One bay before the Blue Moon's full phase, deep within the dense forest…
A group of men—and fewer women—huddled around small fires slowly devouring damp firewood.
Their clothing was anything but uniform:
A patchwork of torn fabrics, worn armor, and mismatched weapons—
Nothing any more valuable than what one might expect from desperate, lowly bandits.
At their center sat a man unlike the rest.
Massive in build, with reddish-brown skin, broad shoulders, and human-like features—
Yet his sheer size and muscle mass defied nature itself.
He yawned widely, revealing a row of large, sharp teeth—more like a beast's fangs than a man's.
With a raspy, mocking chuckle, he drawled: "Oooh~ So… is everything ready?"
One of his followers approached—
A lean man with pale, wrinkled skin, deep-set wide black eyes, and short sky-blue hair.
His appearance stood out starkly among the ragged crowd.
Elegantly dressed in black, he wore a long hooded cloak; noble in demeanor, yet laced with unsettling coldness.
His frame was frail—no muscle to speak of—and his long, bone-protruding white fingers twitched faintly.
He bowed slightly and said in a soft, precise voice:
"Absolutely, Boss. We've coordinated with the wolves, and we're nearly prepared."
The giant—known among his men simply as "Boss," though his true name was Darmon—grinned with satisfaction.
He rumbled contentedly: "Excellent… Now, summon Bagheera."
Sior raised his hand, and a red aura flared around his fingers—Kora energy.
He placed his palm before his mouth and whistled—a strange, inaudible sound, as if the wind itself swallowed it whole.
The moment he lowered his hand, he declared: "Done. He won't be late."
Darmon nodded, flashing his monstrous fangs in a pleased smile.
"Well done. As I promised… your share of the spoils will be generous."
Sior arched an eyebrow slightly and asked in a low voice:
"Boss… will you personally take part in the operation?"
Darmon scratched his chin with a claw-like hand—more bear than man—his expression heavy with boredom.
"No… I dislike boring fights. Just a weak caravan. Not worth my effort."
But Sior remained unconvinced.
He spoke slowly: "But one of Bagheera's wolves claimed they saw a strangely powerful boy, even it said that he had a sil—"
Darmon burst into thunderous laughter, cutting him off.
He roared so hard the weak flames of their fire trembled:
"Hahaha! Come on! You actually believe the ramblings of weak wolves?! Just exaggerations from pathetic creatures!"
At that moment, one of the bandits called out:
"Boss! What should we do with the boy we caught?"
Both Sior and Darmon turned toward a corner of the camp.
The bandits' camp was crude:
Tattered tents, makeshift wood and cloth shelters, hammocks strung between trees, and thick smoke hanging in the air.
There, tied to a tree trunk with thick ropes, sat a boy.
His skin was pale beneath blood and bruises, his hair a faded blond, his eyes a luminous blue.
He swayed weakly, whispering in a broken voice:
"W-Where… am I…?"
The others didn't understand him—but Sior recognized the language.
It wasn't Onitha—the regional tongue—nor Nita, the continent's common speech.
It was something else… English.
Darmon smirked slyly and said:
"Leave him for now. If what Sior says is true, he's a MISFIT. if we sell him as a slave… we'll make a fortune—especially to one of the guilds. Isn't that right, Sior?"
Sior smiled faintly.
"I'm certain. His clothes, his strange presence in the forest, his language—it's all signs of a MISFIT. I'm no expert, but I believe it's English."
Firelight glinted off Darmon's terrifying fangs.
Silence fell like a shroud…
***
As the fog swallowed the area like a suffocating curtain, Kalu jolted awake inside the wagon.
He shivered, staring into the thick gray void—humid air pressing heavily, erasing all landmarks.
He whispered, voice trembling:
"What…? How did we end up inside this fog?"
He strained his eyes in every direction—only emptiness greeted him.
Then, a calm voice came from behind:
"It seems one of the worst-case scenarios has come true…"
Kalu spun around.
Tamer sat in the wagon's corner, his expression seasoned and calm, his eyes scanning the fog as if reading its script.
"Do you know when this happened?" Kalu asked anxiously.
