The air around them began to shift again—not in sound, but in weight. It was subtle at first, like the forest itself exhaled in slow, uneven breaths.
The canopy overhead—woven through with long, gnarled branches and damp moss—swayed faintly though no wind had passed.
A faint mist lingered in the hollows between the roots, thin as the breath of sleeping animals.
The creature's many-edged body seemed to hum, like chiseled stone resonating with something buried deeper beneath the earth. Then, slowly, its voice spilled through the forest's quiet:
"The last reward…"
Its tone lowered, slow and measured.
"…is information."
Wolf's pupils constricted and dilated in the same heartbeat, a faint flicker barely noticeable to anyone but himself. His chin tilted slightly downward, head angling just a fraction to the left as though trying to hear the words better—not because he couldn't hear, but because he wanted to weigh them.
His fingers curled lightly against the fabric of his trousers, thumb rubbing the inside of his knuckle as the word settled. Information. That was worth far more than trinkets.
Veridian's voice sharpened, its layered echoes slipping between the branches, crawling into the night like something alive.
"Hahaha… this information will be very useful to you,"
the creature's laughter came low, almost too fluid for its unnatural form, the sound cracking and doubling like multiple voices trying to laugh through one throat.
"…as it is directly about your situation."
Wolf's breath drew in through his nose—quiet, steady, but long.
His shoulders straightened slightly, though the rest of his body remained still, like a hunter deciding whether to draw his blade or not.
"As you might have noticed," Veridian continued, every word dropping like a small, deliberate strike, "you were thrown into this world without knowing anything—except the simple command: survive."
Wolf's gaze flickered faintly. A spark of something—not panic, not shock, just quiet acknowledgment.
Yes,that much had been obvious.
"But what is the purpose of survival?"
The creature's tone twisted upward, like a blade sliding out of its sheath.
"It is to be chosen as the best out of each group."
The mist thickened at their feet, curling against Wolf's boots like grasping hands. The silence between words grew heavier.
"There will be only one hundred remaining… chosen from your performance. Every act you commit—every choice, every cruelty, every hesitation—will be observed. Measured."
Its voice bent lower, almost intimate.
"And this Vetting will take place exactly one year hence."
For a heartbeat, all that remained was the whisper of night wind pushing through old bark. Then Veridian's laugh erupted again—raw, layered, sharp-edged.
"So, human… tell me," it purred, each word drawn out like slow, mocking fingers against glass.
"How does this information make you feel, hm?"
Wolf's face went utterly still—not blank in the sense of emptiness, but blank like iron cooled to a dead calm. His lips parted slightly, a breath catching at the back of his throat—not from fear, but calculation.
His eyes shifted up toward the creature, unblinking, faintly gleaming with reflected moonlight that filtered down between the boughs.
When he finally spoke, his voice was level, low, and coarse at the edges.
"Can I ask questions?"
The way Veridian answered was almost dismissive—not harsh, just… detached, as though it was following a script written long before this moment.
"That is entirely up to their judgment,"
it replied, voice flattening as its form dimmed slightly, "though that is not what I was looking for."
Wolf's head tilted again—just a small, subtle angle, like a wolf sniffing at something beneath the snow.
"Hm?" he murmured under his breath, then, clearer, "Then first question… what's your name—or what should I call you?"
The forest paused.
Veridian's body froze mid-hover, its edges locking with an almost audible click.
For a fraction of a second, the creature seemed… caught.
And then—
It burst out laughing.
A raw, sudden sound like stone shattering.
Its entire frame shook with uneven tremors, its dissonant laughter spilling out in harsh waves that echoed through the woods.
The branches overhead rustled faintly—not because of wind, but because the sound carried.
When the laughter finally began to thin, Veridian's voice returned—still colored with leftover amusement.
"Hah… Hahaha… Just address me as Veridian."
Wolf's brow twitched slightly upward.
"…Veridian?" His tone wasn't skeptical.
It was… noting. Marking the name in his head.
He blinked once, slow, watching the way the creature steadied itself after laughing.
Then he spoke again.
"You answered that fast."
"Because that information," Veridian said, almost pleased, "isn't prohibited."
