The wind roared as Krik raised his hand, eyes gleaming with malice. With a sharp flick of his wrist, countless wind blades shot toward Akriya, their edges gleaming like razors. The air screamed as they tore through the towering tree beneath him, slicing through its thick trunk like paper.
The tree began to collapse, cracking and groaning under the assault. But Akriya remained unfazed. Just before it fell, he leaped into the air, his body weightless for a moment. With a mere twitch of his fingers, another branch burst forth beneath him, sprouting rapidly to catch his feet.
He landed gracefully, his emerald eyes locking onto Krik. Without hesitation, he unsheathed his sword. The moment its edge gleamed in the sunlight, the branch beneath him surged forward, extending like a spear, racing toward Krik with deadly precision.
Krik grinned. "So, you're fighting back now?"
With a snap of his fingers, a powerful gust howled through the battlefield, but the branches only twisted and adapted, forcing him to react.
Krik unsheathed his sword in a blur, moving with lightning speed toward Akriya. The clash of steel echoed through the air as their blades met, striking with rapid precision. The branch beneath them swayed and twisted as it continued growing, carrying their duel higher into the sky.
Their swords danced in a furious exchange, sparks flying as they parried and countered each strike. The wind howled, leaves scattered like embers from a raging fire. Their movements were fluid, each one testing the other's reflexes, strength, and will.
For a moment, they came to a halt, standing just a few feet apart, locked in a tense standoff. Their breaths were deep, their eyes filled with focus and determination. The world around them seemed to still, the only sound being the heavy rise and fall of their chests.
Then, without warning, the branch beneath them came alive. Vines sprouted from its surface, writhing like snakes as they wrapped around Krik's foot. Akriya seized the opportunity, gripping his sword tightly as he charged forward.
But Krik's reaction was just as swift. With a single powerful slash, he cut through the middle of the branch, severing the ground between them. The support beneath Akriya gave way, and he plummeted downward.
Just as the abyss of the forest threatened to swallow him, two thick vines shot out, wrapping around his arms. With a powerful pull, they snapped him back like a drawn bowstring before launching him straight upward like an arrow.
Krik, having freed himself from the vines, wasted no time. With a burst of wind propelling him, he launched himself upward as well, his sword gleaming in the sunlight.
Both warriors roared as they rocketed toward each other, swords raised,
Their swords clashed relentlessly, the sound of metal ringing through the air like a war drum. Each strike was faster, stronger—neither willing to back down. Blood dripped from fresh wounds; a slash grazed Akriya's arm, while Krik's shoulder bled from a precise counter. Yet, they roared through the pain, their swords refusing to stop.
Akriya winced as a deep gash split across his forearm. Krik gritted his teeth as a thin red line appeared across his cheek. Their battle was vicious, unrelenting, neither backing down.
But Krik was losing ground.
The forest was fighting against him.
From every direction, thorny vines lashed out, branches struck like battering rams, and the very earth seemed to rise against him. Krik dodged, slashed, and countered, but for the first time, he felt it—he was being overwhelmed.
His frustration erupted.
Krik: "You're just hiding behind your trees!"
He leaped high into the sky, escaping the grasping vines.
The air around him trembled.
Krik raised his sword toward the heavens. His entire body glowed with an eerie light as the wind howled louder, spiraling into a terrifying force.
"Tempest awakening—Gale Reaper!"
A sickening crack split the sky.
Darkness fell.
For a moment, everything ceased to exist—no trees, no wind, no sound. Just an abyss of nothingness.
Then—blinding light exploded outward.
A storm of wind scythes descended.
The air itself became razor-sharp, infinite blades slicing everything in sight.
The forest screamed.
Trees were shredded to dust, the ground was carved open as though by a god's wrath. The golden shield flickered under the assault, struggling to hold.
Akriya fought desperately. He summoned every ounce of his power, commanding the trees to shield him, but—
Slash.
A wind scythe tore across his back.
Slash.
Another sliced into his shoulder. Blood poured. His vision blurred.
Akriya coughed blood. His vision blurred. His knees trembled.
This was the end.
Then—A sound "golden spear first form"
A golden streak tore through the darkness.
A shockwave followed.
The winds stopped.
Akriya blinked, vision adjusting. The domain—was broken.
Standing before him, bathed in golden light, was Eran.
Eran's crimson eyes glowed fiercely as his presence radiated raw power. The shattered fragments of Gale Reaper faded like dust.
Akriya gasped, barely able to lift his head.
Eran: "You've done enough. Now let me handle this."
Krik's smirk faltered for the first time.
