Core Forest

Before the world knew Empires, before names were carved into banners, there existed this place.

The Core Forest.

A region untouched by time or mortal design. Where trees rose like pillars of judgment and roots stretched deeper than the memories of gods. The very ground exhaled mana—thick, suffocating, and ancient.

It pooled in invisible lakes, coated every leaf, clung to the bark like dew. Even sunlight could not pierce through the layered canopies without bending, refracting, yielding.

Nothing here was wild.

Everything here was awake.

Compared to this, the Inner Forest was a garden. Even [Rank-5] beasts steered clear of the Core. For within these boundaries, the rules bent.

Time curled. Power became unstable. Here, the world remembered what it was before the divine war broke it apart.

Alaric had felt it for days now—that pull. Faint at first, like a ripple in still water. But it had grown stronger, more insistent, humming in the marrow of his bones and the pulse of his Divine Heart Core.

He could no longer resist.

***

He cut through the sky.

A golden streak against the dying light, Alaric soared above mountain ranges and forested ridges with impossible speed.

The wind howled in his wake, splitting around him like parting seas. Below, the landscape blurred—a canvas of emerald and stone and shadow.

But his eyes were fixed forward, unblinking.

The beat in his chest grew louder, deeper. It wasn't pain. It wasn't fear. It was inevitability.

The moment he crossed into the Core Forest, the shift came all at once.

His vision sharpened. The air thickened. The very mana warped around him, dancing in alien spirals. The sky above dimmed—not from storm, but from the pressure rising beneath the canopy.

Trees loomed like towers, their bark etched with runes that flickered faintly in violet and gold. Magic here was alive.

And it welcomed no one.

But Alaric wasn't no one.

He flew higher, then lower, guided not by reason but by rhythm. His instincts obeyed something older than thought.

Something deeper than knowledge. He let the pull of his Divine Heart Core guide him across jagged peaks and cratered cliffs.

And there—a mountain, larger than the rest, shrouded in mist and aura. At its foot, a yawning cavern pulsed like a heartbeat.

That was where it was calling from.

He descended, slow and deliberate. Boots touched the ancient stone just outside the mouth of the cave. The rocks trembled.

From within, something moved.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

A low growl echoed from the abyss of the cave—deep, resonant, ancient. Not a warning. A promise.

Then the shadows parted.

A serpent-dragon emerged, scales glittering like forged gold under dim light. Its body coiled with terrifying elegance, each movement exuding age and ruin. Two slitted eyes burned with recognition—or perhaps disdain.

Its mere presence distorted the air. The ground cracked under its weight. Mana in the air bent toward it like metal to magnet.

[Rank-6].

If a [Rank-5] was disaster, then this was catastrophe given form.

It didn't pounce. It didn't roar.

Instead, a soundless voice reached into Alaric's very soul:

"Human... You who came here... What is your purpose?"

Alaric's gaze sharpened. He hadn't expected words—least of all, ones that struck the spirit.

"Something in this place is calling me,"

He replied, stepping forward without hesitation.

"And I've come to answer."

The beast coiled tighter.

"Go back. There is nothing here for you."

"No."

His voice did not rise, but the air trembled.

"There is."

Silence.

Then—

"You leave me no choice."

***

The serpent rose into the air like a golden storm. With a single flick of its tail, it sent a shockwave crashing through the mountain range. Stone shattered. Trees were reduced to splinters.

Alaric didn't flinch.

The tail slammed into him with the force of a collapsing star.

BOOM!

He shot through the sky like a comet, crashing into the earth a hundred kilometers away. Mountains rippled from the impact. Forests warped. Dust storms billowed skyward, hiding the sun.

But from the center of that ruin, a figure emerged—unburnt, unshaken.

His cloak was torn. His shirt scorched. But his skin radiated unbroken light.

Alaric.

And now his patience had thinned.

No more pleasantries.

His golden-white divine energy surged—but only briefly. It danced across his skin like halos forming, a gentle grace that touched the beast's own power—and began corrupting it. The serpent snarled as its mana was unraveled in real time, its strength turned against it.

But that wasn't enough.

They clashed again. And again.

