Kaisel looked at the old iron gate. Despite its age, there wasn't a single trace of rust on it, as if time had forgotten to touch it. The gate was sealed tight with two heavy locks. Without a key, Kaisel glanced at the moss-covered wall beside it. Without hesitation, he began climbing.
His boots slipped once, the moss slick underfoot, but he caught himself just in time. Gritting his teeth, he hoisted himself up and dropped to the other side.
His spatial magic wasn't strong enough to teleport himself—only small objects at best. He cursed his rank silently.
On the other side lay a dense, brooding forest cloaked in a faint mist. The air was damp and cold, as if the forest breathed with a life of its own. Towering trees stood like ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky. This was no ordinary woodland. These were the wilds of Ebonvale—infamous, forbidden, and filled with monsters.
The wall behind him was built long ago by his ancestors, a shield against the beasts that roamed these woods. Only smaller, weaker creatures ever managed to slip past it.
Kaisel stared into the forest, the silence gnawing at his nerves. His chest tightened. He was afraid.
With a loud flutter of wings, Ragnar flew up to perch on a crooked branch above, scanning the area from above. Always watching. Always vigilant.
Kaisel took a long breath, steeling himself, and stepped into the woods.
He walked for what felt like hours, deeper into the dark, twisted forest. The underbrush was thick, and only small insects stirred in the rotting wood. Shadows hung low, and fog clung to his boots like vines.
Ragnar soared silently above, slipping between branches like a wraith. Then—
Caw.
A sharp cry pierced the silence. Ragnar had spotted something.
Kaisel's heartbeat quickened. He moved carefully, his boots brushing softly against the wet leaves. He heard it—movement. Soft, barely noticeable. Something was there.
He slipped behind a tree and held his breath. Slowly, he peeked around the side.
There, in a small clearing, stood a dire wolf.
It was massive—easily the size of a horse. Its black fur was matted and bloodied, and deep gashes scarred its sides. Fangs like ivory blades glinted beneath its snarling lips. But something was off. It was alone… and it looked exhausted.
Exiled from its pack? Kaisel guessed. But then he narrowed his eyes.
No… those injuries aren't from another wolf. They're too wide. Too deep. Claw marks like that… they belong to something larger.
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
That wasn't possible. Not here. In this part of Ebonvale, dire wolves were the apex predators. Creatures stronger than this wolf only lived deeper—far deeper.
Kaisel knew Ebonvale well—it was part of Ravengard lands, and he had studied its dangers extensively. The true monsters lurked in the forest's heart, far from where he now stood. In this outer region, dire wolves were the apex predators.
Kaisel waited patiently, eyes sharp, watching to see if anything was following the injured wolf. Minutes passed, but nothing emerged from the trees—no movement, no sound. It seemed to be truly alone.
Quietly, Kaisel decided to approach. Step by careful step, he moved through the mist-shrouded underbrush, eyes locked on the injured dire wolf. Its breathing was shallow, and it hadn't noticed him yet.
He crept forward, barely daring to breathe.
Then—
Snap.
His boot pressed down on a dry branch. The sound cracked through the air like a spark in silence.
The wolf's ears twitched sharply. Its bloodstained head snapped around, eyes locking onto Kaisel.
And then—it charged.
"Oh no—"
Panic shot through him. This was no sparring match. No dull blades or safety barriers. This was real.
His first real battle.
The dire wolf roared as it leapt, fangs bared. Kaisel's instincts screamed, and he threw himself to the side, rolling across the ground just in time to dodge the snapping jaws.
He gritted his teeth and drew his sword in one smooth motion.
At the same time, he reached out with his left hand. Mana surged through his veins.
Four glowing orbs flickered into existence, each pulsing with faint blue light.
Arcane Magic—Mana Bullets.
Among all forms of magic, Arcane stood alone. It used no element—only pure mana. Arcane magic used no natural attribute. It was the art of manipulating pure mana in its rawest form.
Every magic system had a rank or tier… except for arcane magic.
It was a type of magic that every mage possessed, regardless of their path. And yet, while it was the easiest to learn, it was also said to be the hardest to truly master.
