The cold wind of the forest brushed past Atlas’s face.
He moved between the trees with quiet steps, keeping his body low and his attention spread across the surroundings. Moonlight slipped through the thick canopy above and touched the damp ground in broken patches, but most of the forest remained dark enough to hide movent. After escaping the Eternal Ruin, Atlas did not trust silence anymore.
He had escaped.
His eyes moved from tree to tree as he walked. Every rustle, every moving branch, every distant sound made him slow down and check the direction. The Eternal Ruin had taught him one thing clearly: danger did not always announce itself before attacking. The black monster had pierced him before he could react. The Hybrid Muxical had almost torn his throat out because it was faster than him. If sothing moved in this forest, Atlas wanted to notice it before it reached him.
His hand brushed against his chest unconsciously.
The Codex was hidden inside him now.
Even without calling it, he could feel its existence faintly. Warm, silent, and patient, like sothing sleeping beneath his skin. That feeling made him more cautious, not less. The Codex was not only a relic anymore. It was connected to him, hidden inside his body, and if anyone discovered it, escaping the Eternal Ruin would beco aningless.
Nobles would not simply kill him for sothing like this.
They would capture him, cut him open, bleed him, and test every thod they knew until the Codex ca out or until he stopped being useful.
Atlas exhaled slowly.
His gaze lowered to his clothes.
They were ruined.
His shirt and pants were torn from the ruin, stained with dried blood, dirt, dust, and the remains of the Hybrid Muxical’s attack. So sections had been ripped open completely, and even though his body had healed through the Codex’s stat changes, his appearance still looked like a corpse that had crawled away from a battlefield.
Atlas frowned.
"...If I appear like this in the Guild..."
He looked at the torn sleeve near his shoulder.
"They’ll outright kick out."
It was not only a matter of pride.
Appearance affected how people treated him.
He needed a reason to look dirty.
A normal reason.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"...A boar."
Before the Eternal Ruin, Atlas had survived by hunting ordinary animals near the outer regions of Ormolio. Wild boars, deer, small predators, anything that could be sold for coins. Back then, even a normal boar could injure him if he made a mistake. He needed traps, distance, patience, and a good angle.
Now the situation was different.
Atlas slowly flexed his fingers.
Strength, Agility, Stamina, and Spirit had changed his body through the Codex. He had not mastered that body yet, but an ordinary animal would not compare to a Hybrid Muxical. He only needed a hide large enough to justify his sll, blood, and damaged clothes. A hunter returning with a fresh kill was easier to ignore than a commoner who looked like he had escaped sothing far worse.
Monsters rarely appeared near Ormolio’s ordinary forests.
Most spiritual creatures stayed inside ruins, cursed territories, ancient forests, or regions controlled by powerful organizations. This forest was dangerous, but mostly in the normal way. Wild animals, thieves, and people who thought isolated paths belonged to them.
Atlas changed direction and moved deeper into the trees.
His steps beca quieter as old habits returned. Before the Royal Family dragged him toward the Eternal Ruin, this was the kind of movent that kept him alive. Listen first. Step on damp ground when possible. Avoid dry branches. Do not rush until the target is confird. If the wind is against you, adjust before the animal slls you.
Minutes passed.
Then he heard it.
Rustling in the nearby bushes.
Atlas stopped imdiately.
His gaze locked onto the darkness ahead.
Sothing large pushed through the undergrowth. The movent was careless, heavy, and low to the ground. A mont later, a massive wild boar stepped beneath the moonlight. It was almost twice the size of a normal one, with thick muscle under dark fur and two curved tusks extending from its mouth. Steam escaped faintly from its nostrils as it sniffed along the dirt.
Atlas observed it quietly.
Then blinked.
’It looks smaller than the Muxical.’
The thought ca naturally.
And that was when Atlas realized his standards had changed.
The previous him would have treated this boar as a serious threat. He would have needed preparation, distance, and a proper weapon. Even then, the fight could go wrong if the boar charged at the wrong ti.
Now it barely registered as danger.
The boar lifted its head.
Its eyes locked onto him.
Both remained still for a brief mont.
Then the boar charged.
The ground trembled faintly under its weight as it rushed forward in a straight line, tusks lowered and breath rough. It tore through bushes and dirt with simple animal force. No technique. No Spirit. No trick. Just mass and montum.
Atlas remained where he stood.
The distance closed quickly.
Then he moved.
One step.
His body surged forward and appeared beside the charging boar before the animal could adjust. The movent was still rough, but better than inside the ruin. He used less force this ti, controlling the step instead of letting Strength and Agility burst out without direction.
His right arm rose.
Then descended.
BOOOOM.
The impact echoed through the forest.
The boar collapsed sideways instantly. Its skull struck the ground under Atlas’s blow, and dirt exploded outward from the force. Nearby leaves trembled from the shock before the forest returned to silence.
Atlas stood over the dead animal.
Blood spread across the ground beneath the corpse.
But nothing happened.
The Codex remained silent inside him.
The Sanguis Stylus did not erge.
Atlas narrowed his eyes.
’It doesn’t react to ordinary animals?’
He stared at the corpse for a few seconds.
’Then it only accepts the blood of spiritual creatures?’
