Silence fell over the gathering. Gail stood victorious, breathing heavily but standing tall. The crowd was divided into two groups. Some considered Gail victorious and deserved the right of citizenship in the tribe, and some considered Gail's victory unfair and supported Gamesh. Anyway, the chief of the tribe came forward and raised Gail's hand as a sign of victory. Gamesh's supporters immediately came to the field to lift him off the ground. They protested to the chief, but the chief of the tribe showed his hand as a sign of peace.
Anyway, the celebration took place. Amidst the celebration, Gamesh's eyes burned with jealousy. He struggled to stand on his feet, his pride wounded more deeply than his body. As the tribe's chief congratulated Gail, Gamesh's resentment grew. He could not accept being defeated by an outsider, especially not in front of his people.
Gail found himself in a dilemma. Whether victory was rightfully his or not. His opponent was down and injured. He didn't know if this was exploiting the situation or seizing an opportunity. There was no other way. If he hadn't done it, he would probably have been killed. He saw for himself that his health in the system had been reduced by half. Moreover, if he had been alive at that time, he would have suffered and lost, he would have to return to forced labor in the mines as the system's punishment. He had no choice... Gail tried to convince himself.
The admiration of part of the audience and the approval of the clan chief marked a turning point for Gail. He had proven himself worthy, not just to the tribe but to himself. Yet, he knew that maybe he didn't deserve to win and Gamesh's jealousy and the hatred of his supporters could lead to further challenges. The road ahead was still uncertain, but for now, Gail basked in the hard-earned respect and the thrill of his victory.
After the victory, Gamesh with the help of his supporters, angrily left the ancient rites. Those who were happy about Gail's victory came and treated his wounds and gave him food and water. Gail had completed his mission, but there was no news from the system. The clan chief came and took his hand and led Gail away amid the noise and cheers of tribal people. As they reached the edge of the village, the chief pointed to a path leading into a dense forest. Gail understood it was the continuation of the quest: to find the magic sword and get a system reward.
Gail said under his breath: "I am not allowed to rest for a moment in this damn world. Neither mental nor physical rest. Constant challenge, challenge, and challenge. How can I enter this damned forest that I don't know about?"
The chief of the tribe invited Gail to calm down by pointing his hand and then gave him his staff and said things as if he was praying and wishing him success. Gail had no choice. He thanked the chief with a handshake and took the path of the forest.
The system appeared before him again:
[Your health has improved]
[Health: 9/10]
The help of the tribesmen had reached him and made him regain his health.
"Oh thank God… I'm starting to like you, system. This was an interesting feature. In the fight, you let me use Mana, which helped me a lot." Gail muttered to himself and continued on his way.
As he took his first steps northward into the forest, the air clouded and the sky roared. Then it started to rain slowly.
The forest was thick with foliage, the air humid and filled with the scent of damp earth and moss. the weather was rainy. Even if the weather was sunny, the large number of trees would not allow the light to reach him. The surface of the forest felt dark and strange. Gail's senses were heightened by every rustle and snap of a twig putting him on edge. The staff the chief had given him seemed to pulse with faint energy, guiding him deeper into the woods.
Many times along the way, he tried to communicate with the system. He asked many questions. He asked if his father was really a traitor or not, and what the luminous man he saw in his dream was. But the system did not respond at all. Although at first this matter made her angry, but gradually, Gail was getting used to this situation. The rain became heavier and turned into a downpour. The weather was getting stormy. The raindrops soaked his body and the trees.
The path was narrow and winding, often disappearing under a tangle of roots and fallen leaves. The intensity of the rain made it difficult to find the path. Strange noises echoed around him—calls of unseen birds, the chatter of small creatures, and the distant howl of something larger. Gail's heart pounded, but he pushed forward, driven by the promise of the reward and the hope it carried.
As Gail advanced northward into the heart of the forest, the downpour intensified, drumming relentlessly on the leaves above. Each flash of lightning sliced through the darkness, casting eerie shadows that danced across Gail's rain-soaked figure. The thunder's rumble followed a terrible roar that seemed to shake the very ground. Despite being drenched, Gail pressed on, undeterred and resolute in his quest.
