Lord Of The Lost

In the early hours of dawn, the world was cloaked in mist. The soft fog curled around the edges of the streets, muffling the sounds of the city, turning the world into a quiet, otherworldly scene. Jessie stood alone at the bus stop, her figure delicate yet commanding in the stillness.

Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders, blending with the soft folds of her loose, casual clothing. There was a quiet elegance about her, an unassuming grace. Her youthful beauty wasn't showy, but it had a charm that was hard to ignore. Her face, gentle and serene, was like a flower reflected on still water; delicate, yet with an undercurrent of depth.

Her posture was relaxed, almost lazy, as if she was in no hurry at all, her sleeves covering most of her slender hands. There was something comforting about her presence, as if she fit perfectly into the gentle calm of the misty morning.

From time to time, passers-by glanced at her, drawn by her quiet allure. Yet, Jessie remained still, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

The bus emerged from the mist slowly, its headlights barely piercing the thick fog. Droplets of moisture clung to its windows, trickling down in slow, deliberate paths. It came to a halt in front of the platform, its brakes hissing as the door opened with a creaking sound. A voice, hollow and distant, crackled through the speaker: "Welcome to bus No. 15. Passengers in need, please board promptly."

Without much thought, Jessie took a step forward, her shoes making a soft sound on the wet pavement. But just as quickly, she froze. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. Something felt wrong.

The door stood wide open, inviting her inside, yet she couldn't bring herself to move. A chill swept over her, far colder than the mist hanging in the air. Her eyes darted to the driver; his skin was slick with condensation, his expression shadowed and strange. His eyes, though not directly focused on her, felt unnervingly present, as though he saw right through her.

Jessie's gaze shifted to the passengers inside the bus. They sat, unnaturally still, their heads slightly tilted toward her, their eyes vacant and lifeless. A shiver crawled down her spine. Each of them, men, women, children, and the elderly, all stared in her direction, their faces expressionless, as if waiting.

And then she noticed: their clothes were soaked, clinging to their pale skin, caked with mud and sand. Water dripped from their pant legs, pooling on the bus floor before spilling out, forming a small stream that snaked toward her feet.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Passenger," the driver's voice cut through the stillness like a knife, sinister and low, "are you getting on?"

Jessie didn't respond. Her body felt as though it had turned to stone, her mind racing, panic surging inside her chest. The bus seemed to pulse with impatience, the air thick with something unseen yet terrifying. The passengers, unmoving, continued to stare at her with white, blank eyes.

The door, still open, seemed to be waiting. Time stretched. Jessie's pulse pounded in her ears, yet outwardly, she remained frozen, her face calm, betraying none of the storm of fear building inside her.

Then, without warning, the door snapped shut. The bus heaved forward, continuing its journey into the mist. She watched it disappear, swallowed by the fog, until it was nothing more than a distant shadow.

As the last traces of the bus faded from sight, Jessie's legs gave out beneath her. She crumpled to the ground, her black hair falling over her pale face, hiding the shock and disbelief etched into her features. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against the cold, wet pavement, and her breath came in shallow, ragged bursts.

"This didn't happen before... Why is this happening now?!" she whispered, her voice barely audible, more to herself than anyone else.

Her mind raced, replaying the scene over and over. Something had changed. Something was terribly wrong.

---

Suddenly, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in her head, emotionless and distant:

[Main Quest: Stop the Black Forest catastrophe and help the border town overcome its difficulties.]

[Failure Penalty: All internal test players will be killed.]

[Clearance Reward: Sequence Game Lord of the Lost enters semi-public beta stage.]

Jessie's heart sank as the reality of her situation hit her. This was the mission. There was no escape. The Black Forest loomed ahead, its dangers unknown, but unavoidable.

No one, not even Jessie, could stay untouched by the darkness that was to come. The stakes were too high.

Even someone as strong as Little Bob couldn't escape the clutches of the Black Forest. He, too, was a victim, like so many others. And yet, the players had no choice but to confront the main quest head-on. No matter how perilous it seemed, each player had to contribute. The stronger they became, the greater their chances of survival and success.

