Lord Of The Lost

William had never seen a high-speed rail in person.

He had heard stories of these sleek trains slicing through the countryside, moving so fast it was almost impossible to comprehend. How could something made of steel move that swiftly?

Likewise, he had never seen a magic warhorse charge at full speed, until now. The power of the beast beneath him was beyond anything he had ever imagined. It was like riding lightning, raw and unrelenting.

The horse galloped at over 300 kilometers per hour, which was the equivalent of covering 100 meters in just one second. One moment, a distant black dot appeared on the horizon; the next, it was right in front of him. The force tore through the air, leaving a trail of turbulent wind in its wake. All that power, all that speed, focused on a single point; ready to obliterate anything that dared stand in its way.

To describe it, William thought, was like watching a sharp blade slice through the fat belly of a pig, severing it cleanly in two.

'Crash!'

The devastation was immediate. Chaos erupted as bodies scattered and fell, many never to rise again. William's mission had been clear, eliminate the extraordinary thief who dared to block his path. The target, however, was no novice. The leader of the thieves had instincts like a seasoned predator, sharp and precise. He raised his brow, sensing the deadly intent aimed his way, and swiftly commanded his underlings to form a human shield in front of him.

Even with that, the thief barely avoided a fatal strike. William had adjusted his aim, but not quite in time. The blow had glanced off the thief's defenses rather than delivering the killing blow William had intended.

They passed each other in the blink of an eye, a deadly dance of near misses. As William looked back, he saw the thief brandishing a heavy, two-handed axe. The man had tried to block the strike, but it was futile. The sharp light of William's spear collided with the axe, sending the thief hurtling backward. The force of the blow had severed the man's left arm clean off, his body crumpling like a rag doll.

"You're lucky," William muttered under his breath, his gaze cold as he turned away.

He did not stop. He did not need to. His warhorse, driven by the force of his [Piercing Attack], carried him forward without hesitation. This combat technique, when combined with the momentum of a charging warhorse, was nearly unstoppable. Any thief who dared to stand in his path, extraordinary or not; would be torn apart, their flesh shredded into unrecognizable pieces. It was the inevitable outcome of facing him head-on.

But such power came at a price.

William could feel the energy draining from both himself and his warhorse. The attack consumed more than just his own strength; it demanded the warhorse's energy too. A charge like that could only be unleashed once before both man and beast needed to recover.

As the horse's gallop slowed, William allowed himself a moment of respite. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, and a strange, dark hunger began to well up within him. It was a thirst for destruction, a violent desire to unleash chaos and devastation on everything around him.

Suddenly, a voice echoed in his mind.

'Job transfer reminder: The extraordinary thief characteristics accumulated in your body have awakened, and you are changing your job to become a "Thief."'

The words chilled him. Thieves were nothing but thugs; robbers, bandits, the lowest of the low. Even hunters, who lived solitary lives in the wilderness, held more dignity than those who walked the path of a thief.

William gritted his teeth, fighting to suppress the rising tide of violence within him. He would not become one of them. He refused to walk that path.

He reached down and patted his warhorse's neck, urging it onward. The animal obeyed, carrying him deeper into a secluded valley. Here, away from prying eyes, William had prepared a ritual, a last-ditch effort to rid himself of this unwanted transformation.

The ritual was simple, far less complex than the rites of the Demon's Path. It did not require any special time or environment to perform, only a quiet place where he could focus. He had brought no elaborate materials, only a small vial of spiritual oil, which he now carefully poured onto the ritual array etched into the ground.

As the oil soaked into the markings, William steeled himself. He would strip away this unwanted influence; the taint of the thief's path, no matter the cost. He had fought too hard and come too far to be reduced to a common bandit.

The ritual began to glow, and William closed his eyes, feeling the power within him shift.

The spiritual substance William had used in the ritual was remarkable. It had a wide range of applications, able to enhance the success of rituals by a significant margin. He stood still within the center of the ritual circle, his muscles tense, waiting for the magic to take effect.

As the ritual began, the circle flared to life. An excruciating pain surged through William's body, like someone scraping the marrow from his bones. His muscles clenched involuntarily, and a guttural scream tore from his throat.

"Ahhhhhh!" The sound of his agony echoed through the valley.

How long the pain lasted, he didn't know. Time blurred in the haze of suffering. But at last, his trembling body gave way to exhaustion, and the pain subsided. William opened his eyes, his breath ragged, beads of sweat dripping from his brow.

Hovering in front of him, suspended in the air, was something strange; an object resembling a bulging sack. Its appearance was uncanny, like the sack a thief might carry after robbing someone, heavy with unknown spoils. Whatever was inside remained a mystery.

'Thief Characteristics: A solidified essence of a thief's power. This item can transform a person into an extraordinary thief.'

'Thief's Tip: Thieves draw strength from chaos and plunder. Their power is intimately tied to their actions; they kill, steal, burn, and revel in lawlessness. A thief lives to defy authority, destined to walk a path that despises the law...'

William, utterly drained from the ritual, reached out weakly and grasped the floating sack, placing it carefully into his backpack. Just as he secured it, a prickle of awareness shot through him. He wasn't alone.

He turned sharply and spotted a figure crouching nearby, watching him.

His eyes narrowed as he recognized her. "Little Red Riding Hood? What are you doing here?" His voice was a mixture of surprise and wariness.

The girl gave a dismissive snort, her usual defiance shining through. "I go wherever I want. What's it to you?" She was as rude as ever.

But something was off. William noticed that Little Red Riding Hood didn't look her usual self. Her face was unnaturally pale, almost ghostly. The bright golden hair that usually shone with an otherworldly radiance now appeared dull and lifeless. Her eyes, once a vivid, clear red like the finest wine, had darkened to a deep, almost sickly crimson, as if congealed blood had replaced the sparkle they once held. She looked frail and exhausted, a shadow of her former self.