From somewhere in the distance, he heard a sound—a strange, indistinct noise that sent a shiver down his spine. It resembled a chant, a chorus of voices rising and falling with the storm. His staff, glowing faintly, pulsed in his hand, guiding him toward the ominous sound. Fear gnawed at him, but his determination to complete the quest and claim the reward burned brighter. He moved closer, his heart pounding in rhythm with the storm.
The chant grew louder, clearer. It was a prayer, or perhaps a spell, intoned by many voices in a language he could not comprehend. The cacophony of the rainstorm, the rolling thunder, and the haunting chant set his skin crawling with goosebumps. It was as if he was approaching the heart of some dark ritual. He slowed his pace, trying to move quietly, hoping the storm would mask the sound of his approach.
Through the trees, he glimpsed the flicker of a fire in a clearing. People in long robes and strange masks danced around the flames, their voices rising in an eerie litany. Gail crouched behind a bush, his eyes wide with horror. It was a ceremony, ancient and terrifying. He had no idea who these people were or why they performed this dreadful rite.
Then, something caught his eye.
A figure, face obscured by a hood, led several children into the clearing. Their hands and feet were bound, and they were dressed in white, ghostly in the firelight. A chill gripped Gail's heart. He rose, driven by a surge of anger and fear, ready to charge at the group. But he stopped, realizing that such a reckless move would spell death for both him and the children. There were too many, and they were armed. He watched, heart pounding, as the children were untied. For a brief, hopeful moment, he thought they might be released. But then the children were stripped and forced to kneel, one by one, held down by robed figures. A man approached with a gleaming blade.
Gail could watch no longer. Why were they going to sacrifice the children?
His mind raced, anger boiling over, his initial goal forgotten. He was about to rush forward when a blinding flash of lightning struck a tree nearby. The tree toppled, crashing down on the group, killing several of them instantly. Gail stumbled back, stunned, and fell to the ground. The remaining cultists hurriedly tossed the children's bodies into the fire before fleeing into the forest.
Gail staggered to his feet and ran towards the fire. He couldn't believe the horror he had just witnessed. Desperate to put out the flames, he searched frantically for water but found none. Hopelessness engulfed him as he fell to his knees, the rain mixing with his tears. He cried out, a sound of pure anguish lost in the storm. Minutes passed as he knelt there, despairing, until the relentless rain finally extinguished the fire. Nothing remained of the children's bodies.
Gail rose shakily, his face wet with rain and tears. He bent down, scooping up a handful of ash, and smeared it on his face, a grim mask of grief and determination. The tears stopped. His heart hardened. He vowed to avenge the innocent blood spilled this night. He would find those responsible and become a true warrior, his sword a harbinger of justice.
Taking a deep breath, he struck the staff against the ground, using it to push himself upright. He glanced at the bodies crushed beneath the fallen tree, but they were beyond reach, pinned under the massive trunk. The thought of cursing the system, of railing against the injustice, crossed his mind. But in his seething anger, he knew it was futile. Without a word, he turned and continued on his way, the weight of a new purpose pressing on his shoulders.
As dusk approached, the forest began to change. The trees grew taller and more imposing, their trunks gnarled and covered in thick moss. The storm subsided and the rain stopped and the setting sun's light appeared from between the branches of the trees. Even though Gail was wet and more tired than ever, he continued to walk faster. A speed close to running. He could not stop thinking about the crime he had seen.
After traveling a long way, he came upon a clearing bathed in the red light of the setting sun. In the center was a stone with a sword embedded in it. A sword that glowed with an ethereal light, its blade shimmering with hues of blue and silver. Gail's heart raced. This was it—the magic sword the system had promised. A sword that can be a means of his revenge.
He approached cautiously, feeling the energy emanating from the sword, a tangible force that seemed to resonate with the staff in his hand. As he reached out to grasp the hilt, the system's interface appeared before him, its familiar icons and messages a stark contrast to the ancient and mystical surroundings.