----

William scrolled through the forum, which buzzed with activity as players discussed strategies and exchanged information. But instead of joining in on the chatter, he pulled out two items that felt heavier than they appeared: the diary Little Bob had entrusted to him and the hunter's token.

The diary wasn't just any ordinary notebook.

'Hunting Diary:' Inside, a young hunter had meticulously recorded the brief arc of his life, documenting every experience and lesson learned from his clumsy beginnings to his mastery of the hunt. It wasn't just a memoir; it was a guide, a sacred text of sorts, detailing the process of becoming a hunter in full.

And, over time, as it remained by Little Bob's side, it had absorbed something mysterious, becoming a magical artifact.

William opened the diary to its first page. It began with a history; ancient and mystical: of the moon, the Moon Goddess, werewolves, and hunters.

Long ago, the moon had been pure and untouched, but it had fallen from grace. The Moon Goddess transformed into the New Moon, but her light no longer shone upon the werewolves. They were a cursed race, shunned by the goddess, left to fade into darkness without her blessing. The werewolves, once strong and feared, now languished in decline.

But hunters; hunters were different. The Moon Goddess favored them, granting them her blessing. The diary described it like the rise of a new emperor who handpicks his ministers. The hunters, chosen and empowered by the goddess, became swift and nimble, their bodies agile enough to navigate even the most treacherous environments, from tangled forests to wet, slippery marshlands.

A true hunter didn't just rely on brute strength. Patience and concentration were their greatest weapons. The more a hunter could remain calm and focused, the more they could hone their senses, enhanced sight, hearing, and intuition sharpened to a razor's edge.

William continued reading, fascinated. The diary explained how hunters could track prey through the slightest of clues, their knowledge of nature surpassing that of any ordinary person. They could tame animals, craft weapons from whatever was available, and even set traps using their surroundings.

Hunting wasn't just about skill with a bow or knife: it was about understanding the land itself, mastering it.

The notes also detailed how hunters could make use of wild plants to treat injuries, stop bleeding, detoxify poisons, and concoct simple remedies from nature. But William quickly realized that hunters were not warriors. They weren't built for head-on combat. Instead, they thrived in complex environments, using guerrilla tactics; ambushes, distractions, and hit-and-run strategies.

In the shadows, in the forests, hunters were lethal, but out in the open, they were vulnerable.

To become a hunter, William realized, one needed two crucial things: the knowledge of a hunter and the hunter's extraordinary characteristics. These were the building blocks of the profession, and without both, the path would remain incomplete.

William flipped through more pages, and something struck him; by reading this 'Hunting Diary', he could absorb the hunter's knowledge. And with the inheritance token, he could begin to develop those extraordinary characteristics within himself.

He traced his fingers over the token, remembering what Little Bob had said. Little Bob had worn this token since he was a child. It was a symbol of his legacy, passed down from his father, another hunter. For years, the token had nurtured the hunter's traits in Bob, and at the age of fifteen, he finally became a full-fledged hunter.

The process had taken over a decade: years of patient development, learning, and growing into the role.

William knew that to become a hunter, under normal circumstances, would take an immense amount of time. Years of training, of gradually allowing those extraordinary characteristics to settle into your body and mind, were required. Becoming a hunter wasn't just about learning the skills; it was about becoming the hunter, inside and out.

But, according to the forum, the players weren't bound by the same rules. Time worked differently for them. William wouldn't need a decade. The knowledge from the diary, combined with the token, would speed up the process.

The more he read, the more he realized that this was his chance. The Black Forest was unforgiving, and only those who adapted, who learned from their surroundings, stood a chance. And now, with the diary and the token in hand, William was ready to begin his transformation into a hunter; one who might survive the looming catastrophe that was the Black Forest.

