Chapter 4: Dark forest (2)

Hastora stepped south, entering a forest whose oppressive aura was palpable, like a layer of ice enveloping his skin. Cold air swirled between the towering trees, their twisted and moss-covered branches interlacing to form a dark canopy that barely let in any light. Filtered sunlight created only dim patches on the forest floor, causing shadows to dance with erratic movements. The scent of damp earth, mingled with the metallic tang of fresh blood—the aroma of a recent death—lingered faintly in the air. The sounds of the forest—the rustling of leaves like whispered secrets, the distant calls of nocturnal birds, like the lamentations of tormented souls, and the snapping of branches—created a symphony of unease, an orchestra of darkness accompanying Hastora's steps. The dark energy emanating from the monsters that dwelled within pressed heavily on Hastora's chest, like an unseen weight of stone. The darkness was so thick that even a rank A adventurer or hunter would become lost and disoriented, swallowed by the gloom that consumed everything. But Hastora's keen vision, honed by years of battles and experience, pierced the darkness. He could feel every gust of cold wind carrying the scent of earth and death, every breath of the forest that was full of menace. He could feel the pulse of this forest, the pulse of death.

"It's so dark," he muttered, his voice echoing slightly between the trees, like a whisper carried by the wind. "The monsters here must be powerful, far more powerful than I anticipated." He felt vibrations in the ground beneath his feet, vibrations that originated from the depths of the forest, vibrations that seemed to tell him of a great power hidden within the darkness.

He quickened his pace, but kept it measured, like the steps of an experienced hunter, venturing deeper into the mysterious forest. Thousands of red dots—the eyes of monsters lurking in the darkness—peeked from behind trees and bushes, watching Hastora without attacking. They were like malevolent stars hidden behind the veil of night, waiting for the right moment to pounce on their prey. Dark shadows shifted between the large, ancient tree trunks, creating illusions of movement that sent shivers down his spine, like the shadows of ghosts dancing among the trees. He felt every gaze, every threat lurking in the darkness, every cold breath that shadowed his steps. He felt their presence, the presence of unseen enemies.

Suddenly, from behind the dense undergrowth, filled with thorny vines and sharp leaves, a large shadow emerged, pushing aside the foliage that concealed it like a curtain being drawn back. A demonic beast, resembling a giant wolf with dull grey fur that was matted and dirty, like an old, torn cloth, and red eyes that burned like embers, appeared from behind the bushes. Dark, intimidating energy emanated from it, making the air feel heavier and colder, like a weight pressing down on Hastora's chest. A pungent stench of decay, the smell of death and rot, wafted from its body, adding to the chilling sense of dread. The smell was like that of an old, forgotten graveyard. But it had no effect on Hastora, whose strength—though diminished after his reincarnation—was still enough to kill a rank S monster. He calmly observed the demonic beast, assessing its strengths and weaknesses, like a strategist analyzing a battlefield. He saw the demonic beast's tense muscles, ready to strike. He saw its sharp teeth and long fangs, ready to tear flesh.

Hastora drew his backup sword from the shadows—a sword with a cold, smooth black hilt, like the cold, smooth skin of a snake, and a dark green blade that reflected a faint glimmer, like light emanating from the depths of hell. The blade vibrated slightly, radiating a powerful aura that pricked his skin, like thousands of needles piercing his skin. He felt the perfect balance between the sword and himself, like an extension of his own body. The sword was a part of him, a part of his soul.

"Don't disappoint me," he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the rustling wind that whispered through the trees, like the whisper of death.

He coated the sword with his aura, making the dark green glow of the blade even more intense, like light emanating from the depths of hell. He prepared to strike, every muscle tense, ready to move with lightning speed, like an arrow poised to fly. The demonic beast remained motionless, its red eyes fixed on him with a cold, hateful gaze, like the eyes of a demon thirsting for blood. The tension in the air thickened, like a rope stretched taut, ready to snap.

"Why are you just standing there?" Hastora challenged, his voice calm but firm, like the sound of thunder booming in the midst of a storm. "Come forth and face me!"

As a provocation, Hastora launched a light attack using the spell. The air rippled, and dark orbs the size of fists formed, emitting a chilling, freezing aura, like deadly ice balls. He focused on each dark orb, ensuring its strength and direction were accurate, like a sharpshooter aiming at his target. The orbs shot towards the demonic beast with incredible speed, like bullets fired from a rifle.

