Three years later...
The skies over the Bastion were gray. Not with rain, but with silence.
Every soldier was present. Lined in ranks. From green cadets to hardened sergeants, they stood at attention on the stone parade ground. At the center stood the Captain, flanked by his lieutenants. A rare gathering—one reserved for only the most exceptional.
"Veteran Reynar Aragon," the Captain's voice rang out, heavy and sure, "you have completed your training in the Bastion. Today, you graduate."
A pause. Then:
"Congratulations."
CLAP. CLAP. CLAP…
The sound echoed across the courtyard—slow, deliberate. Dozens of hands joined in. But there was no cheering. No celebration. Just respect. And a flicker of something else in their eyes.
They were all watching me. Reynar Aragon. The last to wear the veteran insignia from this cycle. The only one who made it this far.
It's been three years since the Bastion fell silent. Since the incident left the training grounds drenched in blood and the dormitories empty. I stayed. I endured. I trained when no one else did. I was alone.
But now? The Bastion breathes again. New cadets fill the halls. Hope lives.
And I'm walking away from it.
The Captain stepped forward. His coat swayed in the cold wind.
"Reynar."
"Sir."
"What path do you choose?"
My answer came without hesitation.
"Scouter."
A murmur spread among the ranks. Nods. Of course.
"Good." The Captain smiled. "I've already reached out to the other camps. We'll place you in a seasoned scouting team—veterans from the northern sector. You'll be leading field missions in no time. Your combat record makes that an easy—"
"Captain."
His voice trailed off. I didn't raise my tone, but it cut through the air like a blade.
He turned to face me fully. The others leaned in slightly, curious.
"What is it?"
I took a breath. Calm. Final.
"I'm not joining any team."
A silence fell over the parade ground.Even the wind seemed to stop.
"I'm going solo."
The murmuring started again. Low whispers. Confused glances. A sergeant furrowed his brow. One of the lieutenants looked at the Captain, as if asking if they'd heard wrong.
"Solo?" someone repeated under their breath.
The Captain blinked. His voice hardened.
"That's not an option."
I stood firm.
"It is now."
He frowned. The silence between us was sharp.
"You think this is a game?" His voice rose—not in anger, but warning. "Out there, alone, there's no one to pull you back. No one to bury your body if things go wrong. No backup. No rescue."
I didn't move. Didn't speak.
He stared at me for a moment longer. Then looked past me, at the soldiers watching in stunned silence.
"You've proven yourself more than most, Reynar. But this… this is foolish."
Still, I said nothing.
The Captain exhaled through his nose, the weight of command pressing into his shoulders. His gaze dropped for a second. Then came back to mine, steel behind it.
"...Fine."
He turned away with a sharp motion.
"You want to walk your own path?" he said. "Then walk it. But know this—once you leave the Bastion alone, there's no looking back."
I nodded once.
"I wasn't planning to."
The Captain turned his back on me.
Orders were dismissed. The ceremony dissolved.
But no one moved.
I walked—no, marched—past them. Through the rows of cadets, sergeants, lieutenants. Past the drills, the stone walls, the banners fluttering in the wind. No cheers followed me. No claps. Just silence.
And whispers.
"That's him…"
"Arizona Forest…"
"...the Antares Incident…"
"He's the one."
"The Deadman"
I kept walking. I'd heard it before. The name they gave me.
The only survivor of a mission no one returned from. A squad wiped out to the last man… except one. Me. Some say I ran. Some say I killed the creature. No one really knows.
All they remember is the forest, the fire… and the blood.
They gave that tragedy a name. One that'll stay in Pandora's history forever.
And they gave me a name, too.
I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it.
But it followed me like a shadow.
I reached the gate. The wind was cold. My boots stepped off the Bastion's ground for the last time.
And still, I heard them—behind me, behind the stone and the silence and the years of training—still whispering that cursed name.
Deadman
I never cared for titles.
You don't survive what I did and come out proud of it. There's no glory in being the last one standing. No badge for watching your friends die. You just keep breathing. Step by step. Scar by scar.
Let them whisper. Let them stare.
I walk alone now—not because I want to.
But because I already did once… and I came back.
The gates of the Bastion groaned shut behind me, sealing years of blood, sweat, and silence in their iron jaws.
I stood still for a moment, feeling the wind bite at my coat.The world beyond was vast. Open. Indifferent.
Footsteps approached behind me—measured, heavy. I didn't have to turn to know it was him.
"You're really doing this, huh?" the captain muttered, voice rough from too many years shouting orders and burying names."No team. No banner. Just you."