Her gaze, however, was sharp and focused. She stared intently at the sack in William's backpack, the thief's characteristic that had just emerged from the ritual.

"When did you get the power of a thief?" she asked, her voice low but cutting.

William forced a weary smile, trying to ease the tension. "I didn't become a thief. Not yet, anyway."

Little Red Riding Hood's eyes flashed with a hint of threat. "If you had, I'd have torn out your throat by now," she said, her voice cold and menacing. Despite her condition, her words carried a dangerous edge.

She bared her teeth slightly, but William could tell it was more for show than a real threat. She looked too weak to follow through on her warning, and her small form made the attempt at intimidation seem almost pitiful.

"Well, I suppose I should thank Lady Little Red Riding Hood for sparing my life then," William said, attempting a lighthearted tone, though inside he felt uneasy. The truth was, he wasn't in any condition to fight anyone off. He was at his weakest, vulnerable, defenseless. If danger struck now, he would be helpless, easy prey.

He silently cursed himself for not choosing a more secure location for the ritual. Next time, he would make sure to find a place where no one could sneak up on him.

Little Red Riding Hood gave a dismissive huff. "I sensed something strange, some unusual power surging here. That's why I came to see what it was."

William was surprised. "You can sense that kind of thing?"

The girl gave him a smug look, her confidence returning despite her frail state. "Of course I can. You think a small fry like you would understand how powerful I am?" Her words were filled with pride, her expression haughty as if she enjoyed reminding him of her superiority. Her dark eyes glimmered with a hint of contempt as she looked down on him, despite her current state.

William didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he nodded with a slight smile. "I suppose I should've known better than to underestimate you."

But deep down, as he watched the girl, pale and sickly, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her. The fierce and untouchable Little Red Riding Hood looked like she was barely holding herself together, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

William couldn't help but twitch the corner of his mouth in mild exasperation.

"When did you manage to come out of the Misty Forest, anyway?" he asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

Little Red Riding Hood shot him a sharp glance, her voice dripping with defiance. "Why should I tell you? I'm in a hurry to deliver a potion to my grandmother." She turned abruptly and began to walk away, her steps uneven and unsteady.

William frowned. It was obvious she was in worse shape than she let on. Normally, she would rush out of the Misty Forest only after the witch had completed brewing her potions. Their meeting was nothing more than a coincidence, but it was clear something had gone wrong.

Sighing, he waved his hand and summoned his magic warhorse. Every muscle in his body ached from the ritual, but he forced himself to climb onto the horse. As he caught up with Little Red Riding Hood, he leaned slightly over the saddle. "Let me give you a ride," he offered, his voice gentler than before.

For a moment, Little Red Riding Hood's eyes softened, but pride flared up quickly. "Why should I let you deliver the potion? I can handle it myself," she said, stubbornly refusing to admit how weak she really was.

William didn't have the energy to argue. His own body was still trembling with exhaustion, and both of them were in terrible condition. There was no point in fighting over something as trivial as this. Instead, he simply extended his hand toward her, wordlessly offering her help.

Little Red Riding Hood glanced away, pouting, and shook her head like a petulant child, clearly reluctant to accept. After a moment, though, she hesitated and very reluctantly, placed her small hand in his.

With a firm but gentle pull, William helped her up, seating her sideways behind him on the broad back of his warhorse. Despite her earlier defiance, she settled into place without another word, too tired to continue pretending she could walk on her own.

As they rode in silence, William finally asked, "Did you make the potion using your own power?"

Little Red Riding Hood remained silent, her gaze focused on the horizon, as if she hadn't heard him. William sighed but pressed on.

"They say that when someone has their extraordinary abilities stripped away, it's fatal," he said softly, curious about how she was still alive after everything. "Shouldn't you be...?"

Before he could finish, she snorted, cutting him off. "Scum! Don't compare me with a bunch of mortals like you," she snapped, her voice filled with disdain.

William couldn't help but smile faintly, despite himself. Little Red Riding Hood was certainly special, unlike anyone he'd met before. In his case, the ritual had been brutal, his supernatural qualities hadn't yet fully fused with him, and the process of stripping them away had been excruciating, like having his skin peeled off. The pain had nearly been unbearable.

But for her? She had willingly contributed her own extraordinary essence. He couldn't even begin to imagine the torment she must have gone through. For most people, losing their supernatural abilities would mean certain death, the shock of falling from such heights too great to survive. Yet here she was, alive, albeit weakened.

"How are you still here?" he murmured, more to himself than to her, marveling at the fact she was still breathing.

After a while, he broke the silence again, steering the conversation back to something more practical. "Are we heading to Moonlight Village? Or do you need to go deeper into the Black Forest?"

Little Red Riding Hood tilted her head slightly, her golden hair; though dulled, still catching the light. "I'm going to find my grandmother," she said simply, her tone softer, as though the mention of her grandmother brought her some comfort.

William nodded, turning his thoughts inward. His own mission, delivering the warhorse back to the border town, could be completed quickly enough. There was still plenty of time. Yet, as he considered their journey, another idea struck him. He recalled something the Forum Master had mentioned. The potions from Calcifer's Magic House in Iron Mine Village were said to be even more potent than those crafted elsewhere, and after what he'd endured, he could use all the help he could get.

And there was the matter of the poisonous quagmire... something he couldn't forget.

Maybe, just maybe, he could make a detour and find something to aid both himself and Little Red Riding Hood. The thought lingered as the horse continued its steady pace, carrying the two of them through the shadowy paths ahead.