Chapter 11 — The Ashes Left Behind
The wind stirred softly through the charred remains of what had once been a home.
Ariz stood there, motionless. His boots were half-buried in soot, the ground beneath them blackened and brittle. Smoke still curled faintly upward from the ruins. The scorched wood gave off a bitter, acidic scent. And in the heart of the wreckage, half-covered in ash, lay the remains of his grandfather.
Ariz didn't blink. He didn't move. He just stared.
Memories rushed in all at once, uninvited and merciless—his grandfather's rough hands guiding his first steps, his deep voice reading old war stories by candlelight, the way he always saved the last piece of dried meat for Ariz during winter. The warmth of shared meals. The harsh training. The laughter. The arguments. All of it had lived here, in these now-ruined walls.
He didn't cry. He didn't scream. The pain inside him was too vast for something as human as weeping.
Ariz knelt slowly. His fingers brushed through the ashes until he found a piece of bone—small, smooth, a fragment of the man who had raised him. With the care of someone handling sacred treasure, he gathered what little was left into a cloth pouch and tied it shut with trembling fingers.
Then he stood.
His eyes lingered on the house a moment longer, as if trying to memorize the skeleton of it. The crooked frame. The half-collapsed roof. The chimney that still stood tall, defiantly, like it hadn't realized everything else was gone.
"I swear to you," he said aloud, voice low and steady. "I will return."
He turned toward the woods.
"I will return for revenge. I will return for blood. I will return for death."
His gaze hardened. "I'll tear apart every last one of them... and when I'm done with the village, I'll burn their goddamn church too."
It took hours to reach the oak tree.
It was older than the village, older than anyone alive—twisted, vast, with a hollow that sang when the wind passed through. Ariz remembered coming here as a child, climbing its branches while his grandfather napped below with a blade resting on his chest.
Now, it would serve as a grave.
He dug slowly, hands bare. Dirt packed under his fingernails. His arms ached. But he didn't stop until it was deep enough to feel like it mattered.
He knelt and placed the pouch inside.
"I hope this is enough," he whispered. "I don't know if you're watching. I don't even know if there's anything left of you to watch. But this is all I have left to give."
He covered the grave in silence.
Then stood.
And never looked back.
A storm was building in the distance—low thunder, dark clouds curling above the tree line. Something ancient stirred inside the forest. The air was thicker. Heavier. Like the world was holding its breath.
Ariz walked toward it.
Not away.
In the village, the days passed easily.
The people believed Ariz was dead. Burned with his house. Executed like a beast. Executed like a warning. They called him a demon. A curse. A necessary sacrifice.
Only one person knew better.
Toran had returned to the village the night the house burned, just a few hours too late. He'd seen the smoldering wreckage and sprinted straight toward it, heart pounding, hoping against all logic that his friend had escaped.
He had.
Ariz was alive.
But different.
He hadn't said much that night. Just looked Toran in the eye with something unreadable—something dark—and said, "Don't tell them."
Toran nodded. He never did.
Not because he wanted to protect Ariz.
But because he feared him.
Deep in the forest, Ariz built a small wooden shelter. It wasn't much—bare walls, no furniture, just a roof and a door. But it was quiet. And it was his.
He trained relentlessly.
Days turned to weeks. He hunted wild beasts for food. He pushed his body harder each day, increasing the gravity settings in the system until he trained under 4X of the normal weight. His muscles tore and healed. His movements grew sharper. Faster. Cleaner.
He rarely left the area.
Only to eat.
Only to kill.
Status Window: Open
Name: Ariz al-Suleiman
Class: Beginner Swordsman
Strength: 8
Agility: 7
Vitality: 8
Wisdom: 7
Magic Power: (Sealed)
Luck: 5
Skill: Flowing Shadow (Lv. 2)
Skill Points: 0
Stat Points: 10
DING!
Host's behavior has triggered a new task.
Main Task:
Objective: Destroy 2 churches. Kill all priests , bishops and holy knights inside.
Time Limit: 1 year.
Reward: Race change depending on method of completion.
Penalty: Lose all progress and system access.
Sub-Task Issued:
Objective: Kill 5 Tier-2 Magic Beasts (0/5)
Reward: +5 Stat Points; Rank Up to Novice
Penalty: -1 Stat Point from each attribute
Ariz read the screen slowly. His eyes didn't widen. His breath didn't quicken.
A smile spread across his face.
Not the soft, boyish grin he once had. Not the one that made people relax or laugh or forgive.
This smile was different.
It was darker.
Sharper.
It clung to his face like a weapon.
An attractive devil's smile.
He licked his lips, as if tasting the words on the screen.
"So... let's go hunting."
He tilted his head back toward the canopy of the trees, where no sunlight reached. His voice rose into the stillness like a crack of thunder.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..."