After getting some rest, Arman decided to examine the items he had taken from the beast and check his Codex. One thing immediately caught his attention something he hadn't noticed before. In previous battles, he had only suffered minor wounds, barely even noticeable. But in yesterday's fight, he was certain his bones had been broken. Yet now, he was completely fine, fully healed, as if his body could mend itself no matter how badly it was damaged.
***
Not paying it much attention he started checking the remains of the Faceless Colossus, he also discovered a strange object an oval red seed. He carefully tucked it away, planning to study it later.
A new section had appeared in the Codex:
Shastra: [Colossus blade Sword: Forged by the blade of Faceless Colossus titan]
Rank: Epic
Parameters: [Blood Eater – The more damage you deal to an enemy, the more it bleeds]
When he summoned the Blade, it appeared as a towering weapon of pure black metal, its edges razor-sharp, almost alive, with faint veins of crimson light pulsing along the blade like a heartbeat. The air around it seemed heavier, charged with an ominous, predatory aura.
He skimmed through the system and began to contemplate the events he had endured.
Ojas, huh… It seemed to be a vital part of combat.
He realized he could only use Blessed by Darkness specifically the One with Darkness ability four or five times before exhausting his Ojas essence. He needed to find a way to replenish it manually, then rely on natural recovery.
Then it clicked. The red seed he had found perhaps it could help. He studied it carefully, unsure what to do, but for some reason, he felt compelled to eat it.
As he consumed the seed, a sudden surge of power coursed through him. He lowered himself into a lotus stance, focusing on controlling the energy flow within his body. After some time, he felt his Ojas essence increase significantly, spreading through every part of him. the a sound spoke
[Your Ojas essence have become stronger]
'Okay… this is one way to quickly restore essence, he thought, but it's not something I can safely do in combat.'
Five days had passed since he had slain the Faceless Colossus. Arman continued moving forward, venturing further into the unknown. At first, he encountered few beasts. When he did, most were not particularly dangerous. Now armed with his weapon, he could handle unavoidable encounters, though he preferred to avoid combat whenever possible.
He had collected a few items along the way, including more red seeds, but most were useless to him. It became clear that he was far stronger than ordinary human warriors. The Faceless Colossus had been extraordinarily dangerous, but compared to him, normal people would stand no chance. Its title alone told him it was no random monster it had been a challenge meant for someone of power.
As he moved forward, he reached a cliff. Looking down, he saw a maze-like city, mostly destroyed and covered in moss.
'Finally, some kind of development. A city, huh?' he thought. Even though it was ruined, he might be able to gather more information about where he was and how to find his way out.
The city was filled with broken houses, though one castle stood somewhat intact above the rest. He decided to make his way there first. Slowly, he climbed down. Reaching the base, a shiver ran down his spine for some reason.
In front of him lay the entrance to the city. It felt dead, overtaken by nature grass, moss, even trees had grown through the buildings. Strangely, he did not encounter any monsters as he made his way into the city, studying everything carefully.
The city resembled a typical Western medieval town. A few broken statues stood here and there, but nothing else was remarkable. Most buildings were ruined. As he approached the castle's entrance, a wave of eerie feeling washed over him. Still, he stepped inside.
The castle towered above him, adorned with delicate designs that hinted at its former grandeur. Before entering, he studied it from the outside. This must have belonged to some powerful lord, he thought.
He explored the outer rooms of the castle, but found nothing of worth only shattered furniture, faded murals, and dust. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the distant echo of his footsteps.
After a while, he made his way toward the heart of the structure the main hall. The massive doors creaked open with a groan that reverberated through the corridors like a whisper from the past. Inside, the hall stretched vast and solemn, its marble floor cracked yet glimmering faintly beneath layers of dust. The faint light that filtered through the shattered stained-glass windows painted the interior in shards of crimson and gold, casting an eerie, sacred glow.
At the far end of the hall stood a throne grand, cold, and carved from obsidian stone. Upon it sat a towering figure clad in ancient armor black as night,a massive sword resting across his lap, the armor was etched with faint, glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Dust and cobwebs clung to its surface, yet it radiated an unmistakable sense of power.
Arman froze. A wave of unease crawled up his spine. The figure was motionless, but its presence filled the room vast, suffocating, alive. The hollow visor of the helm seemed to watch him, though no light shone within.
A strange feeling welled within him of danger and… familiarity. It was as if the being on the throne would rise and strike him down the instant he crossed the hall, yet at the same time, something deep inside him was drawn to it. The air trembled faintly, and for a fleeting moment.
After contemplating at the entrance for a while, Arman decided to step inside. As he suspected, the moment his foot crossed the threshold, the Dark Knight lunged forward.
Arman barely dodged in time. He summoned the Colossus blade Sword and shifted into a fighting stance.
The armored knight advanced its movements were mechanical yet refined, each strike sharp, grounded, and deliberate. It fought like a being that had mastered every aspect of swordsmanship. Arman, on the other hand, was wild raw instinct over discipline. He could only dodge and retreat, unable to find even a single opening.
Even though his strength was amplified nearly one and a half times then his normal state during day he couldn't land a single blow. Within a few exchanges, the knight's blade found its mark, slicing through his arm.
A sharp cry escaped him. Terror surged through his chest. Without thinking, he turned and ran, stumbling toward the exit. As he crossed the massive doorway, the knight halted as if struck by an invisible barrier. It stood motionless within the hall, its lifeless gaze fixed on him, unable to step beyond its domain.
Outside, Arman collapsed to the ground, clutching his bleeding arm. The pain was unbearable a searing agony that made his vision blur. But then, before his eyes, something impossible happened.
