Wolf leaned against the cool wood, the last ghost of his breath drifting out like pale smoke.
Lamentia was still humming lazily inside the fractured statue, her voice carrying that languid, almost feline amusement.
He cast one last glance at the crack that bled faint ether into the stale air.
"I'll come back," he murmured—not out loud, but within the quiet forest of his thoughts.
Lamentia tilted her head with a faint smirk that deepened the soft shadows around her mouth.
"Oh? Saying goodbye already? How gentle of you," she drawled, voice slipping out smooth and sweet like syrup over stone.
"Fine, fine. Go play whatever role you want to be, little human. I'll be here, waiting in my coffin."
Wolf exhaled through his nose, a quiet hnh. He didn't bother replying out loud. She would hear the thought anyway.
Her laughter followed him as he turned away, light and silken yet with an edge beneath it, like velvet over a blade.
It lingered too long—like a perfume that didn't quite fade when it should have.
He took a slow, deliberate step back toward the corridor. In the distance, faint stirring echoed through the still air.
A cough.
A shuffle.
The low scrape of boots. Team Two's waking up.
A pulse of awareness ran down his spine like a taut string plucked. His body straightened, instincts sliding into quiet readiness. He could already picture it—the mess of questions, the disoriented voices, the tension of explaining why did he decide to come here alone.
He adjusted the collar of his coat absently, boots brushing against the dirt, sending up a thin puff of pale gray.
His gaze lingered on the faint fissures lining the walls; the air still held that strange sharpness of restrained power, almost metallic in the back of his throat.
Then—something shifted.
The atmosphere clenched.
The air that had been merely stale a heartbeat ago thickened, the weight of it pressing against his chest. The forest dimmed, the faint glow from the sun dulling to a muted hum.
Wolf froze mid-step. A prickling chill slid down his arms.
—This isn't natural.
A shadow fell across the floor, slow and deliberate. Then, with the sound of stone grinding against itself, it appeared.
The rock creature.
Its body was a perfect, unblemished sphere of dark stone, etched with runes that pulsed like veins of molten metal under its surface—steady, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat. From either side extended two rectangular stones, rigid and angular, hovering without joints or sinew. Arms, but not arms. A thing that mimicked form but denied flesh.
Its presence alone pressed on the forest like a weight pressing down water.
The creature's runes brightened—golden veins pulsing once, twice—before a sound emerged.
It was deep and layered, a voice like boulders echoing through caverns.
"Congratulations, human. You have completed the Hidden Quest."
Wolf's heart gave a single, hard beat. His brows drew in slightly.
Hidden quest? The thought surfaced sharply, curling like smoke through his mind.
I didn't even know there was a quest in the first place.
"I know, I know," the creature intoned before he could shape another thought, its tone rising with a strange, exaggerated cheer, like a merchant reciting good news.
"What could be that hidden quest? That must be your question, human. Be glad!"
The runes flared brighter as its voice swelled, reverberating in the forest's hollow ribs.
"This information was allowed to share. The Hidden Quest is—discover the origin of the statue… and discover Lysander's research journal."
Wolf blinked once, slowly. His gaze flicked around.
The flickering wisps of ether in the forest were frozen mid-drift. Dust hung in the air like suspended ash.
Even the faint rustle from the corridor—the stirrings of the waking team—had gone utterly still.
His breath slid out between his teeth.
"…Did you just stop time?"
The words escaped him, quiet, edged with surprise he didn't bother to mask.
The creature gave a sound that wasn't laughter but carried the same mocking undertone.
"Of course, human. Do you want the others to know you have completed a hidden quest? Hahaha—I think not."
Wolf's throat bobbed once in a dry swallow. The weight of silence was almost deafening.
Even the usual low hum of ether felt distant—held at bay by some unseen force.
"And the reward is…" the creature continued, dragging the last word like a dramatic flourish.
"Five levels… and choosing one of these equipment."
Its rectangular arms raised, and the air in front of it twisted. Space folded with a sound like grinding stone and breaking glass. One by one, ten pieces of equipment blinked into existence—suspended in the still air, arranged in a perfect arc before Wolf.
Blades with shimmering black steel. A ring that bled faint violet mist. A heavy, rune-etched gauntlet that hummed like a living thing. A cloak that swallowed the light around it. All of them floating silently, their presence soaking the forest in quiet power.
A translucent screen blinked to life before each one, lines of script shimmering like cold fire.
