After few days of training Thera, the day of Ragon's departure finally arrived.
The villagers' eyes were fixed on Ragon as he spoke his farewells. None of them noticed the small shift when he moved closer to Thera, his hand sliding into his cloak.
"Walk with me," he said softly, his voice carrying only to her.
They stepped a few paces away from the crowd, just beyond the torchlight. There, Ragon turned and opened his palm. A faint, pulsing glow rested in his hand the subdued essence of Grel'thak's core.
Thera's breath caught. "That's…"
Ragon nodded once. "Yes. His core. What I didn't tell the others is that as long as this is bound, the orcs' loyalty is sealed. Whoever holds it is their master."
Her eyes widened, darting back toward the villagers as though someone might overhear. But no one was watching. "And… you're giving it to me?" she whispered.
Ragon pressed it gently into her hand. The glow dimmed immediately, as if recognizing its new bearer.
Ragon could have kept the core for himself, ensuring complete control over the orcs through fear. But Alaric, the soul he once was, remembered too well what it meant to be a king. Ruling through dominance alone left cracks....cracks that could break a kingdom from within.
Giving Thera Grel'thak's core was not a gift, it was a weapon.
He knew the truth of people: they would always hate. No matter how much you bled for them, they would doubt, resent, or look for cracks to tear open. Gratitude never lasted. Hatred always did.
That was why he gave her the core. Not because she needed its power, but because she needed leverage. In politics, perception was stronger than steel. With the core in her hands, no villager could deny her authority, and no rival could challenge her without thinking twice.
It was about the illusion of control. So long as she held Grel'thak's essence, everyone would believe the orcs were hers to command and belief was often more dangerous than truth.
Thera stared at the faint glow in her hand, her voice trembling. "But… why me? You could keep it safe."
Ragon cut her off gently, his silver eyes steady. "Because I don't want them tied to me. They'll follow you. They need to."
Her heart raced at the weight of it. She wanted to argue, but the words never came. All she could do was clutch the glow tighter and whisper, "I'll… do my best."
A faint smile tugged at Ragon's lips. "That's all I ask."
"Take care, everyone," Ragon said, his voice calm. He clutched the map tightly in his hand, his eyes set on the shadowy expanse of the dark forest that stretched beyond the village. For decades, the villagers had feared this forest, its borders marking the edge of their known world. None of them had dared to cross it before, but he will do just that now.
Ragon was now deep inside the woods, where the canopy above was so thick that only thin streams of sunlight managed to pierce through. The air was damp, the silence pressing, broken only by the faint rustle of unseen things moving in the shadows. It was the kind of place any ordinary person would fear.
But Ragon was not ordinary. He had faced darker places, crueler trials, and greater horrors than this. Still, something about the stillness here unsettled him.
His steps slowed as his eyes scanned the trees. There should have been beasts. High-level ones, at that, he'd been warned enough times. Yet two hours had passed and not a single claw, fang, or hostile roar had met him.
"I thought I was told this forest was crawling with trouble," Ragon muttered under his breath. His voice sounded small against the oppressive quiet.
Though he hadn't been attacked, he could feel eyes on him. His heightened senses sharpened he picked up the faint, cautious breaths of animals keeping their distance. They stalked, but never approached.
The reason wasn't hard to grasp. His divine essence leaked with every step he took. Even subdued, it rolled out like an invisible pressure. To ordinary beasts, it was the scent of a predator far above them. To the higher creatures of this star-level forest, it was enough to whisper caution into their instincts.
He unrolled the map in his hand, eyes narrowing at the markings. His path ended at a cave hidden beneath overgrown branches and moss. He pushed the foliage aside and prepared to enter when the air shifted and thickened.
From the darkness ahead, a shape pulled itself into being.
A figure floated before him, tall, imposing, its bald head gleaming faintly even in the dim light. Its body was half-transparent, robes flowing as though moved by a wind that wasn't there. It had the air of a monk, yet no warmth. Only stillness and power.
Ragon stopped, his grip on the map tightening as his silver eyes locked on the spirit.
Ragon's eyes narrowed. "Who is this… and why does he have such a strong aura? Even in his prime in his previous life, he would have thought twice before fighting such a being."
"I never imagined this life had figures of this level," he muttered. The presence before him was only a phantom, yet its power felt immense. If the man had been alive, Ragon would have ranked him just almost at the godhood state.
The bald figure hovered cross-legged in the air, his voice calm yet commanding. "Young man, why are you here, disturbing my slumber?"
