The place where those sentenced to death were held was called the Dead Cell. Narrow, oppressive rooms where the only light came from flickering candles placed outside the doors. The condemned were chained like livestock, their hands and feet bound to a round block of iron.

  Exitus held a list of the death row inmates, recording their names and the crimes they had committed in the past. They could be Golden citizens, Hesmor natives, or even people from Greaton.

  “There are six here, and one of them has already died in despair. Murderer, murderer, murderer… Oh. And what do we have here. A pedophile.”

  Exitus opened cell number seven. Inside sat a hunched old man, squinting as he looked toward the boy. The old man was thin as dry kindling, yet his expression was calm, his eyes shining with wisdom and intellect.

  “What is this. You are not a soldier, boy,” the strange old man asked softly.

  Exitus observed him for a long time. The old man was truly peculiar. There was no injustice or hatred in his eyes, only calm acceptance, a tranquility that seemed to embrace fate itself. It was strange. All Exitus could sense was the bearing of a sage, someone who had understood life and tasted all its bitterness. It was difficult to associate such a presence with the crime of pedophilia.

  After hesitating for a long while, Exitus asked him a question. It was not a question that needed an answer. It was a question born of empathy.

  “Why are you here?”

  The old man froze. A direct question from a stranger. Not mockery. The boy was serious, profound. In his eyes was the same wisdom the old man himself possessed. He asked as if speaking to a long lost friend. The old man stroked his white beard and smiled with an inscrutable expression.

  “Is that not already obvious, boy. But the real question is why you are here,” the old man asked in return.

  “I thought I knew. But now, I do not.” Exitus replied hesitantly.

  “Do not be like that. Do not pity me. You are helping me, child. Give me release. Calm yourself and answer me. Why are you here.”

  Exitus fell silent for a long time. Something within his mind shifted. It was no longer a simple question. It was guidance. A shaping of purpose.

  “Because you deserve it, Horta,” Exitus answered softly, as if understanding at last.

  “Do it, boy. And remember. Do not lose yourself,” Horta closed his eyes, smiling brightly as he spoke his final words.

  “Thank you, Horta. I was fortunate to meet you,” Exitus replied with a smile.

  Exitus removed all the shackles from Horta’s hands and feet, then took off his own tattered shirt and placed it on the old man as a final gesture of respect.

  “Rest in peace, Horta.”

  Nashor leaned against the wall beside cell number seven, waiting. He had heard their conversation, but with his ordinary mind he could not make sense of a single word. When he saw Exitus walk out, Nashor asked casually,

  “Done already. Which cell is next.”

  Exitus stood silently, then turned to look at Nashor and said with certainty,

  “Let us leave. There is no need to deal with the others.”

  “What is this. Growing soft,” Nashor teased.

  “It is not softness. They do not deserve it.”

  Without realizing it, Exitus had stopped addressing Nashor with honorifics. The Warlord did not mind. To him, Exitus was far more dangerous than most and worthy of equal conversation. Nashor was merely cooperating. If the boy no longer wished to continue the act, he felt no need to insist.

  ...

  The passageway burst open. Nearby lay the corpse of Cerberus. Slaves poured into the tunnel like ants, while soldiers seized the chance to remove their helmets and merge into the fleeing crowd.

  “Allblack is not a single location. It is a complex of many small prisons connected to the fortress above. In essence, this place is a massive dog kennel. This passage leads directly to the kennel gate, facing Darkwood Forest. Cross the forest and follow the Myst River, and we will reach the nearest town, Blackmist. However, that route is far too predictable. Golden will quickly deploy troops to surround the area around Blackmist. What we must do is go in the opposite direction, enter the region known as the Valley of Death, then cross the Black Sea to return to Hesmor.” Nashor explained while pointing at his crudely drawn map.

  “You know why it is called the Valley of Death, do you not,” Exitus said, troubled by the plan. He felt it was unrealistic. The area was infested with undead, and unlike the immobile undead of the Abyss, these patrolled the land and were controlled by a lord.

  “I know. But I have a way through.”

  “You are attempting something extremely dangerous, Nashor,” Exitus said, his voice calm, without fear. He did not care whom they cooperated with. In the end, no one would know.

  “What is your goal, Exitus.” Nashor suddenly asked. A trace of hesitation flickered in him. It seemed he wanted to say something more, but the time was not right.

  “Everything for survival. Everywhere to grow stronger,” Exitus replied firmly.

  “Then go to the Great Will Academy. It is a place that trains renowned Warriors and mages. With your ability, you will surely pass the trial.”

  “Thank you, Nashor. Perhaps that is where I will go.”

  Before a massive gate, two Golden soldiers camped lazily on stone steps. One, drunk and pleased, said.

  “This is a profitable assignment, Ret. Instead of standing guard under the scorching sun in Vayle Valley, we get to lie here, enjoy the cool breeze from Darkwood, and drink fine wine.”

