As Rifi lay there for days, teetering on the precipice of life and death, each agonizing heartbeat felt like both a fragile tether to existence and a relentless shove toward oblivion. The faint pulse of his master Nala's spirit force still coursed through him, working tirelessly to mend the grievous wound that should have ended his life. It was nothing short of a miracle—a final gift layered atop the many he had already received in his turbulent journey. And yet, salvation felt impossibly distant, hovering just beyond the horizon of his suffering.Despite the pain that consumed him, Rifi's mind fixated on a single, unyielding emotion: rage. It burned hotter than the wound in his chest, searing away every other thought until it stood alone, a furious beacon in the darkness.Kaelin's smirking face haunted him. The blade, scorching hot and unyielding, tearing through his flesh—the betrayal etched into every mocking word. Rifi's fists clenched weakly at the memory, his nails digging into his palms with what little strength he could muster. "How could he?" he rasped, the words barely audible over his ragged breathing.The memory replayed in fragments: Kaelin's reassuring presence, his unwavering loyalty during the battles, his camaraderie that had felt as real as any bond Rifi had ever known. It had all been a lie. A bitter laugh escaped him, dry and humorless. "I should have seen it," he muttered, the words laced with self-loathing. "I should have known."But how could he? The City Lord's advisors had vouched for Kaelin and Serra, their trust seemingly unshakable. Helvia's keen discernment was renowned—she could unearth lies with the precision of a scalpel. Was she blind to Kaelin's duplicity? Or was she complicit? Rifi's mind churned with possibilities, each more damning than the last.Kaelin had played his part perfectly: the loyal ally, the steadfast friend, the flawless confidant. His camaraderie had felt genuine—the way he lessened Rifi's burden, the way he stayed by his side in the infirmary, the way he offered to stand in harm's way so Rifi wouldn't have to. It had been so convincing. Too convincing. The realization tore at Rifi's already fractured resolve, the betrayal cutting deeper than the fiery blade that had almost ended his life.Through the haze of anger and despair, another thought crept in—a darker one. Perhaps the Devils should kill them all. The Esquiliana, the Argos forces, even the Hepestus elites who had let this betrayal fester. Rifi clenched his jaw as the thought lingered, cold and venomous.But then, as quickly as it came, another voice rose within him, quiet yet firm. Luciliana. Rudeus.Rifi's thoughts drifted to his true friends—Luciliana, steadfast and unwavering, and Rudeus, who now had a family of his own to protect. They were his tether to this world, a world a moment ago he thought to forsake. Yet, as much as he cherished them, he knew they were vulnerable, weaker than him, and even he was painfully aware of his limitations. He had barely survived his confrontation with the Esquiliana, a major faction within the City State of Hepestus. The thought gnawed at him—Hepestus wasn't even the most formidable among the many City States in this world, and if he struggled here, how could he hope to face greater threats?Even Mira, whom he had known for barely a week, had carved out a space in his thoughts—a bond that felt almost sibling-like in its intensity. Perhaps it was naive, the kind of vulnerability he had just learned he should guard against. But Rifi refused to let cynicism govern his life, not when it came to people like her. The world had already stolen too much from him; it wouldn't take the capacity to trust again. Not entirely. Not because of one bastard like Kaelin.I can't give up, he resolved, his jaw tightening as he clung to the thought. There are still people worth fighting for—people like Luciliana and Rudeus. If I fall now, who will protect them?His rage, which had burned like a wildfire moments ago, tempered slightly, transforming into a more controlled and enduring flame. It still smoldered deep within him, a quiet, unrelenting vow of retribution—not only against those who had wronged him but also against those who preyed upon the weak and defenseless, needlessly adding cruelty to an already unforgiving world. Yet, it no longer consumed him entirely; instead, it became a tool—a weapon to forge his resolve.Rifi's lips curved into a cheeky, almost defiant smile as another thought struck him. At least this mountain has one thing going for it: the mana here is denser than anywhere I've ever been. It's like sitting atop a living vein of power.The fleeting moment of levity was snatched away as a searing pain ripped through his chest, each heartbeat sending