Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Gifts of the Old World

They attacked me…

Everything happened so quickly that I could not process it at the time. In the midst of confusion, the guards were frightened, and they saw me as the enemy—as though I was some kind of monster breaching their ward. But why? I kept asking myself that question, replaying the chaotic scene in my mind.

Why had my own people turned their weapons on me?

All I had done was for their sake. My mission to find an artifact to increase food production within the wards ultimately served them, since I personally no longer needed to worry about hunger. The fog itself provided me with meat from its innumerable beasts.

Even so, they attacked me. They might have heard my name from Chainrunner reports—perhaps from District 98 or from District 99. Yet they saw me as nothing more than a monster.

Had I truly become one?

[Kara]

[Negative]

I hadn't actually posed the question to Kara, but she sensed the doubt swirling in my thoughts and responded anyway.

"Then tell me," I murmured, "why did they attack me? I still look human enough." I stared at my reflection in a shattered mirror propped against the wall of one of my hideouts. Sharp eyes, a hooded cloak, a face that had grown colder over time. But I recognized a human countenance there, if somewhat hardened.

[Kara]

[User's physical appearance was not the only change. Your mannerisms and the aura you emit have also shifted. Every person—human or otherwise—has instincts that trigger a fight-or-flight response when encountering what they perceive as a threat to their survival.]

"So they just attacked because they sensed me as a threat?" I asked quietly.

[Kara]

[Correct. Even though you stated your name, the guards might not have connected it with those earlier reports in that tense moment. Seeing someone drag multiple heavy beasts from the fog can provoke intense fear. And the instant you assumed a more bestial posture, preparing to fight, they followed their training.]

Kara was right, of course, as she often was. In the past two months, I had let myself slip into a more beastlike mode of existence—prowling the fog, living by hunt and instinct—simply because it felt natural. But I should have remembered my human roots and refrained from arriving at another district's doorstep with carcasses in tow.

Above all, it seemed wiser to avoid District 100 for now.

That realization stung. I craved human contact beyond Kara's voice and the silent presence of Hazeveil. For a moment, I even toyed with heading back to District 99 for a day, since it lay so close. But my mission remained unfinished, and returning prematurely felt wrong. So I circumvented District 100 entirely, circling its perimeter throughout the day. I needed to avoid stirring up another tragic misunderstanding that could lead to more bloodshed.

Eventually, I reached the opposite side of the ward from where I had first approached, emerging onto the primary road that led toward District 1.

The farther I ventured, the more the city of Araksiun came alive with countless beasts, each lurking in the endless fog. I clashed with a wide variety of them, leaving carcasses in my wake. My progress slowed considerably due to these near-constant battles. Still, I found I was not tiring as quickly as before, likely sustained by the abundant mana saturating the air. Indeed, Kara had hinted I could go for days without sleep if I wished—an ability akin to the beasts' own resilience.

Nevertheless, I stayed cautious. While I might endure longer, the creatures prowling at night were deadlier and less predictable than those by day, so I sought a safe hideout when dusk fell. A small, collapsed building offered an underground chamber where I could rest without fear of nightly ambush.

Like in every hideout, I set up my traps and alarms in case something decided to make its way in while I slept.

The next morning, I continued along the primary road. Eventually, I arrived at District 1, which had long since been destroyed. One of the first to fall, eons ago. Walking through its streets gave me a sobering glimpse of what civilization here must have once been like.

Strewn across the wide avenues, I saw the decaying remains of carriages apparently powered by engines, some with large wings sprouting from their sides. It was startling to see such remnants in a place where everything else had collapsed into rubble. I paused before one contraption, its wings twisted and rusted.

"Could these carriages actually fly?" I wondered aloud.

[Kara]

[Those were called planes, and yes, they could fly.]

A chill crept along my spine. "Did they use air magic of some sort?" I asked, picturing some long-lost fusion of mana and engineering.

[Kara]

[Negative. They were powered entirely by science, not by magic.]

It sounded absurd—humans building enormous winged machines that soared without mana. But I no longer doubted Kara's knowledge. Whatever had driven them, these planes lay in ruins now, swallowed by time and the beasts of the fog.

According to the records, District 1 never possessed an artifact to boost food production. Still, I poked around its crumbling structures. Part of me wanted to discover any artifact that might help. More practically, the primary road I'd been following was blocked where several skyscrapers had toppled onto one another, forming a colossal mound of debris. I needed a new path, and this was where the old Chainrunner maps ended—none of them accounted for these new obstructions.