Wolf's lips pulled slightly—not quite a smile, not quite neutral. Something in between. A faint, oh, I see expression.
"Ooh? Alright. My next question then…" His voice sharpened faintly.
"Is the one who sent me here the same one that rules this world?"
The silence that followed was immediate—cold and sudden. The forest seemed to lean in.
"…This information is prohibited."
Veridian's tone dropped into a dead flat register, stripped of the earlier laughter.
The creature gave a small, sudden jerk, its entire body stuttering like something glitching out of rhythm. It turned sharply away from Wolf, its edges fracturing faintly before realigning.
Wolf didn't move. His gaze followed it—not sharply, just a long, level stare. His fingers flexed once, then went still at his sides.
Seconds bled out.
Then Veridian rotated back toward him, smoother this time.
"You are only allowed to ask three questions,"
it stated, each word measured.
"That includes the earlier question. Now… you have only one question left, human."
Its voice deepened, growing taut—not threatening, but serious. Like the game had shifted tone.
Oh? So they didn't expect me to ask anything useful at the start. Thought I'd waste it on something shallow, huh?
Well… too bad. Guess they're nervous about how much I can pry out of them.
A faint breath escaped him—not laughter, but a quiet huff through his nose.
He tilted his head again slightly, shoulders easing just enough to betray that he'd made up his mind.
"…Guess I should say my last question now."
His voice carried softly through the mist.
"Alright, my last question is… is this really my world? The one I was living in before?"
Veridian stilled. The kind of stillness that didn't come from indecision, but from something heavier—like old stone remembering its cracks. Its angles trembled faintly, then froze in place, and for several long seconds, only the soft croak of a distant night bird filled the silence.
Then, finally:
"…Yes,"
it answered slowly,
"this is your world."
Wolf's eyelids lowered slightly—not enough to close, but enough to dim the light in his gaze.
His shoulders rose and fell in one slow, shallow breath.
"I see." His voice came out almost light.
No surprised.
Just… accepting. A quiet shrug followed, lazy and practiced.
"If they didn't have information that's prohibited," he muttered, "I'd ask better questions."
Then louder, with a slant of his head, "So this is all?"
The creature's response came without hesitation this time. Its edges steadied, tone smoothing back to something like control.
"Not yet," Veridian said.
"Someone has questions for you."
The forest deepened into silence again. The mist seemed to pull closer.
Wolf's grip tightened faintly at his side. He didn't move his head, but his eyes sharpened, narrowing just slightly as he listened for whatever came next.
The silence that settled after Veridian's last words was not passive—no, it tightened the air around them. The forest dimmed into something almost ritualistic; the mist pooled thick around their ankles, unmoving, as if even the night itself was listening.
A faint, metallic pulse throbbed inside Veridian's stone body—soft but steady, like the heartbeat of something that didn't need to live but chose to.
Then, with a smooth and unnatural shift, Veridian's voice slid back into the night, quieter now but threaded with something sharper—curiosity, or perhaps something worse.
"Identify the weaknesses of this piece you are using as a basis for expanding your power."
Wolf's head tilted slightly to the right, just enough to let a lock of his dark hair slide over the edge of his brow. His eyes narrowed—not in irritation, but in focus.
Weaknesses…? The thought brushed through his mind with a soft, inward hum.
So they're referring to Klion… They want to see if I've already calculated the probability of betrayal and error?
The corner of his mouth twitched upward, not a smile—more like a private joke only he could hear. But it was gone in the next heartbeat as he forced his expression back to its familiar, collected neutrality.
He let the pause linger deliberately, drawing out the silence like a blade from its sheath.
When he finally spoke, his tone was even, smooth—a voice not rushing to defend nor to brag, but to explain.
"…Weaknesses?" His voice brushed the mist with quiet contempt.
"The word weakness you use is just a term people favor to excuse the limited utility value of a being."
The forest listened.
"This piece possesses," Wolf continued, each syllable polished to calm cruelty, "the most tedious set of weaknesses standard to creatures who call themselves human—desire for comfort, a good life, the need for love and meaning."
A faint breeze stirred his cloak then, but his tone didn't move with it.
