14# The Forest

Silence ruled the forest, broken only by the heavy footsteps of the two figures walking side by side. They had been walking for hours—maybe kilometers—without exchanging a single word. With every step, the forest grew denser, the branches closing in like claws, hiding the sky and blocking any light trying to slip through.

Clint's body felt heavier with each step. It wasn't because of the Mantra—it strengthened his muscles, senses, and stamina—but because of his mental exhaustion. What weighed him down now wasn't his body... but the weight of the lives he had taken.

Blood. Eyes staring. Screams. Begging hands. The smell of death seemed burned into his skin, even after hours of walking.

The Mantra pushed his body forward. But no Mantra could strengthen a shattered mind.

— "There." — Darius pointed with his chin.

Ahead, a small river cut through the forest. The crystal-clear water reflected the sunset, which barely peeked through the dense canopy.

Without another word, Darius threw off his cloak, tossed his sword against a rock, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

— "Get those filthy clothes off. Wash them. And wash yourself... you stink of death." — he said as he walked to the riverbank.

Without waiting, he jumped into the river. A splash, then silence. A few seconds later, he surfaced—holding a massive fish in his mouth, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

— "This one's mine. If you want one, go catch yours." — he tossed the fish onto the shore with a half-smirk.

Clint stood there, staring, completely baffled.

— "How... how did you do that...?"

— "You're hungry? Figure it out." — Darius shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

Clint took a deep breath, stripped off his bloodstained, sweat-drenched clothes, and stepped into the water. The cold hit him like a slap, making his entire body shudder—but the sensation was... oddly relieving. For a few moments, it felt like the water could wash away not only the dirt but also some of what weighed on his soul.

He scrubbed his clothes against a rock, trying to get rid of the stains—even knowing some would never come out. Once finished, he spread the clothes over some branches to dry and turned back to the river.

He tried. For hours.

He dove, chased fish, tried to grab them with his hands, even smashed the water with rocks. He even tried crafting a spear… all useless.

The fish were fast. They darted away as if mocking his hunger.

The sun disappeared over the horizon. Night fell—cold and silent. And Clint... was still empty-handed.

His stomach hurt. A familiar pain. Like the ones he felt in the alleys... days and days without food.

Looking around, he found a short tree with small reddish fruits. He sniffed—nothing strange.

He bit.

— "Ugh..."

The taste was horrible. Like rotten meat mixed with rust and mold. He almost spat it out, but... clenched his jaw, shut his eyes, and swallowed.

Either this... or starving.

He ate more. And more. Until the stomach pain dulled—or maybe the nausea overpowered the hunger. He wasn't sure.

When he returned, Darius sat calmly, chewing his already-roasted fish by a small campfire.

Without a word, Clint sat a few meters away. His body trembled. Cold. Tired. Mind shattered.

Darius glanced sideways at him, then gestured toward a pile of branches nearby.

— "Gather some wood. It's going to get colder tonight."

Without arguing, Clint stood and began collecting sticks, dry branches, and smaller logs. He stacked them into a decent pile near where he planned to sleep.

Once he finished, Darius closed his eyes for a moment. His lips moved in whispers—too quiet for Clint to understand.

Suddenly — FWOOSH — the pile ignited, as if an invisible torch had lit it from within.

Clint's eyes widened.

— "W-What was that...?!" — he stammered, shocked.

Darius opened one eye, a subtle grin forming.

— "That's... a talk for another time, kid."

Lying back against a rock, he folded his arms behind his head and added:

— "Now sleep. Tomorrow\... it really begins."