Wolf's gaze moved slowly from left to right, taking in each item with narrowed eyes.
His hands stayed at his sides, fingers curling slightly—not in hesitation, but in careful thought.
Hidden quest… reward… equipment…
His mind was already running through possibilities, weighing risk against gain.
His heartbeat drummed low and steady beneath the silence.
Wolf drew in a quiet breath and let it out through his nose, his fingers flexing loosely at his sides as the black-steel rapier hovered before him, its edge shimmering like polished obsidian under water.
The forest itself felt unnaturally still. The air didn't move; even the faint ether wisps were frozen mid-curl like smoke trapped in amber. The only sound came from the creature's runes—a low, slow hum like a faraway bell struck once and left to vibrate endlessly.
He tilted his head a little, studying the weapon as if sizing up an opponent. The rapier's blade was needle-thin, narrow but elegant, its guard like twisted black vines. Words surfaced across the faint translucent screen:
Name: Blade of the Fallen One
Description:
A blade made from a sparkling black ore, said to have been wielded by a knight.
Effect:
+5 END
+5 SPD
+3 AGI
You can control the direction and speed of attacks with greater precision.
When striking a weak point, can inflict bleeding and fear.
Wolf shifted his weight slightly, exhaling through pursed lips.
A rapier… His gaze flicked down its length.
It wasn't bad—its stats were clean, focused, deadly in the right hands.
But the weapon didn't speak to him. It wasn't his rhythm.
He tapped his thumb against the side of his index finger in a small, habitual motion.
I wasn't planning to pick it anyway, he thought dryly.
They're too big to hide. I'd have to come up with some stupid explanation if the others saw it.
A small scoff escaped his throat, barely audible.
And a rapier? No thanks.
He rolled his shoulder, almost dismissively, and let his gaze drift toward the next piece.
"Anyway," he muttered under his breath, "it doesn't hurt to look."
The ring floated before him next, delicate and silver-gray, the thin band wrapped around itself in subtle spirals. A faint purple mist curled lazily from it like smoke from a dying candle.
Name: Veil of Weep
Description:
A ring forged from a metal believed to have been used in ancient rituals to appeal to the Moon Goddess for mercy. When worn, it releases a thin, purple mist of magic tears that constantly cover the finger.
Effect:
+10 INT
+5 POW
The faint purple mist keeps you constantly calm and focused.
If someone tells a lie nearby, the ring's mist briefly shifts to a pale blue.
Wolf arched a brow. The mist was faint, almost beautiful—ethereal. The idea of an automatic lie detector… useful, but… He clicked his tongue softly against his teeth.
Ah, the nerd one, he thought, amused.
But even now, I still can't measure the exact amount of my ether. At least now I can feel it and control it.
His expression didn't change much—just a subtle downturn of his mouth, an exhale through his nose. He moved on.
The next item loomed with a heavier presence—thick, dark gauntlets, their surface patterned with softly glowing lines. They emitted a subtle vibration he could feel against the skin of his forearms just by standing near. A sound—not quite metallic, not quite living—thrummed from them in a slow rhythm.
Name: Gauntlets of the Golem's Heart
Description:
Heavy gauntlets. They emit a low, persistent hum as if a vital machine resides within.
Effect:
+5 STR
+5 STA
+3 END
The humming vibrates in sync with your movements, making the grip and blocks exceptionally sturdy.
Strikes and parries send a slight vibration through the target, causing a minor stun.
The gauntlets are always slightly warm, protecting against extreme cold.
Wolf tilted his chin forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied the seams of the steel.
It specifically says heavy, he noted silently. His fingers brushed the air just shy of touching it, feeling that warm current of force.
But it doesn't reduce impact force. It just… bolsters it.
He gave the faintest nod. "Hmm," he breathed. "This one's actually… interesting." A little spark of intrigue flickered behind his calm exterior.
Then his gaze slid to the next.
A cloak, long and dark, unfurled in the air like spilled ink—swallowing light as it shifted. It didn't merely hang; it floated with a quiet, soundless grace, edges rippling like smoke at twilight.
Name: Mantle of Shadow
Description:
A cloak woven at the moment of transition between day and night. It has the ability to consume the light around it. It is said that its wearer is a shadow that no one can touch during the war.
Effect:
+10 AGI
+4 SPD
The cloak's light-absorbing material makes you move without sound.
In low light, the body is enveloped in a faint, protective gloom, which enhances low-light vision and makes you significantly harder to be noticed.