Alaric blurred into motion, fists cloaked in divine will, no techniques named—his intent was his blade, his will was his weapon.

The sky split as they collided midair. Thunder cracked. Rivers reversed. Entire valleys were flattened under their dueling auras. Beasts hundreds of kilometers away ran or dropped dead from pressure alone.

The standoff held for minutes—hours maybe, in the twisted flow of the Core Forest.

And then—

Alaric's crimson-black energy ignited.

Not soft, not healing.

Destructive.

Pure, refined annihilation.

It spread from his hands like fire from a collapsing star. The serpent reeled, shrieking—not in fear, but in recognition. It had seen this before. Long ago. Before it was born.

Alaric surged forward, striking with unstoppable force.

BOOM!

CRACK!

SKRAAAANG!

Mountains exploded under the backlash. Shockwaves shredded forests. Lakes boiled. Hundreds of kilometers turned to wasteland.

The beast crashed down, trembling, breath ragged. Its golden scales were cracked. Black veins of corrupted mana spread across its flank.

And Alaric stood, his shirt reduced to ash, pants torn at the seams, divine smoke rising from his skin. His body was untouched—his clothes ruined not by the beast, but by the wrath he wielded.

He stepped forward.

"I don't have time for this,"

He said coldly.

The beast lowered its head.

Not in submission—but in understanding.

***

Before stepping deeper into the ruined cavern, Alaric took one last look at the battered golden serpent dragon sprawled among the shattered remains of the mountain. His golden eyes, aglow with steady divinity, softened just slightly.

With a single breath, his divine energy condensed—wings of luminous gold-white light unfurled behind his back.

This was the second time he used this technique: not a spell, not a skill—but pure will. His intent sculpted the energy into radiant wings, as if heaven itself stretched its arms through him.

The wings shimmered briefly before shooting forth, countless feathers of woven light arching through the air like celestial threads. They found their mark, piercing through the distance and gently webbing across the great serpent's chest, connecting with its heart.

The moment they touched, the mountain trembled faintly beneath their holiness. A powerful surge of divine energy burst forth from the contact point, enveloping the dragon in a pulsing glow.

But something was wrong.

The healing was slow. In normal circumstances, the Divine Energy would have restored the beast instantly. That had always been the case. Alaric narrowed his eyes.

"Why..."

He took a step forward and closed his eyes. A ripple passed through him—a deep, sovereign command awakening from within. The divine heart pulsed once more.

And with it, a power he had only just begun to grasp.

The Authority of Elyssira.

The light shifted. The golden hue bled away, replaced by pure, resplendent white. Not the gold of benevolence or healing, but the untouchable brilliance of divine sovereignty—an energy that did not merely restore, but commanded life to rise.

When the white light reached the dragon, the change was immediate. Muscle stitched itself together, scales reformed and gleamed anew.

Even the weariness in its ancient eyes began to fade. The beast's colossal form trembled, not in fear—but in awe. It didn't just heal.

It grew.

Satisfied, Alaric dismissed the wings. The light faded behind him like a dream retreating from dawn. He turned toward the heart of the mountain, now caved open by the intensity of their battle.

Steps unhurried but resolute, he passed through broken stone and twisted earth, walking across the path the battle had carved.

Rubble gave way to silence as he descended deeper into the mountain's hollowed ruin. A narrow tunnel revealed itself—its opening cracked and jagged like the broken ribs of a buried beast.

He stepped inside.

With each step, the tunnel grew tighter. The scent of ancient stone and untouched air thickened. Silence pressed in. The further he walked, the more he felt it: space itself... bending.

The walls seemed closer than they were. Time trickled differently here.

It should have been imperceptible, but something within him—gifted from the divine manner, a sense honed beyond mortals—caught the dissonance in the world around him. A twist in the weave of reality.

And then, at the tunnel's end—light.

It pulsed faintly, neither warm nor cold, neither welcoming nor forbidding. It simply was. A presence, vast and ageless.

He stepped through.

And the world collapsed.

His vision blackened—not from exhaustion or harm, but because something beyond the veil of physicality had taken hold.

The descent into mystery had begun.

-To Be Continued