The presence of this stranger plunged the forest into a solemn silence, as if time itself had stopped moving. Even the sound of branches swaying became faint, almost nonexistent, as if nature itself was holding its breath. Despite the fear gripping his heart, Darken didn't sense any intent to kill from this stranger. Instead, in a strange way, he felt as though the stranger wasn't doing anything at all. Deep inside, there was a mysterious feeling that he knew this stranger—a deep and unique familiarity. For this reason, he tried to calm himself and clear his mind, but he remained alert, prepared for any unforeseen circumstance, as if all his senses were on high alert.
Then, Darken cautiously responded to the stranger, his voice still tinged with residual tension: "You said you want me to do something for you? And I don't have the right to refuse? That's… suspicious. Who are you, anyway?"
Darken's gaze struggled to remain fixed on the stranger's eyes, while the stranger, in turn, stared unwaveringly into Darken's eyes. The height difference between them was obvious: Darken stood at five feet nine inches ( 175cm ), while the stranger towered at six feet five inches ( 195cm ) . Darken had to lift his head to meet the stranger's gaze, whereas the stranger made no effort to lower his head, merely shifting his eyes downward coldly, as if his stare alone carried an unbearable weight.
The stranger remained silent, contemplative, his composure laced with mystery, until he finally decided to respond: "You don't need to know who I am, but you can call me whatever you want." Then he raised the book he held in his hand and continued, "As I told you earlier, I'll return the book to you, but in exchange, you must listen to me and do exactly as I say."
"And why am I compelled to do that?" Darken asked, trying to mask his disquiet, although his tone betrayed him.
"Simply because you possess something that belongs to me here," the stranger replied, gesturing with his other hand toward Darken's chest. "Inside you, there is something that is mine, and I must reclaim it at any cost."
The stranger's arm was terrifying in every sense of the word. This thought raced through Darken's mind as he felt the pressure of the stranger's index finger against his chest. For a moment, he imagined that this hand could easily pierce through his chest. Just one finger was enough to completely immobilize him, such was its firmness and strength. Not to mention the muscular arm that seemed to be the result of years of intense training, making even Father Stanis's muscles look like a ridiculous joke in comparison.
Darken hesitated slightly before saying, "If… if it truly belongs to you, and though I don't know how I came to possess it when I don't even know you, but… why didn't you take it directly? And ... Why tell me about it?" His words were fragmented and unclear, and he himself realized how flustered he sounded.
The stranger replied after withdrawing his hand, "Simply because if I took it directly, you would die." The stranger's tone carried an unmistakable threat of death, which made Darken's body tremble instantly, as though death itself had drawn near.
Darken swallowed hard, trying to steady his anxious breaths, but his chest rose and fell violently, as if the air itself had grown heavy around him. His throat was dry, his words fragmented, but he finally managed to speak in a faint voice: "So… what do you want me to do?"
For a brief moment, as the stranger moved his head, Darken felt his fear deepen further. Then the stranger's eyes locked directly onto Darken's. That gaze was laden with an indescribable weight; half of the stranger's face remained covered by a silky black scarf, leaving only his piercing eyes visible, watching without hesitation. Only then did Darken realize that the stranger's words were entirely true—he couldn't refuse, even if he wanted to.
In a voice devoid of emotion, the stranger spoke clearly: " become the Varadis and defeat Claridis, the Lord of darkness..."
When these words reached Darken's ears, their impact was akin to an electric shock coursing through his entire body. He froze in place, unable to breathe for a moment, and even the trembling that had gripped him dissipated, replaced by a deeper and harsher sensation—absolute astonishment.
His eyes widened, and his voice was filled with confusion and disbelief: "Va... va... VARADIS?! Lord of Darkness? Claridis?!". Then his tone began to rise, laced with panic and tension: "You're asking for the IMPOSSIBLE! ME?! I'm weak! And I have no idea how to use any weapon!"
The stranger remained where he was, listening silently, his expression neutral—as if he had been expecting this reaction all along.