The fabric regulates external temperature, preventing discomfort from extreme heat or cold.
His fingers twitched slightly at his side.
Silent movement… low-light concealment… A good tool. Very good.
His eyes narrowed a fraction, and a quiet hum escaped his throat.
I have my wakizashi, and that's already good for close assassinations.
But I don't have anything for long-range yet. He shook his head lightly, shifting his stance.
"Alright… next."
An old, rusted compass floated next—small, weathered, its metal corroded but its needle trembling faintly as if alive. The dial was cracked, a thin line splitting it down the center, but its presence carried something… subtle.
Name: The Whisper-Worn Compass
Description:
An old compass with a broken and rusted dial, but its needle still trembles. It is said to belong to a lost explorer who took the elixir of life along with it.
Effect:
+20 LUCK
The compass needle vibrates violently when approaching secret passages, hidden doors, or invisible traps.
When you stand still, the compass points to important, forgotten items in the area.
Your sense of direction is accurate, even in bad weather or dense fog.
Wolf blinked at it slowly, lips pressing together.
Luck. The most unreliable stat yet.
He leaned closer, his shadow spilling against the floor.
But the effect… that's actually good. His brows furrowed slightly, a silent acknowledgment of its potential.
Still, not the kind of thing he needed right now.
He straightened, exhaling softly through his nose, and turned his gaze once more.
Next came the talisman—a cloudy white stone carved into a soft, rounded shape, bound with braided string. A faint, gentle warmth emanated from it, brushing against his skin like a steady heartbeat.
Name: Talisman of the First Breath
Description:
A talisman carved from a cloudy white stone, worn by a tribe to protect newborn babies.
Effect:
+10 END
+10 POW
You can breathe more deeply and evenly, allowing the body to recover from fatigue slightly faster.
It creates a warm sensation on the skin around the neck, improving resistance to cold.
When in grave danger, the talisman will flash and grant an immediate surge of power, temporarily doubling STR, SPD, AGI, and END.
Wolf stared at it for a long time, feeling the warmth soak into his palm as he brought it closer.
"…Woah," he murmured low, almost to himself.
That might be the best one. His pulse gave a subtle throb in response. No healing, true—but a physical boost like that could change everything in a pinch.
And I can just slip it in my pocket, he thought.
No need to explain anything.
His mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close.
"Hmm… I think I'll pick this one," he muttered under his breath, voice barely audible.
"But… let's look at the rest first."
His gaze slid to the final piece that caught his attention—Greaves. They were dented, solid, worn down by war but not broken. Heavy, reliable.
Name: Warden's Steel Greaves
Description:
A simple, solid-colored greaves, but bearing numerous dents from intense battles. Much heavier than normal armor, it is said to be part of the impenetrable armor of a fortress commander.
Effect:
+10 END
+5 STA
+5 STR
When attacked in the legs or feet, the greaves absorb impact very well and reflect the damage back.
You can feel the ground clearly, making you more aware of the surface you step on.
Wolf crouched slightly to look at them closer, fingers hovering just above the cold metal. The dents told a story of countless battles—practical, yes.
But his head tilted slightly, unimpressed.
"Not bad," he whispered. "But not good enough compared to the others."
His breath ghosted out in the still air, the soft hum of the rock creature filling the silence once again as ten prizes hovered before him. He slowly straightened his back, shoulders rolling once.
Wolf's breath trembled faintly in the stillness.
The translucent interface hummed softly, casting pale silver light over his jawline, catching faint beads of sweat clinging stubbornly to the edges of his temple.
His left thumb grazed the next item—an old, tattered volume—its cover a dull gray, bound with something that was unmistakably leather but far too… smooth to be animal hide he recognized.
Name: Tome of Muted
Description:
A small book bound with the skin of an unknown animal. All the pages are blank.
Effect:
+10 INT
+10 POW
Holding this book will quickly remind you of the basic ether theory.
The book will vibrate slightly when you encounters a large source of ether nearby
The moment his fingertip brushed against the item's projection, a faint, almost inaudible shiver ran up his arm—like a soft, wordless hum pressing against the inside of his skull.
Wolf's eyelids twitched.
A flood of fragmented theories—formulas, principles, half-forgotten diagrams—flashed at the back of his mind like scattered embers fanned back into flame.
He inhaled slowly, the cool air dragging past the back of his throat.
Ether theory, huh… that's not useless, he thought, his eyes narrowing slightly.
A faint frown tugged at his lips—not irritation, but measured weighing.