  “I feel uneasy, Not. Will something happen if we neglect our duty,” Ret said, even as he poured himself another full cup, drinking greedily.

  “What the hell could happen in this dog kennel. You know what is inside, Ret. A genuine Cerberus. A brutal three headed beast whose flames burn both flesh and soul. But do not be afraid. It is a money making machine. Just one pound of Black Ash is enough to enjoy countless women in Blackmist.”

  “Really. Then should we take a small risk,” intoxication filled Ret with reckless courage. He dreamed of a passionate night with graceful women in Blackmist.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Are you insane, Ret. Do you know how many soldiers have died in that damned dungeon. Do not let greed blind you. That Cerberus is powerful. Even our Warlords cannot endure the heat of its flames.”

  As they spoke, Ret suddenly seemed to hear something. It sounded like the footsteps of thousands of marching soldiers, echoing from the dark passage.

  “Do you hear that, Not. Those footsteps. What is happening.”

  “You are hallucinating, Ret. No one survives past that dog,” Not snapped irritably. He was utterly drunk, his face flushed red. Ret stared blankly at the dark passage, scarcely more sober than his companion.

  “But I clearly hear it. It is pounding rhythmically in my head.”

  From the passage, countless slaves surged out. They trampled the two guards to death and rushed into Darkwood Forest. Among them were Exitus and Nashor. The slaves fled in fear and haste, unaware that beneath their feet lay two soldiers, hands clasped together, motionless.

  ...

  Horta’s soul granted Exitus one soul point. Since obtaining this power, he had never used it. It was an Ability steeped in darkness from an ancient era, branded as evil and hunted relentlessly if discovered.

  Under moonlight filtering through the trees, streams of mana slowly flowed into Exitus’s body. The currents nourished him, guided and dispersed throughout his flesh. The boy officially became a Fighter. Exitus felt power surging through every muscle and fiber. His skin grew tougher, more elastic.

  “You need a weapon.” Nashor’s voice came from beside the campfire. A roasted rabbit crackled above it. He tore into the meat, chewing noisily as he spoke. The taste was familiar, something he had not enjoyed in a very long time.

  “Raw strength alone will not help you defeat enemies. You need technique, application, practice. Moreover, using a weapon helps the body absorb mana more efficiently, accelerating advancement.”

  “Teach me how to use a sword, Nashor,” Exitus replied without hesitation. He had seen how Nashor fought, even if the weapon he used was not quite a sword. A sword was difficult to master but easy to approach at a basic level.

  “I can teach you. But one day, you must use your Ability to help me with something.”

  “No problem, Nashor.”

  Exitus and Nashor wandered through Darkwood Forest for over two weeks. The vast forest was a safe haven from Golden’s hunting forces. They had to remain hidden. Impatience would lead to discovery. Golden forces in this region belonged to the Golden Fang tribe, agile trackers and veteran hunters. Unfortunately for them, Nashor was no ordinary prey.

  Another morning in Darkwood Forest. It was named for the dense growth of black giant trees, whose wood was rough, hard, and difficult to burn. Exitus wielded a branch from one of these trees, unleashing a flurry of strikes at Nashor. The Warlord dodged easily and countered. His footwork was supple and precise, his breathing steady. In contrast, Exitus attacked chaotically, steps misaligned, rhythm broken, gasping for breath. Nashor used no mana at all. The gap was purely skill and experience.

  “Your attacks are meaningless, Exitus. If you want to kill, aim for the head or heart. If you want to restrain, target shoulders and legs. Have purpose. The sword is the extension of your arm.”

  Nashor trained Exitus harshly. His strikes landed like lashes, leaving the boy bruised and bleeding. Yet one thing was undeniable. Exitus improved at an astonishing rate. His steps and breathing grew structured. What he lacked was experience and endurance.

  Suddenly, Exitus compressed mana into his left hand and struck Nashor with full force. By instinct, Nashor was knocked backward like a shrimp.

  “Mana focused at the waist,” Exitus asked, panting.

  “Good observation, kid. Mana concentration is the fundamental principle of a Warrior. Many believe it serves only offense. That is true, but incomplete. Concentration is flexible. I can focus mana in my arms to increase durability and hardness. In the eyes to enhance perception. Mana is limitless, and that limitlessness comes from creativity.”

  “This technique consumes much energy and places great strain on the body. Those who master it can control and apply mana efficiently.”

  Exitus grasped the technique quickly, his attacks becoming faster and stronger. However, the surrounding muscle groups were easily damaged by high intensity vibrations. His body was not yet strong enough to use such techniques extensively.

  “Next, let us discuss "Ultimate Skill". Upon reaching the Warlord level, one concentrates mana according to a special pattern, combining it with martial technique to create a move of terrifying effect and destruction.”

  “I will show you mine. It is called the "Path of the Silver Fang". A unique Ultimate Skill, it cannot be taught. One day, depending on many factors, you will comprehend your own. Everyone has a signature Ultimate Skill. Watch closely!”

