Boom.
The earth shook.
A crack split through the air, just a few paces away from Groon's wooden house—a black line, jagged and unnatural, tearing through space itself. Dark, swirling wisps of mana poured from it like steam from a boiling pot, though only Icariel's eyes could see the black mana dripping from the air.
"Fronta! Call Groon! Leave the house—now!" Icariel screamed.
"What? Why?!" the red-haired girl asked, confused and frozen. But when she turned her head, her breath caught in her throat. A line—no, a crack in reality—was now visible to her too. Something was coming through it.
"Grandpa, come! Come quick!" she cried as they both ran toward Icariel.
Groon emerged from the house with a heavy axe clenched in his hand, his face dark with recognition.
From within the tear in space, a large, ugly green hand clawed outward, pulling the rift wider. A horrid screech followed, and the monster began to step through.
"What is that?!" Fronta shouted.
Groon's voice was grim. "No way... What's a dungeon doing here?!"
"Dungeon?" Icariel muttered, his body stiff with terror. He had seen pictures in books—drawings of monsters that didn't belong to this world. Never had he imagined he would see one in front of him, because in Mjull, none had ever appeared.
"What's a dungeon, Grandpa?!" Fronta yelled, panicked.
"A dungeon—" Groon said without removing his eyes from the tear, "—is a space from another world. It's where monsters, ancient races, or twisted beings dwell. Sometimes they stay in. Sometimes they come out, and when they do..."
"Terrible things happen," Icariel finished grimly. "Just like the books..."
Icariel's thoughts were spinning. This couldn't be happening. It was too soon. Too cruel. "Why is it getting so hard just to survive…?!" he muttered.
Another crack—BOOM.
This time, behind them, across the river.
They were trapped.
Icariel turned to the voice in his head. "What now?! What should I do?!"
"Run," it answered immediately. "Run now. The tear hasn't fully opened. You can still pass below it."
Without hesitation, Icariel grabbed Fronta's arm and pulled. "Groon—run with us! Hurry!"
They sprinted past the house, ducking under the still-forming tear, wind screaming around them. Just as they made it through, Icariel turned his head.
And saw it.
A monstrous, grotesque hand punched through Groon's chest. The old man's body froze, then slumped. Blood splattered his face. His eyes—those warm, mocking eyes—dimmed.
"Run… away…" Groon managed to say with his last breath before the creature pulled its hand free and let him fall like a broken toy.
The monster fully emerged. Towering. Massive. Covered in green skin like rotting moss. Its red eyes glowed with hunger. Rows of sharp teeth glistened as it let out a low, rumbling growl.
Icariel pulled Fronta harder. She didn't scream. She couldn't. Her eyes were wide, her lips trembling.
She had just watched her grandfather die.
"Come on!" Icariel insisted, fingers digging into Fronta's wrist as he tried to drag her away. But the red-haired girl didn't budge. Her wide, glassy eyes remained locked on Groon's broken body, her breath coming in ragged hitches. Tears carved glistening trails through the dirt on her cheeks.
"I can't leave him!" Her voice cracked, raw with grief. "He's all I have! I—I can't… I can't be alone!"
"What?!" Icariel's face went slack, any trace of sympathy vanishing under the weight of disbelief. "You're going to die for a corpse?! That's not bravery—it's stupidity!"
She didn't even look at him. Her fingers twitched toward Groon's outstretched hand, as if she could still reach him. "He raised me… fed me… kept me alive when the world wanted me dead. What's the point of running if he's not—" Her voice shattered. "If he's not here too?"
The voice in Icariel's mind snarled, "The monster is ten paces behind. MOVE."
Icariel's grip tightened until her skin whitened under his fingers. "Fronta—"
"Let me go." She wrenched her arm free with surprising strength, stumbling backward. "I won't leave him. I won't."
For a heartbeat, Icariel hesitated. Then his expression hardened. "Fine. Die then." His voice was ice. "But don't pretend Groon would want this. He'd curse you for throwing your life away."
