Once clear of the villa, he broke into a swift, practiced run, dashing toward the thick line of trees bordering the property. The night air was cool against his skin as he entered the dense forest, his senses heightened. Branches snapped beneath his feet as he sprinted through the undergrowth, aiming for the river that he knew lay up ahead.
The river was low at this hour, almost a mere trickle over its rocky bed. While the Pry members usually took the long way around, Arlon had another plan. He retrieved a small mana stone from his pocket—a sharp, glimmering fragment infused with nature's power.
This particular stone had a speed enhancement, allowing him to cross swiftly over the shallow riverbed. With a faint glow, the mana stone thrummed to life in his hand, sending an exhilarating surge through his muscles. Arlon crossed in a blur, quick and silent, like a shadow flickering over water.
Fwoosh—
He activated the stone, feeling a surge of energy course through him. In an instant, he was propelled forward, his movements becoming a blur as he dashed across the low tide river. The cool water splashed against his legs, but he felt no chill; the mana stone enveloped him in warmth, fueling his drive. This isn't so bad! I could get used to this.
Rush— Splash—
As he closed in on his destination, an unsettling scent crept into his awareness. At first, it was subtle—a wisp of smoke threading through the damp forest air.
The forest burned in the distance, its eerie glow casting flickering shadows through the trees. Arlon froze, the metallic tang of blood sharp in his nostrils. His eyes locked onto the figure in the clearing—a lone warrior cutting through Pry soldiers with relentless, brutal efficiency.
"It's him," Arlon murmured. "Lawrence Hill…"
The protagonist of The Seventh War. Every swing of his sword was calculated yet ferocious, his opponents scattering like leaves before a storm. Lawrence's broad shoulders heaved as he caught his breath, the fiery glow reflecting in his fierce, determined gaze.
Arlon couldn't look away. This was the man destined to become a legend.
So transfixed was he that he didn't notice the root beneath his foot until it was too late.
Thud—
The sound wasn't loud, but in the eerie stillness that followed the battle, it might as well have been a cannon blast. Arlon cursed under his breath as Lawrence's head snapped toward him.
Great. Just great.
Moments later, Lawrence loomed over him, sword drawn and pointed directly at his throat.
"Who are you?" Lawrence demanded, his voice as sharp as the blade itself.
Arlon raised his hands slowly, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "I... I'm just passing through," he said, forcing his voice to stay calm.
Lawrence's piercing gaze held no trace of mercy. Of course he's suspicious, Arlon thought, his mind racing. Lawrence wasn't the type to let anything slide. If I don't convince him now, this could end badly.
"I... I'm not one of them," Arlon said quickly, keeping his voice calm even as his heart pounded. He gestured toward the fallen Pry soldiers.
"I've only just awakened my power," Arlon said, steadying his voice. "I can't control it yet—that's why I keep it hidden."He hoped the words sounded convincing, though he could feel Lawrence's gaze assessing every inch of him.
Lawrence's eyes flicked to the mask covering Arlon's face, his grip on the sword unyielding. Arlon forced himself to stay calm. This wasn't the ideal first meeting, but he had to convince him.
"Why are you here?" Lawrence pressed, his voice low, demanding.
Arlon swallowed hard, carefully crafting his next words. "I was looking for… something. I heard rumors about this place and thought I'd find answers here." He kept his tone steady, though his mind raced to fill in the gaps of his half-truths.
Lawrence tilted his head slightly, as if weighing the sincerity of Arlon's answer. His grip on the sword loosened ever so slightly, but the tension in his stance didn't fade.
"Rumors?" Lawrence asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "About what?"
Arlon hesitated for the briefest moment, knowing the wrong answer could cost him. Then, he let out a small sigh, feigning reluctance. "About… cursed artifacts. I thought they might help me stabilize my power."
It wasn't a complete lie—he was looking for something, after all.
Lawrence narrowed his eyes, his expression unreadable. After a long, excruciating pause, he finally lowered his sword.
"You're not lying," he said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced either.
Arlon breathed an internal sigh of relief, his mask hiding the flicker of nerves in his expression.
