Danir walked...
Step after step— Back toward Valoria's blackmarket...
No horse.
No companion.
Just the weight on his shoulders— And the silence beside him.
The Thornbear's jagged armor dragged behind his back, tied with rope, scraping faintly against the dirt road.
His pack hung heavy— Filled with herbs, supplies…
And everything that suddenly felt meaningless.
His body struggled.
Every step strained his young frame.
But he didn't stop.
Didn't even slow down.
His eyes— Dull.
Half-lidded.
Unblinking.
Cold...
The wind brushed against his face, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth— the same scent from earlier.
The same forest.
But now— It felt different.
Empty.
"…Tch."
A faint sound escaped his lips.
Not frustration.
Not anger.
Just… something hollow.
His grip tightened around the rope dragging the Thornbear armor.
"If I were stronger…" His voice trailed off with no continuation— Because he already knew the answer.
The road stretched endlessly ahead of him— But Danir didn't look around.
Didn't admire the forest.
Didn't listen to the wind.
He just walked.
Like a man carrying something far heavier than what was on his back.
And even then— Not once… Did he feel tired.
Because grief had already numbed everything else.
From the fading darkness of dawn— To the slow rise of morning light— Danir arrived at Valoria's blackmarket.
The sky had brightened— but not him.
His stomach twisted in hunger.
His eyes trembled—heavy, on the verge of collapse.
His body shook faintly from exhaustion.
Yet— He felt nothing.
Not hunger.
Not fatigue.
Not even pain.
Just… silence.
"You look like hell, kid. Where've you been all this time?" the merchant asked, leaning over his stall.
Danir stopped.
For a moment— He just stared.
Cold.
Empty.
Unmoving.
"…Hunting." His voice came out flat.
Dead.
"I've been hunting monsters."
The merchant studied him for a second… then shrugged.
"Yeah… I can see that."
"Alright," he added, clapping his hands once. "Let's see what you brought this time."
Without a word, Danir dropped the bundle of herbs onto the table.
Leaves scattered!
Dust followed.
Then— He turned.
Walked a few steps away— And dragged something across the ground.
Scrrrraaaaape— The jagged armor of the Thornbear scraped against the stone floor, leaving a harsh, grating echo through the market.
People nearby turned their heads.
The merchant's eyes widened, "…You're kidding me?!"
Danir said nothing...
"Black Thornbear…" the merchant muttered, stepping closer. "And you killed it alone?"
Silence.
Then— A quiet reply.
"As you can see…" Danir's eyes didn't meet his. "I hunt alone, always."
Danir's presence did not go unnoticed.
The moment the Thornbear's armor scraped across the blackmarket floor, a harsh, grating sound echoed through the dim hall—dragging every eye toward him.
Conversations died.
Heads turned.
Silence… spread.
Dust clung to his clothes. Dried blood stained his sleeves.
Bruises shadowed his face.
His eyes—empty, sleepless, hollow—stared forward like a man who had already lost something far greater than flesh.
They saw it.
And they felt it.
"…He's alone," someone whispered.
"…No party?"
"That's a Thornbear… no, a Black Thornbear…"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a slow infection.
Awe.
Doubt!
Envy!
Fear...
"How the hell did he kill that thing alone?!"
"He's lying."
"No way. That beast takes a full party to bring down!"
"Maybe he stole it—"
"Yeah, from a group while they were asleep!"
"Or he's using some kind of a strong relic…"
Their voices grew louder—sharper—poisoned with suspicion.
Judgment filled the air.
But Danir… Didn't react.
Not even a flicker.
Not a glance.
Not a word.
It was as if none of them existed.
As if their voices couldn't even reach him anymore.
Because something inside him… had already gone quiet.
The merchant leaned forward slightly, studying him—not the armor, not the loot…
…but the boy.
"Kid," he said, voice lower this time, more serious, "I'll give you a piece of advice."
Danir didn't respond.
Didn't even look at him.
Still, the merchant continued...
