The final battle had begun — Ren vs. Oskar.
The air between them pulsed with tension, like a silent current ready to ignite. They stood face to face, eyes locked, like a hunter studying his prey.
Oskar watched Ren carefully, a hint of surprise crossing his expression.
He's not attacking first...
He's circling me. Testing my guard. He wants to see if I'll leave an opening — or maybe he's trying to throw me off balance.
Smart... Against a stronger opponent, that's the only real strategy. You can't rely on brute force, and you can't run or ask for help. You wait. You make them slip first.
Oskar's gaze hardened. Still... something about him feels different. That cloak — why is it that dull, dirty yellow? What's he hiding beneath it?
Before the thought could settle, Ren lunged forward, unleashing a chaotic storm of blows — fast, sharp, unpredictable.
He attacked from every direction: left, right, then a sudden shift behind, his movements so fluid it felt like three people striking at once.
Oskar parried easily at first, though confusion crept into his face.
His technique's better... but this rhythm — it's wild. Unfocused. He'll wear himself out in minutes.
Frustrated by Ren's persistence, Oskar decided to end it quickly. He charged, driving a crushing strike toward Ren.
Ren blocked with both arms — the impact sent him skidding backward, dirt rising in a burst beneath his feet.
Oskar grinned, confident the boy's arms would be useless after that. But then he saw it — beneath Ren's sleeves, strapped to his forearms, were wooden guards, handmade and worn smooth from training.
Oskar's grin widened.
So that's it. Clever little bastard.
The fight surged again — faster, heavier, brutal. The crowd roared, voices echoing like thunder through the stone walls.
From the stands, one of the two strangers whispered,
"That boy... he's about to surprise us."
Roland, the overseer, frowned.
"What do you mean? What will Ren do?"
"You'll see soon enough," the man replied.
Oskar swung, smashing the ground where Ren had been standing — but the boy was gone. Dust exploded upward, swallowing the ring in a swirling haze.
When did all this dust rise? Oskar thought, coughing.
From within the smoke, footsteps scraped against stone.
"Where did he go?"
Then — impact. A strike from the left, another from behind.
Ren moved unseen, his blows sharper, more deliberate. Each one landed with purpose.
For the first time, Oskar was forced onto the defensive.
The crowd began to boo.
"Stop running!"
"Fight fair!"
"Show some pride!"
"Coward!"
Oskar clenched his jaw, fury burning under his calm expression. He threw a powerful punch upward, clearing the dust around him.
Then, silently, he thought:
You fools... He's braver than any of you.
No one else would dare fight me like this — desperate, reckless, alive.
No one has ever pushed me this far.
His eyes narrowed.
Why, Ren? Why are you so desperate to defeat me?
You're always alone... Maybe this is how you scream — how you make someone finally listen.
If that's what you want... then I'm here. I'll listen.
A year ago, they had fought once before. Ren had lost — but not before standing up twenty-three times.
Oskar remembered it vividly: his fists bleeding, Ren's face broken yet defiant, refusing to fall.
It was the first time Oskar had ever felt fear.
When Ren finally collapsed, it wasn't from surrender — it was simply that his body had nothing left to give.
Ren never fought for victory. He fought because losing was meaningless to him.
If we don't give everything we have... then why fight at all?
Why live at all?
Back in the present — Oskar charged through the dust, ready to finish it.
Ren threw a handful of sand toward his eyes.
Oskar twisted aside, barely dodging.
"So desperate to win?" Oskar shouted.
"This isn't skill anymore — it's obsession!"
He caught Ren's leg, slamming him to the ground.
"What now, huh? More tricks hidden up your sleeve?"
Ren stared up at him, blood pooling at his lips. Then, with a grin, he spat a mouthful of sand and blood straight into Oskar's face — blinding him for a second — and kicked toward his throat.
Both were barely standing, driven only by rage and instinct.
Oskar, blinded and staggering, felt something strange stirring in his chest.
Do you hate me that much, Ren? Do you really want to replace me? To kill me?
He roared — a primal, thunderous scream that shook the ground itself.
The sound stunned Ren, his vision blurring.
Oskar seized the moment, delivering a devastating punch that sent Ren crashing into the wall.
They both stood trembling, almost unable to move.
Ren's arm hung broken, his breath ragged.
I've tried everything... and still I can't win, he thought.
No matter how hard I fight, he never leaves an opening.
What am I missing? I don't want to stay weak. I can't.
Then — the ground began to tremble.
A deep rumble echoed through the cavern.
The crowd gasped, looking up at the ceiling as dust fell like rain.
Everyone looked — except Ren.
He was too absorbed in the fight to even notice.
He bit down on his red bandana — now soaked in blood — and pushed himself to his feet one last time.
A stunned silence fell over the arena.
Then one of the strangers stood, his voice calm but firm:
"It seems... we have our winner."
He looked directly at Ren.
"Congratulations, boy. Now tell me — what do you choose?"
"Will you stay here, become a guardian, and grow stronger... or will you leave everything behind and come with us to the surface?"
Oskar collapsed to his knees, whispering to himself:
"It's over. Beaten by a kid... and soon I'll be devoured by monsters outside."
The crowd turned cruel, shouting at Ren:
"What did you gain by sending Oskar to his death?"
"You should've lost!"
"Monster! Ungrateful brat!"
Roland walked slowly toward the ring, disappointment in his eyes.
"I can't even look at you anymore," he said quietly.
"You're nothing but a wild beast."
