The second morning in the Black Forest found me stiff, sore, and aching in every muscle from the brutal training I had forced upon myself the day before. The small cave I had taken as shelter was cold and damp at dawn, and the fire I had lit last night had dwindled to a sad pile of grey ash.
I ate a few pieces of tough jerky and drank some water, misery growing with every bite. This wasn't the luxurious breakfast I'd gotten used to in the past two days, but it was fuel. And fuel was what I needed now.
My thoughts, as usual, returned to that cursed novel. The Tyrant Beast. Rank Eight. How the hell had that insane author handled such a threat? I remembered now—or rather, I tried to remember the details, buried under layers of rosy emotions and cheesy romantic dialogue.
In the novel, they never described exactly how the Tyrant Beast was defeated. The entire focus was on the "romantic" first meeting between the original Nir and Ayla, which, ironically, happened during the chaos unleashed by the creature. The author brought in a monster of tyrant rank—a creature whose power hadn't been seen in a thousand years—just to make the romantic scene between the so-called protagonists more "dramatic" and "fateful." As if the world on the brink of collapse was the perfect backdrop for stolen glances and sweet nothings. Utter nonsense!
I remembered that the Tyrant Beast caused massive destruction in the northern provinces—cities leveled, villages wiped out, entire armies reduced to bloody memories. Then, after many chapters of suffering and despair (and plenty of "emotional" moments between Nir and Ayla), it was somehow sealed. Yes, sealed, not killed. Sealed by the Duke of Shadows and the Emperor, after sacrificing much to weaken the beast.
"Much," of course, was never detailed. What sacrifices? Lives? Artifacts? Pieces of their power? No one knew. And the author didn't even show the real fight! Just flashes, vague descriptions of overwhelming magic, and then... it was over. The beast sealed, and the lovers free to sigh and continue their love drama.
"To hell with this!" I shouted into the empty cave, my voice echoing off the damp stone. "To hell with this author and her shallow novel!"
I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white. Rage boiled within me. Powerless anger, because I was stuck in this farce.
"I need to focus," I forced myself to think calmly. "Anger won't help. Power will. And understanding this damned system."
I stared into the air before me, where the system interface usually appeared.
"System," I said clearly, "how do I use the Eye of Truth?"
Silence.
"System, I want a description of how to use the Eye of Truth."
Nothing. Just the oppressive silence of the cave.
"What the hell is wrong with this system?!" I shouted again, kicking a small rock in frustration. A sharp pain shot through my toe, only adding to my irritation. "Thrown into a romance novel and I get a broken system! Is this some cosmic joke to make my life more miserable?"
I sighed deeply, trying to calm myself. Yelling at a non-responsive system was pointless. Maybe it wasn't that simple. Maybe activating it required specific conditions I hadn't met. Or maybe… it really was broken.
I decided to leave the cave and explore a bit of the Black Forest. Training in one spot wouldn't help much. I needed to understand the environment around me, especially if I was going to hide here for a few more days.
The moment I stepped outside the cave, the oppressive atmosphere of the forest pressed down on me. The trees weren't just trees—they were ancient, twisted things with bark black as charred coal, their branches stretching like deformed skeletal limbs toward the grim gray sky. There were no birdsong, no familiar insect sounds. Only an unnatural silence, occasionally broken by the crunch of dry leaves underfoot or the distant snap of a twig, like a bone breaking.
I remembered reading in some ancient scrolls back in the palace library (in the rare moments when the original Nir pretended to care about studying): the Black Forest wasn't a natural place. It was said to be the result of the wrath of a mythical creature of "Eternal Rank"—the tenth rank for humans, or its equivalent for monsters: a "Worldbreaker." This creature, betrayed or angered by humanity ages ago, unleashed a power so immense that it twisted this part of the world, severing it from the laws of absolute reality.
That's why the Black Forest was terrifying and deadly. Some areas were said to distort time—where hours could pass in moments, or moments stretch into eternities. Some zones altered gravity, letting you walk sideways on trees or be yanked violently to the ground. And then there were illusions—powerful ones—that could trap travelers forever, making them chase phantoms or flee from nightmares that only existed in their minds.
The flora was bizarre. Some plants glowed with ghostly light, others were covered in glass-like thorns, and a few seemed to watch me with eyes made of black dew. Even the ground beneath my feet was unreliable—in some places it looked solid, but was in fact a treacherous bog that could swallow a man whole in seconds.
"Why, in all the hells, did the Duke of Shadows decide to live near this cursed place?" I muttered, moving forward cautiously, gripping my silver dagger tightly. "Is it some kind of challenge? Or is there a secret between House Verton and this forest? That author… if I ever meet her… well, maybe I'll just torture her slowly before I kill her. What kind of world did she throw me into?"
Every step was a gamble. The shadows danced unnaturally, forming eerie shapes. I felt watched—not by beasts or animals, but by the forest itself. As if every tree, every rock, every shadow had a malicious awareness waiting to strike.
Suddenly, I heard a sound. A rustle, followed by heavy breathing, like from a rusted blacksmith's bellows. I froze, slowly turning my head toward the source.
