Two more days of personal hell passed—two days swinging between desperate training and futile attempts to decipher the secrets of the enigmatic "Eye of Truth." I reached the brink of both physical and mental collapse. The cave, which had once served as a temporary refuge, now felt suffocating. The stench of dampness and rot had become part of my being, and the meager food barely kept me standing. My body was a map of bruises and small wounds, a constant reminder of my fragility in this merciless world.
Training with the silver dagger was frustrating. There were flashes—brief moments when Nir's original skills surfaced and my movements flowed naturally—but they were rare and fleeting. Most of the time, I stumbled, lost my balance, and seethed in anger at my own weakness. As for magic, it was a dried-up well. I couldn't extract a single drop from it, as if the "Magic Rank: Restricted" was an eternal curse.
The Eye of Truth was a double-edged sword. Yes, it showed me horrors I couldn't have imagined—regions of eternal storms that rained liquid death, forests of flesh that whispered madness, and lakes of reflection that shattered your soul—but every glimpse came at a price. Prolonged use brought splitting headaches and the sensation that my mind was being wrung like a worn rag. I saw warped energy flows, malevolent auras, invisible entities slithering through the shadows. It revealed the truth—but the truth was a nightmare.
On the morning of the fifth day in the forest—after another night of nightmares where twisted versions of myself danced with whispering flesh-trees under rain made of tormented souls—I made my decision. Staying here, deep within the cursed Black Forest, was a slow suicide. I had survived a few horrors so far, but it was only a matter of time before I faced something I couldn't handle. The Eye of Truth could show me danger, but it wouldn't give me the strength to defeat it.
"I have to go back," I whispered to myself, voice hoarse from disuse. "Back somewhere… anywhere… where I can train properly, understand this system, prepare. Even if it means facing Alistair and his fury. Anything is better than dying here—alone and forgotten."
It wasn't an easy decision. The thought of returning to the Verton estate, with its suffocating atmosphere of politics and intrigue, disgusted me. But the idea of being devoured by this forest was far worse.
I gathered my few belongings: the silver dagger, what remained of the food (barely enough for a day), and the empty water flask I hoped to refill from the spring. I glanced back at the cave one last time. It wasn't a happy place, but it had been the only witness to my desperate struggle for survival.
I began the journey back, trying to retrace my previous path—but as I had learned over and over, the Black Forest didn't abide by rules. Trees I thought familiar had shifted, trails I remembered twisted unexpectedly. The Eye of Truth remained constantly active, showing me warped reality, areas to avoid, malicious auras emanating from certain plants or rocks. But the constant focus drained me quickly. The headache became my ever-present companion, like a muffled drum beating behind my eyes.
The air was heavy, saturated with the smell of decay, rot—and something else. A faint metallic scent, like old blood. Shadows danced malevolently, and every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig made my heart lurch. I felt watched—not just by beasts, but by the forest itself, as if it were a sentient entity, angry at my attempt to escape its grasp.
In one particularly dense area where the tall trees blocked almost all daylight, I had to rely completely on the Eye of Truth. I saw that the ground ahead was an illusion hiding a deep, bottomless pit radiating deadly cold. Next to it, a strange plant—like a giant lotus, its leaves edged like blades—pulsed with a crimson, hungry aura.
"Damn this forest," I muttered, narrowly dodging invisible traps. "Every inch of it is designed to kill."
Hours passed. I felt like I was walking in endless circles. Fatigue overcame me. My focus began to waver, and the Eye of Truth flickered, as if it too was giving up. The headache was unbearable. Every step was a colossal effort.
I was passing through a narrow trail flanked by thick bushes with glossy black thorns. For a brief moment, just one moment, I felt like I might be in a less dangerous part of the forest. Maybe I was near the edge. Maybe…
In that deadly moment of carelessness—everything happened.
There was no warning. No sound, no movement, no whisper from the Eye of Truth. Just pain. Unspeakable, searing, ripping pain—tearing through my body and mind in an instant.
A muffled scream tore from my lungs but turned into a bloody cough. I looked down—and saw horror incarnate.
A giant black spike—nearly as long as my arm and as thick as my wrist—had pierced my chest. It wasn't just any spike. It was made of a glossy, obsidian-like material, its edges wickedly sharp. It pulsed with a dim, dark light, as if absorbing all surrounding illumination.
Just before the agony swallowed me, I caught a glimpse—Eye of Truth had flashed a desperate red warning at the last moment. That flash triggered a barely noticeable instinctive shift—just enough to move the spike's path by mere inches. Instead of piercing my heart directly, it struck the upper left part of my chest—shattering my clavicle and ribs, ripping through my lung.
"The… Black… Bat…" The words escaped my mouth as a bloody whisper. Above me, a massive silhouette flapped leathery black wings. Two small crimson eyes glowed with vile triumph. It was enormous, yes—but the aura Eye of Truth detected in my dying moment was laughably weak.