I found a few noteworthy structures still standing, seemingly reinforced in their original construction—laboratories, military outposts, and other hardened facilities that the beasts had not thoroughly destroyed. Inside them, I uncovered weapons of science: pistols, machine guns, and other machinery.

I appreciated humanity's ingenuity, so I sketched diagrams of these firearms to see if I could reproduce them. But there was an immediate problem. They relied on specialized ammunition—far harder to make than arrows or darts. Worse yet, after some testing against a smaller beast, I discovered they were nearly useless. The monster's hide was thick enough to negate the bullets. Arrows and crossbow bolts, with their heavier mass, seemed more effective against most beasts I'd encountered.

Kara explained that these weapons had been designed for humans to fight each other. In an era when humans did not fear the magical beasts, they needed someone else to fear, a target for their aggression, so they waged large-scale wars against each other. Now that the beasts ruled outside the wards, humanity had shifted its hostility. In the current times, we rarely fought each other—united by a common enemy lurking in the fog.

It was strange to me, that humans once poured so much effort into weapons that would not help them now. Everything here felt like a time capsule—relics of a society that no longer existed. Even the heavier guns I found were cumbersome to carry. I soon realized they would slow me down and hardly do more damage than a well-placed arrow or spear thrust.

Still, District 1 offered me a glimpse into an ancient world. Although the place was haunted by silence and prowling beasts, I felt a certain awe in its ruined grandeur. I could only imagine what it looked like at its height—humans flying through the sky in enormous metal vessels, crafting powerful machines without mana. Yet all of it lay scattered in pieces now, barely recognizable beneath dust and rubble.

I pressed on, picking my way through fallen streets and half-collapsed buildings, determined to find a viable route forward. My mission still stretched out far in the distance, and I refused to be deterred by shattered roads or the remnants of weapons no longer fit for this brutal, fog-bound era.

I guessed the most intriguing part of District 1 was a colossal cathedral nestled among the ruins. In District 98, we had churches and temples devoted to various gods, but all were modest in comparison. This place stood utterly untouched—its walls unscarred by time or monsters. It was as though every beast in the fog had passed it by, leaving it intact and pristine, like a lone sanctuary amidst the wreckage.

From afar, I saw that it appeared to be a single-floor structure, yet the ceiling soared so high that it felt like stepping into another world. Massive pillars, each the width of several men, loomed up on either side, and detailed paintings adorned every wall. Many of them depicted scenes I could not recognize—ancient figures with regal attire, hands reaching toward a glowing light.

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I sensed they might depict old myths or lost deities. Parts of the structure gleamed with what appeared to be solid gold inlays: borders on the archways, intricate moldings near the ceiling, and even sections of the floor. It was like a treasure someone had abandoned in this ruined city.

Inside were rows upon rows of benches—perhaps hundreds—arranged in perfect symmetry, all facing an ornate but unoccupied altar. The ceiling overhead stretched higher than some of the smaller towers I had seen outside, and the faint echo of my own footsteps gave the place a hushed, reverent atmosphere.

Slanting beams of sunlight streamed in through stained-glass windows. Each pane was a masterpiece of color, depicting stories I could only guess at: heroic battles, tender moments of mercy, or celestial beings offering guidance. A long red carpet ran down the central aisle, woven with gold thread that seemed as vivid as the day it was made. No dust disturbed it. Not even a speck of debris littered the space, despite the chaos enveloping the rest of District 1.

That alone put me on edge. If beasts had avoided this cathedral for thousands of years, something else might lurk here—something more dangerous than them. Unsettled but compelled by the beauty of the place, I chose not to linger. Yet I felt drawn to the altar, wanting a closer look at the art. The statues, carved from marble, flanked the altar on both sides, their expressions solemn. Their vacant eyes seemed to follow me as I approached.

That was when I saw it, the most peculiar object I had ever encountered.

Set atop the gilded altar in this grand sanctuary, surrounded by all the splendor of gold and masterful craftsmanship, there rested a simple glass jar holding… a tongue. The jar was filled with clear liquid that Kara identified as merely water. A small label on its lid read "The Prophet's Tongue."

[Kara]

[User is strongly advised to leave immediately and touch nothing.]

