The city gates of Ardent District groaned shut behind Jeather with a metallic finality that sounded far more dramatic than he felt. He didn't look back.
If he did, he might reconsider this entire plan of walking alone into a forest known for thinning the population of inexperienced summoners. Ahead stretched the Weeping Grove, a forest that earned its name from the thick, dark resin that leaked endlessly from its trees. Sap dripped from the branches like tears, coating bark and roots in glossy streaks that reflected what little sunlight pierced through the canopy.
The Grove was quiet in a way that felt deliberate, as though it listened.
Jeather adjusted the worn satchel hanging from his shoulder. Inside were blank sealing cards, a short blade, dried rations, a folded map, and a secondhand field guide on regional beasts.
He had also packed what he optimistically called preparation, though it felt suspiciously like mild panic in disguise.
As he stepped beneath the canopy, the air grew heavier. Cooler. Thicker. The distant sounds of the city vanished completely. Only the slow drip of resin remained.
"I hate forests," he muttered.
The nine-leaf clover mark beneath his sleeve pulsed faintly.
He hadn't chosen this place randomly. For three days, he had buried himself in books at the card shop, memorizing what he could afford to read.
The Weeping Grove housed manageable threats for a lone summoner—nothing legendary, nothing catastrophic. If someone died here, it was usually because they made a mistake.
Comforting.
His chosen target was the Resin Hound. According to the guide, they nested near exposed tree roots and hunted in small packs. Their bodies were reinforced with bark-like plating, and amber resin veins ran beneath their skin. When injured, the resin hardened, reinforcing their defenses. They were resilient and territorial—but not impossible.
"So," he murmured after closing the book, "angry trees with teeth."
He crouched near a root cluster and examined the ground. Fresh claw marks carved through damp soil. Resin scrapings clung to bark. The signs were recent.
A flicker interrupted his thoughts.
Not in front of him.
Inside.
For a split second, the forest vanished. He stood in a rain-soaked courtyard slick with blood. A voice echoed in his ears—hoarse, furious.
"You'll pay for this—"
The image shattered.
Jeather staggered and blinked. The Grove returned. Sap. Trees. Silence.
His pulse raced. That memory hadn't belonged to his past life. It came from this body. Something unresolved. Something violent. The emotion lingered—sharp, burning, focused on revenge—before fading like a door closing somewhere deep inside him.
"Inherited trauma," he muttered. "Fantastic."
A low growl rolled through the trees.
Jeather froze.
Another answered.
Then a third.
He exhaled slowly. "That's more than one."
Branches cracked. Three shapes emerged from between the trees.
Resin Hounds.
Their bodies were sleek and angular, bark-like armor layered over muscle. Amber veins glowed faintly beneath the surface. Their eyes were alert. Intelligent. They didn't charge immediately.
They studied him.
Jeather drew his blade.
The lead hound lowered its body and lunged.
He barely dodged in time. The creature slammed into a tree with enough force to splinter bark. Jeather pivoted and slashed at its flank. The blade cut shallowly. Amber resin spilled out—then hardened instantly.
"You're kidding me."
The other two circled. One leapt. He rolled, claws slicing through his sleeve and grazing his arm. Pain flared, sharp and real.
Fear surged.
And something else surged with it.
The same burning emotion from earlier.
Rage.
"You think I'm prey?" The words left his mouth before he fully processed them.
For a heartbeat, everything sharpened. His breathing steadied. The nine-leaf clover mark glowed faintly.
One hound hesitated.
Jeather moved.
He drove his blade into the exposed joint near the creature's shoulder where resin pulsed brightest. This time the metal pierced deeper before the sap could harden. The hound howled and stumbled. He slashed again, this time across its throat.
Amber resin burst outward as the beast collapsed.
Jeather pulled a blank sealing card from his satchel and pressed it against the dying creature.
"Seal."
Light flared from the card. The Resin Hound's body dissolved into swirling amber particles that resisted containment. A crushing pressure pushed against his mind—wild instinct, pack loyalty, territorial fury.
He almost lost his grip.
Then the flicker returned.
Blood on stone.
Rain.
Betrayal.
"You don't get to overpower me," Jeather whispered.
The pressure snapped inward. The particles were drawn into the card in a final burst of light.
Silence.
He stood there breathing heavily as the card cooled in his hand. The surface now bore the image of a Resin Hound, frozen mid-snarl.
The remaining two hounds stared at him for several tense seconds.
Then they retreated into the forest.
Jeather wiped resin from his blade and glanced at his reflection in a shallow pool of sap. For a fleeting moment, his eyes looked darker.
