The mud sucked at his limbs the moment he landed. Thick, sticky, and deep—it dragged him down with every step. Ash gritted his teeth, realising his speed had dropped drastically. Each movement now required nearly twice the force just to push forward.
And then came the beast.
The massive grizzly leapt straight into the swamp after him, its sheer weight sending waves of sludge flying in every direction. The chaotic splashes echoed through the clearing. Mud clung to its body, but the creature didn't slow—it charged, eyes locked on Ash with primal rage.
Ash scrambled back, straining his muscles to stay mobile. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, but the swamp resisted him, dulled his reaction time. Every second in this bog cost him precious stamina. The ground wasn't on his side anymore.
It was chaos. Heavy swipes. Mud everywhere. Crackling arcs of lightning clashing with snarling fury.
The simple leather armour he wore was now torn to shreds, hanging in ruined strips over his arms and chest. It had done its job, barely, but was now completely beyond repair.
Ash's mind was in overdrive. Every muscle screamed. Every breath burned. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. With a strained shout, he surged his mana again, channelling more than ever into each lightning arrow. They fired with explosive force, tearing through the air like thunderbolts.
His aim was already inconsistent, and in this hellish swamp, it only worsened. But it didn't matter—he didn't need precision. Not now.
One massive arrow slammed into the beast's front leg. A thunderous crack echoed as a chunk of flesh tore free. Blood sprayed across the muddy battlefield, and the grizzly collapsed onto one side, a guttural roar shaking the trees.
But its rage didn't end.
Even wounded, even with its leg mangled, it charged—slower, more erratic—but no less dangerous.
Ash stumbled back. Fatigue weighed on him like chains. His mana still flowed, but his body was struggling to keep up.
With the last reserves of his strength, Ash gritted his teeth and forced his mana into one final surge. His body screamed in protest—muscles tearing, veins burning—but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
The arrow that formed wasn't like the others. It crackled with unstable lightning, its shape barely holding together, fed by desperation and raw will.
He let it fly.
The massive bolt tore through the air like a wrathful spirit, illuminating the swamp in a blinding flash. It struck the grizzly square in the chest. The blast echoed like thunder, sending shockwaves rippling through the trees.
The beast collapsed mid-charge, skidding to a halt in the mud.
Ash barely registered the fall. He felt the last of his strength drain away, the overdrawn mana fraying his senses. His vision blurred.
But he smiled.
And then, everything went black. His body gave out, and he collapsed into the muck, unconscious.
Ash opened his eyes slowly. The forest canopy swayed above, sunlight leaking through in flickers. His body felt like it had been crushed from the inside out. No major wounds on the surface—but every breath hurt, and he couldn't move a limb without sharp pain shooting through him.
Justin sat nearby, arms resting on his knees. He looked over as Ash stirred.
"You awake?" he asked.
Ash didn't answer. He just gave a slight nod, barely managing it.
Justin stood, brushing dirt from his boots.
"Power's not enough. And nothing goes the way you think it will out there. That's the one thing you need to remember."
He glanced back down at Ash.
"Get some rest. You'll need it. This was just your first step."
Ash had completed his first hunt, and it wasn't at all the experience he'd imagined. The pain, the exhaustion, the sheer chaos of it all... nothing like what he had seen watching his father make it look easy. Justin had taken down beasts twice the size of that grizzly without breaking a sweat.
Now he understood.
And buried somewhere in him, ever since his awakening, there had been a quiet arrogance. A belief that he was already beyond others, that power alone made him ready.
Yes, he was strong. But strength without control was just noise.
He didn't say anything aloud, but deep inside, something settled—an understanding that there was more to learn.
Ash's body, though battered and bruised, recovered far quicker . In just a couple of days, the swelling went down, the bruises faded, and the deep internal pain dulled to a faint ache.
Still, he asked about healing potions—curious, maybe even tempted.
But Justin shut it down immediately.
"No," he said firmly. "Not until your body matures."
He explained that while healing potions were effective, they carried impurities—residual traces that might not harm an adult, but could disrupt Ash's still-evolving mana pathways and natural recovery.
The following days brought something new—Ash discovered he could now enter his mindspace, a natural ability accessible to anyone who had awakened. It wasn't rare, but most took months or years to even sense it, let alone step inside. Through persistent meditation and instinct, Ash found his way early.
His mindspace was vast.
Above him stretched what looked like a bright, endless sky—a luminous expanse filled with power, impossible to fully comprehend. But even that brilliant layer was only the surface.
He could see through it.
Beyond the sky was something deeper. Something that pulsed with energy so raw and fundamental it felt unreal. It radiated warmth and intensity—creation itself. The essence of True Light.
Below him, in stark contrast, was a pitch-black void. A silence so absolute it almost had weight. No light reached it, no echoes returned. It wasn't just absence—it was presence. The very root of destruction. The essence of True Darkness.
