The Tenth Month

Ten months had passed since the training began.

The once quiet and ancient dark oak forest, now riddled with scorch marks, split trees, and trenches from intense combat drills, whispered of the story being carved into its soil.

Broken branches and shattered rocks littered the area.

The crisp autumn air had settled in, bringing with it a chill that bit at the skin. Leaves—reddish-brown and golden—danced across the ground in the breeze, brushing past the two figures standing in the middle of the clearing.

Menma adjusted the thick gray scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hair had grown longer, messier, but it suited the hardened look in his eyes.

A shadow of facial hair now grew along his chin and jawline—his first mustache and beard. He had grown taller too, and broader in the shoulders.

Time had changed him—slowly but unmistakably.

A bag rested against his hip, strapped diagonally across his back. His hand rested against the hilt of his sword,but now there was something different about the hilt..

The ring that Menma used to carry around his neck, now had been become a part of the hilt.

fingers flexing slightly in anticipation. A short distance behind him, Zayne leaned against a splintered tree trunk, arms crossed, his sharp eyes surveying the environment as if analyzing the wind itself.

In the distance, the leaves stirred unnaturally.

From the shadows between two massive oaks emerged a creature—its heavy breath visible in the cold air, like clouds of smoke from a furnace.

It was a grizzly bear, but far from ordinary. This one towered above a horse in height, with a muscular body cloaked in thick fur.

 Four glowing, bloodshot eyes blinked in sync—two stacked above the other on either side of its wide skull. Its breath was wet and hoarse, and the way it trudged forward shook the very earth beneath it.

Menma glanced at Zayne, his voice calm yet confident.

"I'm ready to go to the Witch Forest. It's time I met the witches."

Zayne tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. A ghost of a grin played at his lips. "Then be faster. Kill the bear before I do… or we stay and train another week."

Menma let out a short breath through his nose—half a laugh, half a sigh—as he slung his bag to the ground.

 The air thickened. His fingers wrapped around his blade and drew it free.

At the same time, Zayne pushed off from the tree and unsheathed his own weapon, the steel catching a faint glint of sunlight through the canopy above.

The monstrous bear roared. It was about fifty meters away now, charging—its paws crushing earth and bone alike.

Zayne's body shimmered, and in a flash, he vanished—only the leaves swirling in his wake. The Speed Creation pulsed from his core, igniting his steps.

But before he could reach the bear, Menma's sword glowed with a faint crimson hue. He whispered under his breath.

"Demon Power: 25%…"

A dark aura crawled around him, wrapping itself around his limbs. The symbols along his sword ignited. Then, in a blink, he vanished—reappearing just beside the charging beast. He moved like a phantom.

"Teleportation Sword – First Step."

His blade traced a sharp arc through the air and caught the bear's thick neck, slicing deep—almost severing its head in one clean motion. Blood sprayed like a fountain, and the beast let out a gurgling growl as it collapsed, twitching violently before falling still.

Zayne appeared beside the corpse, slowing to a halt as he examined the kill. He chuckled, shaking his head.

"You cheater," he said, smirking. "But that's exactly the kind of thinking we'll need when we fight the Purgatorists."

Menma sheathed his blade, breathing evenly. "Then it was the right move."

With no more words between them, the two men turned their backs to the fallen creature and began their journey—toward the Witch Forest, toward fate.

The path was long, stretching between frost-covered hills and forests teetering on the edge of winter. Days passed.

Eventually, the scent of smoke and steel reached their noses, a sign of human life ahead. They approached a city—walled, though not very tall, with guards stationed lazily at its entrance.

The streets inside bustled with movement. Merchants bartered for coins, soldiers marched in formation, and the air smelled of spiced meats and old rain.

As they walked through the city's heart, something caught their attention.

A little girl—no more than six or seven—sat on the ground near a collapsed stall. Her clothes were torn, her face streaked with mud and tears. Her cries echoed through the square, yet the world moved around her, uncaring.

"Mom… Dad…" she sobbed, her voice barely rising above the noise.

Menma slowed slightly. He glanced at her, then turned his gaze forward again. Zayne did the same. They didn't stop.

But then…

Something moved.

A tremor coursed through the ground. Windows rattled. A door from a nearby house creaked open slowly, as though pushed by the wind.

No.

Not the wind.

A figure emerged, ducking beneath the doorframe. It was unlike anything human—standing nearly three meters tall.

Its body resembled a mass of intertwining vines and roots, dark green and slimy, pulsating as if alive. It moved with a strangely graceful lurch, its legs nothing more than tendrils that undulated like the limbs of an octopus.

Atop its head was a massive flower—its petals curved outward like blades, revealing a hollow center.

There were no eyes. No nose. Just the terrifying, gaping blossom. Inside, a soft glow pulsed. No teeth, but something worse—a gland, bulbous and dripping with a translucent green fluid that hissed when it hit the ground. Acid. Poison.

Blood stained its vines. Bits of flesh clung to its roots like trophies.

The creature turned toward the little girl. She didn't see it—still sobbing with her hands over her face.

It moved with unnatural speed, its limbs cracking the stone as it surged toward her.

Zayne vanished in an instant—appearing in front of her just as the creature lunged. With a smooth, practiced motion, he scooped the child up and dashed away, leaving behind only dust.

Menma's eyes glowed red.

He leapt, blade drawn mid-air. The flower-headed creature barely had time to react before Menma's sword cleaved through it from above, splitting the blossom cleanly down the middle.

A burst of green liquid exploded out, sizzling on the cobblestone.

The creature let out a shriek—but it didn't last. Its body collapsed, twitching and withering into a mass of rotting vines.

Menma landed softly, blade at his side. Zayne placed the girl down safely behind him, checking her over with a quick glance before nodding to his companion.

"Seems it wasn't nothing after all," he muttered.

Menma turned to face the streets, now eerily quiet. People peeked from windows and alleyways, fear painting their expressions.

There would be more. These creatures weren't isolated accidents.

The journey to the Witch Forest had only just begun.

And already… monsters had begun to get in their way.