As Grey and Taek moved through the forest, the strange panel floated again before Grey's eyes. He hadn't summoned it—it simply appeared the moment he thought about it. That meant it was bound to thought, not touch.
The transparent window glowed faintly in the darkness. He looked at Taek beside him, but the man's eyes stayed fixed ahead; he couldn't see it. Whatever this was, it existed for Grey alone.
The first thing he noticed was the same line he'd seen right after midnight — the moment he turned fifteen.
Is this my Art?But people can't create new Arts.
The idea was absurd, but the evidence shimmered right in front of him. The thought lingered, but there was no time to dwell. He had to understand how it worked. The panel listed his name, age, and other trivial details.
When he focused on it, the text shifted, sliding smoothly up and down in response to his thoughts. Several lines were dimmed and unreadable.
They simply said: Locked (???)
He scrolled lower until one section stood out.
Arts (Categorized)
The Art of Creation wasn't there. The Art of Wood wasn't either. Only one name appeared clearly: Art of Source (Lv 2).
So maybe the Art of Creation isn't an Art in itself… Maybe it's what lets me see this panel—or what gave me energy back then, at midnight.
He couldn't tell. Taek walked silently beside him, breathing heavily from exhaustion, and Grey said nothing. They were both too exhausted for questions.
When he focused on the Art of Source entry, another window appeared, repeating what he had glimpsed earlier — "Cumulative Art" and "Level 2," but the rest was foreign
***
Art of Source (Cumulative Art – Level 2)"The user can see the weak points of the designated enemy. The colors indicate the damage that the attack will cause."
Level 2: Color variety will increase. The color indicator will calculate the weapon of the user.
Art of Wood
Art of Iron
Art of Copper
Art of Paper
.
.
.
***
He knew what level two meant: his Art had grown. He'd gained two benefits, though only one was clear. The second...
Was that why the Orc's neck looked gray while the Chieftain's was black? He studied the thought carefully.
The axe handle had snapped earlier, and only the dull iron head remained at his belt — useless as a weapon. He no longer had any weapon to fight with when he saw that gray ring appear.
There should have been only a white ring or no ring at all. There is no way I could fight against an Orc with my bare hands.
Maybe it wasn't about the weapon I held, he thought. Maybe it was because I was already thinking of taking Taek's sword.
The sword was not that sharp, and the Orc could move, unlike the Orc Chieftain. That could be the reason for the gray ring instead of a black one.
If the Art could react to intent instead of the weapon itself, it was far beyond anything he knew, but it would explain the gray ring on the Orc's neck.
Still, the Arts weren't supposed to change.
Was that difference because my Art leveled up? No, since when can Arts level up?
No one had ever mentioned such a thing.
And one term stood out on the panel: Cumulative Art.
He'd never heard it before, not even in the old lessons the elders gave the children back in Arand's Rest. Curious, he scrolled further down.
Beneath the description was a long list — dozens of Arts, each gray and unreadable except one. Only Art of Wood was black.
The realization came quickly. The Art of Wood wasn't a standalone skill — it was a fragment of something larger. The Art of Source was the root that connected all those branches.
It was the origin Art that allowed him to perceive weakness, not only in wood but in anything that existed. That explained why he had seen the rings on the Chieftain's body.
Curious, he picked up the broken iron piece hanging from his belt and focused on it. A faint tingle passed through his temple, and a message appeared.
[Unable to detect weaknesses. The Art of Iron has not been learned.]
Can I gather all the Arts under the name of Art of Source? Do I need to do it? Is that why I could use two Arts?
That explained why he could wield two Arts without losing power. Normally, a person who learned two would cripple both. Their energy would split, halving both powers and leaving both Arts weaker.
But Grey had both the Art of Source and the Art of Wood. Technically, though, the Art of Wood wasn't separate. It was a subset of the larger system. That must be what "Cumulative" meant.
Then what about the Art of Creation?
That one didn't fit. Maybe it wasn't part of this tree of Arts, but something deeper— something that allowed him to access and combine them.
The thought unsettled him, yet it filled him with purpose. Whatever it was, it had chosen him.
Because even though the village chief had the same Art of Wood as Grey, he couldn't probably learn a second Art.
What mattered was that he had an Art now, and it wasn't weak. It might not make him stronger in a fight directly, but it gave him understanding — precision. It let him act with certainty where others only guessed. That was more than enough to make it a strong Art.
Even if every other guess he had about the Art of Creation or Art of Source was wrong, this Art was enough for him to leave the village and even get accepted to the academy.
So, he needed to live. No, Ray needed to live.
He tightened his hand around the broken haft still strapped to his belt. The weapon was gone, but not his resolve. He had made a promise to Elaine. I won't die. I'll get stronger. He meant every word.
Just then, a scream cut through the trees.
Grey and Taek froze for a split second before breaking into a sprint. The sound came from deeper ahead, mixed with the low growl of Orcs.
Branches tore at their arms as they ran. The smell of iron and rot grew stronger with each step. They broke through a cluster of low brush and stopped at the edge of a clearing.
Mark's body lay there — motionless, blood pooling around his chest. Three Orcs stood nearby, one bleeding from its shoulder, one pacing with heavy, confused grunts. The last was dead on the ground.
Mark had been the one who stayed behind before Taek to hold the line. He must have killed one Orc before the second and third arrived. Even then, he hadn't fallen easily.
Grey's pulse hammered in his ears. His body tensed, ready to move. Then Taek's hand landed on his shoulder. "Stop," he said quietly. "If you move in anger, you'll lose. No matter how strong you are."
Grey looked down and saw Taek's hand trembling, blood dripping from his clenched fist. He was furious too — but holding it back. That reminder was enough to steady Grey's breath. Anger would cloud him, not help.
He studied the scene instead. The two Orcs hadn't noticed them yet. They were aimless now that the Chieftain was dead — no orders, no direction, just instinct.
"I'll take the one on the left," Grey whispered. "You take the one on the right. I'll help you when I'm done."
Taek nodded. He'd seen what Grey could do—whatever this new strength was, it wasn't luck.
As Grey crouched low, something caught his eye: a blade lying half-buried beside Mark's hand. A sword. The edge gleamed faintly in the dark, still sharp despite the dried blood on it. Grey lifted it carefully, testing the balance. It was heavier than his axe had been, but perfectly usable. That would do.
He tightened his grip and focused on his target. The familiar vision returned—the black ring glowed across the left Orc's back. That was enough.
He crept around behind the creature, waited for its weight to shift, and then drove Mark's sword straight through the marked point at the base of its neck. The blade sliced cleanly; the Orc collapsed forward without a sound, its body hitting the dirt before it could even turn.
At the same moment, Taek struck the other. His sword flashed, cutting deep into the leg. The Orc fell, bellowing in pain. Taek followed with another swing, hitting the same angle Grey had used against the Chieftain. The precision startled Grey for a moment — it was almost identical.
Experience really is a terrifying thing, he thought. Of course, this only meant how ignorant he was about what the Arts really were.
The fight ended fast. Together, they brought the last Orc down before it could rise again. The clearing fell silent again, broken only by the sound of wind brushing through the leaves and the soft hiss of their breathing.
Grey crouched beside Mark's body, his expression still. He wiped Mark's sword on the grass and checked its edge. Still sharp. He held the iron piece of his axe for a moment before placing it by Mark's side — a silent gesture of respect for his sacrifice and the price for taking his sword.
"Let's move," he said finally. "Others might still be alive."
Taek gave a silent nod. Neither spoke as they left the clearing. There was no time for mourning now. The night wasn't over yet.