The road stretched out before the crowd like a pale gray ribbon, cutting through low hills covered with dull, colorless trees—as if nature itself had given up on life in this part of the world. Under the feet of the travelers, the ashen soil cracked under the weight of tired steps. In the far distance, pale peaks loomed on the horizon, hiding mysteries that no one would dare to approach. It was as if the land itself carried memories too dark to be uncovered.
The group moved forward in a tense, uneasy silence, led by six people clad in worn, dull-colored armor. Yet even with all the wear and tear, the armor still showed signs of sturdiness, a sign of skill in battle, and perhaps battles they had survived against all odds. These were the adventurers at the front. Though their faces were different, their eyes all shared one thing: caution.
They continued to lead the way at the front of the crowd, as if they were the masters of this dark, grim road and behind them came a dense throng of hired mercenaries. The men and women among them wore cheap, flimsy armor, and carried weapons that showed little skill or finesse.
Some of them held their weapons with hands that shook more from fear than from any real strength as if the weapon weighed more than their own resolve. None of them had any real experience. They were just people who had come seeking money… or some kind of resources that might change their path.
The adventurers at the front walked with steady, confident steps... However, be cautious all the same. Some of them had their faces half-covered by simple helmets or worn-out masks that hid their features, though they couldn't conceal the deep, rooted caution in their eyes. Their clothes bore the scars of old wounds, and their armor carried marks that only those who had fought similar battles could understand.
They spoke in hushed voices to one another, and every now and then, they would glance at the crowd following behind them with looks that carried a quiet, unspoken certainty, a silent reassurance that they would keep moving forward, and that the others should follow.
The mercenaries, on the other hand, acted like a flock of terrified sheep. They clutched their weapons as if they were their last hope for survival and some didn't even seem to know how to hold them properly. Their faces reflected fear and suspicion, and it was as if every step that brought them closer to the unknown only made them more anxious. None of them had any real skill; most of them were experiencing the gray strip of land — The Grey Strip — for the very first time.
The atmosphere was bleak, not just because of the gray clouds that covered the sky, but because of a deep, unsettling feeling that lingered in everyone's hearts, as if the very earth held untold memories within its depths.
Every now and then, a light breeze blew through, carrying with it a faint metallic scent. like the smell of old blood mixed with dust. It was as if the land had witnessed countless battles, and now remembered nothing but iron and blood.
Amidst the crowd, there walked a young man named Sylvan.
He was alone, trailing at the very back of the group, far from the noise and the chatter. He couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old, though he looked older because of his pale features and the deep weariness in his eyes, which carried the marks of despair. He was tall, but appeared fragile, as if hunger and exhaustion had taken more of a toll on him than any battle ever could. His skin was pale, almost sickly, as though the sun had forgotten him long ago. The bones of his shoulders jutted out beneath his worn-out shirt, and his black hair was slightly unkempt. His grey eyes often stared at the ground, as if he were trying to disappear from the world. A grey scarf was wrapped around his neck, and though his old clothes were clean, they gave off the desperate impression of someone trying — and failing — to maintain a sense of dignity in such a harsh reality.
A girl approached him, walking hesitantly from behind. She seemed to be around the same age, perhaps just a little younger. Her brown hair was tied back carelessly, with a few loose strands falling over her face. Her green eyes sparkled despite the fear that lingered on her features, as if she were facing a situation like this for the first or second time at most. She wasn't wearing any armor, just ordinary clothes and slung across her back was a bow, loosely secured with a simple leather cord. She spoke in a soft voice:
"You don't look like you're used to walking with adventurers."
Sylvan didn't look like the other adventurers or even the mercenaries. He wasn't carrying any obvious weapon, nor did he wear any armor to protect himself. His face was calm, though that set him apart from nearly everyone around him. And in his expressions, in his eyes, there was an undeniable look of despair, the look of someone who had tasted defeat too many times, as if he were destined to fail every time, just like the few other faces in the crowd that shared the same quiet hopelessness.
Sylvan was startled by a voice that broke through the silence of his thoughts. The air around them was completely still, and conversations were rare among the members of the small crowd — no more than thirty people. He turned to her without changing his expression, and for a brief moment, silence settled between them. Then, in a low, calm voice, he said:
"I don't know anyone here."
