Echoes of the Abyssal Blade: Path to Free Will-Chapter 79: First Native in The Abyssal Ruins

With his realm now advanced to the Spirit Forger state, Jonan could feel the difference in his body, in his breath, and within the marrow of his bones; his wounds, which would have once taken days to close and mend, were now healing themselves shut at an astonishing rate.

The aches in his muscles had dulled to a faint memory, and the sharpness of his senses seemed to stretch far beyond what he’d grown accustomed to, by the time an hour or two had passed, he found himself whole again, the scars of battle merely faint marks upon his skin.

The dry rations he had carried with him, the salted meats, coarse biscuits, and the faintly sweet berries, had aided in that recovery as well, though he was painfully aware that his supplies were dwindling.

He did not have the option of unlimited supplies, not here, not in the dangerous wasteland called The Abyssal Ruins.

The island rose before him like the open jaws of some monstrous creature, ready to devour him whole, a sea of black vegetation, twisted trees, and an ever-present fog that clung to the ground like a thing alive.

Awakening himself from a fleeting fog of sleep, Jonan breathed in the scent of wet moss and soil and pushed on.

This time, though, his movements were different—lighter, faster, and deliberate. Each change of foot, each movement of limb was measured, intended to sidestep the loose twig, the dry leaves that would signal others of his approach.

The Abyssal Ruins did not treat the careless kindly.

As he pressed deeper into the knotted jungle, the air grew thick, and the trail behind him disappeared as if it had never been.

The overhead branches interwove so closely that only frail shafts of yellowed light penetrated, staining the ground in grotesque patterns.

The farther he descended, the more it seemed that the island itself was trying to confuse him, whether he would go left, right, forward, it didn’t matter anymore, each turn led him to the same drape of hanging vines and the same maze of pale-leaved trees, it was a maze of nature where he was trapped, but he needed to think of some other way to progress, otherwise, who knows what kind of monster he would meet next.

A suffocating stillness fell over the world around him, there were beasts, certainly—Jonan saw them. Great reptilian bodies sliding through the undergrowth, their scales catching in the dim light.

He saw giant, ape-like monsters with armor plating thrusting from their shoulders and matted hair stuck to their swollen bodies. Smaller, faster ones darted quickly through the darkness, their eyes shining a grotesque sheen.

But he did not dare to look at them for long enough, or who knows if they were to feel his, then that would be inconvenient for him.

He did not dare to stay long enough, and continued to move, even though he did not know which way he had to go through.

Then, in the forest maze, Jonan’s keen eyes spotted something out of the ordinary—a beast unlike the others. Deer-shaped, yet its coat was unnatural-colored, a rich black spotted with tiny patches of white that glowed dimly.

The creature seemed almost invisible, its form phasing and shimmering, as if reality itself strained to hold it together. Jonan had encountered a similar kind of creature from his history, and he had seen it retreat from predators, their bodies blurring through claw and tooth as if they were made of smoke; they were all but ungraspable.

He crouched low, his muscles tensed, as he watched the elegant, ghostly creature move with impossible grace through the jungle clearing.

But before he could even register the details of its horns, long, jagged antlers like polished obsidian, a blur of movement cut through the air.

It was a long spear.

It whistled through the mist, a streak of gleaming luster and primal precision, the weapon struck the deer-like beast in the side, piercing through its flickering hide as though it were no more substantial than mist.

The deer-like beast let out a strangled, alien cry and collapsed in an instant, the flickering light of its body fading.

Jonan’s heart hammered in his chest.

Who...?

He sank further behind among the long bushes, the damp leaves clinging to his skin, and peered through the foliage.

A figure appeared from the fog, he was tall, much taller than the usual men of Dreavows he had encountered. His complexion was the color of sun-baked bronze, and lean muscles rippled underneath the feral leathers he wore.

His sinewy, long limbs testified to swiftness and agility, his great, sharp eyes broodingly examined the environment with an aura that caused Jonan’s skin to crawl.

His hair was smooth and long, held back in unkept cords, and his forehead sported mysterious markings, patterns drawn on with some dark tar-like material into his skin. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

There was satisfaction in the man’s eyes as he walked toward the slain beast. He knelt, his fingers tracing the bloodied hide, his hand closing around the spear shaft lodged deep in the creature’s side. He pulled hard, and the spear hauled free, a jet of dark blood wetting the earth.

He then fixed the spear in front of him, on the ground, and he started to pray, and by bowing in a weird and different manner, after the man completed his ritual, he took hold of his spear, and it was then that the man suddenly stopped.

And then... the man suddenly paused, his eyes turned solemn.

Jonan felt his breath catch.

The native hunter’s head lifted, and those uncanny eyes of his turned to his left, staring directly at the thicket where Jonan lay hidden.

"This is Impossible", thought Jonan.

Jonan had concealed his aura, his presence. He was certain he had made no sound, no movement; he even breathed slowly, so that the native hunter would not take notice of him.

Yet the man’s gaze pierced through the cover of leaves and mist as though the jungle itself had whispered of his presence, as though his eyes could see through everything hidden in his sight.

And then, the figure of the man vanished instantly without a single sound.

In the span of a heartbeat, the space he had occupied was empty, the mist drifted lazily where he had stood, Jonan’s senses screamed at him to move, to run, but his body was frozen by instinctual fear.

And it was then that he felt a sharp, cold pressure pressed against his back.

It was the tip of a spear; its weight against his back was heavy and murderous.

Jonan’s heart pounded in his ears, the world narrowing to the sharp, unrelenting point that kissed the base of his neck.

He could feel it, if he dared to make one wrong move, then it would be over for him.

Jonan swallowed hard. His instincts, honed in countless battles and blood-soaked nights, warred within him. Strike first? Turn and counter? Or surrender?

But even without turning, he could sense the man’s strength. It was way above his strength, at the very least. Perhaps higher. The pressure radiating from him was unlike anything else in this jungle. The man’s strength was raw, primal power honed through relentless, unforgiving trials.

He raised his hands slowly, his palms open slightly.

"I meant no harm," Jonan said evenly, his voice steady despite the chill in his gut. "I was passing through... and saw your hunt."

He slowly raised his hand in submission, Jonan did not know the native’s language, so he kept quiet, but he was sure that the man would understand his intent.

The native hunter, who had his spear pointed at Jonan’s back, was also a bit stupefied, he had never seen a human around his tribe who looked like Jonan; he could see that the boy was of quite a younger age, with pale white skin and dark hair.

Jonan exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath for a lifetime. He turned cautiously to face the man.

Up close, the hunter was even more imposing. His tall frame was marked by not even a single scar, considering, how often this native hunter must be hunting the beasts in this island, and inked symbols were on the man’s brows, which were a bit peculiar, and his gaze was akin to a predator, it was calculating, and unflinching.

And with that, the hunter turned and motioned Jonan to follow him, he was not afraid if Jonan were to try escaping, because he had confidence in his strength and speed, striding through the mist with the confidence of one who had mastered every root, every shadow of the labyrinth jungle.

Jonan hesitated for only a moment before following.

He didn’t know where the native hunter would lead him, nor what new dangers awaited, but one truth was certain: he had to go with the native hunter to better understand his situation, and about The Abyssal Ruin, he had gone into.