Colder.
Then they returned to normal.
"That rage wasn't mine," he murmured. "So what exactly happened to this body?"
The nine-leaf clover pulsed once beneath his skin.
Watching.
Waiting.
The Weeping Grove did not stay quiet for long.
Jeather had barely moved a few hundred meters deeper into the forest when he began to feel it—a shift in pressure, subtle but distinct. The Grove had layers.
The outer regions housed weaker beasts, the kind apprentices tested themselves against. But as one moved inward, the air grew denser with mana, and the trees grew older, thicker, their resin darker.
He paused near a slanted tree whose bark had been gouged deeply by claw marks.
Not random.
Measured.
Territorial.
He crouched and studied the depth of the cuts. His field guide had mentioned something important: while young summoners obsessed over flashy abilities, veteran hunters focused on hierarchy.
Beasts in this world were categorized by power stages:
Common
Bronze
Silver
Gold
Platinum
Emerald
Diamond
Master
Epic
Legendary
Each stage divided further into nine ranks.
Most independent hunters spent their entire careers hovering around Bronze or struggling to break into Silver. Gold-tier beasts required organized teams. Anything beyond that required nobles, military units, or suicidal confidence.
Jeather looked at his sealed Resin Hound card.
What he killed earlier had not been the leader.
It had been a subordinate.
Which meant the true threat was still nearby.
As if summoned by the thought, voices echoed through the trees.
Human voices.
Jeather stiffened and stepped silently toward the sound, careful not to repeat his earlier mistake. Through the foliage, he spotted three figures in a small clearing.
Independent hunters.
Their clothing was practical—leather reinforced with mana-thread stitching. Each bore visible beast tattoos on their skin. In this world, every summoner carried the mark of their contracted beast somewhere on their body. It symbolized dominance. Ownership.
Contractual authority.
One man had a boar sigil carved across his neck.
Another bore twin curved blades inked along his forearm.
The woman with them had a hawk's wing etched elegantly across her collarbone.
Bronze-level hunters, most likely.
Their beasts flickered partially into view beside them—not fully summoned, but manifested enough to enhance perception. A translucent boar snorted softly. Twin blade-shaped spirits hovered like loyal shadows. A hawk-shaped current of wind circled lazily above the woman's shoulder.
"Tracks are fresh," the boar-marked man muttered. "This is at least Bronze rank. Maybe higher."
"Alpha?" the woman asked.
"Has to be."
Jeather shifted slightly.
A branch cracked beneath his foot.
All three hunters turned instantly.
"Who's there?" the woman demanded.
Jeather stepped out with both hands visible. "Relax. I'm not here to steal your hunt."
Their eyes scanned him quickly.
Young.
Alone.
No visible beast manifested.
Suspicion sharpened their expressions.
"You academy?" the second man asked.
"Former," Jeather replied calmly.
The boar-marked man's gaze dropped to Jeather's sleeve, which had shifted just enough to reveal part of the nine-leaf clover tattoo.
He frowned. "What beast carries that symbol?"
Jeather tilted his head slightly. "One that listens."
That answer satisfied no one.
Before further questions could follow, a long, resonant howl tore through the Grove.
It was not the sound of a scattered pack.
It was the sound of authority.
The ground vibrated faintly.
The hunters stiffened.
"Bronze, at least rank three," the woman whispered.
Jeather felt it too.
A presence heavier than the others.
Focused.
Angry.
And then—
The flicker.
Another memory rupture.
Rain.
A courtyard.
Jefferson's voice echoing coldly.
Precious standing beside him, her expression composed, almost bored.
"You should've known your place."
A blade entering flesh.
His body hitting stone.
Jeather inhaled sharply and stumbled back.
"Hey—are you alright?" one of the hunters asked.
"I'm fine," he said, though his pulse hammered violently.
The rage surfaced again—but this time he did not let it consume him.
He shaped it.
Focused it.
The Alpha stepped into the clearing.
It was larger than the others. Its bark armor thicker. Amber resin veins glowed brighter, pulsing like molten sap beneath wood. Its eyes were sharp and calculating. Unlike the earlier hounds, this one radiated controlled
aggression.
It did not rush blindly.
It evaluated.
Then its gaze locked onto Jeather.
Recognition flickered there.
You.
The one who killed mine.
The boar spirit manifested fully as its master shouted an order. The hawk shrieked and dove. The twin blade spirits surged forward.
The Alpha moved.
Fast.
Its claws tore through the hawk's wind-form, dispersing it instantly. The boar slammed into its flank, but hardened resin absorbed most of the impact. The second hunter's blades struck repeatedly, carving shallow cracks that immediately sealed over.