"Those details are too boring and predictable to matter. Using this piece is like tasting the confit of a duck. I don't roast it over a hot fire…"
His eyes glinted faintly beneath the filtered light as his voice lowered, savoring the words like the scent of something cooking slow.
"…I slowly ferment and simmer its self-delusion in the fat of power. And when the time comes—"
His hand lifted faintly, as though gesturing toward an imaginary table, "—it will be ready for me to taste… and then move on to other ingredients."
His mouth curled into a small grin.
It wasn't warm.
It wasn't human.
It was the grin of someone already picturing the ending of the meal before it was ever served.
"His weaknesses don't matter," he concluded softly.
"Not as long as he serves his purpose as an ingredient. But if the flavor starts overcooking, moldy, or makes an unbalancing spice—" he gave a faint, theatrical shrug, "—I'll just change the meal. And at last, I enjoy every dish I've ever made."
Veridian didn't speak. Not immediately.
It hovered in the air with the stillness of something listening deeply, its angular arms stiff and unmoving. The runes etched across its spherical body pulsed once—dim, then bright again—like a thought it didn't expect to have.
Seconds bled away.
And then Veridian spoke—not as it had before, but lower. More deliberate.
"…They have a word for you… before moving to the next question."
Wolf's brows arched slightly, faint amusement flickering through his gaze as he adjusted his weight. His thumb pressed against the base of his palm in a slow, controlled rhythm—a small habit of his when listening carefully.
Veridian's voice shifted—now quoting rather than speaking.
"You were sure to change the meal before it spoiled…"
the tone was colder now, heavier.
"…but an oppressed creature, driven by the hope you tricked it into believing, might explode into an unknown energy before you could even taste it."
Wolf's chest rose in a slow breath.
The mist coiled at his feet, curling like smoke, thin tendrils wrapping the tips of his boots. His gaze sharpened slightly, not defensive but acknowledging.
Then the second voice followed—a different weight beneath the same surface, this one carrying a deliberate edge.
"Excellent. The answer is as straightforward and logical as expected."
"The strategy you are using is good… but it is the strategy of a winner who has never encountered a superior enemy."
"The moment you are forced to cling to success, that will be your true downfall."
The forest was utterly silent after that. Even the distant insect chitter seemed to have stilled.
Wolf exhaled slowly through his nose, the breath faint but steady. His lips curled upward just enough to break the neutral line.
Surely they truly are gods… he mused quietly, gaze dipping for a moment.
The first one points straight at the blind spot I didn't bother to guard—it's not wrong. A spark of desperation can burn louder than a bonfire.
And the second… a challenge. A warning. They want me to see what happens when the hunter isn't the one doing the tasting.
His eyes lifted again, darker now, but brighter in focus.
I can't wait to see more of this new world.
Veridian didn't give him time to wallow in silence.
"Now,"
it said, voice sliding back to its steady, almost ceremonial rhythm,
"the second question."
The mist stirred faintly with the sound, as if responding to its presence.
"In your eyes, who view all things equally as ingredients…"
The runes along its surface burned brighter, golden-red veins pulsing in rhythm to the words.
"…then at what level do you assess our consumption value?"
Its tone lowered—not mocking, not amused this time, but curious in a way that almost pried.
"And how do you plan to taste us? Or…"
a faint rumble of sound rolled through its stone frame, like a chuckle buried under weight,
"…do you think of us as a dish that you cannot cook?"
Wolf tilted his head again, this time to the left, a mirror to his earlier gesture—as if weighing something rare, delicate, expensive. His fingers rose slightly, resting loosely beneath his chin, thumb tracing along the edge of his jaw.
The mist caught around his ankles like a tide pulling closer.
A small grin ghosted the corner of his mouth. Not wide. Not arrogant.
Just alive with the thought of a game finally getting interesting.
The forest, moments ago a patient listener, seemed to contract around them as if something far larger than trees and roots was now paying attention.
The very air grew taut—thick as the silence before a storm breaks. Veridian stood unmoving, but the faint molten glow in its runes burned hotter, red-gold veins threading through its stony body like fever beneath flesh.
Wolf inhaled slowly through his nose. His eyes half-lidded, calm—calm in that almost rude way that invited fury.