And he stood in the narrow space between the two.
Lightning was just a whisper here, a single current running through the space—a thread of power he could grasp. But it was dwarfed by the massive, opposing forces above and below.
But he couldn't stay there for long.
The sheer pressure of that space—the intensity of light above and darkness below—was overwhelming. After only a short moment, his breathing grew heavy, his mind trembled, and he gasped as he snapped out of meditation.
Sweat covered his face.
He looked at Justin and described what he had seen.
Justin nodded, unsurprised.
"That's normal," he said. "That place… it helps you understand yourself. Your traits, your power. It's where real comprehension begins."
He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
"The stronger the person, the more difficult it gets. You'll be able to stay there longer as you grow, but it's never easy. Especially for someone like you."
The next day, they set out for the adventurers' guild.
Ash and Justin ran through the forest paths at full speed until the outline of the town came into view. From there, they slowed to a walk. The dirt roads turned to cobblestone, and the thick trees gave way to wood, stone, and brick buildings stacked tightly along narrow streets.
As they reached the main gates of Greyward, several armoured guards stood tall beside the town's stone archway. The emblem of the town's knight order — a silver lion over a crossed blade and staff — shimmered faintly on their cloaks.
Then his eyes widened.
"Justin?" the knight called out, stepping forward.
Justin raised a hand in greeting, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Still haven't retired, Lark?"
The knight laughed, his armour clinking with the movement. "As if they'd let me. Who else is going to train the greenhorns?"
"You're looking leaner," Lark said, eyeing Justin. Then he turned to Ash. "And who's this? Don't tell me you finally decided to pass on the madness."
Justin nodded toward Ash. "This is my son."
Ash straightened slightly and stepped forward. "Ash," he said clearly. " Nice to meet you, sir."
Lark chuckled, clearly amused by the formality. "Polite kid. Didn't get that from you," he said, glancing at Justin.
"Good to meet you, Ash. I'm Lark Reinholt. An old friend of your dad's. We used to get into all kinds of trouble back in the day — and occasionally survive it."
Ash smiled a little, unsure how to respond.
Justin shook his head. "Don't give him ideas."
Lark raised a brow. "You're bringing him into Greyward for registration?"
Justin nodded. "Yeah. It's about time."
Lark looked Ash over again, noticing the way he stood — a mix of nervousness and discipline. "Well, you picked a fine place to start. Greyward's a tough town, but fair."
He stepped aside, waving them in. "Go on, I'll wave you through. But listen — it's been too long, Justin. We need to catch up."
He gave Ash a friendly smile. "You too, kid. You're welcome to come hear some stories about your old man before he got boring."
Justin rolled his eyes. "We'll stop by."
"Good," Lark said, then added with a wink, "Evening. My place. I've got that bottle of fireberry we always said we'd finish. Don't make me drink it alone."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Justin said.
Ash followed beside his father, casting a glance back at the friendly knight as the gates of Greyward closed behind them.
As they walked through the cobbled streets of Greyward, the chatter of townsfolk and distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer filled the air. The buildings, tall and tightly packed, bore the charm of age — ivy-covered stone, wooden beams blackened by time, and arched windows that flickered with lanternlight even during the day. The town felt alive.
Justin slowed his pace, letting Ash absorb it all.
Ash glanced up at his father as they passed under a stone archway.
"Hey… that man at the gate," Ash began. "Lark, right? He seemed close to you."
Justin gave a small, almost nostalgic smile. "Yeah. Lark Reinholt. One of the few I still call a friend. We were mercenaries in the same team years ago. Spent half a decade together — border skirmishes, beast subjugation, bounty missions. We survived more than we should have. He's one of the reasons I'm still alive."
Ash glanced back toward the wall behind them, now out of sight. "He didn't seem like much of a fighter."
Justin chuckled. "That's the trick. Lark's not flashy. But when it mattered, he stood his ground while others ran. Always does."
As they walked, armoured knights patrolled the streets in pairs — sharp eyes scanning crowds, hands never far from their weapons. Their presence alone kept petty thieves in check and deterred even low-tier beasts from wandering too close to town.
Ash noticed the different colored side-cloaks each knight wore.
"Why are their cloaks different colours?" he asked.
Justin nodded, approving the question. "It marks their tier. Blue's for local guards — they handle town safety, crowd control, law enforcement. Red cloaks are enforcers — elite knights deployed for outer patrols or dangerous assignments. More experienced, better equipped. And then there's black."
"There's only one black cloak in Greyward. War-class elite. Assigned by the capital. Their job isn't to keep peace — it's to end threats. Big ones. That kind of strength… It's usually a last resort."
Ash let the information sink in as they passed a red-cloaked pair questioning a group of traders.