That was useful information, even if it was frustrating. Ordinary animal blood could not fuel the Codex, or at least the Codex did not consider it worth absorbing on its own. The Hybrid Muxical had been different because it was a B-Rank spiritual monster. That ant the Codex’s ink was not simply blood in the normal sense. Quality mattered.
Atlas exhaled.
"...How does this damned thing even work?"
His gaze shifted toward his own hand.
The boar’s skull had nearly caved in from one controlled strike.
"...Still hard to control."
He crouched beside the corpse.
The body was heavy and healthy. The hide was thick enough to sell, and the at could also be sold if handled quickly, but Atlas had no ti or tools to carry everything. The hide was the most useful part right now. It would give him money, sll, and a normal reason to enter the city covered in blood and dirt.
A hunter carrying fresh hide.
"This size should sell for decent money."
His hand brushed across the hide.
"Especially the skin."
Atlas nodded faintly.
Then got to work.
He pulled the small old hunting knife hidden beneath his ruined clothes that couldn’t hurt the Muxical in the Ruin and began cutting with practiced movents. This part was familiar. Cut along the belly. Avoid ruining the hide. Separate the skin cleanly. Remove the thickest parts first. Wrap it tightly enough to carry. Move before the sll spreads too far.
Blood soaked his hands again, but this ti it was ordinary blood.
The scent filled the area while he worked, sharp and heavy beneath the cold forest air. Atlas did not flinch. Blood had stopped disturbing him a long ti ago. In the slums, blood ant many things. Danger, food, work, death. Sotis all of them at once.
Several minutes passed before he finally rose.
The large boar hide rested over his right shoulder, heavy and foul-slling but manageable. The stench was strong enough that most people would avoid him.
Atlas resud walking through the forest.
The hide covered part of his ruined clothes and made the blood on him look less suspicious. His head stayed slightly lowered, his posture quiet, and his steps steady. He was not trying to look confident. Confidence attracted attention. Panic attracted questions. Tired movent suited a hunter returning late after a ssy kill.
As he walked, mories of Ormolio’s outer slums rose in his mind.
Broken houses, Cold nights, Hungry children stealing from each other because hunger did not care about age. n selling scraps. Won hiding knives under torn sleeves. Corpses left near alley corners until soone finally dragged them away.
That was his world.
Ormolio’s outer slums.
A place where rcy existed only when soone could afford it, and most people could not.
Atlas’s eyes darkened slightly.
’I need to leave this continent eventually.’
The thought beca firr with every step.
The Human Continent was not safe anymore. It had never been kind to him, but now it was actively dangerous. If the Royals learned he survived, they might silence him. If anyone learned about the Codex, they would hunt him. Atlas was no longer the powerless boy thrown into the Eternal Ruin, but he was still far from strong enough to protect the Codex from the world itself.
His mind began forming plans as he walked.
Routes out of Ormolio.
Ways to earn money without showing too much strength.
Places where a commoner could disappear.
How to avoid the Guild asking questions.
How to keep the Codex hidden.
These were the sa types of calculations he had made as a hunter and slum survivor, but the stakes had changed. Before, the problem was hunger. Now, the problem was survival against nobles, Guilds, and whatever else existed beyond his current understanding.
Hours seed to pass before the forest began thinning.
A clearing appeared ahead.
And beyond it, Atlas saw Ormolio.
The massive city stretched beneath the night sky, surrounded by towering stone walls and filled with countless points of light. Buildings rose behind the walls in uneven layers, so elegant and bright, others cramped and decaying near the outer districts. Carriages rolled along the main roads. Smoke rose from food stalls and workshop chimneys. Voices echoed faintly from the city even at this distance.
Atlas stopped for a mont.
Ormolio had not changed.
The city stood there as if nothing had happened. As if he had not been thrown into an Eternal Ruin to die. As if the Royals had not used him as bait. As if one commoner disappearing was not worth disturbing even a single stone in its walls.
His grip tightened slightly around the boar hide.
Then he started walking again.
The closer he ca to the city, the more careful he beca. He adjusted the hide over his shoulder, letting the foul sll of blood and animal skin cover him. He lowered his head slightly, allowed his ruined clothes to look like the result of rough hunting, and kept his face partially shadowed.
At the outer gate, one guard barely looked at him at first.
Then the sll reached him.
The man’s face twisted.
"Damn! That thing reeks. Get it away from here quickly."
Another guard glanced over, saw the large boar hide, then waved his hand with irritation.
"Hunter, huh? Go, go. Sell it before it rots near the gate."
Atlas lowered his head slightly.
"Fresh kill."
"Fresh?" The first guard scoffed, covering his nose. "Slls like it crawled out of a grave, Move."
Atlas walked past without another word.
Inside Ormolio, people naturally shifted away from him.
So cursed under their breath. So covered their noses. One drunk man looked at the blood-soaked hide over Atlas’s shoulder and muttered, "Gods... what did that thing eat before it died?"
Atlas ignored all of them.
Eventually, he reached a familiar hide shop near the hunter’s market.
Animal skins hung from hooks near the entrance. Bundles of bone, leather strips, tusks, and dried tendons lined the side walls. The entire shop slled of old blood, smoke, oil, and treated hide.
Atlas stepped inside.
The older man behind the counter glanced up lazily.
Then his eyes landed on the massive hide over Atlas’s shoulder.
His expression changed.
"...Where the hell did you drag that from?"
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