**Chapter: The Forest of Death and the Summoning of Heroes**
The wyvern's slash had torn through the dense forest, its savage roar echoing in the chilling cold and darkness of the *Forest of Death*. The forest was a place where the sun barely pierced the thick canopy, shrouding everything in gloom. It was easy to lose one's way in its tangled shadows—a perfect hunting ground for fearsome monsters lurking silently.
As the surviving heroes stumbled through the woods, the forest gradually thinned. After what felt like half a day, the suffocating darkness gave way to warm sunlight filtering through gentler branches. The air grew fresher, scented with blooming flowers. Far ahead, the kingdom came into view—a sprawling city shadowed by a towering mountain, surrounded by lush farms and quaint villages.
Villagers smiled as the heroes' wagon passed by, their faces alight with hope. The city's gate was immense—twenty stories tall and imposing. The heavy wooden gates creaked as they opened, revealing guards stationed along the road to the castle, ensuring no interruption. Between the city walls, common folk bustled about the market, joyous and vibrant, while behind the inner wall lived the nobles, ministers, and wealthy elite. At the heart stood the magnificent castle, its white walls crowned with a blue roof and a flag fluttering proudly in the breeze.
Inside, maids scattered petals, welcoming the weary heroes. They were led to a richly adorned room where they could clean themselves. The walls gleamed with gold accents, the furniture heavy yet elegant: a uniquely-designed table and a fluffy bed awaited. After bathing, the heroes selected royal garments from the maid's assortment, preparing to meet the king. But before they left, the maid whispered, "Don't reveal your full name to anyone—use only half or a false name." Puzzled, the heroes nodded, sensing the gravity behind her words.
A sudden knock announced the guards returning to escort them to the throne room. The king, Kael'zar the Seventh, sat imposing on his throne. He rose and bowed respectfully to the heroes.
"It is a tragedy that befell you in the forest," the king said, voice heavy with sorrow. "Yet you are safe here. I am deeply heartbroken by your losses, and grateful beyond measure for your answering the summons."
He explained that the demon king sought to conquer their world, unleashing monsters in increasing number. Prophecies spoke of ten heroes destined to defeat this evil. Summoning these heroes, the king confessed, used a century's worth of power—a sacrifice not to be taken lightly. "Your bodies are those of the imperial knights, the strongest humans blessed by the gods themselves. We secured nine bodies, but a tenth proved elusive. I purchased one, and our greatest wizards succeeded in binding the strongest soul. However, a soul accompanied it, causing energy to surge dangerously. The wyvern, sensing this, attacked at once. Monsters wiped out the tenth knight and others, but by some grace, you survived."
The heroes questioned the possibility of returning home.
"I cannot say," the king answered quietly. "If there is a way, I shall seek it. For now, your power is needed to defeat the demon king."
They were given two days to decide. When asked about the summoning ritual, the king elaborated on the bodies, souls, and the wyvern's assault. The gravity of their mission settled upon them.
As they were escorted to their rooms, seven imposing figures strode past—the royal knights. The guards introduced them: ranked one to seven, merciless warriors unparalleled in combat. At the top stood Stormrider, the kingdom's strongest and most loyal. Next was Nightshade, ruthless and feared. Then Everheart, the kindest among the top three.
The heroes worried silently about their uncertain fate—wondering if the magic that summoned them could also send them home.
One spoke thoughtfully, "If magic brought us here, perhaps it can return us... but to kill the demon king, we must become stronger."
The king's voice interrupted their thoughts the next day. "Your training begins now. After two months, the magic academy's entrance exam awaits—a grueling challenge. You must learn to wield magic and soul weapons. Only then can you hope to stand against the darkness."
With a final word of encouragement, the king dismissed them to rest before rigorous training commenced.
Meanwhile, deep in the Forest of Death, Lucky found himself trapped in the wyvern's jaws. A stranger with a dense, unyielding aura—Ray—had saved him with raw power, not magic as Lucky sensed. They spoke of the summoning circle's imperfection, of extra souls summoned but lost to the monsters. Lucky's existence was a mystery even to Ray, who lived among the forest's dangers.