fresh agony through his battered body. His face twisted, the smile replaced by a grimace as he fought to steady his ragged breaths. Despite the pain, the flicker of determination remained. It was fragile, but it was there—a spark of hope ignited amid the ashes of despair. He would endure, he would grow stronger, and he would ensure that those who betrayed him would never forget the consequences of their actions.He couldn't move—any attempt to do so would only tear open his fragile wounds further, each motion threatening to spill what little life remained in him. Using his mana for anything beyond healing was out of the question. His lightning mana, though a source of immense power, was also a dangerous double-edged sword. If he dared to summon it, his body would demand more blood to fuel the surge, a strain his battered heart could not possibly endure.And so, Rifi lay still, trapped in a tormenting limbo for days.The wound to his side, while painful, had proven relatively shallow and healed within a few days. His lung, however, remained in complete disarray, shattered by the same devastating strike that had nearly torn through his heart. Breathing was a laborious task, each inhale sharp and shallow, yet it was manageable. His focus remained singular—his heart. It was the most pressing priority, its damaged walls demanding every ounce of his willpower and mana.With painstaking slowness, he directed the small reserves of mana he could muster toward the wound. His efforts felt endless, each beat of his heart pulling at the fragile tissue, threatening to undo the little progress he made. Yet, even amidst the daunting task, there were faint signs of improvement. Day by day, the bleeding lessened, and the raw edges of the injury began to knit together, fragile but holding.Weeks bled into one another, and the relentless gnaw of hunger and thirst began to take its toll. Of the two, it was the thirst that became truly unbearable, a searing torment that invaded his every thought. The meager water supply he'd carried had run dry in the first week, leaving him to endure a parched existence under the unrelenting weight of his injuries. He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he possessed water affinity mana—the ability to conjure life-sustaining drops from thin air. But such a gift was not his, and he had to rely on his meager reserves of strength instead.Mana itself offered some reprieve. As a mage, his body could subsist longer than most without sustenance, the ambient energy feeding his cells and dulling the edge of his suffering. Yet even mana had its limits. No matter how skilled or resilient a mage was, they could not escape the laws of nature. Without water, his blood began to thicken, forcing his already battered heart to labor harder with each beat. The recovery of his injurie slowed, and at times completely stalled, the fragile healing process he had so carefully cultivated.The realization struck him like a cruel blow—staying still was no longer an option. If he did not act, his heart would fail him long before it had time to recover.Crawling to the nearest water source—a modest spring nestled among jagged rocky outcrops—became his sole focus, his one thread of hope. What might have taken an hour for a healthy man stretched into a grueling, agonizing day. Each strained movement tore at his wound, the fragile scab reopening again and again, leaving a trail of blood smeared across the rocks. Pain clawed at his every nerve, and his mind screamed for him to stop, to surrender to the inevitable. But his rage silenced those pleas. He couldn't die. Not yet. Not before Kaelin and the Esquiliana clan paid for their betrayal.When he finally reached the spring, his strength gave out, and he collapsed beside it, his shaking hands dipping into the cool water with agonizing slowness. The first sip was pure bliss, the liquid quenching the fire in his throat and easing the searing ache in his chest. Relief, fleeting but profound, coursed through him as he drank deeply, ignoring the sharp pains that accompanied each gulp. He knew the effort of reaching the spring had cost him dearly, likely setting his recovery back by at least a week. But at that moment, it didn't matter. He was alive. That was enough.After quenching his thirst, Rifi allowed himself a moment of stillness, his body slumped against the rocks. The faint coolness of the water pooled in his belly, buying him precious time. But Rifi wasn't naive. He knew hunger would soon rear its merciless head, and the challenge of survival was far from over. Focusing his will, he turned his attention back to the wound at his heart. It was still his greatest obstacle to recovery, and every ounce of energy he could muster was directed toward