The forest seemed to grow darker with every step.

  The wind shifted unnaturally, whispering over broken branches and dead leaves. Akira tightened his grip on the wooden pole, every muscle coiled tight.

  A low growl rolled through the underbrush.

  He froze.

  Faint red eyes gleamed between the trees.

  A wolf stepped into view—but not like any he’d ever seen. Horns twisted from its skull like jagged shards of obsidian, and its teeth gleamed even in the dim light.

  ‘Great,’ Akira thought. ‘Just what I needed.’

  He backed up slowly.

  The horned wolf crouched, claws scraping the earth and leaving shallow gouges as it prepared to pounce.

  Akira’s hand brushed against his pocket.

  The cold weight of silver.

  An idea sparked.

  He pulled it out and pressed his other hand against the pole, focusing as his Modeling skill hummed to life. The silver responded immediately, flowing like liquid up his arm and over the wooden shaft.

  The pole warped.

  Edges sharpened. Weight redistributed.

  In moments, the crude weapon transformed—reinforced wood, a pointed tip, and thin silver reinforcement running along its length.

  A spear.

  “…Alright,” Akira muttered, testing the balance.

  The wolf lunged.

  Akira leapt aside and swung in a wide arc. The silver flashed as the spear connected, drawing a sharp yelp as the creature staggered back.

  He didn’t stop.

  He kept moving—circling, thrusting, retreating. Each motion felt more natural than the last. The weapon wasn’t just something he held.

  He’d made it.

  High above, a faint distortion lingered—Grim, watching from afar. Not interfering. Just observing.

  The horned wolf crouched again, muscles coiling.

  Akira tightened his grip.

  ‘Let’s see what else this can do.’

  He lowered his stance and focused, forcing a trickle of wind magic into the spear.

  It hurt.

  Not physically—internally. Like trying to breathe through clenched teeth.

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  The silver shimmered faintly as a thin current of air wrapped around the tip. Weak. Barely enough to stir a leaf.

  But it held.

  Akira thrust.

  The spear stayed firm as the wind traveled with it, slicing the space between them. When the tip struck the wolf’s side, the impact sent a sharp cry tearing from its throat.

  The creature staggered back, limping.

  “…That actually worked,” Akira breathed.

  The magic wasn’t killing it.

  But it didn’t need to.

  The spear wasn’t a spell. It was a tool.

  And tools multiplied effort.

  The wolf circled again, claws scraping dirt, eyes burning with rage.

  Akira exhaled slowly and braced.

  Then it lunged.

  This time, Akira didn’t retreat.

  He stepped forward.

  He planted his foot, braced the spear with both hands, and forced wind magic into the tip again—thin, strained, just barely stable.

  The air screamed.

  Not loudly.

  Not violently.

  Just enough.

  He thrust.

  The sharpened silver point pierced the wolf’s chest. At the same moment, compressed wind burst forward—not exploding, but piercing, forcing its way through flesh and bone like a blade made of pressure.

  The wolf’s momentum finished the job.

  There was resistance—

  Then nothing.

  The creature collapsed against the shaft. Akira staggered back, wrenching the spear free as the body hit the ground.

  One twitch.

  Then stillness.

  Silence.

  Akira stood there, chest heaving, spear trembling in his hands as the faint wind around the tip faded.

  “…I didn’t hesitate,” he realized quietly.

  There was no triumph.

  No rush.

  Just the heavy understanding that he’d ended something's life.

  His hands shook—not with fear, but with the aftermath.

  “…So this is what it takes.”

  He glanced down at the spear.

  The silver was intact.

  The wood unbroken.

  He hadn’t forced the magic.

  Akira steadied himself and exhaled.

  “…Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s get out of this damn forest.”

  Somewhere unseen, Grim did not intervene.

  He simply watched—and nodded before fading away.

  Akira knelt beside the fallen wolf and focused again. The silver slid free from the shaft like molten light, settling solidly into his palm. The wood remained untouched.

  He pocketed the metal and lifted the shaft once more.

  “Good enough.”

  Hours passed.

  The forest stretched on, shadows crawling between the trees. Wolves. Giant lizards. Horned boars.

  None beyond his limits.

  Each fight honed his instincts. His Appraisal. His ability to adapt and build in motion.

  By the time the sun dipped low, Akira broke free from the treeline.

  A road stretched ahead, winding through the land like a promise.

  ‘Fifty-six fights,’ he thought. ‘And nothing I couldn’t handle.’

  He stepped onto the road.

  “…Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s see where this leads.”

  Far above the forest, the void shimmered.

  Viola crossed her arms, watching the distant road. “Grim,” she said quietly, “do you really think he can survive this?”

  Grim’s hollow gaze lingered on the horizon.

  “He has the potential to become someone great,” he said slowly.

  Then his voice darkened.

  “And I can already see the death he will bring.”

  Viola exhaled softly. “That’s… unsettling.”

  Grim turned away.

  “Potential is a double-edged sword,” he replied. “His path will be bright. And it will be bloody.”

  A pause.

  “But for now…”

  The forest below stirred.

  “…he just needs to survive.”