Her warning scrolled through my mind, but I hesitated. Could I really abandon this strange artifact? My curiosity warred with Kara's caution. In the end, my impulsive nature won. I picked up the jar without further thought, ignoring Kara's silent protest. If there was something truly ominous about this item, I wanted to learn what it was.

The moment I distanced myself from the altar, the ground trembled. The pristine windows trembled in their frames, cracks forming along the once-untouched stained glass. The soaring pillars, which moments ago had appeared indestructible, groaned under unseen stress. Decay seemed to spread over the stone in seconds, revealing deep fissures that snaked across the walls.

I broke into a sprint, clutching the jar. Fragments of the vaulted ceiling began to rain down around me, slamming into the benches and shattering the painted windows. I narrowly dodged one falling chunk of masonry as I reached the entrance. Once outside, I stumbled onto the street just in time to see the entire cathedral collapse in on itself with a roar, its splendor reduced to a mound of rubble and dust.

"Yeah," I muttered between breaths, looking at the jar in my trembling hands, "I guess that could happen."

A reverberating crash echoed across the deserted streets, certain to draw the attention of every roaming beast for miles. With no time to dwell on that, I carefully tucked the jar—still intact, water and tongue undisturbed into my backpack. After all, if it had withstood the centuries unscathed in a beast-infested city, perhaps it was sturdy enough to survive being carried with me. At least that was what I hoped.

Clenching the straps of my pack, I glanced once more at the cloud of dust hovering where the cathedral had stood, then turned and hurried off. Whatever the story behind "The Prophet's Tongue" was, I had taken it into my possession, and the rest of District 1's beasts were probably heading in this direction.

…

I spent several weeks in District 1, searching its ruins and discovering a handful of artifacts along the way—none as ominous as the severed tongue, but still remarkable. Some were mundane trinkets, partially broken by time. Others, however, were undeniably powerful.

One such artifact was a pair of jet-black, fingerless gauntlets that resembled finely crafted leather. Yet Kara identified the material as something called Voidweave, a flexible, organic fabric that felt unnervingly warm and somehow hungry to the touch. From the moment I picked them up in what appeared to be the remains of an old museum, I sensed a faint pull in my arms, as though the gauntlets yearned for energy.

Kara explained that Voidweave was designed to absorb force rather than simply resist it. Each glove weighed almost nothing, yet was covered in numerous runes—intricate spirals and circles that pulsed a faint glow whenever kinetic energy was taken in. I decided to name them the Gauntlets of the Starving Maw, due to their capacity for devouring kinetic power and unleashing it in a single, devastating punch.

They stored energy not only from my own strikes but also from incoming blunt damage, though this protective quality was modest. Their true function lay in channeling all that energy into a brief but overwhelming burst on command. Through days of experimentation, I discovered they needed around twelve hours to recharge. Once activated, the runes blazed bright red, then dimmed to a cold black as a sign the gauntlets had spent their accumulated energy and entered a new twelve-hour cycle.

I found a dusty plaque that described these gauntlets' origin. They had been crafted by an exiled war-smith, a human who wielded rune magic and wanted to weaponize his own suffering. Legend said the Voidweave was spun from the flesh of a forgotten god—a being that once devoured "force" itself—whose remains had been salvaged after its demise. The war-smith supposedly fought in Araksiun's Coliseum hundreds of years before the fog, paying for his crimes in blood and dying as a champion. It was an oddly poetic story.

A few weeks after that discovery, I found myself pitted against a massive, one-eyed beast—a cyclops, towering amid the crumbling streets. The creature stood over three meters tall, its body heavily muscled and weighed more than a ton. It gripped a makeshift club, which looked suspiciously like an entire uprooted tree. Its singular eye glared with brutish malice.

Even though it was classified as a Tier 2 beast, it seemed to rely on raw strength and single-minded brutality rather than cunning. I watched as it hefted its colossal club overhead, the motion slow and ponderous. If that thing landed even one direct hit, I would be splattered like an insect. Yet the cyclops moved at a pace my sharpened reflexes found surprisingly manageable.

I ducked beneath its first swing, feeling a gust of air whip past my head. Then I sprang forward to deliver a punch straight into the beast's belly—a thick wall of flesh and muscle. The monster grunted in pain, but I doubted I had done more than irritate it. An instant later, the creature retaliated, whipping its massive club sideways. I threw myself backward just in time to watch the club slam into the ground, the impact sending dirt and broken pavement flying.

