Inside the endless chamber, time had long lost its meaning. What began as a quest to master his strength soon turned into an obsession—an endless cycle of perfection. He trained again and again, even when there was nothing left to master. His body had already reached its peak—every swing, every motion, every breath was flawless. Yet he continued, pushing past the concept of "enough."
He had already mastered every weapon that chamber had to offer—swords, spears, daggers, whips, even improvised tools like pens and stones. Each weapon moved like an extension of his body. But he didn't stop there. When he realized there was nothing new to gain through physical training, he sat down cross-legged, breathing evenly, and entered deep meditation.
Six months passed inside that place. He didn't count the days—he couldn't. The chamber never changed, no sun, no moon, only stillness. His hair had grown longer, his breathing slower, and his mind sharper than ever before. The weapons stood untouched for months; his focus had shifted entirely toward mana training.
At first, he did the same as before—filling his mana core, circulating energy throughout his body. But no matter how much mana he gathered, his rank wouldn't rise. His body was filled to the brim, his veins humming with power, yet nothing changed.
"This doesn't make sense…" he muttered, eyes narrowing.
And then, a thought struck him—an insane, reckless idea.
"What if… I reversed the flow?"
Normally, mana flowed outward from the core to the rest of the body. But what if he forced it the other way—from the outer channels back into his core? He sat in silence, focusing intensely. Slowly, carefully, he began reversing the stream. The pressure inside him surged violently, threatening to tear his body apart—but he didn't stop. His veins burned, his vision flickered, and yet, he pushed harder.
Then, a pulse.
A sudden explosion of power spread through his entire being. His body trembled, and the color of his core changed—deep crimson.
He had broken through.
He was now a B-rank hunter.
Though his core had reached B-rank, his physical strength had already surpassed most S-ranks. His body was absurdly refined—his reflexes sharper than blades, his endurance beyond reason. A prodigy unlike any other.
Time passed again. Two years—or what he believed were ten. He had lost all sense of reality, and yet his strength continued to evolve. The crimson hue of his core slowly darkened until it turned black—the mark of an S-rank hunter.
But even then, he didn't know what he truly was. Rank meant nothing here. Only progress did.
One day, while meditating, he decided to attempt something impossible.
He had read once about Ghosts—beings born from hatred, vengeance, or cursed will. Only the dead or those with spiritual affinity could summon them. Yet, he wasn't dead. He wasn't a spirit. Still, he tried.
He focused, shaping his mana into something different—something colder, darker. He poured his will into it, giving it purpose. Slowly, the air around him twisted, and a faint wisp of darkness formed before him. It solidified, grew, and took shape—a figure cloaked in ethereal shadow, eyes burning with ghostly flame.
He had done it.
He had created a Ghost.
Not just any Ghost—but an S-rank one.
He had become something rare, something almost mythical—a Ghost Master.
Those who could create Ghosts without the requirements of hatred, revenge, or death were legends whispered among the strongest. His Ghost was born from his will alone, and that made it purer—and deadlier—than any other.
It had two Ghostly Domains—an ability only the strongest spirits possessed. Within its domain, everything was under its control, reality itself bending to its presence.
He trained with his Ghost day after day, battling in silence, synchronizing their attacks, learning how to merge his own mana with its ethereal energy. They moved like one entity—unstoppable and precise.
Six more months passed, and his growth showed no signs of stopping. He began experimenting with his sixth sense—something that had started awakening during his deep meditation. At first, it was only flashes—faint glimpses of what might happen. But as his control improved, those flashes became clearer, longer, more defined.
Now, he could see minutes into the future.
He had become a monster of instinct and foresight—his reactions nearly divine, his strikes unavoidable.
Alone in that eternal chamber, he had forged himself into something beyond human.
Not just a hunter.
Not just a prodigy.
But a legend in the making.