Despite knowing the attack was coming, the demonic beast remained still, unmoving, like a lifeless stone statue. The dark orbs struck its right leg with a series of small, sharp explosions, like the sound of shattering glass. The monster fell heavily, dust billowing up, but it made no sound, like a corpse falling to the ground. Something strange caught Hastora's eye—a magic crystal glinting with a dark red light, like a cursed gemstone. Hastora cautiously approached the demonic beast, examining the crystal closely, like a gemologist inspecting a precious stone. It felt cold and heavy in his hand, like a weight crushing his soul.

"Hmmm... a demonic beast with a magic crystal on its forehead?" he murmured. "I've never seen one in 20,000 years. This must be something special, something very valuable."

He stored the crystal in his shadows. He was sure it would be useful one day, in a battle to come.

The demonic beast remained motionless. Hastora checked its pulse with his trained hand.

"It's still alive," he said, surprised. He observed the details of the demonic beast's body lying before him, examining every wound and every scratch on its body.

He raised his sword high, then swung down at the demonic beast's head with a swift, precise strike that no rank B hunter or adventurer could have seen. The air hissed as the sword cleaved through the air, like a knife slicing through silk, and the demonic beast's head separated with a sickening plop, like the sound of a head falling to the ground. Its body was swallowed by the shadows, vanishing without a trace, like a ghost returning to another world. Hastora observed every detail of his movements, ensuring the strike was accurate and effective, like a swordsman who had trained for years.

"This forest is not what I expected," he said, sheathing his sword. He felt the strangeness of the forest deepening, like a mystery growing larger.

He continued on his journey, his mind filled with questions about the demonic beast, questions that grew larger in his mind. A strong sense of curiosity drove him forward, like a fire burning within his soul.

"I need to go deeper," he muttered. He had to find the answers to the questions that haunted his mind.

He ran, but kept an eye on his surroundings, the red eyes continuing to watch him from behind trees and bushes, like spies always watching his every move. The eyes were red as blood, burning like embers, as if they would pounce on him at any moment. The air felt colder and more oppressive, like the grip of death tightening. He felt every step he took, every gust of wind, every threat lurking in the shadows, every danger that threatened his life.

Suddenly, ten minotaurs appeared, blocking his path, like an impenetrable wall. They had glowing red eyes, muscular bodies covered in thick, dark brown fur, like solid, strong stones, and carried large axes that looked sharp and heavy, like weapons ready to kill. The smell of blood and sweat, the smell of a recent battle, wafted from their bodies. Hastora stopped, observing them one by one, assessing their strengths and weaknesses, like a general analyzing enemy troops.

"Not bad," Hastora said, observing them. He assessed their strengths and strategy, preparing for the upcoming battle.

One of the minotaurs threw its axe with full force, like a bullet fired from a rifle. The axe spun rapidly in the air, creating a sharp whistling sound that threatened, like the sound of approaching death. Hastora watched the axe's trajectory closely, like a strategist observing enemy movements. He jumped and dodged it with ease, his movements swift and precise, like lightning striking. The axe cleaved through the large trees behind him with a loud crack, like the sound of breaking bones, the trees falling easily, their cuts incredibly clean, like cuts made by a skilled lumberjack.

The minotaurs attacked simultaneously, charging from all directions, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. They roared with thunderous voices, creating a chaotic and violent atmosphere, like a real battlefield. Hastora felt the pressure of their attacks, but he remained calm, like an unyielding mountain.

Hastora skillfully parried their attacks, like a deadly dance of death. A loud thud echoed through the forest as Hastora's sword clashed with the minotaurs' axes. Metal met metal with tremendous force, sending vibrations that ran through his bones, like vibrations originating from the depths of the earth. A long hum followed each impact, as if the metal itself was groaning in pain, like the cries of wounded metal. Hastora felt every impact, every vibration that traveled up his arms and into his body, like a current of electricity flowing through his body.

The minotaurs couldn't match Hastora's swordsmanship. Slowly, they were pushed back one by one, like an army losing a war. Hastora felt his strength, the precision of his movements, and his control over the sword, like a maestro conducting an orchestra.

"Weak," Hastora muttered. He felt their weakness, the weakness that would be their undoing.

He moved with incredible speed, attacking one of the minotaurs from behind, like a ghost attacking from the shadows. A black aura enveloped his sword, making it radiate a chilling aura of death, like the aura of hell freezing everything. His attack pierced one of the minotaurs, creating a large wound that gushed fresh blood, like a fountain spurting blood. But something shocking happened—the fatal wound healed quickly, like an unexpected miracle.

"What?" Hastora was surprised. He watched the regeneration process closely, trying to understand the strange abilities of his enemies.

Seeing this, Hastora quickly withdrew his sword and jumped back. There was no trace of the wound on the minotaur's body. All the minotaurs began to radiate a different energy, a fiery red aura enveloping their bodies, like hellfire burning their bodies. They were getting stronger, like monsters that had evolved.

