Luke jumped. Allison in his arms. No plan. No strategy. Just instinct. Just the only way out.

The cliff stretched into nothing—a drop without end. The fall was chaos, violent. Wind screamed past. The world spun.

And then—water.

SPLAAASH!

The river exploded around them. Cold. Crushing. They were swallowed whole.

Darkness wrapped around him like chains as the current tore them apart.

"Allison!" Luke thrashed, spinning, reaching blindly through the murk. His lungs screamed for air. His vision blurred.

Then—Basic Dark Dash.

A flicker of shadow in the deep. He surged forward like a spear of midnight, cutting through the water. His hand found her—barely. With the only arm he had, he clung to her, driving his legs and body to the limit, propelled by sheer will not to let her sink.

They broke the surface, gasping, choking. He dragged them toward the shore, each kick weaker than the last. Mud met his hand. He clawed forward—collapsed.

Allison lay beside him—still, silent. He turned her gently and rolled her onto her side. A breath. Shallow. Fragile. But there. Alive.

Luke fumbled for the Artemis Pendant. Fingers shaking, he pulled out one of the last healing potions from the Orc village.

He uncorked it, tilted her head back, and poured. Nothing.

Then—a cough. A twitch of her eyes. Alive.

Relief broke through him. He cradled her gently, easing the rest of the potion past her lips—slow and careful, as if anything more might shatter her.

And that's when he felt it.

His left arm—or what was left of it. The bleeding had stopped. Black fluid oozed over the wound, sealing it with unnatural calm. Hardening like armor. Dark Blood. The skill had activated on its own. He hadn't even noticed.

He grabbed another potion—for himself—and downed it in a single swallow. Warmth rushed through him. Torn skin stitched. Bones aligned. But the arm—gone. Sealed. Stabilized. But lost.

He slumped into the mud, into the cold, beneath a sky that looked half-burned, half-forgotten.

Then—he looked up.

High above, perched on the cliff's edge—two glowing red eyes.

The Midnight Warden.

Still watching.

Then—gone. Vanished into the stone.

Luke pushed himself up. Staggered. Barely upright. One arm. But still breathing.

He turned slowly, surveying the land. This wasn't just the Wild Zone. It was deeper. Darker.

The Deathwood. Orc territory.

He glanced back at the cliff. No way up. No retreat.

Shit.

He exhaled sharply and pulled up his interface:

Name: Luke Level: 7 Rank: F Class: [Demonic Assassin (Lvl 15)] Race: Half-Demon Profession: - Title: [Dark Lord]

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon] Health Points (HP): 298/700 Mana Points (MP): 368/470 Stamina: 123/290 Soul Fragments: 28/1000

Stats: Strength: 64 Agility: 72 Endurance: 29 Vitality: 70 Perception: 69 Intelligence: 47 Free Points: 3

He stared at the screen. No hesitation. +3 Vitality.

Stats Updated: Vitality: 70 -> 73 Free Points: 3 -> 0 Health Points (HP): 298/700 -> 328/730

Two potions left. He wouldn't waste them, not unless he had no choice.

Luke closed the window. Cold wind swept across the riverbank, whispering through the trees with a sharpness that cut deeper than the air.

Then came the sound: footsteps, low grunts, muffled voices.

He turned sharply.

Between the trunks, torchlight flickered. Shadows moved. Large, broad-shouldered, armored. Orcs. At least fifteen. Marching in sync. Disciplined. Not hostile yet.

But they were tracking something. They'd heard the Midnight Warden's roar, and now they were here to investigate.

Luke's eyes snapped to Allison, still unconscious. Fragile.

If the orcs found them, they'd alert the tribe. And then it wouldn't just be a patrol.

It would be a warband. A full-scale hunt.

He clenched his jaw.

Wounded. One arm. Enemy territory. Carrying a half-dead ally. No backup. No reinforcements. No time.

And the hunt had already begun.

***

Allison jolted awake. Pain surged through her in waves, sharp, cold, relentless. Her mind was a haze, thoughts slipping like smoke through trembling fingers. The ground beneath her was uneven, rough with twigs and dead leaves pressing into her back. And was that...

A pillow? A blanket?

She blinked, disoriented. Her head turned slowly, confusion clouding everything.

She was in a forest.

The sky overhead burned orange, the soft hue of a dawn just beginning to rise. Sunlight filtered through high branches, painting the world in sleepy golds and bruised reds. Leaves were scattered across her body, deliberately, too carefully placed. Not by chance.

Camouflage.

Her instincts fired. She tensed, trying to sit up.

Footsteps. A figure approached through the trees, moving with deliberate calm. One hand raised in a silent signal.