But… Lamentia already drilled that into me so...
The light from the book's projection dimmed as he let the thought settle, almost like it, too, was listening.
The moment he pulled his finger back, the illusion collapsed soundlessly, fading into thin air like mist exhaled into the cold. His right shoulder rolled backward with a soft crack. The weight of his leather straps shifted against the fabric of his tunic.
Next, his gaze swept toward another hovering sigil.
The faint green of it was calmer, less aggressive than the first—a warm, natural glow, as though sunlight had been braided into strands and woven into shape.
Name: Woven Circlet of the Hearth
Description:
A simple circlet woven from vines and natural fibers, it is said to be the symbol of the leader of a small community that worships peace and coexistence.
Effect:
+10 Int
+10 Pow
You gain trust more easily when you talk to people.
The Circlet provides quick relief from headaches and minor dizziness.
You feel a clearer sense of connection between people.
Wolf tilted his head slightly, his jaw tightening as the image spun gently before him.
Thin vines were wrapped with uncanny precision, almost too perfect to be handmade—woven so seamlessly that they seemed alive.
A faint floral scent drifted around him—not imagined, but conjured. It smelled like damp forest soil after rain and crushed leaves beneath bare feet. It wasn't unpleasant, but it didn't belong here.
Not in this black forest of sharp edges and cold stone.
His lips pressed into a thin line.
Charisma, huh… the first piece that actually boosts it.He let out a slow, thoughtful hum deep in his chest, almost a growl. His brows drew together as he considered.
"Not bad… if I were drinking tea and giving speeches," he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough like gravel sliding down a shallow slope.
He leaned slightly closer, letting the light brush against the planes of his face. His fingers hovered near the projection, close enough to almost feel its warmth, but he didn't touch it. His jaw worked faintly, a sign of indecision tightening in the hinge. Then, with a faint exhale that could've been a scoff, he pulled his hand back.
"Not for now."
The green light dimmed softly, like a hearthfire sighing out.
Finally, his gaze locked onto the last artifact floating at the edge of the array—a thing that didn't shimmer or glow like the others. It absorbed the light around it, drinking it in, like a quiet and waiting blade in the dark.
Name: Ebon-Hilt of the First King
Description:
The spare hilt, made of a hard, almost stone-like black wood, has faint ancient inscriptions carved on it. It is believed that this hilt was left behind after the failed casting of a legendary king's sword.
Effect:
+5 STR
+5 END
+5 INT
This hilt makes the weapon fit perfectly in your hand, as if it is part of your body.
You can see the clear spot of vulnerabilities and weaknesses of your enemies.
Wolf's breath stilled for a heartbeat. The black wood looked heavier than any hilt had the right to be, and yet… it didn't sag in the air.
A ring of faint inscriptions curled around its surface, glowing only when his eyes lingered too long on a single line. His fingers flexed subconsciously at his side, like they wanted to hold it.
A faint smirk ghosted the corner of his lips—not warm, but sharp.
"Hmph. A good hilt without a blade…" he murmured. His voice dropped quieter, more to himself than anyone else. "…is like a promise without teeth."
He rotated his neck slightly, a soft crack echoing in the still forest. A stray lock of hair fell into his eyes.
He didn't brush it away.
His attention remained anchored to the hilt.
His mind settled. His hand reached forward through the rippling veil of the interface, passing through the fading projections of the other equipment like they were no more than ghosts.
He wrapped his fingers around the faintly glowing talisman—the one he had chosen from the start.
Talisman of the First Breath.
The air around him shifted. Not violently, not dramatically—but with the subtle weight of a held breath finally exhaled.
The remaining items fractured into shards of light and dissolved into black dust, vanishing like candle smoke in wind.
Above, the creature that had been watching the entire time—a formless, geometric thing—shifted slightly.
Two long, rectangular stones extended outward from its sides.
They hung like limbs without bones, then snapped sharply together with a clean, resonant clap that cracked through the forest.
The sound echoed down the walls like the hollow ring of a distant bell.
Wolf's eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened around the talisman, the faint pulse of its energy still settling against his palm.
He tilted his head just slightly to the right, a subtle tic that carried a clear, silent message
What now?
The creature's form pulsed once, its edges blurring, its voice following an instant later—a low, layered resonance, like something speaking through hollow stone:
"Now," it intoned, its tone oddly deliberate, "for the last reward."
A faint crease formed between Wolf's brows.
"...Last reward?"