Amid the noise, Ren finally spoke — his voice steady, almost empty.
"I choose to leave this place."
"There's nothing left for me here."
The arena fell silent again.
Ren turned his back to them all — and for a brief moment, as the dust settled, it looked as if he was already part of the surface world above.
The entire village froze for a few moments.
No one could believe what they had just heard.
Why would anyone want to leave the village? It's not like he was some outcast, a beggar, or a slave. He had a family, food, and safety. So why?
Moments after Ren's shocking decision, a wave of hatred and scorn burst from the crowd.
"Arrogant cursed child!"
"Who do you think you are—better than us?"
"Go, run away! Die out there!"
The same people who once looked at Ren with respect now stared with disgust.
Even his family couldn't meet his eyes.
Yet, Ren felt… lighter.
The chains that held him down for so long had finally broken.
He knew the way he had won wasn't clean—it felt undeserved—but there was no turning back. From now on, no one would ever look at him the same way.
And that was fine.
A voice brought him back from his thoughts.
"Let's go. Anything left to do here?"
Ren looked at the soldier, his gaze steady.
"No. There's nothing left for me here."
Leaving the crowd behind, the three of them made their way through the tunnels until they reached the surface.
For the first time, Ren saw the world above.
A vast maze of enormous, lifeless trees covered the ground—some upright, others fallen and tangled together like the bones of ancient beasts.
"These trees grew from underground roots," one of the soldiers explained. "They block most predators from entering this zone. People call this place the Wooden Graveyard, because nothing else grows here."
Four figures emerged silently from the shadows, like ghosts materializing out of the mist.
"Ren," the soldier said, "meet the squad that will escort you to the nearest city. That's where your training as an explorer will begin."
"This guy is Suho—he doesn't talk much, but he's the first to notice danger."
"That's Ino, the only girl in the team."
"Hi," she said softly.
"The big guy is Haku, and the one behind him is Gyro.
I'm Klaus, and this man here—" he nodded toward the tallest figure, "—is our leader, Faldor."
"What happened here on the surface?" Faldor asked.
"One of the dead trees collapsed," Ino replied. "We should move quickly; the noise will attract predators."
Klaus placed a hand on Ren's shoulder as he gazed at the forest of skeletal wood.
"So this is why you won."
Ren thought back to the moment the tremor shook the arena—when everyone looked up except him.
"It doesn't feel like I won. I just got lucky."
Faldor turned toward him, his tone calm but firm.
"That wasn't luck. That was focus. You knew what you had to do and didn't let anything distract you from your goal.
And even if it was luck—learn to accept it. You'll need plenty of it from now on."
They started moving. The dead branches cracked beneath their boots as faint beams of light filtered through the twisted canopy.
Ren took a deep breath. The air above was cold, dry, and heavy—almost painful to breathe.
It was freedom, but it didn't feel kind.
"Was it hard to leave?" Ino asked quietly as she walked beside him.
"No," Ren said. "It was harder to stay."
In the distance, something screamed—long, metallic, and not quite human.
The sound echoed through the dead forest, making the leaves tremble like frightened skin.
No one spoke again.
They just kept walking, toward the unknown city of Ferath.
As they walked toward Ferath, the wind whispered through the dead forest.
Ino glanced at Ren and asked quietly:
"What's your goal?"
Ren blinked.
"Goal? I don't really have one. Why do you ask?"
"Strange," she said. "Then where are you trying to go?"
Confused, Ren tilted his head.
"What do you mean? Didn't you just say we're heading to Ferath?"
"Yes," she replied, smiling faintly. "But that's not what I meant."
"...?"
"I mean why did you leave your village? What do you want to do, and where do you truly want to end up? What's the reason you keep moving forward?"
Ren went silent for a moment.
He asked himself the same thing.
I know why I left... and I know why I want to keep going. But I don't know where I'm heading—or what I'm looking for.
Gyro, curious, joined in.
"So then why did you leave, if you don't know what you're after? Did you hate it there?"
Ren shook his head.
"It's not that I hated it. I just felt like I wasn't doing anything. Like everyone around me was moving, but I was standing still. It felt like I didn't belong anywhere—and it was driving me insane. There was nothing new, nothing that made me feel alive. So I wanted to move on."
He paused.
"When I fought the village guardian, for the first time I felt something... a kind of satisfaction that pushed me forward, harder and harder, no matter what would happen. That's when I decided—I needed to leave. I needed to change."
The others exchanged glances, surprised. They couldn't fully grasp what he meant, yet somehow... they understood.
Klaus was the first to speak.
"Then why do you want to stay alive?"
Ren looked down at his hands.
"Because I don't know how else to live."
Faldor chuckled, breaking the silence.
"He's right—you don't know how to live. Not yet."
Ren gave a faint, almost embarrassed smile. But his mind kept spinning around the same question.
What do I really want to do?
Out of curiosity, he asked in return:
"What about you all? Why are you here? What's your reason?"
A heavy silence followed. No one answered at first. Then Klaus spoke with a crooked grin:
"You see, everyone here—except for the captain—is either a criminal or a slave. We were given a choice: work these missions... or lose our heads. Faldor's the only lunatic who volunteered willingly."
Ren stared at them, processing what he'd just heard. The air around the group felt colder suddenly.
He realized the kind of company he was now keeping—and how fragile his safety really was.
As the path to Ferath stretched ahead, Ren could only hope one thing:
that no monsters would appear before they reached the city.
Because if something did happen…
he knew he'd be on his own.