Bronze rank, Jeather assessed.
Solid.
Disciplined.
Dangerous.
The hunters began to lose formation.
The Alpha lunged past them.
Toward him.
Jeather did not panic.
He raised his hand calmly.
"Verdant Abyss Demon."
The air shifted.
It did not explode into chaos.
It deepened.
Roots trembled beneath the soil. The scent of wet earth intensified. From behind Jeather, the towering form of the Verdant Abyss Demon emerged like an ancient entity rising from beneath the forest floor.
It did not act on its own.
It waited.
For his command.
Because Jeather was the master.
The Alpha skidded slightly, instinctively wary.
"Suppress," Jeather said.
The demon's aura expanded outward. Grass burst violently from the forest floor, only to wither instantly under the pressure of decay. Vines shot forward, coiling around the Alpha's limbs.
The beast roared and released a surge of hardened resin, shattering the first layer of vines. Its claws slashed into the demon's torso.
But the damage did not behave normally.
Where bark split, living vines regenerated.
Decay fed growth.
Hostility strengthened it.
The hunters stared, momentarily frozen.
"Is that Common-tier?" one whispered incredulously.
Jeather's eyes remained locked on the Alpha. "Tier labels are suggestions," he murmured.
The system flickered into view.
System Mission Activated
Objective: Establish Dominance in Weeping Grove (Outer Region)
Requirement: Defeat and Seal the Bronze Alpha Personally
Restriction: No external final strike
Reward: Skill Unlock – Thorn Dominion
Bonus Reward: +3% Demon Synchronization
Failure: Loss of Authority
Jeather almost laughed.
"Loss of authority," he muttered. "You mean death."
The Alpha broke free again and lunged.
Jeather stepped forward instead of back.
"Break its legs."
The demon's vine-arm extended like a spear, striking the Alpha's shoulder joint. A crack formed. Amber light flickered violently. Roots erupted from below, binding its hind legs.
The Alpha struggled, roaring, resin hardening over its body like armor.
Jeather moved closer.
The hunters hesitated but did not interfere.
The mental pressure from the Alpha pressed against him, testing his will.
"You're strong," he acknowledged quietly. "But you're not stronger than me."
The demon tightened its grip.
The Alpha collapsed to one knee.
Jeather pressed a sealing card against its skull.
"Submit."
The clash of will was violent.
Bronze-tier instinct and territorial fury slammed against his consciousness. His vision blurred. For a moment, he nearly staggered—
And then the memory struck again.
Rain.
Jefferson.
Precious turning away.
Humiliation.
Betrayal.
Rage surged—
But this time he controlled it.
He compressed it.
Forged it into a blade inside his mind.
"You don't dominate me," he whispered.
"I dominate you."
The resistance shattered.
The Alpha dissolved into amber light, spiraling into the card.
Silence fell over the clearing.
The hunters stared at him as if reevaluating every assumption they had made.
The system chimed softly.
Mission Completed
Skill Acquired: Thorn Dominion
Demon Synchronization: 15%
Next Target Recommendation: Silver-tier Presence Detected (Inner Grove)
Jeather exhaled slowly.
Silver.
Already?
He slid the sealed Alpha card into his satchel and turned toward the deeper forest.
Behind him, the hunters exchanged uneasy glances.
"Who are you?" the woman asked quietly.
Jeather paused.
For a moment, he considered giving them a name.
Instead, he said calmly, "Someone who doesn't intend to stay weak."
The Verdant Abyss Demon dissolved back into shadow at his silent command.
The Laughing Mire of Balete Hollow
Balete Hollow lay at the southern fringe of the Verde Region, where the old stone trade road dissolved into marshland and the air permanently smelled of wet soil and something faintly rotten. Ancient balete trees towered like crooked sentinels, their roots twisting through mud and shallow pools as fog drifted low across the ground. It was the kind of place where even the wind seemed hesitant to move.
Jeather stood at the edge of the mire, staring into the gray haze with a thoughtful expression that did not match the way his boots were already sinking slightly into the mud.
"This place looks like it eats people recreationally," he muttered.
Beneath his sleeve, the nine-leaf clover tattoo pulsed faintly. Every individual who possessed a beast bore a symbol that represented it, etched permanently onto their skin once the contract was formed. Some had wolves, some dragons, some serpents or blades. Jeather's was different.
A nine-leaf clover—an anomaly in a world where even four leaves were rare. The glow faded quickly, as if reminding him who held authority. The beast did not control him. He was the master.
A mechanical chime echoed in his mind.