He pushed down his nerves and trailed after Lawrence, keeping a careful distance. Despite his own unease, he was determined to follow the protagonist's lead, wherever it might take him.
Step— Step—
As the two moved cautiously toward the smoldering ruins of the village, Arlon's senses remained on high alert. The acrid scent of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air, and the distant cries of villagers echoed faintly through the trees.
Lawrence moved among the survivors, his hardened expression softening as he offered quiet reassurances. Arlon kept his distance, watching the man who would one day become a hero.
This is the Lawrence Hill I remember, he thought. Lawrence's quiet strength drew people to him like moths to a flame.
But then Lawrence paused, his gaze sweeping the smoldering remains of the village.
"They were looking for it," he muttered, almost to himself. "The soul…"
Arlon stiffened. The soul? Could he mean the Soul Sky Guardian?
He forced his expression to remain neutral, though his mind raced. Nowhere in the novel had it mentioned that Lawrence knew about the Soul Sky Guardian. This was a deviation—a crack in the story he thought he understood.
"The soul," Arlon echoed softly, feigning curiosity. "You mean those Pry members were searching for something?"
Lawrence's sharp gaze cut back to him, as if weighing whether to answer.
"You don't need to know," he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Stubborn as ever, Arlon thought, suppressing a sigh. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was a vital clue—one he couldn't afford to ignore.
As the survivors huddled around the makeshift fire Lawrence had built, Arlon stepped back, his mind spinning with possibilities.
Lawrence knows more than he's letting on. But why? How does he know about the Soul Sky Guardian?
Before he could dwell on it further, the golden screen flickered to life in the corner of his vision. Its text was erratic, pulsing with urgency:
Flutter—
["The chain tightens. The path diverges—."]
A chill ran down Arlon's spine. He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him.
I've already changed the story, haven't I?
His gaze drifted back to Lawrence, who stood tall and resolute against the backdrop of flames. For better or worse, Arlon's actions had set something in motion. And as the night stretched on, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
Arlon's gaze drifted up toward a distant, The mountain loomed ahead, dark clouds swirling at its peak.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the jagged slopes, and the chill in the air sent a shiver through Arlon. It felt like the mountain itself was alive, angry at being disturbed
Arlon glanced at the stormy peak, frowning. "The weather shifted suddenly. It was calm when I got here." Lawrence, still focused on the sweet potatoes, replied evenly, "The mountain doesn't like disturbances. Those Pry attackers probably angered it."
He lifted the pot's lid, checking on the sweet potatoes before handing one to each of the villagers. Then, he offered one to Arlon as well.
"The mountain… You mean the soul?" Arlon asked, accepting the food with a polite nod and taking a bite. The sweet potato's warmth spread through him, momentarily warding off the cold.Here we go, story time.
"My father once told me that the mountain has a soul that controls the sky," Lawrence explained, his eyes focused on the flickering flames of the fire.
"He said it's better to leave it undisturbed. Let it sleep, and it won't trouble anyone." He took a slow, thoughtful bite of his own sweet potato, his gaze distant, as though remembering something from long ago.
"..."
The silence that followed was peaceful, the crackling fire casting a soft glow on the faces around it. But that calmness was soon broken as Arlon spoke, his voice carrying a note of resolve.
"No," Arlon murmured, his tone low and unyielding. "That can't be helped."
Lawrence looked up, frowning slightly as Arlon rose and started for the cave's entrance, his pace steady and purposeful.
"What are you planning to do?" Lawrence asked, following after him, his curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in Arlon's demeanor.
Arlon didn't slow down, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, leading toward the storm-shrouded mountain.
"Isn't it obvious?" he replied, his tone cool, determined. He stopped in his tracks, turning just enough to glance back at Lawrence over his shoulder. There was a glint of challenge in his eyes.
Lawrence stopped as well, his expression wary. "Are you going there… to get it?" he asked, studying Arlon's face closely.
Arlon's lips curved into a faint, confident smile. "Yup," he answered, nodding toward the mountain. "Are you coming too?"