The road that should not exist did not end.
It curved.
Not left or right—
but inward.
Lin Chen walked until the silver-gray grass faded into ash-colored soil. The stone pillars thinned, replaced by crooked silhouettes in the fog.
Tents.
Old ones.
Their cloth was torn, stiff with age, yet they stood upright as if time had avoided them.
Lin Chen slowed.
No footprints. No smoke. No sound. Either everyone here is dead… or they never lived.
A cold breeze passed through the camp.
The tattered banners fluttered.
Each banner bore the same faded symbol—
A long spear piercing a broken crown.
Lin Chen's heart tightened.
Why does that symbol feel… familiar? I've never seen it before.
He stepped into the camp.
The air shifted.
The pressure in his chest grew heavier, not painful, just… attentive.
At the center of the camp stood a stone rack.
Empty.
No weapons rested on it.
But the ground beneath was scarred with countless straight-line grooves, as if something had been thrust into the earth again and again over centuries.
Lin Chen knelt and brushed his fingers over one of the grooves.
The earth was smooth.
Too smooth.
Someone practiced here for a very, very long time.
A faint image flickered at the edge of his vision.
A lone figure standing in the fog, holding a spear.
Not attacking.
Not defending.
Just standing.
As if waiting.
Lin Chen's breath caught.
Waiting for what? For who?
The image vanished.
He searched the tents.
Inside one, he found an old journal bound with cracked leather. The pages were blank.
Not torn.
Not erased.
Blank.
Lin Chen frowned.
Who carries a journal and writes nothing?
When he touched the cover, warmth spread through his palm.
A single line appeared on the first page:
"The road is the spear.
The spear is the road."
Lin Chen stared at the words.
They faded.
The pages returned to blank.
"…Great," he muttered. "Mysterious and useless. Just my luck."
Still, he slipped the journal into his pack.
Something told him it wasn't empty.
Just waiting.
As he turned to leave, the fog thickened.
A low growl echoed from beyond the tents.
Lin Chen's fingers tightened around his knife.
So the road isn't done testing me yet.
A shape moved in the mist.
Then another.
Beasts.
Lean, pale creatures with elongated limbs and empty eyes. Their bodies looked half-formed, as if reality hadn't finished drawing them.
They circled slowly.
The air grew heavy.
The scars in the ground around the stone rack began to glow faintly.
Not with light.
With intent.
Lin Chen felt it press against his chest—
a forward-pulling pressure.
Not urging him to fight.
Urging him to move forward.
Forward? Into them? Are you insane?
The pressure didn't answer.
It simply existed.
Lin Chen exhaled slowly.
"…Fine. One step at a time."
He didn't rush.
He didn't retreat.
He walked.
The beasts hesitated.
One lunged.
Lin Chen sidestepped and drove his shoulder forward, using the straightest line he could manage. The motion felt strange—clean, decisive.
The beast was knocked aside, crashing into a tent pole.
The others recoiled.
Lin Chen blinked.
That felt… right. Like I finally stepped the way I was supposed to.
The pressure in the air eased.
The beasts retreated into the fog, unwilling to approach further.
Lin Chen stood alone in the camp, breathing hard.
The scars in the ground dimmed.
The stone rack remained empty.
But the road ahead felt… clearer.
As if it had acknowledged his choice to move forward rather than flee.
Far away, something ancient shifted its attention toward the road once more.
Not in anger.
In curiosity.