From between the twisted trees emerged three creatures. I had never seen anything like them, even in my wildest nightmares. They looked like wolves in shape, but much larger—like small bears. Their skin was glossy black, like polished volcanic glass, and their eyes… they didn't have eyes in the usual sense. Instead, hollow sockets glowed faintly red, like embers in a skull. From their open mouths hung long, sharp fangs, dripping with thick, tar-like black liquid. And their claws—long, curved—dug into the earth with every step, leaving deep gouges.
"Shadow Wolves," I whispered to myself, remembering a description from a bestiary. "First-rank creatures—'Germs'. Fast, strong, pack hunters. But these… these look more vicious than the description." Maybe they were mutated, shaped by the forest's corrupt nature.
The beasts saw me. They paused, their heads turning slowly, the red glow in their eyes intensifying. Then, without warning, one let out a terrifying howl—not like a normal wolf's, but a screeching, metallic tearing sound that made my spine crawl.
They charged.
I had no time to think. Instinct took over. I leapt to the side, barely dodging the first beast's charge. It flashed past like a streak of black lightning, its claws carving four deep gashes into the tree I'd stood before.
"Shit!" I shouted, adrenaline flooding my veins.
The other two beasts were circling me now, moving with terrifying grace between the trees, cutting off any escape. I had no choice but to fight.
I raised my silver dagger. It felt tiny and laughable compared to these monsters—but it was all I had.
The first wolf turned and lunged again, mouth wide, revealing those horrible fangs. This time, I didn't dodge. I stepped forward, ducked under its body, and drove the dagger upward into its belly.
I felt it pierce something solid—then give way. The beast let out a screech of pain, rolling across the ground, black gooey blood gushing from the wound. But it didn't die. It rose again, the red glow in its eyes now blazing with fury.
"Persistent," I muttered, stepping back.
The other two saw the opportunity and attacked together—one from the right, the other from the left. I couldn't dodge both. I focused on the one to my left. Rolled, barely avoiding its claws, and stabbed its hind leg. It yelped but didn't stop, spinning with shocking speed to bite me.
Its fangs tore through my leather coat at the shoulder. I screamed in pain, but it awoke something cold inside me. A cold rage. Rage at these beasts, this forest, this novel, this damned fate.
I shoved the creature off me and punched its snout. It didn't do much, but gave me a moment to pull back.
The first wolf, wounded in the belly, was staggering now—but still dangerous. The second one limped. The third circled, waiting to strike.
I was cornered.
"No... I won't die here," I growled through clenched teeth. "I won't let this stupid novel kill me like this."
I remembered Nir's sword training. The stances, the breathwork. I tried to mimic them—to make my body remember.
When the third wolf attacked, I didn't retreat—I stepped in.
I didn't stab—I redirected. As its jaws opened, I shoved the dagger sideways into its mouth, forcing its head aside. Then quickly pulled it out and stabbed deep into its throat, where the skin felt thinner.
The dagger sank deep. The beast let out a choked cry, convulsed, then collapsed, trembling violently before going still.
One down. Two to go.
But that first kill gave me a surge of confidence. The other two, wounded, now hesitated. Perhaps they hadn't expected resistance.
I took advantage of their hesitation and lunged at the limping one. It was slower, weaker. I dodged its desperate bite and stabbed again and again—chest, side, anywhere soft. With each stab, its strength faded. Finally, it crumpled, blood soaking the ground.
Only one remained—the first one. Still standing, but swaying. Its red glow dimming. It looked at me, then at its fallen packmates. Then, unexpectedly, it let out a mournful howl, turned, and fled—dragging its wounded body into the trees.
I didn't chase it. I couldn't.
I stood there, gasping, blood dripping from my shoulder, silver dagger coated in black ichor. My whole body ached, and dizziness crept in.
But I was alive.
I looked at the two corpses. Hideous. Terrifying. Their stench thickened the air.
"This... this is reality," I muttered. "No love. No romance. Just survival of the strongest—or the luckiest."
I slumped to the ground, leaning against a tree, trying to catch my breath. The pain in my shoulder was sharp, but not fatal—just a shallow wound.
Still, the fight, though short, had drained me. I could barely move my arms.
"So this is what weakness feels like," I thought bitterly. "If three first-rank beasts could do this to me, how am I supposed to face something of the eighth rank?"
The need for power—for understanding the system—burned hotter than ever.
I looked around. The Black Forest seemed more hostile than before. The shadows deeper. The silence heavier. I felt I was not alone. That far worse things than Shadow Wolves lurked in this darkness.
I stood with effort. I had to get back to the cave. Tend my wound. And find a way to grow stronger. Fast.
"The author…" I muttered as I began to walk slowly, "If I survive this, I'll find a way to get back at you. I'll burn every copy of your damn book. I'll make your heroes suffer a hundred times what I'm suffering."
But deep down, I knew it was empty talk. The real threat wasn't the author. It was this cruel world—and the horrors waiting around every corner.
And when I finally returned to the cave, dragging my exhausted body, there was only one thought left in my mind: survive. No matter the cost.