healing it.As days passed, Rifi's body began to adapt while his heart was getting ever so slightly stronger, now he was able to freely draw the dense ambient mana of the mountain into his core. The volume he absorbed was staggering, enough to make even him uneasy. He couldn't help but wonder if the divine beast—the master of this peak—would notice and take offense. Yet he pressed on, his desperation outweighing his caution. He reasoned that the beast might not care about such a small drain on its territory's abundant energy, and perhaps, in some unspoken way, it had already granted him more grace than he deserved.Throughout his time on the mountain, not a single beast or dangerous creature ventured near him. The absence of predators, in a place so wild and untamed, was no coincidence. Rifi was certain this eerie solitude was the work of the divine beast that ruled over these heights, its unseen influence a silent yet undeniable force keeping the wilderness at bay.Rifi didn't truly know the divine beast's intentions. Its warning had been cryptic, its presence more felt than seen. But he knew one thing for certain—if he was to survive the trials ahead, he had to grow stronger. Whether the beast saw him as an interloper or a potential challenger didn't matter. Staying on Brimstone Mountain was a gamble he had to take, and Rifi was no stranger to risk.With fresh water now available, he had one less immediate worry gnawing at him. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat and offered a reprieve from the relentless ache in his chest. Yet hunger's insidious grip was growing stronger, a dull ache that whispered promises of weakness and eventual collapse. Before that could happen, his heart wound needed to heal, to close fully and stop its slow deterioration. There was no room for error—any misstep, any overexertion, and all his efforts would be undone.For the next two weeks, Rifi barely moved. He remained perfectly still, shifting only to drink from the spring. Each sip felt like a battle won against the encroaching darkness of starvation. His heart beat low and steady, a fragile rhythm that carried the weight of his survival. The reduced strain allowed his body to divert precious energy toward recovery, and he clung to that hope as fiercely as he clung to life itself.In the meantime, his body waged a silent war against itself. With no external sustenance to rely on, it began consuming what little reserves it had left. First, the fat reserves vanished—though there had never been much to begin with. Then, it turned on his muscles, devouring their strength with an unrelenting hunger. Every day, he felt himself growing lighter, weaker, more hollow. It was a cruel, calculated sacrifice, but one his body seemed willing to make to keep him alive.Weeks blurred into each other, a haze of thirst and pain interspersed with the faint pulse of mana weaving its way through his core. He counted time not by the rising and setting sun but by the steady, excruciating depletion of his strength. His ribs pressed visibly against his skin, and his limbs felt like brittle sticks, each movement threatening to snap them in two. Yet through it all, his heart persisted, inching closer to closure with every passing day.Finally, after a month of torment, Rifi felt it—the wound in his heart had sealed. It was not a moment too soon; he was nearing the edge of what his body could endure. His muscles were stripped bare, his frame reduced to little more than skin stretched tightly over bone. His reflection in the spring's water was unrecognizable. Sunken eyes stared back at him, hollow and shadowed, framed by gaunt cheeks and a ghostly pallor. He looked like a specter, a wraith clinging to the threads of mortality.But the fire in his eyes remained unextinguished. Weak and trembling, Rifi dragged himself upright. The effort was monumental, each movement deliberate and measured, accompanied by sharp reminders of his fragility. Every ache, every protest from his battered body was a testament to the hell he had survived.He crouched by the water's edge, staring at the ghost in his reflection. For a moment, he simply gazed, letting the image settle in his mind. Then, a wry grin tugged at his cracked lips."Well, at least now I can admit the Argos legionaries were right—I do look like a wraith," he muttered, his voice rasping against the stillness.The sound startled him. It was the first time he'd heard his own voice in weeks, a hoarse echo of the man he used to be. Yet the small act of humor, however bleak, felt like a step forward—a reminder that he was still Rifi, still alive, still burning with the promise of vengeance.Finally, Rifi could move again. The sharp, immediate risk of tearing his heart wound open had passed, but