnt flesh hung so thick that even seasoned warriors felt their stomachs tighten.
And at the center of this carnage stood a boy.
Sixteen? Seventeen?
Slim, calm, not so much as a drop of blood on his clothes.
"W-what… happened here?" one mercenary whispered, his voice barely a breath.