> "Spiked Black Bat – Rank: Germ (Mutant)"
"Special Ability: Obsidian Venom Spike (Single Use)"
"Germ…?" I thought bitterly, blood streaming from my mouth, nose, and the ghastly wound in my chest. "I survived cosmic horrors… only to be killed by a Germ-rank creature? What a joke… what a tragedy."
I collapsed to my knees, then to my face—the cold mud of the forest floor kissed my cheek. The pain was indescribable. I felt every torn fiber, every shattered bone. The black spike was still embedded in my chest, pulsing with burning agony with each ragged breath.
Blood poured freely, forming a warm, sticky pool beneath me. The heavy metallic scent filled my nostrils.
I tried to move, to lift myself—but my body betrayed me. I had no strength left. Cold crept through my limbs. Darkness began to consume the edges of my vision.
"No… it can't end like this…" I muttered, words choking on blood. "I still… have so much to do…"
I remembered Alistair's furious face. Monsieur Julien's feast. The damned novel, the deranged author. My past life on Earth—its misery, its emptiness. Was this it? Was this how it ended? Dying here, in this cursed forest, slain by the weapon of some pitiful creature?
Eye of Truth… It had saved me from instant death… only to make me die slower… and more tragically.
My vision dimmed rapidly. The forest's sounds—rustling leaves, unknown insects, whispering malice—faded, as if I were sinking into a deep, dark well.
I felt the spike's icy chill in my chest—burning me from within. Was it poisoned? Is that why I felt so weak, so numb?
I tried to summon the System again—to ask it, to beg it.
But there was nothing. Just silence. The absolute silence… and the sound of my blood dripping to the earth.
The last thing I saw, before darkness fully claimed me, was a faint flicker from the Eye of Truth—a black, cold aura approaching. It wasn't the aura of a beast. It was something else. Something… more void-like.
"The end…" I thought, a strange peace—or perhaps surrender—washing over me. "What a pathetic… and tragic… end…"
Then—there was nothing.
Only darkness. Cold. Silence.
Darkness. Freezing cold. A silence as absolute as the grave.
That was all that remained in my consciousness after the void swallowed me. There were no dreams, no nightmares, not even a sense of time. Just endless black nothingness—a cold ocean in which my soul drifted, hanging by a thread, ready to snap at any moment.
Is this death?
Is this the end I finally surrendered to?
I had no idea how much time passed. Seconds? Hours? Days? Centuries? Time had no meaning in that abyss.
Then, ever so slowly, like a distant sun rising over a dead world—something changed.
The first thing to return was sound. Not a clear voice, but a faint hum, distant, like wind whispering through the branches of barren trees. Then came a soft rustling, steady, rhythmic… like breathing. Was it my breathing?
Next came touch. A rough texture beneath my back, something cold and solid pressing against my head. Dry, brittle leaves cracked beneath me with every slight movement. And cold—a different cold now. The chill of damp earth. The chill of deep shadows.
Then smell. The scent of old soil mixed with a faint moldy odor. And something else… something strange. A metallic aroma, like dried blood, fused with a scent I couldn't place. It was like ozone after a lightning storm… or ancient magic clinging to the world since forgotten times.
And finally—light. Or rather, the absence of complete darkness. When I opened my eyes slowly, all I could see was a thick blackness, but not the void I had just emerged from. This was a living darkness, an organic one—like I was under a dense canopy of twisted leaves, hiding all trace of sun or moon.
It took several minutes before my eyes adjusted, before I could begin to distinguish vague shapes—shadows within shadows.
I raised my hand slowly, every motion drenched in exhaustion. My strength was nearly gone. I touched my chest, expecting to feel the cursed black spike, the open wound, the frozen blood.
But… there was nothing.
No spike. No open wound.
Just skin—intact, slightly cold—and beneath it, I felt the bones of my ribcage and collarbone. Whole. Unbroken.
"Impossible…" I whispered, voice cracked and hoarse.
With immense effort, I pushed myself into a sitting position. Every muscle in my body screamed—not from injury, but from pure exhaustion, as if I had run a thousand miles without rest.
I leaned against what I realized was the rough bark of a massive tree. Cold to the touch, coarse like stone.
I looked down at my chest again, more carefully this time, using the faint light that filtered through the leaves. There was no wound. No blood. Just… a scar.
A simple, silver-toned scar, barely visible on my pale skin. It ran from beneath my left collarbone down a few inches—a fine line like spider silk. When I touched it, it was unnaturally cold. A dull ache pulsed underneath it, like a distant echo of the pain that nearly ended me.
"How…?" I thought, mind refusing to accept what I was seeing. "I was dying. I saw the spike pierce me. I felt the blood pour from me. How can this be…?"
I looked around. I was beneath a tree—not just any tree. It was colossal, ancient, with bark black as coal and gnarled branches that stretched like the limbs of some monstrous beast. Its leaves were also black, thick, leathery, forming a dense dome above that blocked nearly all light.