he knew his limits all too well. Instinctively, he understood that using lightning mana—or even channeling non-elemental mana to empower his body—was out of the question. The fragile tissue of his heart, though mended, wasn't strong enough to withstand such forces. Not yet.Still, he could walk, even manage a tentative run if absolutely necessary. That alone was a victory. It gave him a measure of freedom, and with it, the means to survive. He experimented cautiously, finding that he could manifest mana outside his body to a limited degree. Firing less dense bolts of lightning was within his grasp, a last resort for defense if the need arose. It wasn't much, but it was enough.Weak and unsteady, Rifi ventured into the forest that bordered his rocky refuge. Every step sent a dull ache through his chest, a reminder of how close he had come to death. His heart, though healing, still labored with the exertion, each beat a deliberate and heavy drumbeat in his ears.The forest was quiet but teeming with subtle signs of life. The rustling of leaves, the distant call of birds, and the faint scurrying of small creatures played a symphony of survival. It felt both alien and comforting after weeks of isolation on the bare slopes of the mountain.As he moved through the trees, he spotted a flicker of movement ahead. Two rabbits darted between patches of tall grass, their twitching noses oblivious to his presence. Rifi froze, his body tensing instinctively. His first thought was to summon his lightning mana, to channel the crackling energy into his limbs and strike with the speed he once commanded. But the thought alone sent a ripple of unease through him—his body rebelled at the idea. The strain would be too much; the fragile stitches holding his heart together would rip apart with the force.Instead, he steadied his shaking hands and summoned only what little energy he could muster. A single, focused thread of lightning began to coil at his fingertips, its hum faint and subdued. He aimed carefully, his breath hitching as he released the bolt. He only had strength for this one—or, at most, one more.The arc of energy leapt forward, striking one of the rabbits squarely. The creature crumpled instantly, its still form a stark contrast to the other, which bolted into the underbrush in a blur of motion. Rifi didn't care. One was enough.He staggered toward the fallen rabbit, his body trembling with exhaustion as he crouched beside it. The simple task of skinning the animal with his knife proved to be a monumental challenge, his weakened hands fumbling more than once. But the scent of fresh meat as he worked sharpened his focus, driving him to finish.When the rabbit was finally skinned, Rifi held it up, examining his handiwork with a faint smirk. "Well," he muttered, "it's not going to win me a cooking competition."A small chuckle escaped him as he sent a thin jolt of lightning into the rabbit, cooking it with uneven patches of heat. The scent of charred meat filled the air—a mixture of tantalizing and acrid. He took a cautious bite, wincing at the half-cooked texture but relishing the sustenance nonetheless."It's not completely raw. Just… creatively cooked," he said aloud to no one, a dry humor threading his words.He ate every single bit of it, sparing nothing but the bones. The rabbit was small, but for a starving man, it was a feast. His stomach protested at first, unused to solid food after weeks of deprivation, but he forced himself to continue. The nourishment, meager as it was, sent a flicker of strength back into his limbs. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind him of what it felt like to live.Rifi's stomach was full—for now. Even the small rabbit had been enough to satiate the gnawing hunger of a starving man like him. He knew better than to overexert himself just yet. His body needed time, and the modest meal was a step in the right direction. Today, it was enough.Each day that followed brought new challenges, but also small victories. Rifi hunted and foraged with cautious determination, scouring the surrounding area for anything edible. Wild fruits, tough and bitter, became a staple, alongside the occasional catch of another rabbit or bird. Over time, his hunts took him deeper into the forest, where the prey grew larger, and the shadows of the wilderness seemed to stretch farther.It was during one of these excursions that he first noticed the puma.The sleek, tawny predator moved silently through the underbrush, its golden eyes tracking prey with an intensity Rifi found strangely familiar. At first, he thought it might attack him, its gaze sharp and unrelenting. But it never did. Instead, the two hunters watched each other warily, neither making the first move. Over time, a