The words struck like a blade between her ribs. She flinched—but didn't run.
Instead, she turned back to Groon, collapsing to her knees beside him. Her trembling fingers brushed his weathered face, smearing blood across his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know how to do this without you."
Icariel didn't know the reason Fronta was acting like that, sacrificing her life by saying she couldn't live without him being alive. It was unreasonable. He had lived with both of them for two weeks, but they hadn't shared their story. Icariel didn't know what kind of strange and different people lived outside the Mountain of Mjull. Her actions didn't make sense—but later, they would.
Behind her, the monster loomed.
Its shadow swallowed her whole.
The fist came down—
—not in a single, crushing blow, but slow. Deliberate.
First, the impact snapped her spine with a wet crack. She gasped, eyes flying wide as agony ripped through her. Then the pressure came again, grinding her into the dirt, ribs splintering one by one. Blood bubbled past her lips.
Her hand, still clutching Groon's sleeve, twitched weakly.
"Gra… nd… pa…"
The monster's fist lifted—
—and fell a final time.
What remained wasn't a girl anymore. Just red.
Icariel didn't look back. He couldn't. His lungs burned as he sprinted up the hill, each breath a knife in his chest. Not from exhaustion.
From the sound.
That last, broken whisper.
"Climb. Hide."
Behind a boulder, he pressed himself into the shadows, nails biting into his palms. His heartbeat was a drum of war in his ears.
Monsters spawned from the rift—seventeen in total. All green, massive, twisted creatures, their red eyes scanning the area. They didn't move far—just circled and searched, as if looking for something.
Time passed. The monsters didn't move far—they seemed to be searching for something. Then, from the distance, deep in the woods, two phantom yellow lights like orbs moved fast through the trees in the afternoon.
Icariel's entire focus was locked on them. Then, in a blink, two of the seventeen green monsters were instantly defeated. Then another two. And again. The yellow light never faded. Again—two, then two, then two. The pattern continued until only three of the massive green beasts remained. Icariel had counted—fourteen were now gone.
The three remaining monsters backed away slowly, retreating near Groon's house—where his body now lay cold. The yellow lights finally vanished… and two figures took shape.
One was tall, with black eyes, short black hair, and a long sword with a green handle. He looked to be in his thirties. The other was much shorter, with long, straight green hair, black eyes, and a short sword with a black handle. Icariel's heart jumped.
The shorter one looked at the scene—the house, the blood, Groon's lifeless body, and Fronta's crushed form. His expression darkened.
"Master, may I handle the remaining three myself?" the green-haired youth asked.
The older man gave a single nod. "Show me an impressive result."
"You're dead," the boy said, pointing his black-handled short sword at the monsters. A wave of bloodlust pulsed from him, and the creatures flinched.
He darted forward, a blur of motion. One monster tried to crush him with a raised arm, but he spun mid-air, slicing the limb clean off. Landing between the remaining two monsters, he turned toward the first, raised his blade, and whispered, "Eliz, release."
The sword shimmered, extending far beyond its original length. With a fluid strike, he sliced through the neck of the first monster. Purple blood exploded.
The other two lunged, but he spun in a perfect 360, cutting both of them clean in half. The bodies collapsed, twitching. Purple blood drenched the grass.
"Disgusting pieces of shit," he muttered as the blade retracted to its short form.
"Splendid, Kledio," said the tall man, a small smirk on his face.
"Thanks, Master. Sorry for rushing in alone… I couldn't help it. After seeing what they did to those humans..."
The older man gave a calm nod. "I understand. But remember—anger can dull your senses. Never let it consume you."
"Yes, Master."
Icariel, hiding behind the hill, whispered with wide eyes, "Incredible..."
They took the monsters down so easily. His heart was racing.
"What are they? Are they like Elektra and Galien?" he wondered.
But then he paused. "I don't see any mana from their bodies. I didn't even see a color like Galien or Elektra…"
"Swordmasters."the voice in his head finally answered.
"Swordmasters?" Icariel whispered again, awestruck.