The Entity

A month passed without incident.

In that time, we completed 47 B-Rank quests—racking up a clean 12,000 Judes.

Red Dragon's lease was finally paid off.

Most of the others were content doing delivery gigs to wind down the days. Something simple. Something light.

Me? I was alone, as usual. I'd already wrapped up my daily rounds.

I'd recently picked up some tight, flashy adventurer gear—something bold, something loud. My hair had grown long enough to fall past my eyes.

So I got a haircut.

By the next one, we were A-Rank adventurers.

Then came another, and we were S-Rank.

The one after that? I was the strongest adventurer in the world.

I was only 19.

Notice the word 'I'. They all left me.

I placed my hand on the appraisal crystal.

[Level 760] 

This was it, the feeling of pure power.

I missed their laughter, but everything has changed. They were great.

But I don't need them now, with my control of world energy and numerous blade arts, nobody could contest me as the most powerful adventure.

Countries and nations begged for my aid, and I helped them willingly.

I became a hero, the hero of heroes.

Now I stand at the summit—exhausted, scarred, victorious. And alone. At the peak of the world, a vision struck me: a tidal wave of darkness, and a man forged from shadow and despair.

Picture this: a black night sky, silent and endless. A hill built from the bones of the dead. I sit at the top, soaked in blood and sweat, my sword stained with fragments of bone and the stench of death.

Months have passed since that vision.

Nothing's happened.

If you're wondering about Frila, Red Dragon, the others... they left. They didn't want to follow. Or maybe they just couldn't keep up. They chose peace. Chose wealth.

I chose the real war.

I'm the number one S-Rank adventurer. No one's stronger. Whenever a dungeon appears, I'm the one standing at the gate.

Tonight, I've just cleared the deadliest undead dungeon known to man.

That's when the air starts to hum. A low, buzzing pulse.

The sky turns red.

"Oh," I whisper. "So you finally came."

A figure steps from the crimson sky. Cloaked in shadows. His face is blank—just rough, fleshy texture, as if something forgot to finish him.

He walks slowly. No purpose. No urgency.

I don't wait.

"Blade Art: World-Ending Slash."

I lunge.

"I sacrificed everything for this technique. The least it can do is kill freaks like you."

The strike tears the land apart. A ravine opens beneath him.

He doesn't flinch. Like a ghost. Like a nightmare.

"It's over, boy," he says. His voice is layered—echoing, ancient. "You will be the first pawn to evolve into supremacy."

"The other side begins with you, Jatar."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I shout. My hand moves instinctively, tousling my red hair. "You think I'm finished? You have no idea who you're dealing with!"

I try to channel world energy, try to crush him where he stands—

But he controls it better. Effortlessly.

I feel myself lifted, choking, weightless in the sky.

Darkness consumes my vision.

And then…

A terrible sensation—something worming its way inside me.

Infesting me.

My life crumbles.

And I begin to fall.