The girl smiled faintly, brushing off the slight awkwardness caused by the short silence. Then, as she glanced toward the group up ahead, she said:
"We're all like that... We don't really know why we're here. Maybe for the money, or maybe we're just hoping to find some resources."
Then, her eyes fixed on the path ahead, she added "As for me, I came for the money... though I'm not sure it was the wisest choice. What about you?"
After a short pause, Sylvan replied in a tone that didn't quite reveal what he meant:
"Me? ... I don't know."
*******
Earlier, in one of the makeshift markets on the outskirts of the safe lands — right next to the edge of the Grey Strip — stood a massive adventurer. He wore a gleaming suit of armor covered in layers of dust, and his face was lined with scars that looked like a map of battles he had survived against all odds. Despite the wear and tear, his imposing figure and well-maintained though slightly weathered attire made it clear that he was the leader of a group of seasoned adventurers.
The man stepped forward into the middle of the crowd and raised his voice loud enough to reach everyone, even those standing at the edges:
"Are you looking for money? Glory? Or perhaps some equipment and resources?"
"We have a simple mission: we're heading to an undiscovered fortress located on the edge of the Grey Strip. We won't be facing anything too powerful, just a number of monsters, though they rarely attack. But the mission requires a large number of participants to get it done quickly."
He paused for a moment, studying the faces of the crowd, faces filled with doubt and caution. Then added:
"Anyone who joins us will receive ten gold coins. Five will be paid before the mission begins, and the other five once you exit the fortress, after it's been cleared and the mission is complete. And one more thing... any equipment, resources, or treasures you find inside the fortress will be yours to keep. No one will be forced to hand over what they find."
He straightened up, adjusting his stance and the position of his armor to appear more composed and commanding. Then, in a voice that carried both pride and professionalism, he said:
"Our group is extremely strong. My name is Varik, and I hold the rank of Raymos. The other members of my team are also highly ranked."
Then he gestured behind him, where his small group of six adventurers stood, and added
"And that's not all. We'll be entering the fortress through The Gatewardens Guild' gate, not on foot. This isn't a reckless gamble, it's an opportunity for those who understand its value. We invite anyone who feels they have the ability — or even just the need — to join us. The fortress is vast, and we won't be able to clear it on our own. Who knows? You might find something there that changes the course of your own path..."
The crowd froze again.
Then whispers started to drift through the audience, soft and hesitant as if his words had awakened a glimmer of hope in them.
"Ten gold coins?"
"That's not a small amount around here."
"Two gold coins can feed a person for an entire month with simple food that just keeps hunger away."
"But ten? That's a small fortune. Enough to change the life of a poor person, even if just for a little while."
But it wasn't that simple.
"Entering the Grey Strip throughThe Gatewardens Guild' gate?"
That was unbelievable. Just getting permission to cross the border through those gates — even just to the edges of the Grey Strip — cost at least three gold coins, and that was only at the gates located near the edge of the Grey Strip.
And that wasn't the only thing raising doubts.
Allowing them to keep everything they found inside the fortress, all the resources, all the rare items?
The offer sounded generous... but in truth, it was so excessive it raised suspicion.
Everyone exchanged glances, and doubt began to creep into their faces. But no one dared to ask directly.
Varik noticed the doubt that had begun to creep into people's faces, and the whispers that had started to spread among them, but he offered no explanation, no denial.
Instead, he simply raised his voice once more and spoke in a confident, loud tone:
"The fortress is huge. It needs a sufficient number of people to get the job done quickly. We're not looking for adventure for the sake of adventure... we just want to get the work done and leave. We don't want to get involved in pointless side battles. There are plenty of monsters there... and even if they're not very strong, they're annoying."
Then he added, gesturing behind him once again:
"Anyone who wants to join should head to Nam's shop in two hours. We'll set out from there directly to the gatewardens guild, we'll go through the gate from there."
Then he turned and left without looking back or adding anything else, leaving behind a wave of silence mixed with curiosity.
Leaving behind a wave of silence... then whispers... then hushed conversations.
The whispers grew louder among the crowd.
Some of them were seriously considering the offer.
The money was a lot.
And the promise of using the Guild's gate was tempting.
But many could sense that there was something invisible — something hidden — behind all this generosity.