Yet..Darken did not stop; he pressed on, as though battling the very idea of choosing this task for himself: "Defeating Claridis?! Even the sons of Kasterlok could barely overcome him! AND GRANADIL!!—that man who became a legend, whose talent the entire world acknowledged, required an enormous effort just to bring him down! And now, you expect me to do that? I... I'm nothing!". His face flushed with intense tension and anger, and even his fingers began to tremble, while the stranger continued to watch impassively without a word.
Darken started to feel as if the air around him was closing in, and that thoughts were clashing in his head without any direction. He began gasping for breath, but before the stranger could utter another word, sudden cries shattered the moment, coming from the direction of the camp.
The stranger shifted slightly, looked back, and said quietly, "That sound..."
For Darken, time froze; he could barely stammer out in a strangled voice, "The camp...!!"
Not wasting a single moment, he surged toward the camp with a speed he'd never known—ignoring everything, driven by one singular instinct: to reach it.
When he reached the edge of the forest where the exit lay, he suddenly stopped at the sight before him—the very place that had embraced him when he had nowhere else to go, the camp that had gathered those he considered his family. It was now... burning completely.
"N... no, no!... no, no, no, no, no!!!" Darken shouted loudly, trying to rush toward the flames, but then he abruptly froze in place, motionless."What?!" he muttered in astonishment, as if something unseen had held him back.
The stranger followed with heavy, deliberate steps, as if the very ground responded to the weight of his stride. Darken saw no hand, no rope, nothing visible that could restrain him, yet he felt paralyzed, unable to move his head or body. The stranger approached until he stood beside him, gazing at the camp consumed mercilessly by flames.
"I wouldn't advise getting any closer," the stranger said in a calm tone, though it carried an unmistakable warning.
Overcome with anger and despair, Darken shouted, "Why? Is this your plan? Did you do this?!" He began hurling accusations recklessly, driven by sheer agitation.
The stranger replied coldly, as though Darken's words had no effect on him: "It's easy to blame others, but far harder to see the real cause before you."
The scene before Darken was like a nightmare; the flames devoured the camp relentlessly, and worse still, no one emerged from the inferno. A whirlwind of questions stormed through his mind "Did they escape? Was it an accident? Are they alive?" His thoughts spiraled chaotically.
Then, suddenly, Darken was struck by what his eyes beheld. "Th… this…" he stammered, his voice trembling, while the stranger remained silent, observing without comment.
From within the flames, three strange silhouettes emerged, their forms unfamiliar, yet to Darken, they were unmistakable. He recognized them instantly, thanks to what he had read in the book *The History of the Kasterlock Family*. They were the black walkers, followers of Lord Claridis, lord of Darkness .
"Black walkers!" Darken growled through gritted teeth, his voice a mix of fear and fury. Then he shouted, "Let me go! I'll kill them!"
In an instant, Darken's expression shifted from tension and anxiety to unbridled rage and a thirst for vengeance. He knew these creatures were responsible for the destruction of the camp and the deaths of its inhabitants. He struggled with all his might to break free from the stranger's hold, though he didn't even understand how he was being restrained. But the stranger, showing no emotion, struck Darken's neck with force, rendering him unconscious. His body collapsed, lifelessly still.
"You have much to learn. These beings are far beyond your current level," the stranger said, gazing at Darken, who now floated weightlessly in the air.
Then, raising his right hand toward the camp, the stranger declared: "As for you, there's nothing personal between us, but I despise your presence. Your blackness reminds me of someone dear to me, whose skin is also black. Yet, ironically, you share the same color. And so, this has become personal."
The stranger's tone was cold and calm, yet it carried a chilling and ominous threat. As he directed his hand toward the black walkers, they sensed imminent danger and tried to move, but they exploded violently on the spot, as if an irresistible force had obliterated them.
"This is the kindest mercy I can offer. Be grateful."
These were the stranger's final words before a black fabric-like energy, resembling dense, gleaming black winds, swirled around him. The fabric enveloped both him and Darken, and then they vanished together, leaving the flames to consume the scattered remains of the black walkers and what was left of the camp—a place that had once held beautiful memories for Darken. Now, those memories were reduced to ashes.