Eight years…
Eight years of darkness, of hunger, of unending trembling, of days where time had lost all meaning.
Inside the same cave… amidst the cold dampness that felt like a living tomb… Rayli opened his eyes.
Rayli:
I'm twenty years old, and I still haven't been able to use mana.
His body had become little more than a shadow of flesh.
Bones protruding, skin pale like a corpse, sunken eyes, cracked lips.
He tried to stand, but his legs shook violently, and he fell to his knees, breathing as if death itself were pulling him.
He whispered in a broken voice:
"Eight… years…?"
He felt as though time had devoured him.
He dragged himself toward the cave's exit, each step a battle.
When he emerged, the dim light of the forest hit him, making the world seem new again.
His hunger was a beast tearing at his insides.
So he turned toward the first thing that moved.
A small rabbit…
He pounced without thought, grabbed it with trembling hands, then… bit it.
The rabbit's blood ran over his face as Rayli ate, tears falling, screams escaping.
"It tastes… disgusting… but… I must… survive…"
---
Hours later, Rayli dragged his feet through the forest, searching for anything to eat.
He found traces of goblins… then more…
Until he came across an old goblin corpse left by wolves.
He approached… hesitated… then sat down.
And ate.
Each time he remembered the taste, he vomited—but hunger was stronger than his disgust.
He staggered back to his cave, sleeping amidst broken dreams.
But he awoke screaming.
Another night haunted by echoes of dying goblins, a dying rabbit, and the face of a father he could never forget.
He could not sleep.
He could not even close his eyes.
He grasped the sword he had found eight years ago—the sword of a man killed by goblins.
It was heavier than his frail body… yet he lifted it.
---
Three months of hell
Every morning, before dawn, he began with the first breath of air:
Waaaaah!
Strike.
Waaaaah!
Strike.
Waaaaah!
Hundreds of strikes each day.
Cracked hands, twice-dislocated shoulder, cuts across his chest and face.
Sweat mixed with blood.
But he did not stop.
At night, he returned to the cave, falling to the ground like a stone, stinking, chest covered in bruises, hands trembling.
Until the day he suddenly collapsed and began to vomit.
He vomited black chunks—the remains of goblin meat that had stayed in his stomach for years…
Then he lost consciousness.
He remained completely still for a full week.
When he woke, he felt as though he had died and returned.
He stood.
Breathed slowly.
And whispered softly:
"I will not eat goblin meat… ever again."
He left the cave, eating only herbs and mushrooms, even though some were bitter enough to burn his throat.
---
Blood again
After days of recovery, Rayli picked up his sword and looked at it.
"To master this… I must kill more."
Words without mercy.
He began walking through the forest, searching… tracking their trails…
Listening to every sound…
He knew sword training alone would not be enough.
He needed real blood… real wounds… fear that would sharpen his senses.
He found traces of a distant goblin village—light smoke, scattered bones, muffled sounds…
He approached slowly.
Then he stopped on a small hill overlooking the forest's depths.
Night descended from the sky, the forest growing darker, like the mouth of a beast.
Rayli gripped his sword tightly.
"This… is the first true step… in eight years."
Then he descended into the darkness.
And in that moment…
The new chapter of blood began.
End of Chapter 3