Krik: "Tch… You think I'll let you just walk in—"
Eran disappeared.
Before Krik could react—slash.
A clean cut.
A second later, Krik's head hit the ground.
His body crumpled.
His lifeless eyes stared at the sky as blood seeped into the forest floor.
Krik: "H—how…?"
His voice faded into nothing.
Eran flicked the blood off his blade, his gaze unmoving
Eran: "A 13-year-old… and you used your strongest move on him? Fool."
The forest lay in ruin, countless trees reduced to nothing, the land scarred by the storm. The golden shield flickered, barely holding its form after the destruction.
Akriya collapsed onto the ground, his body finally giving in.
Eran sheathed his sword, his crimson gaze lingering on the battlefield, his expression unreadable.
The sun dipped lower, casting a reddish hue over the leaves of the trees. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, the fading light creeping across the ritual grounds. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Around the leader, many tribe members stood in a quiet circle, their eyes locked on the ancient book that lay before them. The ritual was nearing its completion, and the air hummed with an unsettling power.
I perched high in the branches of a towering tree, my gaze scanning the horizon. The weight of worry settled heavily in my chest. Akriya... Ryoshi... Where were they? I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
A figure emerged from the shadowed forest—Lucior. His usual calm demeanor seemed a bit off as he made his way toward the ritual grounds. Without hesitation, I called down to him.
"Did you find Akriya?" I asked, my voice tinged with concern.
Lucior didn't waste any time. His face was serious as he responded, but his words, though practical, did little to ease my nerves. "In that direction... no sign of him. But don't panic. Eran may have found him. He's more than capable."
Almost on cue, Eran and Akriya emerged from the edge of the clearing. Akriya was barely standing, his usual bright eyes dulled with exhaustion. His body was battered, and there was a shadow of pain in the way he moved.
My heart raced, and before I even realized it, I dropped down from the tree, my feet landing softly on the earth. Without a second thought, I rushed toward him.
The moment I reached him, I pulled him into an embrace, my arms tightening around him as if trying to shield him from the world. "Akriya..." My voice cracked, the relief flooding me in waves, but there was an overwhelming fear—an urge to make sure he was okay.
His body was still, too still. I felt his breath, weak but steady against me. But the weight of his exhaustion, his pain, was more than enough to make my heart ache. What had happened to him out there? What had he faced?
Akriya gently pushed me away, his voice weak but insistent. "Leave me. I'm fine. Where's Ryoshi? Is she alright?"
I couldn't help but glance over at Eran, seeking some reassurance. He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. "Go and see for yourself. Ryoshi's fine, but you need to check on her."
Without another word, I turned and rushed toward the dense forest, my feet barely touching the ground as I sprinted. The treehouse in the heart of the forest loomed ahead—where the chief was stationed, guarding the area. His watchful eyes caught mine as I approached.
"Is the ritual complete? Is everyone safe?" the chief asked, his tone calm but edged with concern.
I nodded quickly, my breath heavy from the run. "Yes, the fight is over. The ritual is about to be completed, but... is Ryoshi alright?"
The chief's face softened, but there was a noticeable tension in his posture. "She's safe, but... she's weak. The battle took a toll on her."
Just as he finished speaking, Ryoshi emerged from the wooden house, her body weary but her determination still shining through. She walked toward me, her voice steady but faint. "I'm ready to join you again," she said, a flicker of her usual strength returning.
Relief washed over me. "We're all together now," I replied, my voice quieter than usual, the weight of the moment pressing on my chest.
With Ryoshi by my side, we all made our way back to the ritual ground, where the others were already gathering. The air was thick with the lingering energy of the completed battle, and the ritual was reaching its final moments.
As the last of the dust settled and the echoes of battle faded, we stood in the ritual ground, surrounded by the flickering light of the waning sun. The air was thick with the aftermath of the fight, and the once vibrant atmosphere felt heavy, burdened with the weight of what had just transpired.
But despite the apparent calm, a sense of unease lingered. Our hearts were not at ease, especially with Akriya and Ryoshi visibly injured. Their wounds, though treated, remained a reminder of the brutal fight they had endured. Akriya's body was battered, and Ryoshi , her strength clearly waning with each step.
We stood together, each of us staring at the ancient book that now lay closed in the center of the ground, a symbol of both our victory and our impending trial. Our eyes, however, were not focused on the ritual anymore. They were on the path ahead. The road to the den—our final destination—was not one that could be walked lightly. And with the time we had left, we knew the journey would be perilous.
The warning we had received echoed in our minds, and we have to reach the den in next morning so we have to cover dark forest in night.