His flesh began to knit itself back together. Bone reformed, veins reconnected, skin sealed and within moments, his arm was whole again.
The sheer pain of the regeneration overwhelmed him. Darkness crept into his vision, and before he could comprehend what had just happened he fainted.
After a while, Arman woke up, remembering what had happened. One thing was certain he couldn't defeat that knight, not even with greater strength. Its swordsmanship was precise, disciplined, and unrelenting. But giving up wasn't an option. He had to kill that thing and find a way out.
He began to form a plan. If strength alone wasn't enough, then he needed skill he had to learn swordsmanship. There was no one to teach him, so the only way was to learn from the knight itself. After thinking it through for a long while, he decided to face it again.
This time, he studied his enemy's movements carefully. Yet again, he lost an arm and had to flee. After regenerating it, he began mimicking the knight's attacks, breaking down its swings and movements, trying to understand the flow behind each strike.
He repeated this process more than two hundred times. Each encounter ended the same way losing an arm, a leg, or barely escaping death. The battle never went beyond a few exchanges before he was forced to retreat. To analyze more, he had to survive longer. Remembering and dissecting every motion, he created his own training routine to improve his technique.
He ventured deep into the forest, practicing what he learned against other monsters.
One month later, Arman once again faced the Faceless Colossus. This time, his movements were sharper, his blade steadier. The battle felt easier almost effortless compared to their first encounter. Over time, he slew three more Colossi and countless lesser beasts. Though he didn't receive any new artifacts or rewards, each victory yielded red seeds that increased his essence.
He ventured farther, toward areas teeming with stronger monsters. At the heart of that region, he faced numerous Faceless Colossi of lower ranks than the first he had slain. It seemed that his first opponent had been the strongest of them all.
A year passed. Arman stood atop a mountain of Faceless Colossus corpses, his blade dripping with dark ichor.The forest had grown silent he had wiped them out completely. He was faster, stronger, and his mastery of the sword had reached new heights.
Now, he knew it was time. The Dark Knight awaited.
Even if it was powerful, it wasn't human. It fought with perfect calculation, but lacked the cunning and unpredictability of a man. And that Arman thought would be his only advantage.
***
Arman returned to the castle once more. This time, his heart was steady not with confidence, but with resolve. The obsidian hall was the same as before: cold, silent, and timeless. At the far end, the Dark Knight sat motionless upon its throne, sword resting across its knees like a slumbering predator.
The moment Arman stepped inside, the runes on the knight's armor flared crimson, and its head tilted upward. It rose slow, deliberate, inevitable.
Steel met steel.
The clash shook the hall. Arman's blade sang through the air, sharper, swifter, and more disciplined than before. He parried, dodged, and countered with precision born of countless repetitions. For the first time, he could keep up barely. The Dark Knight moved like a storm given form, its attacks mechanical yet graceful, each swing a perfect execution of intent.
For every strike Arman deflected, another followed faster. His arms grew heavy, his vision blurred. Then a blinding pain. The knight's sword tore through his side, sending him crashing into a pillar. Blood pooled beneath him, his breath ragged.
Not yet… not again…
Summoning the last of his strength, Arman lunged forward, his blade grazing the knight's chest parks flared, a faint crack appearing on the dark armor. The knight paused, as if acknowledging him.
Then, with a single blow, it sent him flying through the hall's entrance.
The world dimmed. His body shattered, barely holding together as he crawled outside. The doors closed behind him with a thunderous echo sealing the knight once again.Arman lay on the cold stone, gasping. He could feel life slipping away, but his regeneration fought desperately to keep him tethered to existence. When he finally opened his eyes, night had fallen.
He survived barely. But this time, he had learned more. The next three months were merciless. Arman disappeared into the wilderness, pushing his body and mind beyond their limits. He trained not just his blade, but his perception to feel intent, to predict motion before it even began.
He observed beasts not for their strength, but for rhythm how they moved, how they reacted, how they killed. He hunted stronger prey, learned to merge instinct with precision, and discovered new ways to channel Ojas into his strikes.
Somewhere deep in that forest, under the silver glow of the twin moons, he forged a new technique one that blended the knight's discipline with his own wild ferocity. When he returned to the castle, his eyes were calm.
The doors opened once more, the Dark Knight rising to meet him like a memory of death. But this time, when their swords met, the air itself trembled.
Arman flowed like water, each movement carrying lethal purpose. The knight struck perfect as ever but Arman's counter slipped through its guard, twisting past its rhythm. For the first time, the Dark Knight staggered.
The duel raged sparks, blood, steel, and silence. Then, with one final strike, Arman's blade cleaved through the knight's armor, splitting it down the center.
The runes flickered, then went dark. The great figure knelt, sword falling from its grasp.
Arman stood still, his breath heavy, his blade dripping with black ichor.
He had done it.
As the knight's body collapsed, a deep hum echoed through the hall. The Codex of Being glowed faintly before him.
Arman stared at the fading armor his reflection glinting on its cracked helm. then he heard a voice
[you have slain a lord of Abyssal Keep]
[..........]
But the voice was cut short. Suddenly Arman heard a sharp cry.
He moved closer to the Dark Knight, instincts pulling him forward. Instinctively, Arman raised his hand. Something came out of his palm: a black, vile darkness the same void he'd once been trapped in. It lashed out, enveloping the fallen armor and crawling over the Dark Knight's body. The dark energy stitched the pieces together, and the knight began to stir.
Then everything went blank, as if the world had been swallowed whole, dragging him into the same endless void he had once experienced, where time, space, and reality itself dissolved.