Ahead of him, the forest’s tall grass slowly transitioned into obscure mud with a few patches of solid earth. The golden and silver trees turned into a dense cemetery of dead wood, their trunks damaged and rotten, looking like dried husks sprouting from the humid soil.

  Dark. That was the only word for it. The crowded, skeletal trees choked what little light remained. Without the benefit of mana, he might have seen nothing at all.

  Only the distant beacon remained clearly visible, a needle of light in the gloom.

  “A swamp?”

  Faust observed from the forest’s edge, not yet stepping into the mire. His gaze fell to the mud—thick, dark brown, with a sickly yellowish tint. “I’ll lose most of my speed here… looks like I’ll have to learn the wolves’ movement one way or another.”

  He sighed, wiping blood from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Not like I have a choice.”

  He took the first step out of the forest and into the swamp.

  A strange sensation prickled through him as he crossed the boundary, as if something dormant inside stirred briefly before settling again. Faust placed a hand over his heart until the feeling faded.

  “Weird…”

  The impression lingered as he trudged forward, mud sucking at his legs, rising to his calves and in deeper pockets to his knees. The forest had been easy to traverse—aside from nearly dying. But it had been straightforward.

  This felt different, and he tried to push the unease away.

  Focus on the present.

  the swamp would hinder his main strength in combat: his nimbleness and agility. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be an easy solution.

  Faust didn’t waste more time and started walking faster, but just as expected, the heavy, thick mud slowed him.

  Only a few minutes inside the dark swamp passed when he heard a sound coming from the trees.

  His head turned in that direction, his eye narrowing in an attempt to see what lurked there. But he was unable to. Even with the benefit of mana, it was useless.

  In fact, if not for his newly formed mana circle, he likely wouldn’t have even heard the sound.

  Faust knew it could be dangerous. He drew the forward-curved blade from his waist, entering an aggressive stance.

  Up to this point, Faust had already understood something: his body was frail and could not take much damage, hence his insistence on dodging. His style had adapted to that—strike first, kill quickly, eliminate the threat before it could counter. That was why he chose aggression now, even with the possible enemy still far away.

  He focused on his hearing, since his vision wasn’t exceptionally useful in this place.

  Focus.

  Wait—there! I hear something!

  A muffled sound, coming toward him. Slow, weak.

  It’s walking on all fours… is it a wind wolf?!

  Anxiety rose in his chest while he waited for the unknown creature to approach.

  But then—

  What? It stopped?

  Faust turned his head in every direction but still saw or heard nothing.

  How strange… a wind wolf was not the type of creature that would flee after spotting an enemy. Maybe the ones in the swamp behaved differently.

  Well… I guess it left—

  Instantly, something yanked Faust’s leg!

  Pain surged up his body as he was dragged down.

  “Shit!” he grunted while being pulled through the mud. His body slammed into the muck, thick filth filling his mouth and even his good eye. In seconds, he was in a dangerous position without any advantage.

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  Then his leg was released. In the next moment, a shadowy creature burst from beneath the mud, leaping into the air before crashing down toward his head.

  He could only see its pair of crimson eyes amidst the near-lightless biome, but he heard the wet leap followed by ragged breathing.

  With a swift motion, Faust slashed horizontally with the curved blade.

  He felt it bite into nothing but air!

  The dark monster bit into his shoulder. His skin burned and bled as the monster thrashed!

  By pure reflex, Faust moved his blade toward the source of the attack. This time, he felt something, confirmed by the release of his shoulder and the sound of something falling into the mud beside him, his curved weapon still lodged in its body!

  Yet, the monster was still alive, its breathing foul and strong.

  Not wasting time, Faust rolled, grabbed one of his iron swords, and rammed it into the beast. It shrieked—an agonized, piercing sound that made his ears ring.

  He gritted his teeth and held the sword firmly, wrenching his curved blade free. They rolled together in the muck, wrestling. His arm was bitten again, but he resisted the pain and swung again and again, each strike aimed at the sound of ragged breath.

  Steel tore through flesh. Hot liquid splattered over his hand and face. Then it hit something harder—bone. He struck again, and again, until finally the creature stopped moving and the breathing ceased.

  Panting, Faust wiped the mud from his eye.

  He cursed inwardly.

