Lyssar watched Ming, who was still lost in deep thought, his brows slightly furrowed.
"Ming," Lyssar asked quietly, "what are you thinking?"
Ming snapped out of it and shook his head.
"It's nothing, Master."
Lyssar didn't press him. Instead, he said,
"I already told you how to leave this place… but I want you to stay here until you have hunt one monster of every species inside the Red Line."
Ming froze.
For a moment, a thought flashed through his mind:
Does Master want me to stay here forever?
He had seen giant birds outside—creatures larger than humans.
But since entering the cave, Ming had never truly explored the Red Line. He didn't know how many monsters lived out there… or how strong they were.
Still, Ming didn't complain.
He understood well—
Lyssar wasn't doing this to imprison him.
He was doing it for Ming's sake.
For his survival.
So Ming lowered his head and answered firmly,
"I understand, Master. If this is what I must do to grow stronger… then I will."
Lyssar looked at Ming quietly, his thoughts sinking deeper and darker than the sky above them.
"I… want him to fly high," he thought. "Higher than anyone. But his wings… they're still too weak. He's not ready for such a long flight."
He forced a small, broken smile.
"Ming… if you ascend to the Peak Martial Artist Realm, then… then you can finally walk out of this place without any hunt."
Ming opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Lyssar suddenly staggered.
"M–Master!? Are you alright—?"
"I'm… fine…" Lyssar said, but the words came out thin, trembling.
Then he saw it —
black blood slowly dripping down Lyssar's fingers.
A cold fear wrapped around Ming's heart.
He had seen this before.
This was death, crawling closer.
Lyssar looked at his own blood, and in that moment… he understood.
His time was ending.
He lifted his eyes to Ming —
the same way a parent looks at their child for the very last time, trying to memorize their face before the world takes them away.
"Ming… when I first met you," Lyssar whispered, his voice already fading, "I only wanted to make you strong… strong enough to destroy humanity. That was all I wanted. My revenge… my hatred… that was everything to me."
His body trembled.
His lips shook.
But he continued.
"But now…"
He placed a hand on Ming's shoulder with the gentleness of someone who was never gentle in life.
"…now my heart is torn apart."
A tear rolled down Lyssar's cheek.
"One side wants… no, begs… for you to kill the humans who ruined everything I had. But the other side…" His voice cracked. "The other side wants you to be happy. Truly happy. To live. To grow. To become someone better than me."
He laughed bitterly—
a broken, dying laugh.
"What a pathetic man I am… "My whole life, death was the only thing I chased. But when it finally stood before me… I realized I wasn't ready. Not when I had finally found a reason to live."
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Ming's.
His breath was shallow.
His hands ice-cold.
"Ming… I have a wish."
His voice shook so much it hardly sounded like him.
Ming's throat tightened.
When he spoke, his voice was rough, almost strangled, like he was trying not to break down.
"Y-Yes… yes, Master. I'll do anything. Just tell me… please…"
Lyssar whispered his final wish — the words trembling, heavy, painful.
As he finished, tears streamed down his face.
Then his hand slowly reached for Ming's.
His grip was weak… trembling… desperate.
And in one final act, Lyssar poured all of his Origin Qi into Ming's body.
"No—no… Master—!"
Ming tried to pull away, but it was too late.
The energy forced itself into him like a storm.
Lyssar's body began to dissolve into black smoke.
Ming's eyes widened in horror.
"NO! MASTER, STOP! PLEASE—PLEASE STOP!!"
But Lyssar only smiled softly.
The smoke rose.
His body faded.
Piece by piece.
"M–Master… MASTER!! WHY!? WHY DID YOU DO THIS!?"
Ming fell to his knees, screaming until his voice tore apart.
"MASTER!!!"
But no one answered.
There was only silence.
Silence so deep it crushed everything inside him.
He lost his family in a single day.
And now… his master… the man who became his entire world…
was gone too.
A seventeen-year-old boy…
left alone in a world that kept taking everything from him.
He cried until there were no tears left.
His throat burned, swollen.
His chest felt like it had shattered into a thousand sharp pieces.
And still, he couldn't move.
He couldn't even breathe properly.
He stayed there.
Hours passed.
Days passed.
A week went by…
And Ming was still sitting in the same place,
knees on the cold ground,
eyes empty,
holding on to the last warmth that had already disappeared.
But after sitting there for so long, his eyes drifted to something strange—a stone.
There were words carved into it.
Ming…
If you're able to read this message, that means I'm already dead.
And you… you're sitting there doing nothing.
Are you really going to stay like this?
The ones who killed your family are still alive—living like kings.
Reading those words, Ming's tears finally fell. His chest tightened, and he cried silently, his shoulders shaking… but slowly, he stood up. He walked closer to the stone, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
There, beside the stone, he found a sword and a small book.
He wiped the last of his tears and whispered,
"Master… you always knew me best."
With a heavy heart, he dug into the earth and built a proper grave for his master. When he picked up the sword, it dissolved instantly into his shadow, merging with him as if it had always belonged there.
He picked up the manual, clenched his fists, and stepped out of the cave.
For the first time in three months, sunlight touched his face.