strange understanding developed between them—a mutual respect forged in silence and necessity.Rifi found a quiet companionship in the beast's presence, something he hadn't expected. It was simple, unspoken, and untainted by betrayal or deceit. The puma took only what it needed to survive, one rabbit or gazelle at a time, waiting patiently if Rifi hunted first. Rifi, in turn, repaid the favor, stepping aside when it was the puma's turn to strike. There was a purity to the exchange, a shared acknowledgment of the unyielding rhythm of survival. He found it… comforting. In a way, the beast's company was more pleasant than most humans he had known.Weeks bled into months. The steady rhythm of life on the mountain allowed Rifi's body to slowly rebuild itself. His muscles, once stripped to the bone, began to return, the sinew knitting together stronger than before. His movements became steadier, more confident, and the ache in his chest faded into a distant hum. Yet, despite his growing strength, he never pushed himself too far. The memory of his near-death experience loomed like a shadow, reminding him to tread carefully.His mana channels, painstakingly cultivated over years of grueling training, remained intact as his muscles regrew—an unexpected blessing. More than that, he began to notice something extraordinary. With each passing day, Rifi shaped new mana channels, his will guiding their formation with a precision earned through relentless practice. Yet here, on the mountain, the process felt different—easier, almost as if his very spirit was being nurtured by the dense ambient mana. The effort, once grueling and deliberate, now flowed with a surprising fluidity. By now, his body was littered with channels. From a distance, it might appear as though his entire form was a single, seamless mana conduit. But upon closer inspection, one would see an intricate lattice of countless microchannels branching like rivers through his muscles and organs, each one connecting with deliberate efficiency.A few days ago, Rifi had felt the unmistakable pull of his core reaching the peak of red—a threshold that marked the height of his current tier. And yet, he didn't dare to attempt a breakthrough. Not now. Not while his heart was still fragile.The wound was healing, but it wasn't there yet. Each day, he could feel the walls of his heart growing thicker, stronger, as if forging themselves anew. The sensation was strange, almost alien, but not unpleasant. It was progress, and progress was enough. He estimated he was only halfway there—his heart not yet the unyielding organ it once was. Until it reached its proper form, he would wait. Patience, he reminded himself, was a weapon as powerful as any blade or bolt of lightning.Two more months passed, with Rifi and the puma continuing their silent, respectful dance of survival. Each day, their unspoken agreement played out—one hunter yielding to the other in a quiet acknowledgment of need. Between these hunts, Rifi pushed his body to its limits, infusing mana into his muscle fibers and tearing them apart, only to grow them stronger with each cycle. Again and again, the process repeated, an unrelenting ritual of destruction and renewal.What would have driven a regular mage to madness—this constant breaking and rebuilding—became Rifi's anchor. His mind remained steady, the fire within him burning ever brighter. Day after day, he extended the practice beyond his muscles, delving into his organs, breaking them down and reforging them to endure more, to grow stronger. Not just stronger—his body became more attuned to the searing, crackling nature of his lightning mana. Each fiber of his being seemed to hum with its essence, adapting with a precision that was as terrifying as it was awe-inspiring.The sheer focus and consistency of his efforts were frightening. How many would have faltered under such unyielding strain? How many would have turned back, unwilling to suffer for the possibility of something greater?Was it ever truly a question if the breakthrough would succeed?When the time came, the breakthrough didn't feel forced. It came as if it was inevitable, as if the universe itself found it unnatural that Rifi remained red core. It was no longer a matter of willpower but of alignment—a natural correction to a state of imbalance. The laws of existence demanded it.The moment Rifi willed it, mana surged into his core, condensing with a force that felt almost alive. The transformation to orange core was swift, the energy folding in on itself, compacting and intensifying. Yet the flow didn't stop. The mana seemed almost eager, as if it had been waiting for this moment. It continued to hurl itself into his core, driving him effortlessly to the late stage of orange.Before