Greg hides behind a thick tree and peeks toward the body lying ahead on the ground.
The forest is quiet again.
Too quiet.
He takes slow, controlled breaths, forcing his heartbeat to settle, adjusting his breathing until it becomes steady and silent.
Only then does he focus inward.
"Status."
The panel appears before his eyes.
Name: Greg
Follower: God of Knowledge and Digital World
Level: Knight Apprentice (2)
Condition: Injured
Strength: 2.65 (2.75)
Agility: 2.85 (2.98)
Constitution: 2.32 (2.50)
Spirit: 1.15 (1.20)
Skills:
Basic Fighting: (430/1000)
Basic Sword: (319/1000)
Shadow Blade: (229/1000)
Throwing Knives: (789/1000)
Technique:
Shadow Man Breathing (Stage 2): (289/300)
Greg studies the numbers carefully.
He is close.
Very close.
Only a few more steps separate him from becoming a Senior Knight Apprentice.
The numbers make it clear.
Too clear.
It stirs something inside him.
An urge.
A pressure.
To sit down right now and cultivate.
To push forward immediately.
To break through.
But he suppresses it.
This is not the place.
Not now.
His gaze shifts to another number.
Throwing Knives: 789.
Close to a thousand.
A faint memory surfaces.
He knows the reason.
It is not talent.
It is time.
A decade ago, his parents died during an adventure.
They left behind almost nothing.
Two empty Dream Stones.
And a house.
He sold one Dream Stone.
Used it to survive.
To earn money, he turned to the lake.
Fishing.
His father had taught him how to throw knives.
So he used that skill.
Day after day.
Year after year.
He fished using throwing knives.
Until seven years ago.
When he became a Knight Apprentice.
The repetition carved the skill into him.
Not talent.
Habit.
Persistence.
He closes the panel.
The translucent screen fades.
Greg exhales once.
Then steps out from behind the tree.
He approaches the dead man cautiously.
Even now, he does not lower his guard.
Reaching the body, he kneels.
His blade moves again.
Not for battle this time.
But for inspection.
He cuts open the man's clothes.
The fabric parts.
Revealing skin beneath.
Then—
A mark.
A tattoo.
A howling wolf.
Greg's eyes narrow slightly.
Confirmation.
The man is from the Wolf Bandits.
He had already suspected it.
Their behaviour matched.
They attack anyone who crosses their path in the swamp.
To protect their base.
To ensure no one discovers their location.
That is how they operate.
Which makes one thing strange.
Very strange.
Why did they not chase him?
He killed one of their own.
In their territory.
Yet they chose not to pursue.
Greg stands slowly.
His thoughts deepen.
Something about this is wrong.
Whatever they were guarding—
That box—
It is more important than secrecy.
More important than revenge.
That means…
It holds something valuable.
Or dangerous.
Greg turns.
He does not stay any longer.
He begins walking back toward the Blackwood Market.
When he arrives, he does not linger.
He heads straight toward the Adventure Union and stops briefly at the side of the counter room, where a single door stands slightly apart from the main hall.
No one is standing in front of it.
Greg walks up and knocks.
From inside, a familiar voice calls out.
"Come in."
It is Old Tom.
Greg pushes the door open and steps inside.
Before he can speak, Old Tom's voice follows.
"Greg, I thought I told you not to take tasks when the swamp becomes more dangerous."
Greg remains silent for a moment.
It is true.
He avoids taking missions when the swamp becomes more dangerous than usual.
But this time is different.
His middle brother, Grey, has reached fourteen.
The best age to begin Knight training.
Once the body matures further, progress slows.
Even a year later would be too late.
Greg does not want Grey to practice the Shadow Man Breathing Technique.
It is incomplete.
He only has the first three chapters.
The later chapters are missing.
Without them, the path ends prematurely.
He wants something better for his brother.
A proper foundation.
A complete technique.
A fighting school.
But that requires money.
And background.
If Greg can reach Senior Knight Apprentice, he can become that background.
At that level, he can step into the middle layer of Misty Island society.
And at twenty, a Senior Knight Apprentice has a real chance to become an official Knight.
Three months.
Before the Misty Island Knight Competition.
He must break through.
And earn enough.
Greg closes the door behind him and looks at Old Tom.
"When is the swamp not dangerous?" he asks calmly.
Old Tom pauses.
Then laughs.
