Chapter 25: What stories are

Ray got up and sat, feeling the cold, gelatinous texture of the slime against his hand and palms. The little creature wobbled happily as he scratched its smooth surface, making a soft, delighted gurgle.

Ray chuckled.

"You're funny, you know that."

The slime quivered in excitement before suddenly leaping onto his chin, reshaping itself into a tiny, wobbly beard. Ray blinked in surprise as a cold chill spread across his skin. Before he could react, a deep, composed voice echoed through the cavern.

"Dear brave warriors."

Master Baiyun spoke, his tone carrying the weight of experience as always.

"It is a blessing to find joy in the smallest of things. But remember, the path before us is long, and laughter must walk alongside caution. Come, we must descend further."

His words carried a quiet wisdom, making the students instinctively straighten up. With some reluctance, they parted ways with the playful slimes and began moving deeper into the dungeon.

Ray sighed, brushing off his coat. With care, he peeled the slime off his chin and set it down. The slime wobbled in place, its tiny eyes trembling with sadness.

Ray paused. He crouched, giving the slime a gentle pat. The creature let out a soft, pitiful chirp.

Without another word, Ray stood, his expression unreadable. One hand in his pocket, the other gripping his pickaxe, he followed the group into the depths.

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The warmth of the first floor faded as the students ventured deeper. The friendly slimes were gone, replaced by darker creatures lurking in the dungeon.

Bats with glowing white eyes flitted overhead. Rats the size of small dogs scurried between the rocks. Cave goblins with jagged blades lurked in the tunnels. Small, rocky monsters shuffled forward with grinding steps.

Unlike the slimes, these creatures were hostile. When they were slain, they left something behind.

A shard.

Each shard glowed faintly, but no two were alike. Some were deep blue with swirling runes, others crimson with jagged cracks, and some even golden, smooth as glass.

The students crushed the shards in their hands, watching as the fragments dissolved into light, seeping into their skin. Ray narrowed his eyes.

"What are these?"

Master Baiyun, who had been silently observing, finally spoke.

"Stories."

"Stories?"

"Do you not know of them, young genius?"

Baiyun asked, clutching his wooden round medallion around his neck as if in prayer. Ray shook his head.

"Negative."

The old man let out a slow exhale, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, with the measured patience of a philosopher, he began.

"Every being is born with a story."

Baiyun's voice resonated through the cavern, the flickering torchlight casting shadows on his aged features.

"A story they live by. A story that walks with them from birth to death.

Some stories are grand, filled with battles and glory. Others are quiet, existing only in whispers. But, in the end, all stories must come to a close."

Baiyun lifted a dusty, cracked shard from the ground and held it up.

"And when a narrator dies, their story dies with them. What remains is but a fragment—a shard, waiting to be absorbed by another."

He extended the shard to Ray. Ray took it, turning it over in his palm. Unlike the ones the students had absorbed, this shard was dim, chipped, more like lifeless.

"This one isn't glowing."

Ray noted.

"It looks useless."

Baiyun nodded solemnly.

"Because its narrator perished long ago. It has waited, untold, forgotten."

Ray inspected it further.

"Does that affect the story?"

A shadow flickered across Baiyun's face.

"Not always. But stories steeped in sorrow… they tend to whisper. Sometimes, they pass on the memories of their previous narrator to the next."

"Why would anyone care about something so trivial?"

Ray threw the shard. Without hesitation, Baiyun bent down and picked up the shard Ray had discarded. He studied it for a moment before looking at Ray with Warm, Welcoming eyes.

"Because the stories are more than words on a page."

Baiyun said, his voice carrying an undeniable weight.

"With stories come power. Knowledge. Strength. The essence of those who came before us."

Ray tilted his head.

"Hm?"

"No stories are worthless."

Baiyun continued.

"Every tale has its own merit. Some grant wisdom, Memories. Others, skills. Some even hold the echoes of lost abilities. And should a story truly perish—should no soul ever claim it. Then it is said to drift beyond 'The Horizon of Stories'."

Baiyun paused, his gaze distant.

"Or as some call it… the 'Graveyard of Stories'."

A silence settled between them...

Then, Baiyun offered the shard again. Ray stood still, his fingers slowly closing around the shard. For a moment, he hesitated, glancing at the students who had so easily absorbed their own fragments of stories. Then, with a quiet sigh, he crushed the shard in his palm.

The moment it crumbled to dust, the fragmented light seeped into his skin.

A sudden wave of darkness washed over him. His vision blurred, his body turned weightless.

Then, it happened again.

THE SAME VOID.

THE SAME DARKNESS.

THE ENDLESS, SUFFOCATING DARK WHERE NOTHING EXISTS.

Ray stood there, his body suspended in a space that defied all sense of reality. No ground, no air, no sound. Just an overwhelming silence, pressing against his mind like a heavy, invisible shroud.

But this time… something was different.

A small, glowing dot floated near him, orbiting his form like a lonely star.

Then—

A sudden flash of light.

A Story Unfolds

Ray blinked. The void shattered around him, giving way to a familiar yet unfamiliar scene.

He was in a dungeon—the very same dungeon they had entered. But the air was heavier here, the atmosphere tense. Something felt off.

In front of him, a group of adventurers entered through the cave. Eight members, Three women-Five men. A raid team.

Among them was a young woman with soft, pastel-blue hair. Ray's eyes widened.

"That hair…!"

He tried to move, but his body was different. Transparent, weightless. He looked down at his hands. Ghostly, Untouchable.

"Am I… seeing the story?"

Ray thought. The raid team pressed forward, descending deeper. They cut through monsters with ease—monsters unlike the ones Ray and his classmates had encountered.

"Stronger… different species."

Ray observed.

"This must have been years ago... Or decades...?"

His body drifted along with the adventurers, as if bound to the story itself. He had no control, only the ability to watch.

Then, a voice. Soft, concerned.

"Are you really sure you should continue being a hunter?"

One of the women whispered to the pastel-blue haired girl. She was dressed in a gothic Victorian outfit, a magician's hat resting atop her head.

The pestle-blue haired woman chuckled softly.

"Even if I wanted to stop, I can't afford to. Not now."

She placed a gentle hand on her belly. Ray's breath caught.

"She's… pregnant."

The magician girl frowned.

"It's too risky for the child. You should take it easy."

The pestle-blue haired woman smiled.

"I will. But let me be a hunter… just a little longer. Until I really need to rest."

The magician girl sighed, pouting.

"You're so stubborn, you know that?"

A rough, commanding voice cut through the moment.

"Hey! Keep moving! We don't have all day!"

Ray's gaze snapped toward the source of the voice.

A towering man. The largest, most heavily-built of the team. A deep scar ran across his right cheek, and his right ear was missing.

The group pressed forward, descending even deeper.

Then...

They reached it.

The same floor where Ray and his classmates had been.

One of the men. A ginger-haired adventurer dressed in standard gear, he leaned close to the leader and whispered something. The leader's expression darkened.

Slowly, his eyes flickered toward the rest of his team....