Part I: Questions in the Quiet
While the other candidates sprinted toward the mountain, Kaito stood still.
The sword in his hand felt foreign. The robes on his body were ceremonial, not practical and the twins—those pale, identical girls—were already turning away when he stepped forward.
He didn't speak at first. His voice felt locked behind confusion. But his mind, trained in logic and survival, pushed through.
"Where do we eat?" he asked, voice low.
The twins paused. One turned her head slightly. "There is no food provided," she said. "You must forage or carry your own."
Kaito blinked. "Bathing? Restroom?"
"There is a stream near the base of the mountain," said the other. "It is cold but clean. As for waste… the forest is wide."
He nodded slowly. "Shelter?"
"None," they said together.
The mountain was not a test of skill alone—it was a test of endurance, adaptation and survival. Kaito's mind began to map the terrain: water source, temperature, terrain density, likely demon paths. He wasn't a fighter, but he was a planner. He could work with this.
The twins watched him for a moment longer, then turned and walked into the mist.
Kaito remained behind as the last of the candidates disappeared into the trees. His stomach was empty. His body unfamiliar. But his mind was already calculating.
He would not rush in blindly.
He would survive by understanding the system.
Part II: The Skill Seeds
As the mist settled and silence returned, something stirred inside him.
A pulse. A whisper. A sensation like roots pressing against his ribs.
Five glowing points bloomed in his chest—not visible, but felt. Like seeds waiting to sprout.
He didn't know their names. Didn't know their purpose. But he understood their structure.
Five skill seeds.
Each one held a potential path. A skill tree waiting to grow. But the rules were cruelly elegant: choose one and the other four would vanish. Permanently.
He knelt, breathing slowly, letting the sensation unfold.
Each seed pulsed with dormant energy. He could feel their differences—not in words, but in texture. One felt sharp, another fluid, another heavy, another fast, another quiet. They weren't labeled. They were waiting.
But he couldn't choose yet.
A system unfolded in his mind, like a blueprint:
Step 1: Slay demons to earn "demon points." Step 2: Choose one seed. After reading 5 seeds. Step 3: Spend points to unlock branches within the chosen seed. Step 4: At the end of the trial, one new skill –tree path appears
He didn't know how he knew this. It wasn't memory. It was instinct. Like the system had been coded into his bones.
He stood slowly.
The sword hummed faintly.
He would need to slay at least one demon to earn his first point. Only then would the chosen seed reveal its identity. Until then, it was a blind choice—a gamble with permanent consequences.
He studied the five pulses again.
He didn't choose yet.
He would wait until the moment demanded it.
Until the first demon fell.
Part III: Thunder in the Bones
Kaito stepped into the forest.
The mist clung to his skin like damp silk. Trees loomed like sentinels, their branches tangled in silence. The ground was uneven, soft with moss and scattered leaves. Every step felt like trespass.
He moved cautiously, sword sheathed but ready. His mind catalogued the terrain—visibility low, sound muffled, wind direction steady. He had no memory of this world, but his instincts whispered tactics. He wasn't a warrior, but he was a strategist.
Then something stirred inside him.
Not memory. Not emotion.
Motion.
His body shifted into a stance he didn't recognize but executed perfectly. Feet aligned. Shoulders relaxed. Breath timed.
A name surfaced in his mind like lightning cracking through fog.
Thunder Breathing.
It wasn't a thought—it was a rhythm. A system. A language of movement.
He exhaled slowly.
First Form: Thunderclap and Flash. A burst of speed. A single, decisive strike. His muscles tensed, then relaxed, as if rehearsing the motion.
Second Form: Rice Spirit. A flowing, reactive pattern. Defensive. Circular. His feet traced the arc unconsciously, pivoting around an invisible threat.
He didn't know how he knew. But his body did.
He practiced the forms slowly, letting instinct guide him. The sword moved like a conductor's baton, slicing through mist. His breathing synchronized with the forest's pulse.
Each motion felt like unlocking a door he hadn't known existed.
He paused beneath a crooked tree, listening.
The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
His grip tightened.
Something was wrong.
A faint rustle behind him. A shift in the air. A scent—iron, rot, hunger.
His body reacted before his mind caught up.
He spun.
A blur lunged from the shadows.
Claws extended. Eyes gleaming.
The demon struck.
100 ps = 1 new chapter
200 ps = 2 new chapter