The journey from his hidden cabin to Althea would take a normal traveler half a day, but Clei's D-rank physique allowed him to cover the distance in just six hours.
As he walked, the dense canopy of the Great Forest gradually gave way to familiar landmarks. He passed the clearing where he had first learned to cast a Fireball, and the stream where Silas had forced him to meditate underwater for hours.
But as he neared the eastern trail, his steps slowed. He turned his gaze toward a distant, misty hilltop covered in a sea of blooming red spider lilies. Beneath the flowers lay a hidden spring, and within that spring was the lair of a Crimson-Maned Liger.
It was a Rank 3 Veteran Aetherborn, but Silas had recognized the faint, mythical bloodline sleeping within its veins. It was just one of the many deadly challenges Silas had ordered him to battle to push him to his limits.
The memory made Clei's hand drift to the pale scar on his neck. The Liger's claws had nearly torn his throat out during their first clash. In return, Clei's desperate, point-blank Fireblast had permanently burned the left half of the beast's face.
They would have ended the fight in mutual destruction that day, both collapsing in the dirt too exhausted to land a killing blow, if not for Silas's last-minute intervention pulling Clei away. Since then, a silent, unspoken bond of warriors had formed between them.
As Clei stared at the hilltop, the hairs on his arms stood up. He could feel it—a heavy, threatening gaze piercing through the mist. The Liger was watching him leave.
"Old friend, I am leaving," Clei whispered to the wind. "I hope when I return, you will be even stronger."
Silas had once said that given time, the Liger's bloodline would awaken. Clei smiled faintly, turned his back on the hill, and continued his march.
—
A few hours later, the trees finally thinned out. The dirt path transitioned into a paved stone road, and the wooden palisade walls of Althea appeared in the distance.
Clei's breath hitched. His feet stopped moving.
A suffocating wave of fear crashed over him. His heart hammered against his ribs as the memories he had buried for a decade violently resurfaced. The venomous glares, the stones thrown at his head, and the cold rain.
But beneath the terror, a quiet, stubborn longing burned in his chest. Why did they turn on me? he wondered, the same burning question he had asked himself a thousand times.
He thought of the kind priests and nuns who had raised him. Were they still okay? He thought of the small children playing in the church courtyard. Had they grown up?
And then, the thought he tried hardest to suppress: Is she still here?
"Hey! Halt!"
Clei's instincts flared. He turned to see two village guards in worn leather armor marching toward him, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
"What are you doing loitering on the main road?" the older guard barked, eyeing Clei's all-black attire, the lower-face mask, and the longsword at his hip. "You look like a damn bandit."
Clei felt a spike of social anxiety. He awkwardly reached into his pouch and pulled out a small iron badge, handing it over. It was an Adventurer Guild identification token Silas had procured for him from a neighboring town years ago.
The guard squinted at the engraving. "Clei Vane. E-Rank Fire Mage."
Clei hadn't updated his registration in years, so it still listed him as an E-Rank. The guard's tense posture immediately relaxed. They had seen plenty of eccentric adventurers with weird attire passing through.
"Alright, E-Rank," the guard said, handing the badge back. "But pull your hood down and take your hand off your sword. Don't scare the villagers."
"Understood. Thank you," Clei said, his voice muffled.
He adjusted his hood, revealing his auburn hair but keeping his mask firmly in place, and walked past them. As he did, he caught the tail end of their conversation.
"... Told you, the beasts are getting aggressive again," the younger guard muttered. "A pack of them attacked Miller's farm just last night. Tore the livestock to shreds."
Clei's frown deepened beneath his mask. Aggressive beasts? It bothered him, but the guards were already walking away. He took a deep breath, pushing the unease aside. He had to face his fears first.
—
He walked through the gates and into the outskirts of Althea. The smell of woodsmoke, pine resin, and manure hit him like a physical blow. The distant, rhythmic clang of the blacksmith's hammer echoed through the air.
Almost nothing had changed. The roads were still the same packed dirt paths he remembered, and the same crooked fences lined the gardens. But there were subtle differences—the village had grown. More houses crowded the edges, the church had been expanded with a new stone wing, and the central well had been reinforced with fresh timber.
At the edge of the village stood the white-stone church. It was positioned right near the entrance, its tall steeple pointing toward the sky as if declaring that the Radiant God was watching over Althea.
The Holy Church, dedicated to the Radiant God, was now the most prominent religion in the Human Realm. It hadn't always been this way—before the Umbral Blight, it was just one of many faiths. But during the catastrophe twenty years ago, it was the Church's Holy Magic that proved to be the most effective counter to the mindless Hollowed. Since then, the Church's influence had skyrocketed, eclipsing all other religions. Now, almost every village and city in the Human Realm had a chapel, acting as a spiritual ward and a beacon of hope against the cursed plague.
Clei stared at the familiar white stone doors. His goal today was to find Teresa and her students before they left for Anatolia. The easiest way to find outsiders was to ask the clergy; the church always knew everything happening in the village.
It was high noon, and the streets were mostly empty. Villagers were likely resting inside their homes to escape the midday sun.
With heavy steps, Clei pushed open the wooden doors of the church and slipped inside.
The interior was cool and smelled of incense. His footsteps were so light, honed by years of hunting in the forest, that they made absolutely no sound against the stone floor.
Near the altar, a young nun in simple white robes was kneeling on a bench, arranging prayer books.
"Hello," Clei said, his voice quiet. "Can I ask you a question?"
The nun jumped violently, dropping a heavy book with a loud thud. She spun around, her eyes widening in absolute terror as she took in his dark clothes, the mask, and the sword.
"P-Please don't hurt me!" she squeaked, throwing her hands over her head. "I'm just a poor nun! I don't have any money!"
Clei blinked, feeling a deep flush of embarrassment. He quickly raised his hands and pulled out his adventurer emblem, showing it to her. "It's a misunderstanding. I'm an adventurer, not a bandit. I'm just looking for some people from the academy."
The nun peeked through her fingers, eyeing him with deep suspicion. She studied the emblem, then his youthful face visible above the mask, and slowly lowered her hands. He didn't seem to mean any harm, just looked ridiculously intimidating.
"Oh... oh my. I'm sorry," she stammered, pressing a hand to her chest. "I'm Sister Clara. You just... you appeared out of nowhere."
"My apologies," Clei said gently. "I'm looking for a group from Ignis Academy in Anatolia. They're staying in the village."
Sister Clara relaxed, offering a warm, apologetic smile. "Oh, the academy expedition! Yes, they are very nice young people. They've even helped the church with some repairs. They rented a room at the Boar & Barrel lodge."
Clei felt a wave of relief. "Thank you. Do you know where they are right now?"
Sister Clara's smile faltered, and she shook her head. "Actually, they left in a hurry about an hour ago. They went out to the eastern farmlands."
"The farmlands?" Clei asked.
"Yes," Clara said, her voice dropping to a worried whisper. "A herd of Rank 2 Aetherborns suddenly started rampaging near the crops. The village guards were overwhelmed, so the academy group went to help."
Clei's eyes narrowed beneath his mask.
The aggressive beasts the guards had mentioned. A sudden rampage of Rank 2 Aetherborns? That was extremely unnatural.
A suffocating tension gripped his heart, his instincts screaming that something terrible was about to happen.
"Thank you, Sister Clara," Clei said, already turning on his heel.
Without another word, he sprinted out of the church, heading straight for the eastern farmlands.
Sister Clara stood frozen in the doorway, watching the dark-clad figure vanish down the street with inhuman speed. She blinked, then muttered to herself, "What in the Radiant God's name is up with that guy..."