The next morning, the underground training grounds echoed with the metallic swish of a blade cutting through the air. Noctus stood in the center of the wide, dimly lit chamber, his breath steady, his movements precise. Sword forms flowed one into another—thrust, sweep, pivot—each motion sharpened by weeks of ingrained instinct and his renewed sense of desperation.
Sweat rolled down his temple, stinging his eyes, but he ignored it. After finishing the sword routine, he sank cross-legged onto the cold stone floor, closed his eyes, and began cultivating his fire core.
Flames surged within him, raging like a roaring furnace. This part always felt natural, almost too natural. Since his transmigration, his fire affinity had grown frighteningly strong—something even he found suspicious. "Well, at least something good came out of dying once," he muttered under his breath. "Would've been great if I also got a golden finger that wasn't actively trying to kill me."
The aura circulated, burning through his meridians with a heat that was almost comforting. Almost.
But when his cultivation session ended, and it was time to face the other core, his expression hardened. He descended deeper into the underground training area, lit only by flickering crystal lamps. There, in the silence, he turned his focus inward—not on fire, but on time.
The fractured core pulsed like a broken clock, each beat sharp and unnatural. He hesitated. He hated this. The agony, the madness, the lingering whispers clawing at his sanity—it was torture. Yet he had no choice. In the other timeline, he remembered vividly, the assassin had been Mid Knight Realm. Meanwhile, he was stuck at Low Elemental Realm with his fire, and his time core at Mid Fractured Realm.
Against a Mid Knight? That wasn't a fight. That was suicide with extra steps.
So he gritted his teeth and pressed forward.
Pain lanced through his body like molten knives. His vision blurred, his breathing turned ragged, his bones felt like they were being ground into dust. But he endured. Endurance had become second nature to him. He had to get stronger—because the alternative was death. And Noctus, for all his bitterness and sarcasm, loved life far too much to just hand it over.
"Fantastic," he growled through clenched teeth. "Another day, another round of self-inflicted torture. Truly living the dream."
The system, as usual, remained silent. No guiding voice, no mysterious benefactor whispering in his ear. Just the glowing interface mocking him with its indifference. Once, in a fit of frustration, he tried talking to it. "Hey, whoever's behind this… I'd like a refund. This system is clearly defective." Naturally, there was no reply.
A week passed like this. Training, cultivating, enduring. Each day he woke expecting an ambush. Each night he went to bed wondering if he'd survive until dawn. In the previous timeline, the assassin had already struck by now. But this time… nothing. No ambush. No blade in the dark. Just silence.
That silence gnawed at him more than the pain.
By the eighth day, paranoia was eating him alive. He sat in the training ground with his sword across his lap, eyes narrowed. "Great. Either the assassin's late, or I've finally gone crazy. Which, to be fair, is a very real possibility at this point."
He considered using the Eyes of Chronos, his unique time-based ability to peer into fragments of the timeline. But when he tried, nothing happened. The power refused to activate.
"Seriously?" he snapped. "Now you don't work? What's next, my sword refuses to cut because it's on strike?" He slammed a fist against the ground in frustration.
That's when it happened.
A faint chime echoed in his head, followed by a glowing notification.
[Chain Quest Activated]Mission 1: Find the Fragment of Time in the Forest of Silence.Reward: ???
Noctus tilted his head, reading it twice, then a third time. "Chain quest? Since when do I have DLC content in my life?"
But the more he read, the more confused he became. A fragment of time? What did that even mean? Elements didn't have fragments… unless…
He recalled an old myth. It was said that all aura in the world originated from the cores of the Elemental Gods, ancient beings who had once bled their essence into the world to keep it alive. A myth, most dismissed it as fairy tales for children. Still, the idea of a "fragment" being tied to something divine wasn't impossible.
What unsettled him more was the lack of a reward. The system always specified rewards. Why not now? Was it hiding something?
"Well, isn't that reassuring," he muttered. "Go to a death forest, fight monsters, solve a puzzle, maybe die horribly… for a mystery box. Thanks, system. Truly reliable."
Still, he didn't really have a choice. Either he risked the Forest of Silence, or he lived like a mouse waiting for the cat to strike. And if he was going to die, he'd rather go down chasing strength than cowering.
So the next morning, he packed what little he had into his storage bracelet and left for the outskirts. The servants barely noticed his departure. Why would they? Noctus Ignisar was infamous for disgrace and drunken brawls. Nobody cared where he went.
By midday, he stood at the entrance of the Forest of Silence.
The trees stretched endlessly, their trunks blackened like charred bones, their branches twisted against the grey sky. A chill hung in the air, oppressive, suffocating. Not a bird sang. Not a leaf stirred. Silence pressed against him like a weight.
"So this is the Forest of Silence," Noctus said, his hand resting on the hilt of his jian. "Yep. Definitely screams 'fun family picnic spot.'"
He stepped forward cautiously, senses sharp, aura flaring ever so slightly. The forest was vast. Too vast. He opened the system again, hoping for more guidance.
The glowing text shimmered.
[Clue: Direction has no meaning. Time is not in a place, but in its flow.]
Noctus blinked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Did the system just try to be poetic? Great. I get riddles now. Perfect."
He thought it over. If time wasn't in a place, then maybe the fragment wasn't fixed in this timeline at all. A shifting target in the river of time itself.
His heart sank. "Wonderful. Not only do I have to find a needle in a haystack, but the haystack exists in multiple timelines. Fantastic odds."
Still, he pressed on. And then, as he walked, an idea struck him. He tried activating the Eyes of Chronos again. This time, the power surged to life. His vision warped, and pain lanced through him, ripping at his soul. It was a pain unlike anything else—burning, tearing, endless.
He nearly collapsed, but forced himself to endure. He had to. Survival demanded it.
"Gods," he gasped, clutching his head. "Who needs enemies when you've got this?!"
The agony slowly ebbed, leaving him shaking and drenched in sweat. He forced his eyes open—and froze.
The forest around him had changed.