The streets lay empty—every soul vanished, leaving only Timo Yang in the sudden silence.

  Then the ground shuddered.

  Black tentacles burst from the earth, one after another, coiling upward like seeking vines.

  The sea demon’s massive body followed, heaving into view.

  Its round, green-veined eyes locked onto the tiny human with single-minded hunger.

  Kill him. Devour him.

  That was its only purpose.

  The scene felt vivid, tangible—yet utterly unreasonable.

  A sea demon, roaming far from water, without the choking stench of brine and rot.

  Just as Timo had suspected: none of this was real.

  These half-truths only deepened his curiosity. Who was he, truly? How did he possess such terrifying power—to devour a sea demon, fish demons, even that enormous thunder dire wolf?

  It must be this gem. With that thought, Timo pulled the red stone from his pocket.

  It glowed with a bloody crimson halo, yet released no energy.

  All the same, he knew: this stone had kept him alive. Made him stronger.

  Gratitude stirred as he leapt across the rooftops of the illusory camp, growing bolder, almost exhilarated.

  The wind in his ears told him the exact path of every striking tentacle.

  Behind him, the limbs pierced walls in blurred streaks, shattering stone like paper.

  Yet to Timo, the beast moved too slowly. He evaded with ease.

  He sprinted and vaulted until he spotted the towering monument in the ancestral square. Gathering his strength, he rode the wind to its peak.

  The wall beneath shattered instantly, collapsing in a roar of dust.

  Perched atop the spire, Timo gazed down at the ruin.

  Buildings lay in heaps. Tentacles writhed upward, wrapping the monument’s base.

  A thunderous boom—and it toppled.

  Timo’s lips curved in quiet scorn.

  Wind essence gathered around him, thickening, fierce.

  The air itself rippled. To his eyes, this was a space begging to be torn.

  The demon sensed the threat. As Timo reached to rend the air, its body suddenly swelled, skin bubbling like boiling water.

  Then it burst like an overfilled bubble, its outline dissolving.

  In its place, a familiar figure hung in chains.

  The surroundings shifted in an instant—turning into a judgment platform beneath flashing thunder and roaring lightning that struck Yue Yang.

  “You! You’re the one burned into my mind! Who are you… my sister?”

  Without a word, Timo tore the chains apart and rushed forward, catching her as she slumped.

  “Little brother… you finally came.”

  Yue Yang reached to touch his head, but Timo twisted away.

  Her skin bore no wounds. Her eyes held no fear. Her body had no warmth.

  Wrong. All wrong.

  “This is the Trial Realm,” he said, voice steady despite the ache. “That strange uncle told me I must become an essence wielder to survive. You’re not real.”

  He released the lifeless figure and backed away.

  Sure enough, Yue Yang’s arm elongated, sharpening into scaled spikes.

  “Come to me—I’m the one you love most.”

  Her face twisted into the Fish Mother’s grotesque leer.

  “My child… come into Mother’s arms.”

  She lurched forward—then became Canglan Ji.

  “Good boy, come here.”

  Another step—and Lingfeng Yang.

  “You’re all fake!”

  Timo retreated, roaring in fury. He clawed at the air again, ripping wider gashes.

  He desperately wanted to remember something, but part of his mind felt sealed. The harder he tried, the more his head split with pain.

  When the haze cleared, a new horror faced him: the demon, now sprouting human heads—the pleading, screaming faces of his family.

  The writhing tentacles surged toward him, on the verge of seizing him.

  Timo dug all ten fingers into the void and pulled with all his might.

  In an instant, everything shattered into fragments.

  As the surroundings vanished, space itself warped and shuddered.

  In a blink, wind and sand raged around him.

  Timo stood in a vast desert.

  He blinked, still doubting what he had seen moments ago.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Then he froze.

  Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing? What happened?

  Countless questions flooded his mind. He had forgotten everything—even what had just occurred.

  The sun blazed mercilessly.

  Sandstorms howled. Nothing but yellow dunes in every direction.

  Occasional distant shadows flickered—people, perhaps. Timo chased them desperately, seeking answers.

  He walked until his throat burned, his lips cracked, hunger and thirst gnawing at him.

  He walked on and on, without end.

  Boy became youth.