Still, some didn't pay much attention after hearing about his rank and his description of the fortress, assuming it might just be an appealing mission.
In a dark corner of the market, surrounded by the shadows of crumbling buildings, a lone boy sat on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around himself in complete silence.
That boy was none other than Sylvan.
He was listening to the conversation taking place in the square nearby, but he wasn't part of the crowd. He hadn't approached, nor gotten involved. He sat at the edge of it all, as if watching the scene from afar as if he didn't want to be a part of it... however, At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to walk away completely.
Varik's offer hadn't been ordinary.
There was something unusual about it.
It wasn't just an invitation to adventure.
It felt more like a vague promise... a mysterious opportunity.
He heard the words echo in his mind:
"Ten gold coins... equipment from the fortress... entry through the Guild's gate..."
The amount was huge.
Huge indeed.
But that wasn't what caught Sylvan's attention.
He had heard promises like these before.
Promises of glory.
Promises of wealth.
Promises of belonging.
But all of those promises had ended in disappointment.
In betrayal.
In loss.
Sylvan had recently suffered another defeat after the last group of adventurers he'd joined abandoned him. He had failed in several missions before that, and had been kicked out of various teams — either because he wasn't strong enough, or because of betrayals between the members, who would turn on each other and fall apart at the first critical moment.
Many adventurers weren't driven by courage, but by greed. And trusting people like that could cost you your life.
Sylvan had recently suffered another defeat.
The last group of adventurers he joined had left him behind.
He wasn't strong enough.
He wasn't fast enough.
And he didn't have the kind of abilities that made him valuable.
His sub-ability — the one tied to his own personal path, or the one fate had chosen for him — wasn't actually very useful in fast-paced battles.
It was a support ability, one that required precision and patience, two things that rarely existed on chaotic battlefields.
Even during simple, everyday tasks, his performance was hesitant and slow. He failed at things others managed with ease.
He had been kicked out of multiple groups.
It wasn't that what he did was wrong... but it just wasn't enough.
There was no place for him.
No one was waiting for him.
No one even saw him.
He no longer had any friends.
No home.
Not even memories that could soothe his wounds.
He slowly got to his feet, like an old piece of dry wood creaking under its own weight. He lifted his pale gaze toward Nam's shop, the place Varik had chosen for the meeting.
He didn't think much about the dangers.
Or the fortress.
Or the monsters.
He didn't even think about the money.
All he wanted... was some kind of result.
Even if it was the end of him.
Sylvan walked toward the shop. His steps weren't confident, but neither were they hesitant.
He wasn't chasing life.
He wasn't chasing success.
He was chasing... something else.
Maybe an answer.
Maybe forgetfulness.
Maybe death.
But he was moving forward.
*******
The girl stepped closer to Sylvan once again. Her face still bore traces of faint fear, but now her eyes shone with a hint of curiosity mixed with caution. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a soft voice barely audible:
"My name is Elywin. I come from the continent of Valtaria. What about you?"
Sylvan looked at her without smiling. He saw her as if he were looking at a version of himself from a distant past — back when he used to carry that same curious gaze, that same desire to make friends — before he learned that this world doesn't let anything last.
His eyes remained sunken in a dull, hopeless stare, but for a brief moment, a flicker of something passed through them as he remembered how he used to be… then it vanished just as quickly, and his gaze returned to its usual darkness.
He answered in a flat, quiet voice "Sylvan."
Elywin smiled faintly and said, "Oh, you're from my continent too? Then we're—"
But she didn't finish her sentence, because a trembling scream cut through the crowd:
"Ah... ah... Is this... is this the place?! Are we... Are we at the edge?!"
One of the mercenaries took a shaky step back, his face as pale as ash, his eyes wide as if he had just seen a ghost he wasn't prepared to face.
It wasn't clear at first.
No one felt the difference right away.
But those who had been through these lands before — including some veteran adventurers, and a few mercenaries who had heard tales of the Forgotten Valleys from the rare survivors — began to notice the change slowly.
The air felt heavier than it should have.
Not just colder... but denser.
As if it carried some kind of hidden pressure, as if the very atmosphere had become an invisible wall.
The fog, which had been light at first, began to thicken little by little, until it became a thick gray veil that separated them from the outside world — as if it were sealing the path behind them forever.