It didn't look like any tree I had seen in the Black Forest. It looked… older. Stronger. And somehow… intentional.
Then I saw it.
The emblem.
Etched into the trunk, a few feet above the ground, was a mark—not freshly carved, but old, deep, as if it were part of the tree itself.
The crest of House Verton.
A shadow coiled around a black blade. The same emblem I had seen on the palace gates, on the guards' armor, on my formal clothes.
"Verton…" I murmured, a chill of confusion and fear creeping down my spine. "I'm… I'm in the duchy's lands?"
How?
The last thing I remembered was bleeding out in the heart of the Black Forest—days away from any safe zone. Who brought me here? Who healed me? This kind of recovery… was unnatural. Even the greatest healers I'd read about in the novel couldn't mend a mortal wound like mine so perfectly, so completely, with only a faint scar left behind.
I tried to summon the System.
"System," I said weakly, "what happened? Where am I?"
No response. As usual.
"Damn you, you useless piece of trash!" I screamed inside my mind, frustration piling onto confusion.
I focused on the Eye of Truth. Could it show me anything? I activated it, feeling the familiar tingle in my head and a faint throb of headache.
I looked at the scar on my chest. Through the Eye, I saw it wasn't just a scar. It glowed faintly silver, and beneath the skin, fine threads of energy moved—purer, stronger than anything I had seen in the forest—flowing beneath the surface, as if repairing deeper damage.
Then I looked at the tree. Oh gods, the tree!
With the Eye of Truth, it wasn't just a black tree. It pulsed with immense power—ancient, dark, yet not inherently evil. Its aura stretched far around me, forming a sort of protective barrier. The crest etched into its trunk wasn't just a symbol. It glowed with the same silver light I saw in my scar—and looked like the heart of a vast, intricate network of energy pulsing through its roots and branches.
"This tree… did it save me?" I thought in awe. "Is this some kind of ancient Verton ward? A protector?"
I stood up slowly, swaying for a moment. My body was still weak, but the ache in my chest was bearable. I cautiously explored the area.
It was still a forest, but unlike the Black Forest. The trees were dark, but not twisted or corrupted. Everything felt… structured, as if part of an old garden—neglected, yet still orderly. The ground was covered with a thick layer of dry black leaves. No monsters. No cursed plants. Even the silence was different. Not the silence of death—but the reverent hush of ancient places.
There was no trace of whoever brought me here. No footprints. No signs. Nothing. It was as if I had appeared here from the void.
"That black, cold aura I saw before losing consciousness… was it related to this?" I wondered, a shiver running through me again.
I returned to the massive black tree and laid a hand on its trunk. It was as cold as ice, though the air wasn't particularly cold. A faint tingle crept up my fingers, as if the tree's energy was responding.
"The Verton crest…" I whispered, staring at the glowing emblem. "That means I'm near… home."
The word "home" felt strange on my tongue. The Verton estate was never home—it was a gilded prison filled with shadows and schemes.
But now… the idea of returning didn't feel so terrible. At least there, I could find food, rest… maybe even answers.
But how would I return? I didn't know where I was. I was still too weak.
I sat once more under the tree's shade, eyes closed, trying to gather my thoughts.
Miraculous healing. A mysterious tree. The family crest.
It all pointed to one thing: There are forces in this world far beyond my understanding… and secrets within House Verton deeper than I ever imagined.
Was it my father—Duke of Shadows—who saved me? Did he have a way of sensing I was in danger? Or was this about something else entirely—something tied to the Verton bloodline, to this inherited trait I was only beginning to comprehend?
I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky through the black canopy. I couldn't see much—but I felt something watching me.
Not something evil. But something ancient. Something powerful.
"I have to move," I decided. "Staying here won't solve anything."
I stood again, and this time, I felt slightly stronger. Maybe the tree's energy had given me a boost. Or maybe… it was just the stubborn will to survive still burning in me.
I began walking in a random direction, hoping to find a sign, a road, anything to lead me somewhere. The forest was unnervingly quiet. Every sound I made—leaves crunching beneath my feet, my own breathing—echoed loudly in the silence.
After about an hour of walking, the trees began to thin, and I saw brighter light on the horizon. My pace quickened. A cautious hope stirred in my chest.
Then—I saw the road.
Not paved, but a wide dirt path. Clearly used. And beside it, a stone marker. As I approached, I saw it again: the Verton crest, carved into the stone. Beneath it, an arrow pointing in a specific direction.
"Finally…" I whispered, relief washing over me. "I… I'm truly in Verton lands."
But relief came with dread.
If I was near the estate… I was also near Alistair.
Near the questions.
Near the consequences.
I looked down at the scar on my chest. Still there. A silent reminder of what I'd endured. A reminder that this world was not a game. That death could come at any moment—from anywhere.
I took a deep breath. I had no idea what the future held.
But one thing was certain:
My life in this world had changed forever.
And I was no longer the naive young man who arrived here just days ago.
I had seen hell. And I survived.
And that… that meant something.