  Youth became man.

  Man became elder.

  Who am I? What am I doing?

  Until, at last, he closed his eyes and died.

  The world fell silent.

  “Wake up!”

  The voice pierced the quiet that had lasted who knew how long.

  The aged, dead Timo opened his eyes again.

  He found himself twelve once more—whole.

  Before him glowed another self, radiant with light.

  “I… died, didn’t I?”

  “We did die once,” the light-self said. “Now I am you, and you are me. Death before rebirth. Spirit veins remade. Essence awakened. Heaven and earth bear witness.”

  Timo reached out.

  The light-self merged into his body.

  In that moment, his spirit root pulsed, extending a new branch.

  Fresh essence surged into his blood. His eyes widened.

  From searing pain to relief, he let out a raw roar.

  Pale blue water essence misted around his fingers.

  “Timo…”

  “Little mongrel…”

  “Child of Darkness…”

  “Human monster…”

  As the spirit root took hold, different names echoed in his mind. He remembered what had happened in the illusion.

  He dimly recalled a sister—Yue Yang.

  And himself: Timo Yang.

  Something terrible had happened—something awful that had cast him here.

  As his breakthrough succeeded, rain suddenly poured from the sky.

  Cool drops splattered onto his cracked lips. The feeling was utterly real—nothing like the illusion.

  Timo opened his mouth wide, laughing in pure relief as he drank the rain.

  Then his ears twitched.

  He heard dense footsteps and the clash of steel.

  Wary, he scanned his surroundings and found himself shrouded in thick mist.

  Night had fallen. He stood on wet sand.

  His laughter had drawn attention.

  A guttural howl rose in the fog.

  The shadowy figures vanished again, chasing someone—the half-wild man’s silhouette flashing past.

  “Uncle—I did it!”

  Timo shouted in excitement.

  Too late.

  Several figures in the mist locked onto him.

  Before he could react, an armored warrior wielding a black axe charged from the fog.

  Timo summoned wind essence and dodged. An empty blade of air ripped outward, shredding the attacker from within.

  He approached cautiously.

  Beneath the armor: only bone. A skeleton soldier.

  “What the hell—”

  Fear spiked as he shouted again.

  The skeleton did not die cleanly.

  Black mist uncoiled from its ribs, seizing his ankle in an icy grip.

  Black mist spread from the fallen skeleton, tendrils hungrily reaching for living flesh.

  The severed claws on the sand twitched violently, then clamped vise-tight around Timo Yang’s ankles.

  A sudden knife-wind sliced the air. He jerked his head up—and stared in horror as a black axe blade filled his vision, cleaving straight for his face.

  His pupils shrank to pinpricks.

  From the corner of his eye, another flash in the fog: a second skeleton thrusting a lacquered spear toward his gut.

  At the same moment, scattered bones across the sand rattled to life—pulled by invisible strings, reassembling with wet, sickening cracks. Empty sockets flared with black flame.

  “Little Mongrel—I’m here!”

  The shrill cry tore through the night.

  A blur streaked past—leaping, clawing, savage.

  In heartbeats, the two skeletons shattered into fragments.

  “Little Mongrel, these spirit soldiers can’t be killed!” the figure roared. “Use your human power!”

  Timo understood at once.

  Essence surged through him—blinding white light laced with faint blue water mist.

  The black mist coiled around his legs recoiled, hissing into vapor.

  In the glow, he finally saw his savior clearly: the grotesquely ugly fish demon—alive!

  “You! Ugly Bastard!” Timo exclaimed, shock giving way to raw joy.

  “You’re my only brother now!” the fish demon declared, slapping its finned chest with fierce pride. “I’ve got your back!”

  Before Timo could respond, the shattered bones stirred again—grinding with chilling friction.

  The fog churned.

  More skeletons emerged from the mist, dozens of them, closing the circle.

  Timo’s heart tightened. Fresh from the trial’s endless torment—devoured again and again—now this: surrounded by an undying horde.

  Yet relief warmed him. Someone had waited here, guarded him.

  Alone, he could never have faced this.

  He quickly pressed back-to-back with Ugly Bastard, eyes locked on the advancing tide.

  “Are these things really unkillable?” His voice was taut with tension.