he fully realized what had happened, he stood on the brink of taking more, of letting the mana flood in further. He could feel the temptation tugging at him—a tantalizing whisper of unimaginable power. But then the divine beast's warning echoed in his mind: "Do not overstay your welcome."If there was one thing Rifi despised, it was greed. He wouldn't stoop to it now, not after everything he had endured. To antagonize the divine beast for more, when it had already granted him this grace, would be to spit in the face of the very balance he sought to uphold.And so, with quiet resolve, Rifi stopped. He took what was given, nothing more.As Rifi stood at the edge of the forest halfway up Brimstone Mountain, the mist-shrouded peaks loomed high above, their jagged silhouettes lost in swirling clouds. The dense ambient mana still hung heavily around him, a reminder of the trials he had endured. Those peaks, shrouded in mystery and danger, had always been out of reach. Even now, stronger and sharper than he had ever been, he didn't dare to approach them. This place had been his crucible, a sanctuary of survival and transformation—but it was time to descend.A low, resonant growl rumbled through the air, vibrating the ground beneath his feet. The sound carried weight, an unmistakable warning. The divine beast's presence pressed down upon him, its aura filling the forest like an unseen storm."You have grown," the beast's voice echoed in his mind, deep and measured, tinged with ancient authority. "You respect the balance. For that, you may leave this mountain alive. But do not forget—this grace was not yours to claim. You were granted this only because of your master, Nala. It is his memory that spares you."Rifi stiffened at the words, his jaw tightening as the weight of Nala's legacy pressed against him. "I understand," he replied, his voice steady. He wondered, fleetingly, if his Master Nala would have been proud of how far he'd come.After a pause, he asked quietly, "I hope I've honored him."The beast's growl deepened, a sound like distant thunder rolling through the mist. "You have endured. That is enough—for now. But do not return to this mountain. My mercy does not extend twice."For a moment, Rifi hesitated. The beast's presence was overwhelming, but a question lingered in his mind, one he could not ignore. "You honored him by allowing me this chance. But the devils—they threaten my world. Could you help us?"The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. When the beast spoke again, its tone was colder, detached. "We do not meddle in the affairs of this world. The balance here is for you mortals to preserve—or destroy. Heed this warning, mortal. Should you defy me and return, the punishment will be severe."The finality of the words left no room for argument. Rifi nodded, his resolve unshaken. The divine beast's presence receded, leaving only the stillness of the forest and the faint hum of mana in the air.He turned his gaze downward, toward the rocky slopes that led to the base of the mountain. Seven months—he had spent seven months here, healing, training, and fighting to survive. During that time, the faces of those he had left behind had never left his mind. Luciliana, steadfast and unyielding. Rudeus, quiet but determined. Mira, fiery and resolute. And Kaelin—Kaelin's smirk haunted him still, the blade that had pierced his chest carving a memory far more painful than the jagged scar it left behind.Rifi looked at his reflection in a small pool of water by his feet. His body was lean and hard, forged through months of grueling effort, but the scars remained. The one from Kaelin's blade, piercing through his back and into his heart. The long slash from his shoulder to his stomach, the mark he received on that fatefull night as his sister died. The circular scar from an ice spear above his stomach, a wound that still ached in the cold. And smaller marks scattered across his body, faint reminders of projectiles and spells.They weren't just scars—they were reminders. A map of his survival, a testament to the blood he had shed and the strength he had earned. They weren't marks of weakness. They were proof that he had endured.Rifi took a deep breath, the crisp mountain air filling his lungs. Seven months of grueling survival had reshaped him, body and soul, into something stronger than before. But seven months was a long time, and he couldn't help but wonder how much had changed in Hepestus while he was gone. His friends, his enemies, his vengeance—everything waited for him beyond the horizon.The mountain had taught him patience, but now it was time for action. Rifi adjusted the knife at his side, his eyes narrowing as he began his descent. The world awaited.And Rifi would meet it head-on.