"I can tell you got lucky this time. A Black Thornbear is already dangerous…"
He paused...
"…but if you ever run into a Brown one? That's a coin flip—life or death."
A faint tension crept into his tone...
"And if it's a White Thornbear…"
He shook his head slowly...
"Run."
"…Don't even think. Just run."
Silence followed...
The kind that lingers.
Heavy.
But Danir… Didn't care.
Not about the warning.
Not about the stares.
Not about the whispers clawing at his back.
What he felt instead— was worse!
The room felt suffocating!
Thick.
Rotten!
Every voice.
Every glare.
Every ounce of envy and doubt in that place— it pressed against him like a weight.
Like something crawling under his skin.
His grip tightened.
"…Tch."
Without a word— He turned.
And walked away.
Leaving behind the noise.
The judgment.
The people.
The world that suddenly felt—
Too small.
Too loud.
Too meaningless...
Danir walked beyond the walls of Valoria… back to the place where he and Rigor once camped.
Each step felt heavy—yet he kept moving.
When he arrived… He stopped.
There—behind the same tree— He saw him.
Rigor.
Peacefully lying on the grass… chewing on carrots like nothing ever happened.
"…Rigor?" Danir's voice trembled.
For a brief moment— Everything felt normal again.
Memories flooded his mind— The crackling of the bonfire…
The warmth of their meals…
Rigor quietly resting beside him while he cooked…
"…You're… okay?" he whispered, taking a step forward.
Then another.
And another!
Hope.
Desperate, fragile hope!
He broke into a run...
"RIGOR!"
He rushed toward him—like a man chasing a miracle.
But the moment he reached out— The image shattered.
Gone!
Like smoke blown by the wind.
"…!"
Silence.
Empty.
Nothing.
Danir froze!
His hand still stretched forward… grasping nothing.
"…No…"
His body trembled.
"…No… no… NO!"
A surge of rage exploded inside him— He slammed his fist against the tree— Again!
And again!!
And again!!!
"DAMN IT!!"
THUD!
THUD!!
THUD!!!
He began smashing his forehead against the trunk—
Once!
Twice!!
Again and again!!!
Until— CRACK— Blood ran down his face!
But he didn't stop.
"WHY?! WHY DID YOU DIE?!"
THUD!!
"WHY DID I LET IT HAPPEN?!"
THUD!!!
"WHY WAS I SO WEAK?!"
His body finally gave in.
He collapsed to the ground.
Face pressed into the grass.
Blood and tears mixing… staining the earth beneath him.
His voice broke— "This… this is all my fault…"
His fingers dug into the soil. "If I wasn't arrogant…"
His breath shook violently. "If I was stronger…"
His voice faded into a whisper— "…you would still be here…"
Then— He cried...
Not as an adventurer.
Not as a warrior.
But as a child.
A broken eleven-year-old boy— Who had just lost the only companion who stayed by his side.
His cries echoed through the empty forest.
For hours...
Until even the wind fell silent.
After hours of crying— Silence remained...
Danir lay there— Motionless.
Until— A sharp pain twisted inside him.
His stomach growled.
Dry.
Empty.
His throat burned...
"…Ah…"
Reality returned...
Hunger!
Thirst!
Slowly— He moved.
Crawling across the damp grass— Dragging his exhausted body toward the nearby river.
Each movement felt distant.
Heavy.
Like he was controlling someone else's body.
When he reached the riverbank— He didn't hesitate.
He plunged his hands into the water— And drank.
Desperately.
Cold liquid rushed down his throat— Washing away the dryness— Bringing him back…
Whether he wanted it or not.
He paused...
The water settled.
And there— He saw it.
His reflection.
A boy— Blood running down his forehead.
Eyes swollen.
Face broken.
Danir stared at it.
"…Pathetic."
He struck the water— Splash!
The reflection shattered.
Gone!
Without another word— He scooped water again— Washing the blood from his wound.
Letting it drip— Diluted— Carried away by the current.
As if it meant nothing.
As if everything meant nothing.
After that— He stood.