  “Unkillable!” Ugly Bastard hissed, big eyes spinning. “Cursed by the Black Sea Lord—human warriors, bound forever! They only sink back into the sea at dawn!”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Ugly Bastard’s eyes whirled faster. “What else? Run!”

  The word barely left its mouth before its stubby legs sprang like coiled springs. Sand sprayed as it shot forward—“whoosh”—vanishing into the fog with astonishing speed.

  “Awooo!”

  A guttural roar echoed from the distance—the half-wild man’s call.

  The beach fog rippled eerily, parting in waves.

  Timo glimpsed the towering figure luring a cluster of skeletons toward a massive tree.

  The undead hacked wildly at the trunk with black blades, shaking the canopy like thunder.

  Their opening.

  Wind essence lifted him—light and swift as a swallow.

  He bounded upward, leaping from branch to branch.

  “Awooo!”

  The half-wild man roared again, seizing thick vines and swinging in powerful arcs through the canopy toward a sheer cliff face.

  Timo followed without hesitation.

  They landed on a narrow ledge halfway up the mountain.

  Below, the beach swarmed with even larger skeletons emerging from the surf.

  From the distant forest, lightning flashed. Dire wolves poured out like a black tide, howling ferociously as they crashed into the undead ranks in bloody combat.

  The half-wild man ignored it all. His calloused hand already pressed against a boulder, yellow earth essence pulsing beneath his palm.

  The rock silently split open.

  He yanked Timo inside.

  At the last instant, a small shadow zipped through—“whoosh”—slipping in behind.

  With a resonant thud, the stone sealed shut.

  Inside, the half-wild man kindled faint fire essence, lighting a torch.

  Warm light danced across walls etched with orderly dots and ancient murals.

  Sand at their feet stirred like living water.

  The half-wild man’s rough finger traced earth essence through the air.

  Grains rose, swiftly forming crisp letters.

  Night brings the spirit soldiers. Dawn sends them below. I thought your trial would take days. Half a day—genius. Where do you come from?

  Timo stared at the words and shook his head blankly.

  When he tried to remember, the familiar splitting pain surged.

  Those blurred faces from the trial felt so dear, yet he could not name them.

  “I… remember nothing,” he said bitterly. “Not even why I’m here.”

  The half-wild man studied him closely, certain the boy’s confusion was genuine.

  He had seen this child plummet from the sky, bones shattered beyond saving—yet rise whole.

  Extraordinary.

  His thick finger pointed upward, then wrote again.

  You fell from above. This is the Land of the Forgotten. First ever to escape a sea demon’s belly. You are no ordinary soul.

  “Heh… I thought I was done for too,” Timo admitted, scratching his head sheepishly.

  Great trials spare the remarkable. The Trial Realm left no scar on you—impressive. Do you recall what happened inside?

  Timo watched the flowing sand, filled with curiosity and admiration.

  “I saw… people who felt like family. Stone statues. Elders, commanders, deacons—in colored armor.”

  The half-wild man fell still.

  Long ago, in his youth as a soldier, he had heard legends of the ancient Watch Legion—matching the boy’s words exactly.

  Could he be from the Watch Legion? Ancient beyond reckoning. I heard of them when I was still a new recruit.

  Timo shook his head again. The fleeting sense of familiarity slipped away.

  Forgetting may be mercy—the true reason you broke through so swiftly. Many enter the Trial Realm and never return sane.

  The half-wild man stopped writing and motioned Timo onward.

  The passage widened. Running water murmured ahead.

  A natural pool gleamed in the torchlight.

  Parched beyond endurance, Timo dropped to his knees and drank deeply—cool sweetness flooding his throat until his belly swelled slightly.

  The half-wild man watched in silence.

  This boy was no ordinary lost child—something vast slept within him.

  Trust would come slowly.

  Yet a memory-less youth was easier to guide than a cunning adult.

  As long as that devouring force inside him stayed dormant…

  In time—if the boy rose to essence envoy…

  There might yet be a way to leave this forsaken place alive.

  Timo splashed water across his face.

  The surface rippled—and Ugly Bastard’s unmistakable fish face grinned back, eyes gleaming.

  Plunk.

  Water exploded as the creature surfaced triumphantly, twisting in joyful loops.

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