Luke.

Caked in dried blood. Eyes shadowed from exhaustion. His left arm gone.

"L-Luke?" she breathed, barely a whisper.

Her gaze darted around the clearing. Then she saw them. Orc corpses. At least three, maybe more, lying broken among the roots.

And suddenly it all came back: the chest, the ambush, the Midnight Warden.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Luke glanced up, scanning the canopy, then climbed a nearby tree in silence. Within seconds, he vanished into the branches and dropped back down beside her without a sound.

"It's safe to talk now," he said. His voice was low, even, too calm. "During the attack, I barely got out. You were unconscious. I jumped with you into the river."

No emotion. Just facts. Controlled. Efficient.

"We landed in Orc territory. The Deathwood."

Allison didn't answer. Couldn't. The weight of everything pressed down on her chest.

"I dragged you to the riverbank. Used one of the old healing potions. You weren't waking up at first." A pause, a longer one. "You almost didn't make it."

She swallowed. "What about the others?" she forced the names out. "Angelica… Anna, Jonathan, Cecilia, Paul?"

Luke's eyes darkened. His jaw clenched. "Angelica probably didn't survive." He looked away. "Paul's squad scattered. Some might've made it. I couldn't see. That thing, the Warden, it was too strong."

Allison exhaled slowly. Her gaze drifted again to the fruit beside her, the blanket tucked beneath her, even the small pillow under her neck. "You stuffed all that into your storage item?"

Luke nodded. "Yeah, and I grabbed our potions from Anna before we left."

She processed that, understood what it meant, then frowned slightly. Her body was still damp, cold, clothes clinging to her skin.

Allison realized she was still soaked. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, opened the interface, and tapped on her outfit. Unequip. Equip. Unequip. Equip. Clothes dried in seconds. A minor convenience but a useful one.

Luke looked away out of instinct, speaking as he did. "I dried you as best I could. I didn't touch your clothes." He gestured to a dull-red ring on his finger. "I used the Fire Ring. Kept your temperature up overnight."

"R-right… thanks," she murmured.

Silence settled. Not awkward. Not yet. Just fragile.

Then, quietly, she asked, "Will Charlie really come back?"

Luke didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Last few times it took about twenty-four hours. She'll return."

Allison stood slowly, careful with each step. Her eyes scanned the nearby corpses, still, grotesque, unmoving. "Where there are scouts," she muttered, "there's always an army. If these don't return, they'll send more. Or worse."

Luke was already packing. Blanket, pillow, leftover fruit. Each item vanished into his storage with a soft shimmer.

"We need to go," she said. "Now."

"I know," Luke replied. "I spent most of the night scouting. I followed the river along the edge of the cliff. Farther downstream, the slope begins to drop. If we're lucky, there might be a way up."

She nodded, and they started walking, slowly, steadily, through the trees. Dry leaves cracked beneath their boots. The river flowed beside them, calm and steady. But even that quiet sound echoed too far in the silence.

Allison glanced at Luke's arm, or what was left of it. "Does it hurt?"

Luke gave a faint smile. "Not much. The potion sealed it well enough. But…" His voice trailed off. "It's weaker than some I've used before. I just hope maybe, if I level up my race again, it'll grow back."

He'd lost parts of his body before, but not like this. Not since the dungeon, that place—the Forgotten Temple, the darkness, the presence that saved him back then, whatever it was. He remembered being split clean in two. And yet somehow it had healed him fully. No scars. No pain. As if death had blinked and missed him.

But now? Now he wasn't sure. What if the healing potion had locked his body in this broken state? What if the system wouldn't fix what the potion sealed?

"Allison," he said, breaking the silence. "Cecilia, she's mute. Doesn't the system heal that?"

It took her a moment to answer. "The system heals the body, yes, but only back to what it was when you were first integrated." She looked at him, serious. "If she was mute before the system, she'll stay that way unless she evolves."

"Evolves?"

"From Rank F to Rank E."

Luke stopped. The wind brushed past them, silent and cold. "So, if she ranks up, it's a complete reset?"

Allison nodded. "A new body. Clean slate. No scars. No injuries. No defects. No illness. No disabilities. It's like being born again."

They reached the riverbank. The water ran smooth beside them, the current soft but steady. Its sound carried too far.

There was no going back. The woods behind them belonged to orcs. And ahead, maybe just maybe, there was a chance.

Luke adjusted the kukri strapped to his side. Allison stepped ahead, eyes sharp, scanning the terrain.

And together, they followed the river, one slow step at a time, hoping the path forward led to a climbable wall and not straight into another deathtrap.

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