I nodded once.
He sighed, like a man too tired to argue again. Then handed me a sealed parchment. Its wax bore the sigil of the kingdom.
"Go north. To Nasar—the capital," he said, staring out at the horizon like it might swallow me whole."That's where The Charter is. You'll need to register as a licensed Scouter before you start getting contracts. They'll probably ask questions. Don't answer any."
He hesitated.
"You want to walk alone? Fine. But don't forget—out there, no one's watching your back. No barracks. No drills.Just you… and whatever's waiting in the dark."
I looked down at the parchment. Then up at the sky.
It was grey. Always grey.
"I'm used to the dark," I said quietly.
And with that, I mounted my horse...and rode toward the capital.
The Bastion faded behind me like a bad dream, swallowed by distance and mist. My horse trotted in silence, hooves muffled by frost-bitten soil. I didn't look back.
The road ahead was long—north to Nasar. Two week's ride through wilderness and ruin. Forests that remembered war. Hills scarred by something older.
I traveled in silence.
No marching boots beside me.
No campfire chatter.
Just the wind, the cold, and the creak of saddle leather.
Nights were worse.
The stars hung like distant, dead things, and every tree felt like it was watching. I set up camp far from the road, wrapped in my cloak beneath leafless branches. The fire was small, barely more than a flicker. Enough to see, not enough to be seen.
On the seventh night.
…
I sat with my back to a rock, cloak draped over my shoulders, sword leaning beside me. The fire crackled softly.
My mind was stuck on that day.Those ember eyes. Those twisted thorns. That sound.
I closed my eyes, not to sleep—just to rest. Even then, part of me listened. For breath. For movement. For the sound that didn't belong.
And that's when I felt it.
Not a sound.
Not a breeze.
A pressure.
As if the forest had stopped breathing.
I opened my eyes.
And it was there.
Not standing.
Lurking.
A shape hunched in the dark—wrong in every way.
At first, it looked like a shadow given form, crouched low on powerful limbs. Its skin was dark, almost wet, with streaks of violet pulsing faintly beneath the surface. Long, jagged spines lined its back, shifting ever so slightly like they were alive. Its head was elongated, jaw half-opened, teeth like shards of black glass. But it was the eyes that locked me in place.
Glowing.
Not red. Not gold.
Something in-between. Like dying embers in a pit that never stopped burning.
Its tail curled behind it—thick, barbed, twitching slowly. Controlled. Calculated.
It didn't growl.
It didn't charge.
It just stared from the edge of the firelight, its body nearly still.
Waiting.
Like it had been following me for days.
Like this was planned.
I stayed still.
One hand moved toward my blade.
The other toward my shadow.
And...
SLASH—
My instincts howled. Blade drawn before thought could catch up.
Steel screamed through the air, aiming clean for its throat—
But nothing.
The beast slipped under it, muscles coiling like a serpent. It launched itself back, claws scraping dirt and stones as it skidded to a halt seven meters away.
I straightened up
My voice was low, almost a breath.
"All this time… a whole week without a single beast? That was never luck."
My gaze locked with the creature's glowing crimson eyes.
"It was you."
It stood still, almost like it understood. Like it was listening.
"You've been following me from the beginning."
Its breath hissed through a jagged maw of bone and tendon.
"Black spines. Four red eyes. And that disgusting stench."
A slow smile crept onto Reynar's face.
"Oh f*ck… you're a Nargath."
Nargath:
-Immense strength
-Immense aggility and speed
-Darkvision
-Venomous
…your poison is Radant, no.78 of the 182 deadliest poisons in Pandora…
…Effects??
…
I don't remember…
…Well better not find out the wrong way… Surely a flawless predator."
The wind died.
The mood turned heavy. The air, thick as smoke.
They stood still.
Two killers. One silence.
Waiting.
Who would move first?
Things stirred in Reynar's mind. Useless, he thought.
'First thing in a battle against a chaos-class monster…
…activate Mana Zone.'
Mana zone: A technique where the user spreads their mana evenly throughout their entire body. By doing so, they reinforce every muscle, every limb, every nerve—eliminating weak points and keeping their body perfectly balanced and battle-ready. It turns the body into a fortress. No blind spots. No soft targets. Just raw, hardened efficiency.
Reynar raised his hand, balancing his sword on his shoulder. A big blade—broad and heavy—with a slim grip wrapped in worn leather and a cross-guard leading into a silver, thick edge about a meter long.
He exhaled.
"...Useless as f*ck."
But why did Reynar think Mana Zone was useless?
Well, simple because…
He CAN'T use mana.