The boy was breathing heavily, barely feeling his limbs. After killing the third reconnaissance group, he easily dealt with the second as well. This allowed him to reach the river, though the risk was enormous. The thirst that had tormented him for the past few days left him no choice. His dry lips and throat felt as if they were burning from the inside, like a flame consuming the last remnants of his strength.
The night river was dazzlingly beautiful, its boundless waters reflecting the star-studded night sky. It seemed to embody the wild, raw beauty of the world in which he found himself a prisoner. But at that moment, he wasn't thinking about beauty or how dangerous it was to be there. His only thought was to quench his thirst. He drank the water greedily, without restraint, so quickly that he didn't even notice himself choking. The icy currents flowed down his throat, bringing momentary relief. However, it didn't last long.
The shadow of danger loomed over him too quickly. The boy suddenly realized that he had been discovered. He couldn't believe they had found him so soon. According to his calculations, he should have been in a blind spot. Instinct kicked in instantly—a desperate attempt to activate the **Lich's Crown**, but nothing happened. Panic welled up, constricting his throat. Around him, silhouettes of fishmen began to appear, emerging from the depths like ghosts from a nightmare. Their movements were fast and precise; they cut off all escape routes.
But the boy wasn't naive. He knew that the river was not just a source of water, but also a path to salvation. Realizing everything was going wrong, he threw himself into the water, allowing the current to carry him away from his enemies. If he had reached the river, his plan must have worked. However, the plan collapsed when he saw the fishmen dive after him. Their speed underwater was astonishing—within just one and a half seconds, they had already caught up to him.
This was unexpected. Just a few hours ago, he had easily defeated these creatures on land, but here, in their element, they were elusive like shadows. Spear strikes followed one after another, and even though he had summoned his sword, he couldn't parry a single blow. Each spear's touch pierced his flesh, the pain shooting straight to his brain. The water around him quickly turned red with his blood. This was inevitable defeat. His thoughts clouded with pain and despair, but he forced himself to focus. Despite their speed, the enemies were predictable. This gave him a small chance.
The boy suddenly stopped struggling. He let the current carry him, as if all his strength had left him. One of the important rules that helped him survive his miserable life as a slave was never resisting when he was beaten. The fishmen hesitated for a moment, not expecting such a sudden change. Their confidence played into his hands. They were used to their victims either fighting to the end or trying to escape, but no one ever surrendered so easily.
When they eased their attack, he suddenly plunged to the bottom, into the dark depths of the river. This was his only chance. The fishmen lost sight of him, their attention still focused on the surface. He held his breath for as long as he could, trying to distance himself from them. The water enveloped him, dulling the pain, and the silence soothed his mind. It was like a temporary oblivion, a small gap between life and death.
Finally, when his lungs began to burn from the lack of air, he surfaced, gasping desperately for breath, and headed toward the shore, where the current was slower. His body was exhausted, his strength was fading, but the fishmen, having lost track of him, hesitated, not immediately noticing his maneuver.
He crawled onto the shore, barely alive, covered in blood. The air was still, the forest silent, as if the world around him was waiting to see what would happen next. The ground beneath his hands was cold and wet, and every movement echoed the pain in his body. He knew that if he didn't stop the bleeding, he would die here, on this cursed shore. But his body refused to obey. Inside him, fear was growing. His attribute, The Cursed, hindered him too much. The boy felt his muscles seize up, and he could no longer even lift his head. Panic washed over him like a wave.
"I don't want to die..." His thoughts scattered in chaos. In a desperate attempt to regain control, he bit off a piece of his tongue, hoping the pain would bring him back to reality. It worked. On the verge of madness, he managed to force himself to crawl.
Every inch was excruciating. He crawled to a tree, grabbing its trunk, and began tying his wounds with leaves he tore at random, hoping they would help. He had no idea where the river had carried him, but this place was strange, as if it had been ripped from reality.
The forest was enchanted. The wind was almost nonexistent, only a faint whisper of leaves around him. Deep within the shadows of the trees, strange plants glowed with a soft blue and violet light, resembling fireflies, illuminating a path that no one had walked in ages. The air was thick with magic, and the silence enveloped everything, as if this forest was a hidden realm of sorcery. In the distance, a waterfall was visible, its waters glowing, merging with the surrounding darkness.
But the boy wasn't marveling at any of this. He lay there, exhausted and tormented, thinking only about how to survive the night. He didn't know what awaited him next, but one thing was clear—he had survived.