Moonveil Forest - Beneath the Pale Moonlight
The creature moved.
Its hulking form shifted through the fog, each step unnaturally silent despite its massive size. The mist around it thickened, swirling like grasping tendrils, distorting its true shape.
Reinhardt had fought countless foes in his lifetime. He had clashed with warriors stronger than him, armies larger than his own.
Yet—this thing felt different.
There was no hesitation in its movements, no wasted motion. It was not a beast driven by hunger, nor a mindless monster acting on instinct.
It was hunting him.
Reinhardt's grip on his swords tightened.
Behind him, Sylphine, the tiny pixie who had introduced herself as the last of the Moonveil Fey, hovered midair, her wings beating fast.
"…This isn't good," she muttered.
Reinhardt did not take his eyes off the creature. "You recognize it?"
Sylphine hesitated. "Not exactly."
The fog stirred. The creature charged.
Reinhardt moved.
He barely had time to twist his body, narrowly avoiding a massive clawed strike aimed straight for his chest. The wind from the attack alone sent leaves and debris flying.
His instincts screamed. Too fast.
Reinhardt immediately countered, both swords flashing through the night. His blades struck solid flesh—but barely cut through.
The monster's body was dense, its hide unnaturally thick. His swords, sharp enough to sever ordinary creatures in a single strike, only left shallow wounds.
The creature did not even flinch.
Instead, it lashed out with a second strike, and this time, Reinhardt wasn't fast enough.
A blackened claw ripped through his armor, sending him crashing against a nearby tree.
Pain exploded through his ribs. His vision blurred for a moment.
Sylphine gasped. "Knight! Are you—"
Reinhardt forced himself to stand. His breathing was heavy.
The impact had been enough to dent his armor. If he had been just a second slower—he would have been torn in half.
This thing… was beyond anything he had ever faced.
He had fought men before. Knights. Warriors. Soldiers.
But this?
This was a monster of a different era.
And his old strength was not enough.
The creature did not give him time to recover.
It rushed forward again, the fog twisting violently around its form.
Reinhardt gritted his teeth. Fine.
If a direct strike wasn't enough—he would go for the weak points.
He sidestepped at the last moment, his footwork sharp despite his injuries. His left sword arced upward, aiming for the creature's exposed throat.
The monster twisted unnaturally, its body bending in ways it should not have been able to. It dodged mid-charge.
Reinhardt's blade grazed air.
Then—pain.
A black tendril shot out from the creature's mist-covered body, piercing straight through his left shoulder.
He grunted, staggering back. Blood trickled down his arm. His sword arm was already losing strength.
Sylphine's voice rang out. "It's adapting to your movements!"
It's learning.
Reinhardt clenched his jaw. If that was the case, then—
He exhaled slowly.
Then stopped moving.
The monster hesitated.
It had been reacting to his attacks, learning his movements with every clash. If he did nothing—it would not know what to counter.
The creature lunged.
Reinhardt waited.
Waited—
Now.
At the very last second, he twisted his body, letting the attack scrape past his side instead of taking a direct hit. The pain flared, but he ignored it.
He had one shot.
His right blade flashed forward, driving straight into the creature's exposed eye.
The reaction was immediate.
The monster screeched.
Its body convulsed violently, the mist around it unraveling, twisting in chaos.
Reinhardt ripped his sword free and immediately leapt back, just before the monster lashed out wildly in pain.
Sylphine flew higher. "It's weakening!"
Reinhardt did not hesitate.
With all his remaining strength, he threw his second sword—the blade spinning end over end through the air.
The weapon buried itself deep into the creature's skull.
For a long moment, nothing moved.
Then—
The monster collapsed.
A heavy silence filled the air.
Reinhardt stood still, his breathing ragged. Blood dripped from his wounds. His left arm barely moved. His entire body ached.
That had been… too close.
His strength… was not enough.
His old self—the Reinhardt who had once been the Black Lion of Velderia—would have never struggled like this.
Sylphine fluttered down, studying him with a wary expression. "…That was reckless."
Reinhardt exhaled. "It worked."
She crossed her arms. "You're half-dead."
He ignored the remark. Instead, he stared down at his shaking hands.
This was reality.
In this new era, the monsters were beyond what he had known. His strength was no longer absolute.
If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to find his purpose in this new world—he needed to become stronger.
"…Damn it," he muttered.
Sylphine hovered beside him. For once, her usual teasing expression was absent.
Then, after a moment, she sighed.
"…I'll come with you."
Reinhardt blinked. "What?"
Sylphine smirked slightly. "You're interesting. And besides… you'll die if you keep charging into things half-prepared."
Reinhardt narrowed his eyes. "I'll be fine."
She giggled. "Oh, sure. That's what all the dead ones say."
He exhaled through his nose. A fairy companion? He hadn't expected this.
But… she knew this land. She had knowledge he did not.
And right now—he needed every advantage he could get.
"…Do what you want," he muttered.
Sylphine beamed. "Good! Then let's go."
Reinhardt glanced one last time at the monster's corpse.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked forward.
He had wasted enough time.
He still had a destination.
And now—a new goal.
To reclaim the strength he had lost.
Even if it meant carving his way through this unknown world until he stood at the top once more.
---
To Be Continued...