Return of the Forsaken.
Ray spoke in a commanding tone,
"Let's move— to our new home."
Falker blinked, a hint of surprise in his eyes.
"M-My lord… how do you know where we are?"
Ray's gaze softened, his tone reflecting faint nostalgia.
"I once knew this place as home," he murmured.
Falker didn't understand what his lord meant by that, but one thing was certain — Ray knew this forest like the back of his hand.
Then realization struck him. His eyes widened.
Even with so many people, survival here would've been nearly impossible.
If not for the aura that Ray had taught them, they all would've perished.
If not for Mimir's knowledge of poisonous herbs, who knew how many would still be alive.
'If our lord truly lived here…'
Falker's hands clenched.
'How much must he have suffered in this lonely and dangerous forest?'
Ray led them until they stood before a massive tree — ancient and towering.
He stopped at its roots and looked upward. High above, at its top, stood a small but well-built structure. From the ground it looked tiny, yet clean and sturdy.
With a quick surge of motion, Ray climbed the tree effortlessly and slipped into the structure above it. Moments later, he began dropping things down — one after another
Tools — dozens of them.
Pickaxes, axes, knives, spears, and more.
Though they were made only of stone and wood, their sharpness rivaled steel itself. Each one bore the touch of a master craftsman — a result of countless hours Ray spent refining his craft in solitude, when time was his only companion.
Then came bundles of leather — from animals of every kind, even from beasts the villagers believed impossible to kill: Hellhounds.
Born in the Monster Fields, those creatures sometimes strayed into nearby forests to hunt — or for amusement. Their strength was such that the moment one was spotted, people would immediately summon the enforcement regime.
Ray looked at the gathered crowd and said simply,
"Those tools… use them. I made them."
The people stared in disbelief.
'What was our king doing in a place like this?'
Shock spread like ripples in a pond — but none were more astonished than the blacksmiths and craftsmen.
Their eyes shone as if they had just witnessed a relic forged by a legendary master.
Then, before anyone could restrain them, the villagers rushed forward shouting:
"It's mine! Mine!"
They weren't greedy — they simply wanted something their king had crafted with his own hands.
The blacksmiths, however, rushed too — not for possession, but out of passion. Their eyes burned like flames.
Ray descended from the tree and pointed toward a clearing where the trees grew sparse.
"Cut those trees," he ordered, "and build your homes there."
He paused for a moment, his gaze turning toward the distant ruins.
"I'm leaving for a while. There's somewhere important I need to go."
Without waiting for response, Ray began walking.
Toward the ruins —
the place where his path and power had begun.
When he reached the ancient stones, he paused. His gaze was calm, yet the ground beneath him trembled — as though the ruins themselves bowed in recognition.
Slowly, the stones moved aside, clearing a path for him to walk.
As he stepped forward, a low echo filled the chamber —
"..."
Just a whisper. Ancient. Familiar.
A dark wisp drifted from Ray's hand, gliding toward a sealed door.
The door creaked open.
Ray hesitated for a moment. That door had never opened before — not even when he first entered this place.
Curiosity flickered in his eyes. Why now?
What was it showing him this time?
He stepped inside cautiously. The chamber was silent — yet the faint hum of dormant power lingered in the air.
At its center rested a single sword.
At first glance, it appeared ordinary — simple, quiet, almost humble in its stillness.
But the moment Ray reached toward it, the air shifted.
Faint violet threads began to unfurl across its surface, spreading like veins of light beneath the dark metal — subtle, silent, yet deliberate.
They did not pulse like something alive; instead, they responded — as though the sword had been waiting, recognizing the hand that approached it.
And the instant his fingers brushed the hilt, darkness erupted outward — swallowing everything.
The world dissolved.
He now stood in a vast, endless void.
The ground beneath him was made of shifting shadows, and above him — nothing but silence.
And then, a throne appeared in the distance.
Upon it sat a figure cloaked in mist and shadow.
Its presence was suffocating, yet oddly familiar — as if buried deep within his soul.
""You've finally come,"
a voice echoed — deep and distant, like a memory that had been waiting to awaken.
It lingered for a moment, as if measuring him, before speaking again — calm, yet burdened with sorrow.
"You stand at the dawn of your beginning.
You are but a fragment of what you must become."
The voice paused, letting the truth settle.
"To become whole… you must find the light to your darkness — the one that tainted the essence of existence."
Ray took a cautious step forward, his voice unsteady.
"Who are you?"
The figure leaned forward slightly. Though its face was hidden, Ray could feel its gaze — piercing, ancient, knowing.
"You'll know… when the time comes."
Ray's brows furrowed. He pressed on, doubt tightening his tone.
"Then… how do I find this light?"
Something shifted.
The darkness around him began to collapse — the throne, the presence, the vast void — all unraveling, swallowed by the same shadow that had summoned him.
Just before all was lost to silence, the voice whispered one last time, soft and almost sorrowful:
"The impure essence… is what you call mana."
Ray's eyes snapped open.
The sword was in his hand — faintly trembling, its black edge glowing with a dim, crimson pulse.
He stared at it in silence, his reflection flickering in the dark steel.
Then… he felt something change inside him.
Slowly, Ray sat cross-legged and closed his eyes, steadying his breath. The world around him faded.
And what he saw within left him silent.
The blue mana that flowed inside him, just like every other energies, was no longer blue.
It had turned as dark as the night sky — vast, calm, and infinite.
His mana — once unstable and restrained by the Void — was now pure.
It flowed freely, no longer colliding with his qi.
The dark energy that had always clung to him now glowed faintly violet, shifting, transforming.
Then, the words of that being echoed once more in his mind —
"Find the light to your darkness…"
Ray exhaled softly and focused, guiding his energy.
He began to harmonize mana and qi, as he had done many times before — but this time, something was different.
The two forces blended perfectly, merging without resistance.
And then — something new was born.
A glow enveloped him.
An aura unlike any he had ever seen before — crimson, deep and vibrant, shimmered around his body.
He opened his eyes slowly, awe reflected in his crimson gaze.
It was beautiful.
And terrifying.
He understood then — the world was not what it seemed.
There was more than what people called mana or qi.
What flowed through him now was something purer… something different...
Then a thought struck him.
*'If this isn't mana…*
*could it be…*
*the essence of existence?'*
"But… how?" he muttered.
His gaze drifted to the sword lying at his side.
"Was it the sword?"
But as the thought lingered, something deeper stirred within him — a quiet, creeping doubt that reached far beyond the weapon or the power itself.
"What were those memories I've been seeing lately?
Why did the people in them feel so familiar?"
He drew a slow breath, the final question slipping out in a whisper.
"And… who am I?"
The forest was silent, yet the air around him seemed to shiver—as if the world itself was holding its breath, guarding the answer he had yet to reclaim.
End of chapter 11