Eventually, Faust arrived at the outskirts of his camp, observing it first to make sure there was no threat, then he stepped in.
Being on guard, he walked closer to the corpse of the black mantis creature—a slasher. It was dead. Arien was probably the one who killed it. Faust didn't see her at the camp, so she must have moved somewhere in the forest, and that signaled she had passed the fifth trial.
Analyzing the corpse, it was easy to deduce what had happened. The fight was pretty much in Arien's favor the whole time. Seeing there was no blood on the creature's scythes, she hadn't been slashed. Most of the creature's corpse was covered in shallow cuts; they belonged to Arien's dagger.
Of course, these cuts were not enough to fell the onyx monster. The cause of its death was actually very clear. On its head, a perforation had been made in the region that would be its brain. Black liquid seeped from it but had already dried out.
He stopped analyzing it and instead walked over to where his own fight took place. The body was in the same place, multilated with that dark blood all around it… but no signals of Arien anywhere close. Since the camp had lost it's use, Faust decided to leave it behind.
His equipament was decent… kinda. His double-edged executioner sword was still functional but had lost a great part of its edge, and it had no pointy tip, so it couldn't stab. His black scales armor was good, resistant and light, and since it was black, it allowed him to merge with the night. He had his runes and mana, plus a sword he had stored earlier.
Faust approached the small hut he had built to store the items he had collected. Inside, he found the flamberge sword of the man he had killed earlier. It was silver and wavy, its blade dirtied by the forest, but still functional.
Though he didn't intend to use it as his main weapon—it required more finesse than he preferred—it was worth keeping. But he preferred the executioner's sword he used until this point, it demanded little more than brute strength, which suited him well since he had a very poor technical knowledge.
As for the man's body, it had already been dealt with; Faust had thrown it into the forest, and within a few days, it had been eaten—likely by beasts.
However, the moment he looked toward the forest treeline, he felt something amiss. Beyond the colossal trees that stood over ten meters tall and their beautiful, giant red leaves, there was an odd sensation lingering in the air.
Clad in black armor that caught the faint shimmer of the moonlight, Faust stood still, his long and disheveled hair brushing against his shoulders. The red glow danced across his form as his eyes narrowed, his mind drifting back to the sixth trial's demand.
'Slay one of your kind,' eh… Finding someone in this forest will be quite difficult…
He retrieved the flamberge sword, and strapped it to his waist before venturing deeper into the ominous forest beneath the unsettling crimson moon.
As he walked between the dense trees and over the grassy ground, Faust began to ponder.
He had come far—too far, in fact. Much farther than he had expected, and even farther than he ever believed he could. Of course, he had help. Red—though just a voice in his head—had taught him how to use mana, how to inscribe runes, and had even served as his only companion for a long time.
The truth was, Faust hadn't expected to survive. He was alive through a mixture of luck and his own stubborn will to keep moving forward.
The flame of hope still flickered in his heart, but hope is a candle that dances with the wind. What moved him now was an ocean—far deeper and colder than any mere flame.
To hope is to wait for the storm to pass.
To resolve is to tear the sky itself if it dares to storm.
How far could that resolve reach? Far enough to step above mountains and heavens, to destroy the earth and stain it red if necessary.
But for now, he was but a speck of dust in a vast desert. In terms of strength, in terms of knowledge—he was just above average, nowhere near the top. How could he be? His journey had only just begun.
The path he chose was hard, full of thorns and hardship—but he didn't care. It was exciting to pursue an impossible goal, to move forward powered by a dream. Does a man need anything else?
"A dream…"
His words drifted away with the cold wind.
Hours passed, and so did days, yet he continued walking beneath the scarlet moonlight, through a forest far vaster than anywhere he had ever been. From the outside, the castles appeared colossal, yet this trial ground surpassed even them in scale. Faust couldn't help but wonder—was it because two trials were technically taking place in the same location, or was this immense size tied to something else entirely?
Each day, Faust looked up at the moon—it seemed to grow brighter.
Finally, over a week later, while sitting atop a tree branch, he heard footsteps. Muffled and heavy. Not an animal.
He looked below, eyes locking onto a limping figure pushing through the underbrush.
Human…
Faust observed calmly. The target wasn't ideal… but it could be.
The person below was Yuser—the Young Noble Demon. He was badly injured. His right arm was barely recognizable, more paste than flesh. Wounds covered his body, and a deep slash along his side exposed his ribs. Blood leaked from his mouth—his insides must've been torn apart.
His brown skin had turned pale, as his noble attire hung in shreds. The bow in his hand was no more than a broken fragment, less than half of what it once was—useless too.
He limped and nearly collapsed with every step.
At the same time, Faust felt a flicker of suspicion. Not that Yuser was faking—those wounds were real—but toward whatever had left him in that state. Yuser was one of the three strongest participants in the first trial.
And yet, here he was, reduced to a pitiful wreck.
That meant stronger things lurked in the forest. Whether human or monster, he didn't yet know.
Faust decided not to strike. Not yet. It could be a trap. He would follow from a distance, just in case. Yuser's main strength was his bow, and with his arm mangled and the weapon broken, he couldn't use it.
There was no need to rush.
Not in a place like this.
The moon would still be crimson tomorrow.