"Greg, you finally understand, the swamp is always dangerous."
Greg walks forward and sits across the table from him.
He takes out a Dream Stone.
Channelling his fighting energy into it, he draws out five complete red crystal horns, placing them on the table one by one.
Then he takes out the task paper and slides it forward.
Old Tom inspects the horns, picking one up, examining its quality.
Then he waves his hand.
All five horns vanish.
He opens a drawer, places the task paper inside, and from another drawer takes out five gold pence.
Greg takes the coins but does not leave.
He remains seated.
"Old Tom," he says, "I have something else."
Old Tom looks at him, his eyes glinting with interest.
"Greg, what have you brought?" he asks. "If it is worth less than one large gold pence, don't show me, sell it outside."
Greg smiles faintly.
"It is worth more," he says. "That is why I brought it to you; otherwise, those hyenas outside would have paid me more."
He reaches into his pocket and takes out the third eye of the Three-Eyed Cat.
The moment Old Tom sees it, his expression sharpens.
He waves his hand lightly.
The eye floats out of Greg's hand and into his own.
He studies it briefly.
"With this," Old Tom says, "you could get ten large gold pence outside."
He pauses.
"Then a few hours later, your body would be found floating in the Green Lake."
Greg nods.
"I know, that is why I came to you."
Old Tom looks at him for a moment, then says, "I will give you eight large gold pence for it, but do you want money, or do you want to exchange it for resources?"
Greg answers without hesitation.
"I want Life Elixir and Burning Water."
Old Tom smiles.
Claude hurries toward the dock, the sunlight fading into its last moments, and he knows he is late for Claudia.
He picks up his pace.
To save time, he turns into an alley, a shortcut leading directly toward the dock.
The passage is narrow.
Shadows stretch long across the ground.
As he walks forward, a group of men carrying large boxes on their shoulders passes by him, their steps heavy, their faces unreadable.
Claude does not stop.
He continues.
Reaching an intersection within the alley, a figure suddenly collides with him.
A soft voice escapes.
"Umm."
The woman steps back quickly.
"Sorry, mister," she says, lifting her head.
Claude freezes for a fraction of a second.
It is Mary.
Recognition flashes in both their eyes.
"Claude," Mary says.
At that exact moment—
Claude hears it.
The sharp, unmistakable snap of a bowstring.
Without hesitation, he grabs Mary and pushes her down to the ground, dropping with her.
An arrow cuts through the air above them.
Claude lifts his head.
Three men.
The same group from before.
Two rush forward with swords in their hands.
The third stands behind, another arrow already nocked.
Claude rises instantly.
"Mary, find a place to hide," he says sharply.
The next arrow is released.
Claude reacts in time.
His sword moves, deflecting the arrow aside.
No pause.
The two swordsmen are already upon him.
Their blades strike.
Claude meets them.
Steel clashes in the narrow alley.
The fight begins.
Mary's voice comes from behind.
"Claude, I am going to call the police."
She runs.
Her footsteps fade.
Moments later, the third man joins the fight.
Now three against one.
Claude tightens his grip.
These are not ordinary men.
He can feel it.
Knight Apprentices.
Like him.
Their attacks come from different angles.
Relentless.
He blocks.
Dodges.
Counters when he can.
But the pressure builds.
His breathing grows heavier.
Time stretches.
No help arrives.
A blade grazes his arm.
Another cuts across his side.
Blood seeps.
His movements slow slightly.
The situation turns worse with each passing moment.
Still, he endures.
He only needs time.
Time for the police to arrive.
Elsewhere—
Greg walks toward his home, a faint smile lingering on his face.
Today has been profitable.
But then—
He stops.
The sound reaches him.
Clashing steel.
He moves forward cautiously.
Step by step.
Peering ahead, he sees it.
At the alley intersection—
Three men are attacking a boy.
A teenager.
Slightly older than his brother.
Greg's eyes narrow.
Then—
A sharp whistle cuts through the air.
Police.
He looks ahead.
Two inspectors are running toward the scene, shouting.
"Stop!"
The attackers hear it too.
They disengage immediately.
Turn.
And run.
Straight toward Greg.
"Stop them!" the inspectors shout.
The three men see Greg standing in their path.
One of them snarls.
"Get away, brat."
Another says coldly, "Kill him."
Greg's expression turns calm.
He draws his sword.
And swings.