NOVEL NEXT Chapter 446: Shadows in the Spirit Forest
All signs pointed to one unsettling truth: Ethan's arrival in the Umbral Star—specifically, here in the Sea of Death—had been foreseen by someone long ago. The existence of the four great cities scattered across this waste land couldn't be a coincidence. Perhaps they had been left behind for him, carefully arranged by a hand from the distant past.
Whoever that person was, it was unlikely they hadn't predicted that Ethan would one day step into the Spirit Realm. If so, there might still be traces of their design hidden in the higher levels of this place—clues, or even relics, waiting to be discovered.
The questions gnawed at him. Who was this mysterious figure? Why was the Sea of Death linked to the Ethereal? What was the true significance of Ethereal, the game that had originated on Earth? Could all of this still be connected to Morzan's schemes?
Ethan shook his head. Probably not. The old man had vanished the moment Ethan arrived here. Back when he had entered the Underworld, Morzan had managed to reach him. But now, three years had passed in silence. No matter how many times Ethan called out, Morzan didn't answer. Perhaps the flow of time between worlds was different. Perhaps the old man simply hadn't noticed him yet.
---
Micah hesitated when Ethan suggested he take the lead. Their meeting had been pure chance, and he still had no idea who—or what—Ethan truly was. This man's strength was terrifying, and traveling alongside him felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of fire. Yet refusing outright could be even more dangerous. What if Ethan decided he was no longer useful and killed him on the spot?
"Here," Ethan said, tossing him a spatial pouch. "Just show me where the entrance to the next level is."
Micah opened the pouch with guarded curiosity. Inside was enough food and water to last a month, along with a broad silver-edged blade—easily a Silver-tier weapon—meant for self-defense. Nestled beside it were several second-tier beast cores, glimmering faintly with condensed energy. Energy Users could draw from such cores to recover strength or even use them in training practice.
He glanced back up at Ethan, torn between wariness and reluctant gratitude. After a moment, he pointed toward the depths of the forest. "The way to the second level is near the center. Somewhere in there."
---
"Good," Ethan said, brushing past him.
"Wait…" Micah blurted, just as Ethan had taken a few steps. Ethan turned, brow raised.
"I'll go with you," Micah said quickly. "The Spirit Realm has nine levels, and every entrance is different. I was lucky enough to find an old record that describes the first four levels. Once we reach the fourth, I can find a place to hide."
Ethan smiled faintly. So he had changed his mind. He could guess why.
Originally, Ethan had planned to bring Micah along and make up for the Ten-Thousand-Year Plumevine he couldn't share, but when Micah only wanted to survive alone, he had simply given him food and left. Now, after seeing the pouch filled with supplies and realizing Ethan had no intention of harming him, Micah had decided traveling together was the safer bet. A man with Ethan's overwhelming strength had no need for tricks or betrayals.
"Then let's move," Ethan said.
"Alright." Micah took off first, sprinting ahead with startling speed.
Ethan followed at a steady pace, watching him. Micah allowed himself a small, smug smile as he noticed Ethan falling behind. As a Rune Weaver, he was not built for close-quarters combat, but his agility and escape skills were exceptional. Surviving this long as an unaffiliated individual had depended on it. To him, Ethan's power seemed rooted in sheer physical strength; in a race for survival, he would have the advantage.
That thought lasted less than a minute.
Ethan stretched his legs and surged forward like a rolling storm, overtaking Micah with ease. No skills, no flashy footwork—just raw speed. Micah pushed himself harder, but within moments, they were neck and neck, and the truth sank in: he couldn't outrun this man. His quiet confidence shattered, and he stopped trying to compete. He led Ethan straight into the heart of the forest.
---
Ethan kept an eye on the shifting system map. The gray, fogged-out region they were entering began to clear as they advanced. Suddenly, he raised a hand, pulling Micah to a halt.
"What is it?" Micah asked, startled.
"Someone's fighting up ahead."
Micah blinked. "Fighting? On the first level? Are they insane? We should go around—no point getting dragged into their mess." In his mind, nothing on the first floor was worth risking your life over. Even the Ten-Thousand-Year Plumevine Ethan had claimed was good, but not worth dying for.
But Ethan didn't move. He was already listening, eyes narrowing. The people of the Sea of Death didn't share Micah's perspective. Most of them didn't even know the Spirit Realm had nine levels, or that the rewards grew richer the deeper you went. To them, any treasure found here was a prize worth fighting to the death for.
And besides… the person being surrounded up ahead was someone Ethan recognized.
Ethan's frown deepened. "How is he here? He said he wasn't coming…" he muttered. Without waiting, he sprinted toward the sound of battle. Micah hesitated, then followed, puzzled why someone as powerful as Ethan would care about a skirmish on the first level.
---
They crested a hill and peered into the valley below. Eight figures clashed in a whirlwind of fists, feet, and elemental bursts. Winds howled, the ground trembled, and the besieged fighter—holding off seven attackers alone—moved like a storm given flesh.
On the cliffside beyond, two more figures watched the battle: a tall, broad-shouldered man and a striking woman with golden hair and delicate features. Ethan knew them both—Eamon, the son of the Windspirit Faction's leader, and Astrid, the Golden Falcon tribe's young prodigy. She had been the one the patriarch had helped escape back then.
In such a short time, so many of Hurricane City's people had converged here. Communication artifacts, Ethan realized. Expensive tools that not only sent messages but also tracked each other's positions. No wonder they were hunting in packs—moving together made travel safer, and killing and looting far easier.
When Ethan had killed that unlucky fellow earlier, he had destroyed the man's artifact with a Soul Technique before anyone could discover his ability to fly. If word had spread, these groups would have scattered like startled birds, and finding them would have been nearly impossible.
He studied the melee below, his expression hardening. Why were Hurricane City and the pure-blood beast clans turning on each other? Weren't they supposed to be allies? Dog-eat-dog or not, Ethan had no intention of getting involved—at least, not yet.
What he wanted to know was where Baleron was. If Eamon was here, Baleron couldn't be far.
As for the one being besieged… Ethan wasn't worried in the slightest.