After defeating the Ogre, you have reached level 10.
All your stats increase by 7 points.
All your main skills advance to level 3.
Lior was alone.
Alone in the ruins of a broken world, where every breath felt like an added burden. Dean was gone, taking with him the last spark of humanity that could still anchor Lior to this world. The cold of emptiness slowly settled into his veins, and he wondered if feeling his own existence hurt this much, was that a sign of weakness?
But he couldn't afford to falter.
Not now.
The ground beneath his feet quivered, then trembled. A vibration he picked up instantly thanks to Telluric Condition. He gripped his bow, tense.
The air grew heavy, like an imminent threat waiting to burst. The ogres were coming. A horde. Ten, maybe more.
An idea took root in his mind. He focused, closing his eyes despite the darkness, letting himself be guided by the heartbeat of the earth, by the vibrations he now felt in his very bones. He crouched, drawing his bow with meticulous precision.
Ten arrows.
Ten arrows to make sure they wouldn't crush him.
He fired.
One, two, three. Then the others, rapidly, a storm of projectiles released in the direction of the approaching sounds.
Only one arrow found its mark.
A cry pierced the air. A scream of pain. But it wasn't enough.
Nothing was enough.
The ogres kept coming, unfazed, like a wave of destruction ready to swallow everything in its path. Lior had no time to think. One ogre leapt out of the shadows, a massive monster several meters tall, its arms like colossal tree trunks, its eyes filled with cruelty.
They were here.
Lior stood abruptly, a cold shiver running down his spine. But there were too many. Nine ogres emerged, a flood of shadow and savagery, encircling him in an instant.
Rough hands like chains grabbed him. He tried to break free, but the sheer strength of his attackers held him fast. There was no escape.
Blows rained down on him. Fists like sledgehammers pounded his defenseless body. The ground echoed with each impact, as if the earth itself wept in time with his pain.
The monsters laughed. Their laughter echoed in his mind. These were not human laughs. Not even the laughs of living creatures.
They were the echoes of madness.
He was their toy.
Their laughter mingled with the sounds of his flesh breaking, with the stabbing pain shooting through every fiber of his being. His ribs cracked under the force of the blows. His breath grew shallow, nearly nonexistent. The earth beneath him seemed to crumble with each strike.
A moment, a breath. One moment of carelessness from them.
Lior seized the chance. He rolled on the ground, rising with a final, desperate effort.
He ran.
He ran like a man chased by death itself, his body moving in spite of the pain, each step a struggle, each motion a small victory against the inevitable defeat.
But just as he thought he had bought a few seconds, an ogre appeared before him.
Another one. Another massive, feral beast—faster, more savage.
Too fast.
Without warning, the ogre struck with a brutality he had never felt before. Lior felt his bones shatter like glass beneath the giant's blow. His body was hurled backward, smashed against a stone wall. Blinding pain. He tried to catch his breath, but it was impossible. He was trapped.
Before he could react, another shadow appeared beside him. Another ogre. Larger. More vicious.
It raised a tree trunk—no, a crude but deadly weapon—and swung it down without mercy.
The wooden spear drove through his stomach with unimaginable force, impaling him completely. The world blurred. Lior felt himself empty—not just of blood, but of everything. His mind sank into a sea of agony. He could still hear their laughter. Their twisted joy. But it all felt distant, like a sound underwater.
Lior closed his eyes.
He had no strength left to scream, to fight.
He was nothing more than a broken body, hanging between life and death.
And yet, in that haze of pain, one thought lingered.
A strange thought.
He wasn't dead.
Not yet.
Maybe...