Moving fluidly, I switched to my daggers, slicing at the cyclops's legs and abdomen in shallow strikes. Its hide was both fatty and muscular, blunting my blades. Then, with a strong leap, I aimed a kick at its face. The cyclops reeled, staggering back. I pressed the advantage, launching a flurry of kicks and punches. Yet every motion had to be precise—I could not afford a single misstep. One serious blow from that living mountain would guarantee a very long sleep indeed.

For what felt like an entire hour, we battled amid the ruins. I hoped the cyclops might tire, but Tier 2 beasts in a mana-rich environment were notoriously resilient. This one must have absorbed countless cores, empowering itself far beyond normal limits. Perhaps it could not evolve further only because it lacked the intellect to grasp the next step—relying solely on sheer brutality.

That was perfect for me, though, because it gave me a chance to test Starving Maw—the short name for the Gauntlets of the Starving Maw. Even though it was a matching pair, the release of stored energy could only be triggered by one hand at a time, delivering a single devastating punch. I had been amassing energy in them for over a week while I explored, but I still needed the right moment to use it.

Gripping my daggers tightly, I waited. The cyclops roared, hoisting its enormous club for another blow. Again, I ducked beneath the weapon. Only this time, I reached into the gauntlet's runic matrix, willing it to release everything it had stored.

The runes flared a brilliant, bloody red, and a tremendous shockwave tore through the air as my fist slammed into the beast's belly. A moment of deafening silence followed—then a hideous, wet explosion as my punch blasted right through the cyclops's midsection in a spray of gore. Its single eye widened in shock, and in that final second, its face contorted with confusion before its entire bulk collapsed onto the rubble with a heavy thud.

I stood there, arm trembling slightly from the recoil, watching the cyclops's eye glaze over. Already, I heard echoes of distant snarling in the fog, no doubt stirred by the violent racket of our fight. If I lingered here, I would be forced into another battle.

Swiftly, I cut away a portion of the cyclops's flesh, gathering enough meat to sustain me for a while. A large section of its abdomen had been obliterated by the Starving Maw's impact, but there was still plenty I could harvest. Most importantly, I scooped out its core, a pulsating onyx orb that felt warm against my palm. The moment I touched it, my own heart core latched onto the mana inside, and the orb's essence seeped into me until the core cracked apart in my hand.

I discarded the broken shell of the core, then glanced up in time to spot something maybe twice the cyclops's size lumbering in my direction through the fog. The further I traveled from human wards, the more formidable the beasts became. A subtle thrill prickled in my blood.

Reseating my daggers at my belt, I turned and darted away from the ruins, the Starving Maw's runes now dim after expending their fury. I refused to face another colossal monster without letting my artifact recharge.

I stood among the cracked ruins, listening for any growls or snarls that might signal another approaching threat. My gauntlets' runes lay dormant and cold after that cyclops battle, leaving me with no immediate trump card if a new monster struck. Much as I wanted to scavenge Tier 2 beasts for useful materials—tusks, bones, or hide that could be made into powerful gear—taking the time to do so risked attracting something even more fearsome, drawn by blood and noise.

I exhaled, scanning the fog-shrouded horizon. The fights were growing more complicated, and I could not safely gather remains from high-tier creatures. Each clash with them was noisy enough to stir up an entire chain of new battles. I recalled the countless parts of the cyclops I had been forced to abandon, frustrated by the knowledge that those spoils might have proven valuable later.

Still, the cost of staying outweighed the benefits. Avoiding a long sleep was more critical than collecting every prize. Eventually, I resumed my path, stepping gingerly around broken stones and toppled columns, my senses on high alert for any sign of another beast.

As I walked, I remembered how night-dwelling monsters often hunted in near silence. Their conflicts concluded swiftly, with decisive blows. It made me wonder if that fact tied into the next rule—the elusive progression that governed how beasts advanced. How do weaker creatures survive in a world of constant battle, where predators lurked behind every corner?

Maybe they don't, I thought grimly. Perhaps they wore themselves down until, inevitably, they died, replaced by stronger successors. There had to be more to the cycle than relentless slaughter, though. My intuition insisted that understanding the next rule meant grasping how these creatures perpetuated their existence under relentless pressure. If they never adapted like me, how did any smaller species manage to persist?

My grasp of this new rule felt distant yet somehow close at the same time, but I had more pressing concerns. Ahead of me lay District 2, and according to the records, it held an artifact capable of improving food production within the wards—the long-standing goal of my quest.