[System Notification]
Mission Updated: Subjugate the Mire Stalker
Location: Balete Hollow – Inner Marsh Basin
Estimated Rank: Silver
Reward: 1 Silver-Grade Blank Seal Card, +250 EXP
Bonus: Seal within 10 minutes of defeat
Jeather stared at the translucent panel only he could see.
"Ten minutes? That's generous. Why not include a countdown with dramatic music?"
The System, as usual, ignored his sarcasm.
He stepped forward, and immediately the mud swallowed his boot halfway.
He pulled it free with a wet sucking sound and grimaced. "I miss solid ground. Solid ground never betrayed me like this."
A ripple disturbed the water ahead. The surface bulged unnaturally, as if something long and heavy coiled beneath it.
Jeather's posture shifted instantly from casual to alert. His mind sharpened, breath slowing.
Then it happened again.
A flash.
Mud. Blood. A voice that was not his whispering with venomous hatred: Jefferson…
I'll make you pay…
Jeather staggered, clutching his head. The emotion was overwhelming—rage so intense it felt carved into bone.
It didn't belong to him. It belonged to the body he now inhabited. His chest tightened with a desire for revenge he did not fully understand.
Revenge for what? For whom?
The feeling vanished as abruptly as it came.
He inhaled shakily. "Not now."
The water exploded upward.
The Mire Stalker emerged in a spray of black sludge. Its elongated, eel-like body glistened with marsh slime, while its head resembled an oversized frog twisted into something monstrous.
Yellow eyes gleamed with unsettling intelligence. Its wide mouth stretched into what looked disturbingly like a grin.
Then it giggled.
Jeather blinked. "No. Absolutely not. You do not get to laugh."
The creature lunged with terrifying speed. He barely rolled aside, splashing into the mud. Its body smashed into a tree trunk, cracking wood like brittle bone.
Before he could regain his footing, its tail whipped toward him. He raised his arm instinctively. The nine-leaf clover tattoo flared bright green.
"Guard."
A translucent barrier shaped like overlapping leaves formed in front of him. The impact sent him sliding backward several feet, but the shield held. He grinned despite the pain vibrating through his arm.
"See? I'm the master here."
The Mire Stalker responded by spitting a glob of acidic sludge. It landed near his foot and sizzled violently, melting through mud and root alike.
"Of course it spits acid," he sighed. "Why wouldn't it?"
He darted forward instead of retreating. "Entangle."
The marsh grass surged upward at his command, wrapping around the beast's lower body. The creature thrashed violently, laughter turning shrill.
Jeather felt the strain immediately. Silver-ranked beasts demanded significant control and stamina.
His muscles trembled as he tightened the binding roots.
The Stalker tore free.
"Okay," Jeather muttered. "Rude."
It slammed into him before he could reposition. The world spun as he crashed into a balete trunk, air knocked from his lungs. He slid down, vision swimming.
The creature slithered closer, shadow falling over him.
"Oi! Watch where you're fighting!"
Jeather blinked.
Two figures emerged from the fog—a male hunter wielding twin daggers and a woman in light armor already struggling with the mud. Bronze Guild insignia gleamed faintly on their shoulders.
"That's our target!" the woman snapped.
The Mire Stalker lunged at them without discrimination.
The male hunter barely blocked in time and was thrown backward into the marsh with an undignified splash.
The woman attempted a freezing spell, but the moisture in the air disrupted her casting and the magic fizzled halfway.
Jeather slowly pushed himself up, covered in mud. "You know," he called out, "I was handling that."
"You were losing!" the male hunter sputtered.
The Mire Stalker whipped around again, catching him mid-sentence and flattening him into the muck.
Jeather exhaled. "Amateurs."
The woman glared. "Excuse me?"
He ignored her and focused. The tattoo pulsed again, spreading faint lines of green light across his forearm.
The marsh responded as though acknowledging authority. Water shifted. Roots tightened beneath the surface.
"I am the master," he whispered.
The ground beneath the Mire Stalker liquefied further. It began to sink. Panic flashed in its yellow eyes as vines shot upward, binding its torso. It screeched, laughter twisting into something furious.
Jeather stepped forward calmly despite the mud clinging to him like betrayal. He formed a hardened vine spear in his palm and thrust it into the beast's side with calculated precision—not deep enough to rupture the core, but enough to bring its vitality down.
[System Alert]
Beast Vitality: 8%
Seal Window Approaching
He pulled a Silver-grade blank card from his coat. The Mire Stalker made one last desperate lunge.
Jeather sidestepped—then immediately slipped and fell backward again.
There was a moment of silence.