  What the… what the fuck is that… this is no wind wolf…

  With a heavy breathing he focused and observed the thing he had slain.

  It was similar to a dog in size and shape, much smaller than a wind wolf, but its fur was pitch black, its four paws ending in long, sharp claws.

  Faust forced open its jaw to free his arm. Even in death, the creature’s bite hadn’t loosened. Quickly, he tore a piece of his clothing and wrapped it around the injury.

  Once his first aid was done, he examined the wounds.

  The teeth had pierced through every layer of leather and clothing he wore. Glancing at the dead “dog,” he saw its maw contained three layers of chaotic, jagged fangs, some rotten and broken.

  What in damnation is that?!

  Faust was curious about the monster, but also unpleasantly surprised. It had caused decent damage to him in just seconds. Thankfully, it hadn’t attacked with its claws, or the wounds would have been far worse.

  Looking closer, Faust noticed an open cut on the side of its body. It wasn’t one he had made—it came from something else.

  “A straight sword?” he murmured, examining it. Unfortunately, with his limited experience, he couldn’t confirm what had caused the injury.

  Its head, however, was a different matter—mashed open by his repeated strikes.

  It was Faust’s first time using the blade like that, and he had enjoyed the feeling that came with it. In a way, it felt like the blade’s true nature, not the precision-based style he had adopted. Heavier than the axe, and thanks to its odd curvature, it allowed him to deliver stronger attacks by using the weight as leverage.

  This blade is good. Much better than the axe, it seems…

  Faust cleaned away the mud, blood, and bone fragments stuck to it—brain matter acting as glue. Upon close inspection, the blade remained intact. No signs of chipping.

  Truly a strong blade. Fitting, yet unfitting, for a nobleman.

  Faust couldn’t understand why a noble would use it. Fitting, because of its quality. Unfitting, because of its purpose. This was a weapon designed for violence—he could feel it with only one swing. It wasn’t made to slightly slash or injure. It was made to kill and destroy with every strike.

  Thinking of that, Faust allowed a weak smile. He identified with the blade. A weapon made for pure survival. No gimmicks like duel swords, no complexities like bows or other contraptions.

  Its “gimmick” was simply usefulness, strong and perfected for its purpose. Faust couldn’t thank enough whoever had forged it. At first, he hadn’t been sure of its ideal use.

  Now? Now it was clear.

  He grabbed the dog-like creature’s corpse and dragged it onto a patch of solid earth, away from the mud and somewhere he could stand. Once sure the area was safe, he sat down to rest, leaning against a tree. The wounds he had sustained had already partly healed thanks to mana.

  Observing the mangled head of the beast, Faust recalled an image from his childhood… watching a vulture feast on a wolf’s carcass. The wounds left behind by its pecking had been visceral and made the dead beast look pitiful.

  Glancing at the blade, he muttered, “It looks like a beak… hm. I’ll call it Iron-beak.”

  What a name, huh…

  He wasn’t sure if the weapon had a proper name, but thanks to its shape and the wounds it inflicted, that would be its name now. Hopefully, it would turn into a exceptional companion.

  In any case, there was a more urgent matter he had been ignoring. The sacrifice sigil was burning; it wanted to be fed.

  The pain this time was far lesser than before, since he had used it a few times already and gotten used to the sensation.

  Faust’s hand touched the dead beast. As if natural, his mana moved to the sigil, which glowed for an instant before gradually turning the monster into ash, drawing said ash into the mark, followed by the floating clotted blood. Faust felt his mana increase, though less than when compared to wind wolves.

  Apparently, monsters have different amounts of mana based on race… Interesting, he nodded in quiet confirmation.

  Concurrently with his mana increasing, the absorption of the monster caused his injuries to heal even faster…

  Faust felt his connection to the sacrifice rune engraved in his forearm growing stronger. It was so useful. It could increase his power, his mana, as he killed, and even heal his body after combat. The only visible downside was the minutes he needed to absorb the monster.

  And once he had started, he was unable to stop. His body would refuse to move correctly until the ritual was done, as if his consciousness weakened enough to make him physically sluggish.

  Anyway, after everything was done, Faust set out again toward the beacon, blade in hand and awareness at its limit, focusing everything on all of his senses so another of these dogs wouldn’t surprise him.