Ragon met his gaze, unshaken. "I came for the treasures hidden within this cave. If they remain unused, they benefit no one. I intend to make use of them."
The spirit's voice boomed, shaking the trees. "A boy barely at the star stage dares to covet my legacy? Bold words for someone so weak."
Ragon smirked faintly. "I didn't see any sign at the entrance restricting it to a certain level. If your legacy is here, then it is meant to be claimed."
The phantom studied him closely. He couldn't read whether Ragon was warrior or mage, nor sense a stable aura. The mystery intrigued him. This one hides his true nature well… interesting.
Finally, the spirit spoke again. "Very well. Because of your confidence, I will allow you to attempt entry. But know this....it will not be easy."
Only then did Ragon notice the remains scattered near the cave mouth: shattered bones of countless challengers who had failed.
His lips curled into a grin. "Then I'll succeed where they fell."
"I accept your challenge," he declared firmly.
The spirit inclined his head, gesturing toward the cave. "Then enter, if you dare. I will not stop you. But the cave itself will decide if you are worthy."
Ragon stepped forward, cautious but resolute. He was no fool a being a former king and having to share a body with a demigod did not mean he could act recklessly. One mistake here, and he would die like any other person.
He bent down without hesitation, snatched a bone from the ground, and hurled it toward the open cave. The moment it crossed the threshold, a purple cloud surged out and swallowed it whole. The bone vanished, leaving nothing behind not even dust.
Ragon's lips curled faintly. "Hmmm… an easy one."
But his sharp eyes betrayed caution. He had recognized the technique instantly: the Devil's Eater Formation. It was notorious for consuming living bodies, nearly impossible to bypass. Only one method could unravel it; a melodic chant. And judging by the phantom monk's presence, Ragon was certain it was no coincidence. This formation was a monk's handiwork.
Without wasting time, he drew a short knife from his pocket and walked to a nearby tree. With a solid punch, he cracked the trunk, then began carving. His movements were steady, meticulous, as if guided by a craftsman's patience rather than a warrior's urgency.
The monk's eyes narrowed. "He knows," the spirit murmured, intrigued. "He's crafting an instrument…"
Twenty minutes later, a crude but functional acoustic guitar rested in Ragon's hands. He plucked the strings lightly, adjusting the sound.
The monk hovered closer, studying him. "Remarkable. He understands the principle behind the formation. At least he's no fool. But…" His ghostly gaze darkened. "The Devil's Eater carries countless chants. Only the exact one I composed will work. Play the wrong melody, and the backlash will devour his soul."
Ragon seemed unconcerned. His fingers tested the strings with confidence. Then his eyes caught on the monk's necklace a weathered pendant etched with intricate carvings.
"That pendant…" he muttered. His mind sharpened, memories stirring within him as he began to see Ragon's past memories...In the Library of Olympia, he had once read of the Path of the Musical Warriors an ancient discipline where music was both weapon and key. He remembered the very scroll that described a melody tied to that pendant's design.
The monk froze as Ragon's expression shifted. He recognizes it?
Ragon closed his eyes, replaying the long-forgotten notes in his mind. His fingers hovered over the guitar strings. Then—he strummed the first chord.
The sound cut through the air, resonant and deliberate.
The monk's spectral form flickered. His brows furrowed. "No… he's playing the right notes?"
The melody swelled, each chord woven with precision. Purple ripples pulsed from the cave, the Devil's Eater shuddering at the resonance. The mist wavered, twisting violently.
"Impossible!" the monk snapped, rising to his feet. "He knows the chant! But how?"
Ragon's posture shifted as he played, no longer just a boy strumming strings, but a warrior wielding music like a blade. The purple haze recoiled, shredding apart note by note. The cave trembled, the formation unraveling.
With the final crescendo, the Devil's Eater screamed and dissolved into nothingness. Silence followed, broken only by the fading vibration of strings.
The cave entrance lay open, unguarded.
The monk folded his arms, his stern gaze softened by a thin smirk. "You've surprised me, young man. Few could break that formation
..fewer still with such accuracy."
He swept his hand toward the cave. "Go on. You've earned the right to enter."
Ragon smiled faintly. But as he stepped forward, the world shifted beneath his feet. A pull seized his body, dragging him inward. His balance vanished as if the cave mouth had become an endless abyss.
"What's happening?!" he cried out, his arms flailing as he plunged into the unseen void.