Tamer shook his head. "Just woke up… like you."
A heavy silence settled—as if the fog itself watched their every breath.
Kalu broke it, voice shaky: "What do we do now?"
Tamer paused, then began: "I have a bracelet—"
But before he could finish, a cold current ripped through the fog.
From the gray depths, a massive wolf lunged—eyes blazing crimson, fangs dripping with red-tinged saliva.
Tamer didn't hesitate.
He drew his long dagger and buried it deep into the beast's chest.
He murmured thoughtfully: "My hand is still steady… Boris… this was just an anomaly."
Yet the wolf roared—the wound began regenerating rapidly, a Kora aura intensifying its ferocity as it snarled at Tamer.
*But I still can't match them in raw physical strength…*
Sweat beaded on Tamer's temple as he wrestled with the wolf, twisting his dagger inside the wound to no avail.
The beast pressed down, overwhelming him—
Until an enraged shout cut through the fog:
"By the Creator! Do you think I'd just stand by while you devour my comrade?!"
Kalu had leapt to his feet, war axe in hand.
With a single, brutal swing, he cleaved the wolf's head in half—Kora veins flaring across his body, a luminous red aura swirling around him.
"Huh… You okay?"
"That's my question—how's your shoulder?" Tamer asked, concerned.
"Like a bear, haha! Don't forget—I'm a Kora user under Lunara! Right now, nothing can stop me!"
Tamer smiled faintly, then approached the corpse, leaning on the wagon to avoid losing his way in the fog.
Near the wolf's leg, he spotted something metallic.
He bent down and picked it up—a bracelet, etched with intricate, interwoven symbols.
He murmured: "A Kona tool… prevents getting lost in the fog. If it was tied to the wolf, that means…"
Kalu interrupted, trembling: "It means the boy was telling the truth?"
Tamer's gaze pierced the fog, his voice low but sharp:
"Or worse… it might actually be the worst."
As if summoned by his words, shadows began solidifying from within the mist.
Four figures emerged—masks hiding their faces.
Two were wreathed in full Kora auras.
Another was enveloped in complete Koshin energy, his sword crackling with Koshin as well.
The last bore a Kora aura, his blade shimmering with controlled power.
Kalu whispered: "Looks like we're surrounded…"
Tamer replied quickly: "Kalu, open my bag. You'll find another bracelet—wear it. That's what I was going to use to cross the fog…"
No one gave them time to act.
One masked figure swung his massive axe upward, aiming to split Tamer in two.
In a flash, Tamer sidestepped—the axe tore the air, slicing his hair.
His left hand seized the attacker's wrist with martial precision; his right hand slashed with his dagger.
Metal shrieked—then flesh ripped.
The man's hand flew off, landing in Tamer's grip.
"Aghhh!" The muffled scream ended as Tamer kicked him hard in the chest, sending him crashing into nearby rocks.
Tamer tossed the severed hand to Kalu and said calmly:
"Forget the bag—take the bracelet from his wrist."
"Got it!" Kalu grabbed it, slipped it on, and hurled the hand away.
Without waiting, Kalu charged his massive frame toward the second attacker—his war axe and body glowing with red Kora.
Blade met axe in a violent clash—sparks flew, the air shuddered.
But Kalu surged forward, his muscles bulging, his sinews flaring—
shattering the man's defense, then pivoting his axe diagonally to pierce through shoulder to hip.
The masked man screamed, vomiting blood, before Kalu slowly withdrew the axe—leaving the body to collapse like a broken puppet.
Another bandit lunged at Tamer with a massive club wreathed in Koshin.
Tamer dodged with a fluid lean, then—blue Kona encryption flaring on his dagger—severed the man's hand in one stroke.
The last opponent struck fast—dual short swords flashing as he unleashed a storm of strikes.
But Tamer moved like a phantom, feet sliding through the fog as if dancing.
He parried the first strike with his dagger-arm, twisted around the second, and yanked hard.
"Kraaak!" The man's shoulder dislocated.
Tamer drove his dagger into the man's lower jaw, tearing upward to the ear—blood sprayed like a fountain across his face.
