"Urgh!" He doubled over suddenly, his dagger drawn by instinct before he could locate the source of the attack. Another beast—one he hadn't seen, heard, or smelled—had lunged from the thick mist. Sharp claws tore through his back with brutal depth. Hot blood poured over his skin without warning. "What the hell! Does this world attack thoughts themselves?!" he thought.
He responded with savage speed. He spun on the beast—a black muscular mass the size of a man, with madly gleaming yellow eyes—and drove his dagger violently into what resembled a skull. The metal struck something rock-hard, and a jolt of pain shot up his arm to his elbow. The beast didn't react. It pulled back, its wounded hand bleeding profusely.
Then more appeared.
It wasn't one beast. It was a pack. Four... five... maybe six. Creatures of varying forms but all human-sized, moving with terrifying speed—some crawling on all fours, others leaping between trees like rabid apes. They surrounded him, closing in gradually, their yellow eyes glowing with hunger and cruelty.
"Where's the damned System now?!" he snarled internally. Magic sealed, shadow-summoning skills useless at his current level... all he had was his combat experience and limited equipment.
The battle erupted. Niklaus moved like lightning, dodging claws that tore the air with terrifying whistles, countering with strikes from his dagger and knife. But each beast had its own style:
The first opened its wide maw and unleashed a bone-shaking shriek. Niklaus felt paralysis creeping into his limbs for a moment—he fought it with every ounce of will.
The second was like a moving metal statue, its strikes splitting the earth like hammers.
The third was the most terrifying. It danced around him with unnatural, joint-twisting movements, then suddenly lunged, its teeth trying to tear a chunk from his shoulder.
His blood watered the earth. New wounds opened on his arms, chest, legs. His black cloak—now a torn rag soaked in blood—clung to his skin like a soiled bandage.
Time lost meaning inside this mad forest. The sun had set and risen many times, but he wasn't sure. All he knew was that the dim light shifted occasionally—from pale gray to dark gray—as if the forest breathed its own cycles. How long had it been? Hours? Days? He could no longer tell. His body was a broken hourglass, and the sand bled from his wounds instead of falling.
He fought in a vicious cycle of pain and exhaustion. The beasts didn't die easily, and they didn't retreat. Every time he wounded one, two more appeared. Every time one fell, three rose from its shadow. The Shadow Summoning skill—he used it in moments of desperation, trying to summon a fleeting shadow barrier or a strike from the darkness—but it drained his spirit voraciously. Each summon was like scooping out his life energy with a spoon, leaving behind dizziness and a heaviness in his limbs.
He had killed four of them. Or five. He'd lost count. But they were still there. Three. Four. Maybe more. Their yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness between trees, watching, studying, planning. They were smarter than he'd expected. They didn't attack stupidly. They struck then retreated, bit then waited, consuming him slowly.
"You stinking beasts..." he muttered between clenched teeth, raising his bloodstained dagger. "Come on then. Let's finish this farce."
They lunged together this time—three at once. Niklaus moved like a machine, his exhausted body refusing to obey but his will insisting. He dodged one's claws with a painful bend that nearly tore his shoulder. He twisted to face the other, but the beast's shriek pierced his ears like arrows, and he felt paralysis creeping into his legs for a moment. He fought it with everything he had left and stabbed wildly toward its throat. The dagger pierced soft flesh. The beast fell groaning, but there was still another that had arrived.
The blow was like lightning on his back. He heard a crack—rib bone? Spine? He didn't care. He spun with savage speed and drove his dagger into the beast's eye before it could strike back. The beast staggered, then collapsed heavily.
Two remained.
Niklaus knelt on one knee, breathing hard, blood streaming from his forehead and mixing with cold sweat. He looked at them through his clouded crimson eyes. They hesitated. They had seen their comrades fall. But their pride—or hunger—was stronger than fear.
One lunged first, its mouth open like a pit of hell. But this time, Niklaus had anticipated it. He rolled under the attack and stabbed upward—the dagger pierced the beast's lower jaw and emerged from the top of its skull. The beast fell like a lump of meat, twitching for a moment then stilling.
One remained.
The metal-skinned beast was the largest, the strongest, and the most cautious. It had watched from a distance, studying, waiting for a moment of weakness. Now, after all its followers had fallen, it advanced slowly. Each step shook the ground beneath Niklaus's trembling feet.
"Come on..." Niklaus whispered, his voice hoarse. "Come on..."
With all the strength he had left, he leaped toward the beast. It wasn't a calculated attack—it was desperation incarnate. The beast raised its claw to strike, but Niklaus was faster in this moment of madness. He slid under the beast's arm, climbed onto its metal chest, and drove his dagger into its neck—the only soft point between the plates of metal skin.
Stab. Twice. Three times.
The beast swayed, let out a choked growl, then crashed onto its side, shaking the ground. Niklaus fell with it, rolling onto the earth, his entire body screaming with unbearable pain.
Silence.
The five beasts lay scattered around him, their corpses mixing with his blood and the mud. He had defeated them. All of them. But he felt no victory—only a deep emptiness, endless exhaustion, and the awareness that this was just the first wave.
He raised his trembling hand to his magical ring. The last potion. A small glass vial—a medium-grade healing potion. He knew it would heal his external wounds, stop the bleeding, but it wouldn't touch the internal pain, nor the draining exhaustion, nor restore the energy he'd spent summoning shadows repeatedly. And worse... it was the last one.
He looked around. Beast corpses. Thick mist. Pressing silence. The forest was waiting. He had no choice.
He broke the seal with his teeth and swallowed the contents in one gulp.
The healing was instantaneous and deceptive. Wounds closed as if time had reversed. Bleeding stopped. But the pain... remained. The pain of torn muscles, the pain of an exhausted spirit, the pain of a head about to explode. And the exhaustion... heavier than a mountain. He collapsed face-first into the mud mixed with his blood, and the ash from the burning potions he'd used mid-battle—which had burned part of what he'd tried to consume—scattered from his mouth. The cold earth beneath his cheek was cold and sticky.
[Delayed System Notification: Defeated pack of "Shadow Pack" beasts ✅]
[Reward: You have become master of the defeated beasts. They can be summoned as part of the Shadow Summoning skill +240 points.]
[Information on defeated beasts:]
Shadow Pack Beasts:
Human-sized beasts, powerful and mad.
Notable members:
· Vorash: Dismantles the body from the mouth like a book.
· Shirog: Screams to paralyze its victim then pounces.
· Razam: Metal-skinned, tears apart like a digging machine.
· Naga Kush: Dances madly before gnawing its victim.
· Ertho: A dead soldier who never misses a strike—tears and smiles.
Traits:
· Savagely intelligent, sets traps.
· Attack in groups and fight among themselves for dominance.
· Don't kill quickly... they cut and tear slowly.
Niklaus, the last remnants of his consciousness fading, heard the notification in the farthest corners of his mind, drowning in darkness. He smiled a twisted smile, stained with blood and mud.
"This... wretched... System..." he muttered, his words choking. "Telling me... now...?!"
His attempt to lift his head failed. His neck muscles were like molten iron, refusing to obey. But he found enough strength to curse the rest of his sentence, a hoarse voice like spitting ash:
"When... I find... who made you... I'll shove... your orders... and your chatter... up his backside... along with these... pathetic... beasts..."
He compared it to Ethan in his clouded mind. The chatterbox who at least knew when to shut up and when to move. This System... was worse. It was talkative but useless—appearing when it wanted, arriving late when needed.
Then... darkness. Finally. The loathsome, silent world of the Forest of Death closed in. His bloodied body, covered in mud, clotted blood, and ash, lay motionless on the ground.