At a more advanced level, those with enough skill can bypass the usual learning curve and use the token to immediately become a "Hunter." However, despite this shortcut, there's a limitation: the potential of the hunter path is not as high as some of the more extraordinary paths. Hunters, while skilled and resourceful, lack the distinct advantages found in the more powerful species.

William had explored many paths in his time, but among them all, the one with the highest potential was the "demon" path. The demons lurking in the depths of the abandoned mines were likely high-level demons. If someone were to inherit the complete characteristics of one of these creatures, they wouldn't have to worry about getting stuck at a low or mid-tier demon stage.

Once fully grown, they would seamlessly ascend to the higher levels of demonic power without struggling to bridge the gap.

But William understood that while some paths offered immense potential, most extraordinary individuals would never reach the peak of their chosen path. It wasn't a matter of choice or effort; it was simply the reality. Only a rare few, those with exceptional talent and an almost perfect compatibility with their path, could hope to reach the summit of their potential.

In William's mind, it was like climbing a mountain. Some paths were like towering peaks, with the path to godhood comparable to Mount Everest itself; those who reached the top became gods. But few ever made it that far. Most people only reached the lower slopes, never even glimpsing the distant peak.

Interestingly, William's knowledge of the higher paths; particularly the path to godhood, didn't come from the hunting diary. Instead, it came from the teachings of a witch. Witches were another path altogether, scattered across the world, but the Witch of the Misty Forest stood out among them all. She was far more powerful than any other witch William had heard of.

As William returned his attention to the notebook in his hands, he remembered that it wasn't just an ordinary collection of notes. It was Little Bob's legacy, infused with his extraordinary abilities. Every word, every line in the diary carried with it the essence of Little Bob's hunter's path.

Reading it wasn't as simple as skimming through pagesb absorbing this knowledge required significant mental energy. For most, a few pages would be enough to leave them exhausted, drowsy, and struggling to stay awake.

Fortunately, William had a high mental capacity, a gift that allowed him to delve deeper into the book without feeling drained. As he flipped through the pages, a system prompt appeared in his mind:

[Hint: You have obtained the "Basic Trap" skill by reading the hunting diary.]

[Basic Trap: Enables the creation of simple traps.]

William closed his eyes, letting the knowledge of traps settle in his mind. Instantly, a variety of trap-making techniques unfurled in his thoughts like a set of well-worn memories. He recalled a time when he had once come across a piece of enchanted spider silk and had sought out a hunter in Moonlight Village to learn trap-making.

Unfortunately, there had been no hunters at the time, and he had eventually sold the silk to the Magic House, feeling a sense of missed opportunity.

But now, he had the skill at last. The irony wasn't lost on him; sometimes, timing was everything. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was never too late to learn new skills, and in the world they inhabited, any skill could mean the difference between life and death.

With renewed focus, William continued skimming through Little Bob's diary. What he found wasn't just the technical knowledge of a hunter, but the daily thoughts and struggles of the young man himself. In many ways, it was a true diary, filled with Little Bob's personal reflections and frustrations.

Much of it revolved around 'Little Red Riding Hood', a recurring figure in Bob's life. William found himself chuckling at some of the entries. Bob had written about his frustrations with Little Red Riding Hood's growing rebelliousness. Despite his warnings, she refused to listen, crafting a slingshot and using it to shoot at the windows of her own house.

The entries were filled with the small frustrations of daily life, the kind of everyday nuisances that made Bob human, not just a hunter.

William flipped through the pages quickly, his eyes scanning over the lines with increasing speed. But then, something made him stop in his tracks.

There, nestled between the mundane details of Bob's life, was a line that sent a chill through William's veins.

'"The Curse of the Black Forest..."'

His eyes widened. What had Bob uncovered? What curse was he talking about?

William leaned in closer, his heart pounding. He needed to know more. This wasn't just a casual mention; this was something deeper, something that might be tied to the very heart of the forest's dangers. Whatever Bob had discovered, it could hold the key to understanding the Black Forest's dark secrets.

And William knew that he couldn't afford to miss it.