Then the ground itself began to change.
The rocks, once loose and eroded, became more aligned, as if arranged by some non-human hand.
The hills, which had been relatively high, slowly began to sink, as if submitting to some unknown, overwhelming force.
And the sky... the sky, which had been pale, began to darken into a solemn, menacing shade of black, as if it were warning of an endless storm, or something even worse.
It wasn't just a change in the scenery.
It wasn't just a shift in nature.
It was a change in essence.
One of the onlookers — a scrawny man wearing cheap armor and holding a spear in his right hand as if he didn't even know how to use it — shouted in a trembling voice as he took a step back "What is this place? Are... are we really at the edge?!"
The crowd took a hesitant step back, silent but laced with panic. Everyone exchanged worried glances, and tense whispers began to spread like wildfire.
The air had grown too heavy to breathe easily, as if each breath carried an unbearable weight. And the fear... the fear began to seep among the crowd like cold smoke, crawling silently, slipping into their chests and filling their eyes with terror.
Everyone turned to look ahead, then cautiously around them. And there was no longer any doubt…They had been walking for what felt like an endless amount of time, ever since exiting the instantaneous transition gate at the edge.
They hadn't seen anything that suggested they were nearing the edge, no monsters appearing to announce the proximity of the area between the Grey Strip and the Forgotten Valleys, no poisonous plants warning of danger, not even a change in the terrain.
The way seemed to have completely detached from the Grey Strip. As if it had been severed from the outside world entirely.
Complete isolation.
A heavy silence.
A mystery that couldn't be explained.
They had arrived.
At the edge between the Grey Strip and the Forgotten Valleys.
It wasn't just a geographical boundary, it was an invisible line separating two worlds.
The first... a familiar world, no matter how dangerous, still within the limits of understanding.
And the second... the true unknown.
Suddenly, the noise erupted:
Screams, whispers, nervous laughter, and shaky voices trying to convince their owners to run. Some began to retreat backward with trembling steps, as if fleeing from something unseen, but something they could feel deep in their souls.
Someone screamed "I'm not going in there!"
Another answered in a voice choked with fear: "This is a cursed place!"
A third man's voice rose, anger mixed with panic: "We're not obligated to go in!"
And then... At that moment Varik stepped forward.
The leader of the adventurers, walking with steady steps, a sarcastic smile on his face. His armor was worn, but his eyes glowed with a deadly chill. He raised his hand and shouted in a booming voice, laced with both mockery and threat "Who wants to turn back?! You?!"
Then he pointed at one of the mercenaries who had begun to retreat, his face pale as if he had just seen a ghost, his eyes lost between panic and regret. The man tried to run, but his steps faltered.
And then a girl stepped forward from among the adventurers.
She wore light leather armor reinforced with steel plates, her black hair tied tightly back, and her brown eyes burned with unyielding determination. In her right hand, she held a short sword, and she walked with calm, calculated steps — as if she already knew exactly what she was going to do, even before she did it.
She approached the fleeing man without anyone uttering a single word. Then she raised her sword and struck his neck with a single, sharp blow. No loud sound was heard, but blood began to flow slowly onto the ashen ground.
The man knelt on his knees, then collapsed to the ground, motionless.
A heavy silence fell, then Varik's voice boomed with a short, mocking laugh
"Well done… that's the only way everyone can understand."
Then he swept his gaze over the crowd and said in a voice full of threat and mockery "Whoever is not with us… we won't chase after them. And whoever tries to run… we won't let them live."
After that, he pointed his hand toward the horizon, where the fortress had begun to appear little by little through the fog.
The fortress stood in the middle of the valley like an ancient stone creature that was still breathing. Its towering black walls rose above the rocks as if challenging the sky, and its tall windows resembled eyes open in the darkness, watching everyone who approached. The massive iron gate was closed, covered in rust and damage, as if it hadn't been opened in centuries. And the air... it wasn't just fog or cold — it was a heavy oppression that almost choked the breath, as if the air itself refused to be inhaled.
The crowd stopped once again. No one moved.
Some cried silently like children, others murmured old prayers, while the rest stood frozen in shock, staring at the fortress as if they were seeing their inevitable fate before their very eyes.
