Chapter 19

The choice was made. Rhys ran.

He ran with a desperation he hadn't felt since the moment the shockwave from the fight between those god-like cultivators had thrown him against a wall.

His heart hammered against his ribs in a frantic, wild rhythm. He had made a mistake by choosing a path with an almost zero percent chance of survival.

'Is running away still a choice?' Rhys knew the answer.

[The scale of the upcoming beast tide, as far as I have analysed, will completely swallow the province. Your only possible escape will be to leave the province.]

'Leave?' he sighed.

How could he leave when the only way to the next province was by crossing the Whisperwood? No one, not even the province's first Tier 4 cultivator, had dared to do this.

The deepest parts of the Whisperwood were where even Feral's were hunted. A Body Tempering weakling like him would die the moment he stepped in there.

Unless he got a profession core for Navigation, Rhys dared not go into the inner rings of the Whisperwood, let alone cross it.

So his two choices were either to defend a city against the upcoming monsters or to enter the labyrinth.

The choice was clear. He chose the latter.

At least in the labyrinth, there was a level cap. He wouldn't need to worry about fighting monsters far higher in cultivation than him.

Another possibility occurred to his mind: hiding somewhere no monster would stumble upon. But he quickly canceled that idea because that would depend on his luck.

He didn't want a fate that depended solely on luck.

'Am I an idiot?' he asked himself, his feet pounding the forest floor.

[The Host's intelligence quotient is within normal parameters. However, the Host's decision-making process is frequently illogical and driven by suboptimal emotional responses.]

'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' Rhys grumbled internally.

The System's bluntness was, in a strange way, comforting. It was a constant in a world that had suddenly become terrifyingly uncertain.

Running toward a slim chance of survival while knowing that thousands of innocent people in the towns behind him were left defenceless felt worse than death.

It was a stupid, sentimental reason. But it was his reason. And now he had to live with it. Or, more likely, die with it.

'The weak have no voice in their choice, only fuel for their reasoning.'

The next two days were a blur of motion. Rhys pushed his Void-Tempered body to its limits, a black-clad wraith streaking through the dense forest.

He didn't stop for scenic views or leisurely meals. His perfected Navigation guided him along the most direct path, a straight line that ignored trails and terrain.

He vaulted over fallen trees, scrambled up steep, rocky inclines, and waded through frigid streams without breaking his stride.

He ate on the move, chewing on dried meat and energy-rich herbs he foraged along the way.

At night, he took only short, two-hour rests in the high branches of ancient trees, shielded by a simple concealment formation he could set up in minutes.

The forest grew wilder. The trees became taller and more menacing. The air grew colder, carrying the sharp scent of pine and wet stone.

He was entering the true northern territories, a land few humans ever trod.

On the afternoon of the third day, he stopped by a small, clear stream to refill his waterskin. The area was unnaturally quiet. No birds sang. No insects chirped.

It was the same unsettling silence he had noticed before, but more profound, more absolute. As he knelt by the water's edge, his enhanced senses picked up something.

A flicker of movement.

It was faint, almost nonexistent, and it carried no killing intent. It wasn't a beast.

He instantly became a statue, his body blending with the shadows of the ferns around him. His eyes scanned the area.

There, on the other side of the stream, sitting on a moss-covered rock, was a girl.

She was beautiful, but not in a way that radiated the beauty of youth. This was different.

It was a beauty that seemed to transcend the mortal world itself, as if she were a painting of a goddess come to life.

She couldn't have been much older than him. She was dressed in simple, yet immaculately clean, white linen robes that seemed entirely out of place in the rugged wilderness.

Her long hair was the colour of spun moonlight, and her skin was pale, almost translucent.

She was staring into the flowing water with an expression of mild curiosity, as if she were a tourist admiring a pleasant view rather than a lone traveler in one of the most dangerous forests in the province.

She seemed completely unaware of her surroundings, yet Rhys felt an instinctual sense of danger that he had felt when watching the god-like cultivators before. She was an anomaly.

'System, analyse her,' he commanded silently, his heart beginning to pound in panic.

He waited for the familiar blue screen. He waited for the data on her cultivation, her skills, her identity.

Nothing happened.

'System?' he pushed again, a flicker of confusion turning into cold dread.

[….]

The System was silent. Just… nothing. It was as if he had asked it to analyse the air itself. No... even air had something to be analysed.

Rhys's blood ran cold.

'You can't analyse her, can you? You told me you can analyse anything.'

[Yes. There is nothing in the world that the System cannot analyse.]

'Unless…' Rhys finished the thought, his mind reeling. 'Unless she isn't from the mortal world.'

[".."]

His first instinct was to run. To turn around and sprint in the opposite direction until his legs gave out.

Every survival instinct he possessed screamed at him that this being was on a level so far beyond him that he was less than an ant. He was a speck of dust.

He decided to believe his instincts. Slowly, carefully, he took a step back, keeping to the shadows.

As if sensing his focused attention and his intent to flee, the girl slowly lifted her head. Her eyes met his across the stream.

They were a startling, vibrant shade of amethyst, and they held an ancient, knowing quality that did not belong on a young face. She wasn't surprised to see him.

And then, her eyes changed. The pupils, once round, elongated and shifted, transforming into glowing, crescent moons.

She offered him a small, polite smile, but it didn't reach her otherworldly eyes.

Rhys turned around and ran.

'Mate, she is too beautifully dangerous, terrifyingly hot.'

The girl watched his retreating back, keeping the same smile.

"So," she muttered, her voice a whisper that carried across the stream as clearly as a shout, "this is the child you left behind... bitch?"

Luckily, Rhys was distant enough that he only heard the word 'bitch'.

'Did she just call me a bitch?'

[System analysis points to the fact that it was directed at a female entity.]

'There are no other females in this area except her. Perhaps you...'

[I am gender-neutral.]

'...True.'