Chapter 2: The Forest That Lies

Lucien didn't take the direct path.

While the golden gates of Nalanda Academy gleamed in the east like promises forged from power, Lucien turned west—toward Mayavan.

A forest older than history. A place where myths were born and memories died. Locals whispered about it in hushed tones, calling it the "Forest That Lies." Not because it told falsehoods—but because it showed you the truths you didn't want to see.

The leaves rustled even when the wind didn't blow. Trees rearranged themselves when you turned your back. Footsteps echoed even when walking alone.

Most avoided Mayavan like plague.

But Lucien Arkanveil was not most.

He had read about this place in the novel—the one that dictated the fate of this world.

In that story, a minor character, nameless and irrelevant, had once entered the forest by accident. What he found wasn't a Trait stone or a forbidden spellbook, but something more ancient—a soul weapon, alive and waiting. A relic from a forgotten era, lost even to time itself. The boy never claimed it. Fear had shattered his resolve before the weapon could even test him.

Lucien had no such flaw.

He was no boy trembling in the dark.

He was a man reborn—with eyes that had seen empires rise and fall.

And he wanted that weapon.

---

He stepped into the forest without hesitation.

Instantly, the world changed.

Light bent at odd angles. The air grew heavy with whispers that didn't belong. Every step felt like it was being watched, judged, measured.

The forest tried to stop him early.

"Help me, Lucien!"

The voice of his younger self, broken and crying, echoed from the treetops.

A flicker of an illusion. He ignored it.

"Why didn't you save me?"

His mother's voice this time. Her form knelt beside a shattered blade, blood pooling at her feet.

Lucien exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing.

The forest was clever. It didn't lie outright. It used memories—twisted, fragmented, cruel.

But illusions couldn't break him.

He had died once. He had lived twice. He had mastered pain before he learned to walk.

So he walked.

Deeper and deeper, until the trees bled red and the air thumped like a second heart.

Then, the real trial began.

A pulse of warning echoed through his panel.

> [Creature Identified: Shakal]

Race: Unknown

Rank: C+

Name: Shakal the Veiled Fang

Eyes: Seven Spiral-Type Ocular Cores

Abilities: Neural Distortion, Camouflage, Environmental Blending, Psychic Scream

Status: Aggressive – Fear Index: High

Notes: "Even A-rank hunters tread lightly. Above A-ranks… simply ignore him."

Lucien didn't move.

A ripple danced through the shadows. One blink—and it vanished.

He didn't draw his sword.

Instead, his eyes faintly shimmered crimson.

> [Eye of Data: Activated]

Layers peeled away.

He saw the shimmer of the beast's flesh even beneath its camouflage. Saw how it coiled, slithered, danced like smoke, hiding its seven eyes among the branches.

Then—Shakal struck.

It didn't roar. It didn't hiss. It was silence personified, a blur of death descending from above with spiraling eyes and serrated fangs aimed at his throat.

Lucien moved.

His sword flashed up just in time. The steel screamed against skin that felt like mist and stone at once.

One cut. Another dodge. A roll through leaves that hissed like snakes.

It was a battle of reflex and precision.

Shakal didn't fight like a beast. It fought like memory—slipping through reality, striking from impossible angles.

Lucien's arms ached. His legs bled. His mana thinned.

And still, he smiled.

Because it was learning.

And so was he.

Then he saw it. A moment. A flicker.

One of Shakal's eyes twitched.

Its spiral faltered.

Now.

Lucien stepped forward. Not back. Not sideways. Forward.

His blade came down.

One clean arc.

> [Devour: Activated]

The blade didn't just cut—it consumed.

A scream erupted—not sound, but sensation. Like air being flayed alive.

Shakal's form trembled, twisted, then dissolved into shadowy threads.

Lucien caught his breath as his system pinged.

> [Shakal's Trait: "Neural Echo" – Acquired]

Status: Discarded (Not compatible with current Trait framework)

[Shadow Soldier Created: Shakal – Bound]

The shadows gathered.

A faint silhouette formed behind him—Shakal's shape now bent to his will.

Another soldier in the ranks.

Lucien exhaled, chest heaving.

Victory always had a price.

---

The forest paused.

For the first time since he entered, it accepted him.

Leaves parted. Roots shifted.

And then—a path appeared.

Woven from golden moss and deep blue light, it led to a circular clearing wrapped in silence.

There it waited.

Not a glowing gem. Not a spell scroll. Not even a treasure chest.

Just a sword.

A weapon wrapped in aged black cloth. Chains bound its hilt and sheath like a prisoner sealed by time. It radiated nothing—and yet, everything.

It was as if the world around it bowed in reverence.

Lucien stepped closer. The air grew colder. The wind stilled.

The sword whispered. Not in words. In emotion.

Loneliness. Hunger. Restraint.

Power—barely contained.

Lucien didn't reach for it yet.

Instead, he stood there—watching, studying, respecting.

A soul weapon wasn't just a tool.

It was a pact. A test.

And this one… had been waiting too long.

He smirked, red eyes flickering.

"Next," he whispered, stepping back slightly.

His voice held no fear.

Only promise.

"You'll have your turn."

---

To be continued...