Slow.
Unsteady.
And walked back— To the same tree.
The same place.
But this time— There was no illusion.
No Rigor.
Only absence.
Danir sat down.
Quietly.
Then— "…Grimoire. Open."
A faint glow flickered before him— Cold.
Unfeeling.
His adventurer's status appeared.
And for the first time since everything happened— Danir looked at it…
Not with curiosity.
Not with excitement.
But with something else...
Grimoire's 1st page:
Danir Granger — Level 45+3=48 BladeMagus:
BP: 8,270+300=8,570
MP: 13,995+300=14,295
STR: 6,904+150=7,054
SPD: 6,577+150=6,727
END: 16,475+150=16,625
INT: 12,330+150=12,480
Grimoire's 2nd page: Ice Shards Daggers.
Grimoire's 3rd page: Water-Cannon & Fever-Moist
Grimoire's 4th page: "Nature's Touch. Low-heal." (Can only heal minor wounds).
"Nature's Touch. High-heal." (Can heal deeper wounds.) And, (Will be unlock after reaching level 50).
Grimoire's 5th page: Grimclaw Venombrand (Newly Acquired Skill!— weapon buffed with venom.)
Grimoire's 6th page and 7th page: (Still empty)
"So… this is all I got…?" Danir's voice trembled.
His eyes locked onto the grimoire—
Numbers.
Stats.
Skills.
"…After losing you…?"
Silence answered him.
Something snapped again.
"DAMN IT!"
His fist slammed into the tree— THUD!
Again— THUD!!
Again— THUD!!!
Over and over— Until skin tore.
Until blood ran.
The grimoire flickered beside him.
HP slowly dropping—
-0.5…
-1.0…
-1.5…
But Danir didn't stop...
He didn't care.
Pain meant nothing.
Not compared to what he lost.
Eventually— His strength gave out.
He dropped to his knees.
Breathing heavily.
Hands shaking.
Blood dripping from his fist into the mud.
Then— The sky broke.
Rain poured down from above— Cold.
Relentless.
It soaked him.
Washed away the blood on his hands.
The dirt on his face.
But not the guilt.
Danir sat there— Under the storm— Head lowered.
"…Rigor…"
His voice was small again.
Fragile.
And slowly— Memories came back.
Reminiscing back to Rigor's Funeral...
The rain that night was lighter.
Quieter.
Danir stood in the forest— as the flat wood as his alternative shovel in hand.
The ground was soft from earlier drizzle.
Each dig— Heavy.
Slow.
He didn't rush.
He couldn't.
Behind him— Rigor's body lay still.
Covered in a torn cloth.
"…You always carried me…"
Danir muttered.
His voice almost lost to the sound of the rain.
"…so I guess… it's my turn now…"
The hole was finished.
Not deep enough for a warrior.
But enough— For someone he cared about.
He walked back.
Knees weak.
Carefully— Gently— He lifted Rigor.
Struggling under the weight.
Not just the body— But everything it meant.
Step by step— He carried him.
And lowered him into the grave.
For a moment— He didn't move.
Just stared...
Rain tapping softly against Rigor's still form.
"…You were strong…"
"…Braver than me…"
His voice broke.
"…You didn't run…"
A tear slipped down his face.
Lost in the rain.
"I told you to run…"
His fists clenched.
"…and you stayed…"
Silence...
Then— With trembling hands— Danir picked up the first handful of soil.
"…I'm sorry…"
He dropped it.
Then another.
And another.
Until the sound of falling dirt became steady.
Final.
Until Rigor disappeared beneath the earth.
The last layer covered him completely.
Danir placed a single stone— At the head.
No name.
No carving.
Just a mark.
"…I won't forget."
He stood there— For a long time.
Rain falling.
Wind passing.
And then— He turned away.
Back to Present...
The rain poured harder now.
Danir remained seated beneath the tree—
Soaked.
Shivering.
Broken.
But quieter.
"…I will never forget you…"
This time— it wasn't a whisper, it was a promise...