His gaze lingered on Veridian the same way a butcher examines an animal on the cutting board—not disrespectful, but never reverent.
"You pose an excellent question…"
His voice was low, quiet, but it carried. Each syllable came out steady, deliberate.
One that acknowledges your own status as mere raw material.
The words were as much thought as they were spoken. His pupils were faintly dilated, like a predator's adjusting to low light. His hand twitched once at his side—controlled, sharp—before settling back loosely into his pocket.
"Your Consumption Value, you ask?"
The corners of his mouth tilted upward, a slow, feline curve—neither polite nor cruel, just interested.
"At this current moment… it is categorized as Unknown Ingredient—always the most intriguing type."
The forest seemed to darken around that phrase.
Veridian's molten runes flared brighter, light pooling and pulsing in an uneven rhythm.
"You are incomparably higher than any living being I have ever cooked."
Wolf's tongue brushed the inside of his cheek, a lazy, quiet gesture like someone enjoying a secret taste.
"You are merely a dish that requires curing time. I will not attempt to eat you raw, as that is an artless approach… one that would only lead to a loss of flavor from such high-grade ingredients."
His voice slipped into something quieter now—not whispering, but threaded with a near-sinister kind of intimacy, as if the words were being spoken over a simmering pot.
"Instead… I will observe. I will experiment using these lower-grade ingredients—" he tilted his head just slightly, as if gesturing to the distant humans who were still frozen mid-breath in this still world,
"—to generate a chain reaction. Until my actions begin to disrupt your serving schedule… and force you to descend into the kitchen yourselves."
The grin widened just enough to expose teeth. His tone wasn't boastful.
It wasn't even triumphant.
It was simply… matter-of-fact. Inevitable.
"When that time arrives… whether it is your rage, your despair, or your eventual defeat… that will be the most exquisite spice I need to complete this dish."
His gaze sharpened, irises catching the faint golden glow from Veridian's runes like a mirror reflecting a forge's fire.
"And once I understand your recipe…"
The night wind briefly brushed his hair back, letting the grin show clearly now—cold, elegant, deliberate.
"Tasting you will be a logical progression."
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Even the whisper of leaves seemed to stop breathing.
Then came the pulse.
A violent burst of ether pressure exploded out of Veridian like an invisible wave.
It wasn't physical, not in the usual sense—it was like being caught in the open when a storm not yet born decided to exist all at once.
The trees creaked.
The air thinned.
The veins of molten gold within its body blazed white-hot.
"You! You Human—!"
The voice was no longer ceremonial, no longer steady. It cracked—a sharp, furious splintering.
The perfect spherical body trembled, and its floating stone arms twisted slightly in their invisible suspension.
Wolf could feel the sudden weight pressing on his chest, a sharp ache in his lungs like someone trying to steal the air from him.
Oh… so I can make it mad.
He held that thought behind a calm, neutral mask, though his heartbeat had quickened just a fraction—not from fear, but from thrill.
Just as Veridian's rage swelled, the pressure snapped—stopped. It wasn't a gentle fade.
It was as if an unseen hand slammed down upon its fury and silenced it mid-roar.
The molten veins dimmed back to their original amber glow. Veridian's body jerked once—like a puppet forced still—before a flat, distant voice came through it again. Not its voice this time.
"They are… very satisfied with your answer," Veridian said hoarsely, its tone raw, brittle—like a servant choking on the words it didn't want to deliver.
Wolf tilted his head just a hair, eyes narrowing—not from confusion, but from enjoying the way the creature squirmed beneath unseen authority. His fingers flexed once by his side, slow and quiet, as if savoring the moment.
"They also said…"
Its voice faltered. The pulsing of the runes flickered irregularly, like a dying lantern.
"…there is no need for another question."
Wolf exhaled through his nose, slow and even.
Of course.
"They also wish to grant you something."
The words came out more like a growl now—hoarse, shaky, uncomfortable.
As if Veridian itself could barely stand being the vessel for this decision.
And then—like a knife through still water—light flared in front of Wolf.
A translucent screen spread itself open, hovering in the air before him.
[ You have acquired the title: Fatemaker's Logic ]