Chapter 24

Cold wind whipped across Aslan's face as he sprinted through the forest. His body trembled—not from exhaustion, but from something far more painful: loss. In his arms, Grandpa Erwin had taken his final breath, entrusting his last gift to Aslan. But there was no time to mourn. The old man's final words still echoed in his mind.

"Aslan... you've given me such a precious gift. Just having you around has been the best thing I've experienced in these past eight years."

Aslan bit his lip, fighting the ache in his chest. Every step through the muddy ground felt heavy, as if a piece of his soul had been left behind in that cave with the old man. But he couldn't stop. Grandpa Erwin had given him a mission: run north, don't look back, don't stop.

The forest felt eerily quiet—quieter than usual. No monsters growling, no wind rustling through the leaves. All that remained was the pounding of his heartbeat and his increasingly labored breath. Once again, Aslan was drowning in grief. Since the day he got lost in the woods eight years ago, Grandpa Erwin had always been there—guiding him, training him to fight, scolding him whenever he got reckless.

A man who was once a stranger had slowly become a father, a friend, and an irreplaceable mentor.

Flashes of memories rushed through his mind.

"Are you really sure you don't wanna be my student, kid?!"

"Haa…! Wah~ wah~ wah~ This dumb kid probably doesn't even own a mirror at home."

"Getting mad over a few Tier 4 monster cores? Tch, how annoying!"

"Maybe… if there's one regret, it's that I won't be around to see you grow into a strong man."

A branch snapped behind him. Aslan froze. His eyes scanned the area, alert. But there was nothing—just trees standing still, watching him in silence.

He tightened his grip and bowed his head slightly. "Grandpa… I swear, I won't let your sacrifice be in vain."

Taking a deep breath, Aslan started running again. There was no time for sorrow. He had to get stronger—for himself, for the future, and to make sure Grandpa Erwin's sacrifice meant something.

---

Deep in the silent forest, two masked figures stood on a high tree branch, watching a pack of monsters roam below. The man, dressed in a black cloak fluttering in the breeze, had his hand on a dagger strapped to his belt. Beside him, the woman wore plain, dark clothes, a sword gripped tightly in her hands.

Both wore black wooden masks. But Sipria's mask had no eye holes and was perfectly smooth.

"You take the one in front. I'll cover you in case anything unexpected happens," the man said, his voice calm and deep.

The masked woman nodded silently and stepped to the edge of the branch. She gripped her sword tighter, focusing on a larger monster—one covered in thick fur, with a horn protruding from its forehead. Her breath steadied, and then—

She leapt, sword slicing through the air, landing a clean strike across the monster's neck. It dropped instantly, unable to make a sound. But before they could move on, a sudden rumble echoed from afar. The ground shook. Branches swayed. The monsters below scattered in panic.

"What's going on?" the woman asked, suddenly tense.

The man narrowed his eyes, watching the monsters flee in every direction—like something worse was coming.

Without hesitation, he jumped down and landed softly. He raised his hand, and the daggers on his belt floated into the air, orbiting him like a swarm of angry bees.

"Let's clean them up before this gets out of hand. Don't let any escape."

With a swift motion, the blades flew toward the panicking monsters. Each hit with precision—throats were cut, skulls were pierced. Screams rang out, followed by thuds as bodies dropped in piles.

The masked woman followed. She jumped down and swung her sword at the remaining creatures. Her movements were swift and ruthless. In seconds, the area was soaked in blood.

But something bigger was coming.

From the shadows of the trees, dozens of towering monsters with glowing red eyes emerged. Their breath was heavy, fur drenched in sweat and blood. But what stood out wasn't their size—it was the look in their eyes. They weren't charging to fight.

They were running away.

"If monsters that powerful are this scared... we might be dealing with something way out of our league," the masked man said, his tone suddenly serious.

The woman gulped. "So… what's the plan?"

"Run!" he shouted, already turning to flee.

"Hey! Wait! Can't you fight it? You took down monsters like those before!" she shouted after him.

"I can handle a few Tier 4s, sure. Even a Tier 5, with enough planning and luck."

"But whatever scared off that pack… it's at least Tier 6. Monsters at that level are smart—smarter than most humans, even. There's no way I can take on something like that right now," he said, still sprinting.

What they didn't know was that the current monster stampede was triggered by Aslan's sprint through the forest. Before he died, Grandpa Erwin had imbued Aslan with his aura—causing monsters to mistake him for a Tier 7 creature, just like Erwin had been.

That's why Aslan's escape had been so smooth.

But that illusion would only last for 12 hours.

To be continued...