He moved back toward the house. In the fields, sheep and lambs jumped around playfully, unaware of the blood-soaked child approaching them. As Rayen walked closer, the curious lambs rushed toward him but stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing his condition. Without hesitation, they turned and sprinted back to the adult sheep.
One of the adults tried to act aggressive, bleating and stomping its feet like it could scare him off—but one look into Rayen's cold, tired eyes, and the sheep turned tail, bolting toward the barn along with the rest of the flock.
Inside the house, the old man heard the sudden rustle and chaos among the animals. Stepping out to investigate, he found the yard empty—empty except for one boy standing silently in the middle of it. No clothes. Bandages around his arms. One hand gripping a sword. The other holding three Divine Lilies. His entire body soaked in blood.
Dattadri's eyes widened ever so slightly. He moved closer, his expression unreadable, and asked, "What happened?" He studied Rayen's condition, eyeing every inch of his skin and limbs. Odd. There were no visible wounds. He unwrapped a bandage—but found no injury underneath. He's not hurt... then whose blood is this?
Could he have killed the mutated wolves? That's impossible. He doesn't have any known physical talent—he's never even shown signs of it before. But then Dattadri's eyes dropped to the lilies in Rayen's hand—soaked red. His brows furrowed. He got them? But I planted those lilies deep inside the wolves' cave, far beyond the danger zone. I didn't expect him to actually reach them…
I only wanted him to struggle a little, to learn the basics of survival on his own. I set it up so he'd fail but gain experience. Not to succeed. Not this time. Not like this.
His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughts racing. Could it be that he awakened something? Or did someone help him? That's the den of the Bloodshade Pack—the most aggressive and battle-hardened wolf family in the region. Even mountain warriors hesitate to cross that territory. For a child to walk out of there alive…
His gaze returned to Rayen—silent, battered, eyes blank, but standing. Holding his prize.
What the hell are you?
Rayen slowly opened his mouth, trying to speak through his heavy breath and trembling lips. "A l-loser..." The old man's eyes widened in surprise. "What?" he asked, stunned. Did he just read my thoughts?
"I lost, old man. I couldn't complete the quest you gave me... I know I'm not worthy to be accepted as your pupil, but please… train me. I want to conq—" His voice was weak, almost breaking mid-sentence.
The old man furrowed his brows, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"I lost... it's already the fourth day morning." Rayen looked down, his body visibly shaking, barely able to stand under the pressure of sheer exhaustion and stress.
"Who said it's the fourth day morning?" the old man interrupted. "It's the third day morning. The time limit was three nights—and the last night hasn't even started. You didn't fail the quest. You completed it."
Rayen's eyes widened, the weight of those words crashing down on him. His mind flashed through every night he'd spent out there—the terror, the pain, the fight for survival. It was all over... and he had actually won. He dropped down to his knees as realization settled in. I-I haven't lost… I completed it. I'm not a loser... I-I'm champi— His body finally gave in, eyes closing as he collapsed on the ground.
The old man quickly stepped forward and knelt beside him, checking his pulse. Rayen was fast asleep—completely drained to the core. The man sighed, gently picking him up in his arms and walking inside the house. "You're not a loser, Rayen... You're a champion."
---
After a few days, Rayen finally opened his eyes. His body still felt a bit heavy, but the exhaustion that once pinned him down was now fading. As he looked around, he realized he was back in his own house. The familiar ceiling greeted his gaze. Oh... I'm home. Slowly sitting up, he noticed he was dressed in fresh clothes, his skin clean and free from the dried blood that had soaked him days ago. Much better... that smell of blood was hard to endure.
He climbed off the bed and walked toward the door, stretching his limbs slightly with every step. As he opened it, a sudden glimmer caught his eye—something bright was shining through the hallway window. What's this? Curiosity led him toward it. As he peered through the window, his eyes widened at the incredible sight outside.
In the training field just beyond the house, the old man stood shirtless under the sun, his well-built frame glistening with sweat and radiating raw power. In his hands, a giant orb of fire swirled into shape, the flames dancing and shifting like a living creature. Rayen's jaw dropped. What a badass body that old bastard's got... He glanced down at his own thin arms. Ugh, these are just noodles...
Suddenly, a loud voice echoed across the field—"Gotcha!"—followed by a sharp gust of wind. Another man came flying into view, his body spinning mid-air with a water orb forming in his hand. Without hesitation, he hurled himself toward the old man. In response, the old man didn't flinch. He calmly lifted one arm, and from it, a flame trident formed, bright and sharp like a weapon of legends. With his other hand, he compressed the giant flame orb into multiple smaller spheres and flung them at the charging man like fiery bullets.
But the attack didn't land. The man's body turned liquid—his whole form shifting into water as the flames passed straight through him. Still in motion, he raised the blue orb high above his head and hurled it with force at the old man.
In a blur of movement, the old man twisted his body, spinning the flame trident in one hand. As the water orb approached, he launched the trident like a lightning bolt. It struck the orb mid-air, shattering it into steam with a loud hiss. Flames burst outward like a wave, lighting up the field with a reddish glow.
Rayen stood frozen, stunned by the sheer speed and power of the clash. As the steam cleared, the battlefield revealed its scars—burnt grass, cracked stone, and lingering embers in the air. The old man took a step forward, still breathing steadily, though sweat now glistened on his brow.
Across from him, the other man staggered back, chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. His water techniques had power, skill, and speed—but they were overwhelmed, not by brute strength, but by precision. Every flame orb the old man cast was controlled, timed, and placed to cut off his escape.
The other man clenched his fists, prepared to throw one final move—but hesitated. His eyes met the old man's, and in that moment, he understood: this wasn't just a loss in strength, but a loss in experience, mastery, and will.
Gritting his teeth, the man lowered his arms and stepped back. "Tch… damn old monster," he muttered under his breath.
The fight was over.
Rayen knew the old man hadn't crushed his opponent easily, but the victory was clear—undeniable superiority shining through every move. Watching from the window, a chill ran down Rayen's spine, a mixture of awe and something he couldn't quite name. Still, he couldn't help but compare.
"Hah, this is nothing compared to my feats in WuXhun Online," he muttered, trying to sound confident. "I nearly conquered the Eternal Heaven, if only that damn power cut hadn't ruined everything." He clenched his fists but couldn't fully shake the weight of reality. That Eternal Guardian was beyond all the conceptual and toon powers anyone could imagine. Only the Eternal Blade had managed to wound him.
Frustrated, Rayen kicked the wooden wall. "Fuck! If only that power hadn't cut out back then, I would have gone beyond any conceptual boundaries and bullied every player in the world."
But his mind diverted when he noticed the appearance of the other man. His eyes widened, Wha—
The man had sharp, pointed ears that peeked out from his long, silver hair. His build was solid and muscular, yet his face held the youthful sharpness of a young adult—calm, composed, and fierce, like a seasoned warrior who hadn't aged a day past twenty. There was an otherworldly grace in the way he moved, something unmistakably non-human.
It was clear—he was an elf.
But that raised a far more disturbing question. How the hell did an elf come here? This is human territory.