Most beginners learned how to form basic mana orbs or simple blasts of force. But that was only the surface. Arcane magic could do far more—illusions, telekinesis, Disruption, and even serve as the foundation for high-level, complex spellcraft. It was flexible, wild, and infinitely vast.
Because it was pure mana, arcane magic responded directly to the caster's will and imagination. There were no formulas, no rigid patterns—only the limits of one's understanding and control.
Many great mages had spent their lives trying to uncover its full potential. None had succeeded.
Arcane magic was a mystery… one said to hold endless possibilities.
The dire wolf snarled and lunged again.
Kaisel gritted his teeth and raised his hand. A glowing orb of mana formed instantly and shot forward.
Swoosh.
It missed the eye by inches but struck just below it. The wolf howled in pain and recoiled, its paws skidding across the mossy earth. That one hit had stopped its charge—just enough.
Kaisel didn't waste the opening. Two more orbs of arcane light flared from his hand, slamming into the wolf's exposed ribs—right where the wounds were deepest.
The beast growled, half-collapsing. It tried to stand, its claws scraping against the earth, but its body was failing. Blood dripped steadily from its side.
Now.
Kaisel surged forward with his sword.
The blade plunged deep into the dire wolf's side, piercing its lung with a sickening crunch. Hot blood splashed across his hands, staining his grip red. The wolf let out a vicious, gurgling snarl, thrashing violently.
It jerked its massive head toward him, trying to rip him off.
"Shit—!"
Kaisel yanked the sword free, pivoted to the side, and without hesitation, drove the blade into the creature's chest, sinking it deep into its heart.
The wolf went stiff.
Its breathing slowed.
And then,
The massive body slumped to the ground, exhaling one final, rattling breath. Blood pooled around it, dark and steaming in the cold forest air.
Kaisel stood frozen, chest heaving. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He looked down at the wolf's corpse—its eyes wide open, glassy, staring back at him.
Dead.
He didn't feel victorious. His eyes stung.
He let out a shaky breath, then inhaled sharply. His body trembled from the adrenaline, from the blood, from the kill.
He had done it. But it hadn't been clean. It hadn't been easy.
Kaisel lowered his sword and whispered.
"…Gluttony."
A Dark liquid began to swirl around the wolf's body—inky black, like a living shadow. From within it, long white fangs began to emerge. A massive, monstrous mouth, wide and jagged, took shape—grotesque and unnatural. It opened unnaturally wide, then bit down.
The corpse was torn apart, shredded violently, piece by piece.
Kaisel stepped back, eyes wide, bile rising in his throat.
It was horrifying.
His hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to look away—but he couldn't.
Then, everything went still.
Kaisel's vision blurred, and for a moment, his mind went blank—like he was no longer in his own body.
Suddenly, he wasn't Kaisel anymore.
He was running—fast, low to the ground. The wind rushed past him. Shadows danced around tall trees. A pack of dire wolves surged beside him, muscles tense, eyes alert. He could feel their hunger, their unity. He could feel the forest.
It wasn't just a vision. He was the wolf.
A memory.
A memory devoured.
Gluttony had eaten not just the body—but the mind.
The pack was on the hunt, weaving through the dark woods of Ebonvale with silent precision. The scent of prey was close.
Then—
everything stopped.
The wolves at the front froze.
Kaisel—no, the wolf—felt the sudden spike of fear.
Boom.
In an instant, the two front wolves were torn apart, their bodies shredded like paper. Blood sprayed through the air in a violent mist. Limbs fell. Bones cracked.
It had happened so fast, he barely saw it.
Just a blur. A flash of red, something massive that tore through the pack like a scythe.
Panic erupted.
The remaining wolves turned and ran, yelping in terror.
But the injured one—the one Kaisel had killed—looked sideways as it fled.
And there, through the trees, it saw a mouth.
A huge, wide, gaping bloody mouth, filled with long, curved, jagged fangs. It was all teeth and hunger, dripping with gore. That was all it could see—just the mouth.
It ran. Fast. Hard. Limbs aching. Vision blurring.
It looked back one final time.
Far behind, towering in the forest mist, was a giant dark silhouette—the shape of a monstrous lizard-like head, jaws open wide, feasting on the corpses of the fallen wolves.
Its eyes gleamed in the dark and they were staring directly at him.
To be continued.