Varik shouted again, his voice piercing through the tense silence among the crowd:
"Whoever is with us… move forward. And whoever is not… can stay here. Come on! We've paid your wages, isn't it the worker's duty to do their job?!" He paused for a moment, a sarcastic smile forming on his lips before he continued in a mocking tone "No, we've actually treated you better than you deserve. We provided you with entry through the gatewardens guild's portal, and brought you to the edge without losing a single hair on your heads ! Isn't that an incredible achievement in itself?! Some of you might never have reached this place even if you spent your entire lives trying."
Then Varik gave a sharp gesture to his group, and they immediately stood at the ready. They began to move forward with steady steps, surrounding the crowd from all sides.
At that moment, one of them — quick-witted enough to sense the danger — tried to flee before the circle closed. But one of Varik's adventurers, the one closest to him, stepped forward calmly, then raised his hands in a strangely eerie manner, and clapped his palms lightly.
The sound rang out like a metallic bell slicing through the air. It wasn't just a normal clap, it was a wave of magical resonance that burst from the point where his palms met, moving through the air along shimmering, vibrating lines that were invisible to the eye… until they touched their target.
Zzzzzzzzz…
The fleeing man's body trembled instantly, then froze in place. His eyes widened in silent shock before he collapsed completely. Blood burst from his nose, ears, and eyes all at once, as if the frequency of the wave had penetrated his insides and turned his organs into a mass of deadly vibrations.
A heavy silence followed. The air still trembled with remnants of that mysterious resonance, as if the echo itself refused to fade away.
"A powerful Sub-ability from the String Path!" someone shouted in awe and fear.
One by one, those who had tried to resist immediately stopped. What they had just witnessed was more than enough to extinguish any remaining spark of rebellion in their hearts.
Just killing two people in such a clean, fast, and nearly silent way had suddenly extinguished all flames of anger and the desire to fight — replacing them with a dread heavier than fear itself… a dread even greater than the terror of the edge itself.
The air became suffused with a suffocating silence, as if the place itself had realized that resistance was pointless now.
"Heh." Varik snorted in contempt as he watched the trembling crowd, standing on their tiptoes in fear as if the very ground might swallow them. He spoke with biting sarcasm:
"There's no clearer message than a head rolling on the dirt. Well… I don't think any of you have the courage to repeat the same mistake. Let's continue our journey."
He then turned without adding another word and continued walking toward the fortress with steady steps, as if the entire scene had been nothing more than a routine part of his day. He didn't need any additional orders or new threats. He had already expected something like this to happen, and he dealt with it exactly as he had planned in his mind — with cold ease and experience tainted with blood.
They advanced toward the towering, dark fortress, which seemed to grow larger in their eyes with every step they took, until its walls seemed to engulf the horizon and weigh down their breath. Their chests felt heavy, as if rocks had been placed upon them. The atmosphere was suffocating, the darkness absolute — but the most dangerous thing was that the fortress stood on the boundary line. Which meant that entering and leaving was no longer a casual or common act… it could result in the worst possible fate they could imagine: death. Perhaps even mass death. To be thrown away together, as if their lives were nothing more than worthless pieces of flesh.
At that moment, the girl who had spoken to Sylvan before stepped forward. Her steps were hesitant, and her eyes glowed with fear she couldn't hide. She looked around, then her gaze fell on him... Sylvan, standing there in the middle of the crowd, disturbingly calm. He didn't seem afraid, or sad, or even like he belonged to this place... or to this world. She approached him cautiously and asked in a soft, uncertain voice:
"Aren't you afraid?"
Sylvan turned to her as if what was happening around him meant nothing, as if he had seen the whole scene play out before his eyes many times before. He looked at her with eyes that held no emotion at all, then a faint smile appeared on his lips, and he said quietly:
"Why fear?"
Then he turned his gaze toward the darkness stretching out before them and began to walk toward it with steady steps — as if he knew exactly where he was going, as if he were heading toward a fate that had been waiting for him for a long time.
The girl stood still for a moment, watching his shadow as it moved away, overcome by a strange mix of surprise and confusion. Then she followed him slowly, dread visible on her face, as a new realization began to creep into her, that what lay ahead of them was not an adventure like in the stories... but something else. Something deeper. Something far darker.