Lucky deside to live with ray for something, as they live lucky started undergoing traning with ray
### Lucky's First Week of Training – The Lost Soul and the Hunter**
The cabin was simple—bare walls, a stone fireplace, and the lingering scent of cooked wyvern meat. To Lucky, it was paradise compared to being in a wyvern's mouth.
The first morning started with pain.
"Up."
Ray's voice was sharp, clipped. The sun hadn't even risen yet. "If you sleep past dawn, something else will eat you before I do."
Lucky groaned, dragging himself out of bed. His legs still felt like jelly from the day before, but Ray was already outside, swinging a long wooden stick with precise movements.
"Pick it up," Ray said, pointing to the heavier one on the ground. "We start with sword basics."
Lucky gripped the wooden sword, immediately regretting it. It was heavier than it looked. Ray didn't explain the movements at first—he just demonstrated. Slash, step, parry. Again. And again.
It wasn't glamorous. It was exhausting.
By midday, Lucky's arms trembled. His swings were slow, clumsy. Ray didn't yell. He didn't praise either. He just watched like a hawk, correcting Lucky's feet, criticizing his form.
"When you swing, swing to end them. Not like you're waving goodbye."
Lucky bit his tongue. His body burned with fatigue, but his pride burned hotter. He wasn't going to quit.
### Campfire Talk – Believing in Destiny**
That evening, they sat by the campfire.
Lucky, his body sore and aching, stared into the flames. "You don't believe in fate… do you?"
Ray huffed. "Fate?" He tore a strip of dried wyvern meat with his teeth. "Fate is a story people tell themselves when they're too scared to choose."
Lucky frowned. "But… back in my world, we were told we were summoned because of destiny. That only the chosen could defeat the Demon King."
Ray leaned against the log, the firelight catching his weathered face. "Maybe that's true. Or maybe you all got dragged into someone else's war and they needed something to tell you. A reason to fight. People will believe anything if it has a fancy name behind it."
Silence sat between them. Lucky looked up at the stars. "You think I was just… extra? Not meant to be here?"
Ray didn't answer immediately. He stared into the fire, thoughtful. "You survived. That makes you meant to be alive. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who survives the Forest of Death earns their place."
Something softened in Lucky's chest. It wasn't exactly comfort. But it was… something.
### First Magic Breakthrough**
The second week was even harder.
Ray introduced magic. "Feel the mana in your chest. Not your hands. Not your mind. Right *here*," he tapped Lucky's sternum. "You work from the center out."
Lucky closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. The sensation was slippery, like trying to catch smoke in water. He focused. Breathed.
A spark.
A tiny flicker of flame appeared in his palm—then vanished with a puff of smoke. He gasped.
Ray raised an eyebrow. "Took me three weeks to make that much. Not bad."
### The Forest Tests Back**
Later that week, Ray sent Lucky alone into the upper forest to gather herbs.
"Don't fight anything that breathes heavy enough to shake the leaves. If it sees you, run. If it smells you, you're already dead."
As Lucky moved through the mist-choked woods, he felt goosebumps crawl up his spine. Something was watching him. Then—rustling. Antlers glinting like glass. Sharp hooves bolting into the fog.
Lucky crouched behind a tree. Then he saw it—five cloaked figures, moving unnaturally toward something hidden.
A cave?
Curiosity overcame caution. He followed, crouched low.
Time passed. Screams echoed from the darkness.
And at the mouth of the cave, Lucky hesitated. A rank smell—blood, magic, something feral. He took a step inside, eyes adjusting to the gloom. Chains rattled.
A massive shadow loomed. Blood smeared the walls, torn limbs resting at the creature's feet.
One red-eyed beast—bound, seething—lifted its head. Its mouth curled.
"Hyyy... brat."