  Exitus saw mana currents vibrating within Nashor’s body. They converged at multiple points and muscle groups, interweaving into an invisible pattern.

  "Boom."

  An upward reverse strike. A devastating shockwave tore the ground apart and spread outward. Everything in its path was annihilated like a raging storm. The destructive power was truly terrifying.

  "Boom. Boom. Boom."

  Exitus’s eyes blazed. This was an Ultimate Skill. Power far beyond mediocrity.

  “Only when you comprehend your own Ultimate Skill are you worthy of being called a Warlord,” Nashor’s voice echoed.

  “We have a long road ahead, kid. Train, and at least land one hit on me before we reach the Valley of Death.”

  ...

  North of Greaton, within Jaderic Forest, a battle raged. A group of young warriors coordinated to slay a gigantic Ogre five meters tall. Each swing of its club cut through the air, forcing the heroes into desperate evasions. Eldan Stormblade, hero of the new era, wielder of the legendary flame sword Fearless, led the mission. The Ogre had attacked a village near Jaderic Forest, slaughtering villagers for food. By the time Greaton’s army arrived, it had fled deep into the forest.

  The female mage Hera Spellspeaker, from one of Greaton’s four great noble mage families, used a special tracking spell to locate the Ogre’s lair. Contrary to intelligence reports, this Ogre was no ordinary foe. Its strength rivaled that of a Warlord.

  “Max. It is about to use its Ultimate Skill. Stop it. Merian, reinforce defense and heal Max. Hera, weaken it.”

  “Understood, captain.” Max roared, planting his massive shield into the ground. His body transformed into diamond, gleaming and unyielding. A hereditary Ability of the Stronghold family.

  Hera cast weakening curses faster than ever, even though they were basic spells. Beside her, Merian radiated holy light, covering Max’s diamond form in sanctity.

  "Boom."

  The collision thundered. The Ogre’s Ultimate Slash sent Max flying. He spewed blood, his shield shattered by the overwhelming disparity. Yet Max survived, and the Ogre’s Ultimate Skill was halted.

  “My turn.”

  Eldan surged forward, Fearless blazing with fierce flames. He glanced at Max struggling to rise, relief flickering across his face.

  “Ultimate Skill: Flame Dragon Slash.”

  Eldan swung his sword. The Ultimate Skill drained his mana completely, combining with the legendary blade. The slash became a roaring fire dragon that charged straight at the Ogre.

  "Boom."

  The explosion was violent. The Ogre was burned and hurled into the cliffside. The impact shattered rock, burying the creature beneath rubble.

  “Did it work,” Eldan knelt on one knee, gasping, sweat dripping heavily. He stared at the debris, prepared for anything.

  “Hera, cover me. I do not think it is dead. Merian, ignore me, I am only exhausted. Check Max. Hera, prepare a retreat spell.”

  From afar, a silver armored warrior watched intently. Beside him stood a refined middle aged man in an elegant suit. The man smiled and spoke.

  “The geniuses of the four great families. Truly impressive! One inheriting a special Ability. One casting spells at incredible speed. One even using holy light as a barrier, a mid tier spell despite being only an apprentice mage. But most important is Eldan. That Ultimate Skill combined with his fire affinity is terrifying. And he was chosen by Fearless. That strike could even wound a Battle King. Am I right, Nor.”

  “You have a sharp eye, Gaiman. But this is not your playground, Writter. This is Greaton.”

  “We are merely seekers of inspiration, Nor. No need for such vigilance. In fact, I am glad Greaton has such excellent successors.”

  “Then recall your Shadow, Gaiman. I dislike you imitating something sacred for your own amusement.”

  Behind the man in the suit stood an angel of breathtaking beauty. A six winged being radiating holy light, its aura immensely powerful.

  “It is merely an outstanding character in my work. There is nothing blasphemous about describing a fictional figure with my pen,” Gaiman replied arrogantly.

  Back with the young heroes, tension filled the air as they watched the Ogre. It crawled from the rubble, its burning body dragging toward Eldan. In its single eye burned ferocity, hatred, and helplessness. It approached the boy. Eldan dared not breathe. He gathered his last traces of mana into his right arm, prepared for the worst. The others closed in, each ready. The Ogre stared at the young hero, unable to understand how such a small being could unleash such devastating power. With that unanswered question, it collapsed and died. Its single eye went lifeless, focus fading.

  “Ah. It is over. You scared me to death.”

  Eldan looked at the massive corpse and sighed in relief. He turned to his friends, smiling brightly. Laughter and joy filled the air, the triumph of young heroes.

  “Everyone, let us return to the academy. With this new skill, we can finally defeat those weak Elves.”

  Despite his words, Eldan’s mind held the image of a beautiful figure. A cold female Elf with sapphire blue eyes. He whispered softly,

  “This time… perhaps you will notice me, Saphira.”