"Not bad," Hastora murmured. He assessed the increasingly difficult situation, like a puzzle becoming more complex.

They leaped at Hastora simultaneously, raising their axes high, like an army ready to attack. Hastora didn't want to dodge, he decided to attack them all from the front with a fatal strike, like a knight facing his enemy with courage. He felt the pressure of their attack, but he remained calm and focused, like a warrior who had trained for years.

"Dark Swordmanship level one <𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗘𝘅𝗲𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻>

He launched an execution strike. The strike left a dark trail in its wake, making the air vibrate, like a shock wave destroying everything. The attack was incredibly fast, impossible to catch with the naked eye, like lightning striking. Hastora focused all his energy on the strike, like his entire soul poured into one attack.

But the attack had no effect on them at all. Their bodies were not scratched in the slightest. The minotaurs fell from the sky and slammed into the ground with immense force, creating large craters in the earth, like meteors striking the earth. Their physical strength had truly increased fivefold. Hastora felt the immense power of their counterattack, a power that was almost unbearable.

Hastora managed to dodge, but he was attacked relentlessly, like a tidal wave that never stopped. One of the minotaurs coated its axe with a fiery red aura, like hellfire burning its axe. He felt immense pressure, pressure that almost made him give up.

"How can a minotaur use aura?" he asked, though the situation was dire, he still appeared calm, like calm water amidst a storm. He tried to understand his new enemies' abilities, abilities he had never seen before.

The minotaur struck Hastora with a single attack coated in a powerful aura, like an attack originating from hell. The attack created a powerful gust of wind, destroying the surrounding area, like a storm destroying everything. Hastora couldn't dodge. He felt the immense power of the attack, a power that almost destroyed his soul.

Hastora lay beneath a fallen tree, his left arm broken, his mouth bleeding, and his body unable to move. A piercing pain filled his body, like thousands of knives stabbing his body.

"Damn it," he muttered. "If only I could use my true power..."

He tried everything to get up, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He couldn't do anything. He felt despair starting to take over, like the shadow of death approaching.

The minotaurs walked towards Hastora from a distance. They looked incredibly strong and intimidating, like an army of death ready to destroy everything.

"Finally," he said. "Am I going to die again?" He remembered his death 20,000 years ago, a death that still haunted him to this day.

As he was on the verge of despair, he remembered the magic crystal in his shadows. He retrieved it, like a last hope.

"Should I just use this?"

Hastora recalled his bitter memories of the past—the suffering, the slaughter, the despair, like a nightmare returning to haunt him.

"I can't die here," he muttered. He had to survive, he had to live.

Slowly but surely, his body began to move. Hastora quickly used the magic crystal. Immediately, his body began to heal due to the abundance of mana contained within the magic crystal. He felt strength returning to his body, like a river flowing again.

Hastora rose, gathering energy in large amounts, his black aura now radiating immense power, like power originating from hell. He felt his full power returning, a power that had long been dormant.

"Dark Swordmanship level two <𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗺 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗱𝗲>"

He moved quickly towards the minotaurs and swung his sword. The strike created a powerful dark storm, destroying the surrounding trees, like a storm destroying everything. The minotaurs, who had been standing tall, were now drawn into the storm. Their bodies shattered into pieces, like torn rag dolls, unable to withstand the immense power of the dark storm. Hastora watched as his power destroyed his enemies, a power that was unstoppable.

Slowly, the storm began to subside, like anger subsiding. The surrounding area was completely destroyed by the dark storm, like a battlefield that had just been ravaged by war. Trees lay fallen, the ground was torn apart, and the air was filled with the stench of blood and scorched earth. A chilling silence descended after the storm passed, a silence more terrifying than the storm itself.

"Feel that, you bastards!" Hastora shouted, his voice echoing among the ruins of the forest. He felt satisfied, but also exhausted.

Hastora, who had used too much energy, fell and lay on the ground, like a soldier who had won the battle but was badly wounded. His breath was labored after using such a powerful attack, like the breath of someone who was about to run out of air. His body felt heavy, like an unbearable burden.

"Damn weak body," he muttered, his voice barely audible. He felt the weakness of his body, the weakness that had almost made him give up. But he was proud, he had managed to defeat his enemies.

The question about the demonic beast still lingered in his mind, waiting to be solved on his next adventure. The magic crystal, he was sure, held the key to the answer to the mystery. He had to find out more about the demonic beast's strange behavior, and about the origins of the magic crystal it possessed.

"Alright," he said. "I'll be looking forward to more exciting entertainment from you, dark forest."