But this foe wasn't easily finished—Kora prevented the blade from fully penetrating.
In a flash, the man swung his Koshin-coated sword, slicing the air.
At the same time, the first attacker—now handless—tried to ambush Tamer from behind.
But Kalu caught the movement in the fog's reflection.
He roared, leaping between them, and—using one hand—swung his axe upward from below, splitting the man from gut to chest.
As the bandit's body split in two, Tamer finished off the fourth.
Two fell—one before Kalu, the other slamming into the wagon, both hands severed, staining the wood with blood and gore.
The two men exchanged a brief glance amid the groans of the dying.
In moments, it was over.
Tamer began collecting the bracelets one by one.
He glanced at Kalu and said: "Come on—no time to waste. We must protect the rest of the caravan."
Then he looked at the unconscious bandit.
"For now, I'll bind him and keep him alive—for questioning later."
Kalu took a deep breath and nodded.
"I almost forgot… how terrifying you are, even in direct combat."
Tamer replied calmly, securing the bracelets in his bag:
"Last time, I wasn't at my best… After all, I'm only living creature."
His words reminded Kalu of Boris slicing through wolves.
Kalu smiled, though tension lingered:
"Remind me never to be on Boris's bad side again."
***
While the fog clung to the land like a suffocating gray shroud…
Jon walked alone—until he noticed the fog quietly sealing him off from one of the wagons.
*The fog is spreading? What's happening…*
He climbed aboard—and found the green Elf merchant, Garin, fast asleep, utterly defenseless.
Without hesitation, Jon kicked him hard in the stomach.
Garin jolted awake, gasping: "Ah! What?!"
"Get up, fool—something's happening… somehow, I'm trapped in the heart of this fog," Jon muttered, scanning the surroundings sharply.
He stood aside, eyes hunting for movement in the mist, unsheathing his sword and discarding the scabbard—ready for anything.
He growled at Garin:
"If I die… I won't forgive you. I'll curse you to suffer endlessly after death…"
Garin protested: "But! What do I have to do with this fog?"
"I don't know…" Jon replied. "But I feel it—you and your Kora Stones are the cause."
"Bu—" Garin never finished.
A guttural snarl tore through the silence.
From the fog's heart emerged Bloody Wolves—eyes glowing, bodies wreathed in Kora.
At least twenty of them—moving in eerie coordination, all fixated on the Kora barrels in the wagon.
Jon's brows furrowed in irritation:
"By the Maker of All… these wolves… they seem to hold a grudge against me."
"What…? Bloody Wolves?! How are they moving freely in the fog?!" Garin stammered.
But Jon didn't answer—he remembered Tamer's warning: walking in the fog was impossible… except under special conditions.
He studied the wolves' legs.
*A bracelet? Perhaps an artifact granting them mobility in the fog.*
Jon connected this to earlier rumors of sentient wolves—and the picture grew clear.
*Also… I suspect they can sense the Kora in the barrels.*
He gripped his sword with his left hand.
Red Kora flared around his body and blade—its dusty crimson glow cutting through the thick fog.
A half-smile formed on his face—half challenge, half tension:
"That's why I love Lunara… reaching Emitter Level, even briefly… such a rush. You're not the only ones growing stronger, you damn wolves."
The fog was so dense, everything faded into gray—made worse by his missing right eye.
But Jon didn't hesitate.
*I need one of those wolves' bracelets.*
Red Kora blazed around him, coating his sword—his power surging with every breath.
*Emitter makes the world feel lighter… as if all physical resistance vanishes from my body…*
Before him stood Bloody Wolves—larger, fiercer than ever, each wreathed in Kora amplified by Lunara, the Red Moon.
Suddenly, one leapt at him from his blind spot.
But Jon sensed it through his Kora aura.
In an instant, he spun and slashed at the wolf's neck.
The blade cut only halfway—enough to wound, but not kill, thanks to their regeneration.
Still, it was enough.
Jon reached out, yanked the bracelet off the wolf, slipped it on, and shoved the beast away with his shoulder.
The moment he wore it, movement in the fog felt effortless—as if the invisible chains had vanished.
