Slaying the Great Fallen Knight, Henrik, was perhaps his greatest achievement thus far. Even including his past ten years, nothing came close. Ulrich's life before becoming a Weaver had been as bland and stale as you could imagine—a lone boat drifting across an empty, quiet sea, aimless and without land in sight.

  Closing his eyes, he was certain. The feedback from his vital rune reinforced a hearsay he’d encountered in Helgan’s Keep.

  Killing a single ‘Great’ enemy is the same dozens of ordinary enemies!

  Though his blood was running cold, his hand was no less warm than touching the pavement on a hot summer. Ulrich turned, unfolding his hand to reveal the crimson crystal. It was abnormal, not just the temperature, but a sort of lingering aura that itched his palm. Regardless of the ominous aura emanating from the crystal, he didn’t let go.

  If I absorb the crystal here and now, I’d certainly reach the limit for Rank 1 Weaver—No, I’ll go beyond that. What a waste that would be…!

  It sounded enticing, yet Ulrich was not such a wastrel nor mindless like Henrik; It’d be like cooking a buffet when he’d already eaten thirty minutes ago. After all, a Weaver’s vital rune is like a water basin, and any leftover water will simply be spilled on the ground.

  Ultimately, Ulrich decides to put it aside and focus on the clue left behind by the Great Knight, Henrik. For his first exploration of a ruin, he’d already encountered a great clue regarding a rune formula. Not just any formula, but one that is related to the Rune of Shadow. For a moment, he’d wonder if praising the Mother was necessary, but realized—

  I’ve been praising the Mother too often lately!

  Recalling a certain priest he’d met, Ulrich frowned.

  Am I slowly becoming pious, like that old, stinking priest?

  It can’t be… There’s no way! He’d rather believe that the moon landing was fake than see himself become a devout believer in any gods. Or would he? On that thought, maybe praising the Great Mother isn’t so bad…

  That idea amused him, no less pleasing than staring at dry wall. Though it did allow him to recover slightly—not in body, but in mind and spirit.

  I should head back to warn them about the Keep’s Castle.

  They did agree on waiting for each other in the case that they were separated. And quite honestly, his blood was thinning, probably because of Henrik, that damnable Knight. Climb the ravine’s wall and make it up there? No way; not with his arm twisted and his shoulder bones on the verge of breaking.

  He’d like to close his eyes to take a well-deserved nap. However, that ominous warning from Henrik continued to hound him, pound him. Ultimately, Ulrich mustered the strength to get up from the black, stained floor, making his way toward a certain spot on the wall.

  It was the exact spot he’d descended from, and he’d already remembered the route while coming down. The years in his dream taught him well, allowing him to pick up various skills, and rock climbing was only one of them.

  Taking in a deep breath, he raised his arm, immediately wincing from the pain. That didn’t stop his desire to defeat the great enemy standing before him—The Stone Cliffs.

  I have conquered greater mountains!

  Ulrich's shadow flickered, producing two dark arrows which quickly became spears. Holding one in each hand, he started climbing. As Ulrich made his way up, the wind intensified, as though it were the reincarnation of a certain undead he’d just defeated.

  Even after death, the knight seemed to haunt him—Wait, he’s already dead in the first place, how can he be dead again?

  Thinking so, Ulrich chuckled, stabbing his spear into the cliff wall.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  A handful of loose rocks fell below, hitting his boot, though they were too small to do any damage. Eventually, a bridge came into his view. It’s been so long since he’d seen something familiar. As that thought passed, a bright, flickering light caught his attention, making him turn.

  Did those undead start to worship the Sun God too? No way… Suddenly, Ulrich gained impossible strength, allowing him to rapidly climb toward the surface. After what felt like an eternity, he stood on the surface ground once more.

  Ulrich dispersed his spear, face twisted as he stared at the fire.

  “You guys…”

  It was Borik, Snezana, and Mason. They gathered around a makeshift campfire, cooking meat directly on the flame. The sizzle echoed in the stretched distance between them, making the atmosphere rather awkward.

  “Hiya!” Snezana greeted, her voice cheery and full of energy. She hoped to clear the awkwardness in the air by pretending as though nothing was abnormal.

  Borik adjusted his glass frame with a knowing smirk. “I knew you’d be back, Sir Johan. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Mason remained silent, though the admiration and respect in his eyes cannot be concealed, even between the thin gap of his black cowl.

  Without saying a word, he moved closer to the group. And gradually, his appearance came into view, shocking the trio. Ulrich's clothes were torn, probably from the bashing he’d got from fighting Henrik. Everywhere, there were dark red stains; dried blood, no doubt.

  “Sir Ulrich, are you alright?” Borik's face dropped.

  Thinking about the time he harassed the knight, as well as tricking him into fighting unarmed and unarmored, Ulrich grinned. “We had a man-to-man talk.”

  Borik tilted his head, visibly confused. “We? You mean that knight? Wait—it can actually speak coherent words?”

  “Yes, annoyingly well.”

  Snezana's eyes lit up with curiosity as she asked. “What did he say? I’ve heard some Great Undead can maintain their memories even after dying. Is it true?”

  Having heard of some rather ominous piece of information from Henrik, Ulrich maintained a slightly friendly smile and shook his head. “No. It kept calling me despicable. So I killed it.”

  It wasn’t technically a lie. Even if someone here had a lie-detector skill, they’d certainly see that he spoke the ‘truth’.

  I can’t reveal the content of my conversation with that knight… These people, I still can’t trust them!

  Ulrich believed he did the sensible thing, not trusting people, as he’d always been doing. Having said that, he turned to Borik and shifted the topic elsewhere.

  “I need some medical treatment,” He said, pointing at his wretched wound, dried blood stains, and beaten-up face, ”as you can see.”

  “Right! Sorry, we were a bit distracted by your extraordinary encounter.”

  Immediately, Borik got up from the floor, going to the big rucksack nearby, then rummaged through the bottom, eventually pulling out a bottle. It was filled with a green liquid, too green for his liking. Ulrich was usually open-minded about many things, but this time, he couldn’t help but ask with skepticism.

  “Is that a healing ointment? Why is it so green?”

  The green reminded him of those old cartoons, the one with the white skulls and crossed bones symbol on it. For a moment, he’d rather not touch whatever Borik was holding in his hand, but the pain protested against it.

  Fine. If it makes my injuries better!

  Borik failed to notice the distress in Ulrich’s voice and answered formally. “It’s made from the green extract of Day Aloe, hence the green color. It might look poisonous, but in fact, it’s one of the most common remedies for bleeding, infections, and recovery.”

  Ulrich's face dropped, holding back the urge to stop the man.

  That wasn’t exactly my question. And why do you sound like a door-to-door salesman?

  He took the bottle out of Borik’s hand and opened it. Immediately, Ulrich winced. The stench was abnormally strong, being a mix of ginger and menthol. It was sharp and piercing—too sharp to the point that it cut into the walls of his nostrils.

  Gritting his teeth, Ulrich smeared the green ointment across his wounds. The sting was immediate, but bearable. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. What wasn't bearable was the strong stench, which seeped into his skin.

  "There," Borik said, watching the wounds begin to close. "You should be good as new by morning."

  Snezana leaned forward, her cheerful demeanor still in place. "Those are some nasty wounds. That knight must have been incredibly strong to damage a master such as yourself like that."

  Her words came off as friendly, amicable, and filled with curiosity. In that moment, Ulrich twitched, not from the pain. It was to hide the subtle changes to his expression.

  Not noticing Ulrich's reaction, Snezana's face shifted, concerned and worried, she asked:

  “Are you alright, Sir Johan?”