*My suspicion was right.*
He noticed another wolf gathering Kora energy into its mouth, preparing to blast him.
*So some of them have reached Conversion Level…*
Yet Jon smiled.
He leapt from the wagon into the pack.
Yes—despite his grim situation and missing eye… he smiled.
"Come on! Let Me show you who's truly Jon, The Son of Clinton!" he roared, charging.
As one wolf charged a Kora sphere, Jon rushed beside it and forced its jaws shut—triggering an internal explosion.
He swiftly decapitated it before it could recover.
At the same moment, another wolf—dark-red aura blazing, Kora sphere forming—attempted to fire.
Jon sidestepped, sliced the sphere with his left sword, then rolled over his shoulder to evade the blast.
He rebounded instantly, cutting the wolf's leg and crippling it momentarily.
Its howl didn't cease even as it collapsed—Kora still pulsed through its limbs, beginning to regenerate.
Jon tried to behead it—
—but three other wolves circled, exploiting the fog and his impaired vision.
He was forced to retreat, his Kora aura flaring brighter as he screamed inwardly:
*Strength! Speed! Agility! Durability!*
One wolf gathered a massive Kora sphere in its maw, launching it directly at him—dense Kora swirling around it like armor.
Jon didn't see it—but he felt the Kora charging.
He braced to block…
—But two other wolves seized the moment, biting down hard on his legs, pinning him in place.
The big wolf launched into the air, releasing the massive blast.
Jon realized instantly:
*These two are just sacrificial shields…*
But he didn't need to flee.
He swung his left sword in a wide arc—his blade and Kora clashing against the sphere.
This time, it held.
He spun, redirected the blast back at the wolf—and it exploded on impact.
In the same rotation, he severed the heads of the two wolves biting his legs.
The pack recoiled briefly—but didn't stop.
The largest wolf roared, claws tearing the earth as it charged—fangs gleaming with Kora-laced saliva.
It didn't charge alone.
The entire pack coordinated—opening a path for it like a living spearhead.
A circle formed, surrounding Jon from all sides.
The alpha leapt—not blindly, but with calculated precision.
One wolf struck his leg from behind.
Another threatened to bite from the side.
A third lunged to seize his sword blade with its claws, trying to immobilize his arm.
Fangs flashed. Claws struck.
Their movements weren't just animalistic—they were tactical, synchronized like a trained strike squad.
Jon felt crushing pressure—
A bite from behind, a frontal lunge, simultaneous strikes from both flanks.
Yet amid the chaos…
His single eye caught something…
Excitement.
Bloodied but unbroken, he grinned and shouted:
"Perfect! You're true predators… but unfortunately for you—I'm the greater predator!"
The moment the alpha tried to clamp its fangs around him, Jon dropped suddenly.
His body swayed like living smoke within the Kora aura—letting the fangs slice empty air.
In the same breath, he spun and beheaded the wolf pinning him from behind.
It dodged—but Jon didn't care.
He whirled, driving his blade into the chest of the one trying to seize his sword.
The alpha roared—but Jon didn't wait.
He raised his Kora-wreathed arm, unleashed a massive wave of energy, and blew apart the encircling ring.
Wolves scattered—some crashing to the ground, howling; others recovering swiftly.
But the terrifying part?
The pack didn't scatter…
They regrouped with eerie precision—tongues panting, fangs dripping blood—yet refusing to retreat.
They fought with uncanny discipline—each wolf covering another, every fall exploited for a new assault.
One of them advanced heavily, and the others encircled Jon once more.
It was clear: this battle wouldn't end quickly.
Jon planted his sword before him—red Kora blazing brighter, his smile half madness, half resolve.
He whispered, as if to himself:
"Alright… let's see how your pack holds up against one man."
Jon's sword deepened to a strange crimson; Kora seeped into its core, reinforcing it.
The Red Moon—Lunara—granted every Kora user a one-level boost.
But exceptions existed in this world—rare anomalies who rose two levels, not one.
*Develop Level… ah, what a feeling.*
There was no sign the battle would end soon.
A clash of numbers and ferocity… against sheer will and unyielding defiance.