A blood-red moon rose in a starless, pitch-black sky, casting its dim crimson light over an endless, desolate land.
In the midst of this monotonous and eerie scene stood a young man with ordinary features, black hair, and dark eyes, staring expressionlessly at a terrifying, monstrous beast that resembled a grotesque hyena.
The beast let out a deafening roar, akin to the screams of thousands of mutilated children. Its thick, blood-like saliva splattered onto the ground, corroding it with a sizzling, unsettling sound.
Despite the horrifying sight, Sollivan remained calm, emotionless, as if detached from the world around him. He stood in silence for what felt like an eternity before finally taking a single step forward.
Step!
The ground beneath him shook violently.
Step!
Then another. And another. In just four steps, he covered dozens of feet, closing the distance to the raging beast, which remained rooted in place, roaring incessantly.
Sollivan raised his head and stared at the monstrous, hideous face now only a few feet away from him.
Terror, helplessness, panic—these were the emotions anyone else would have felt in his place. Perhaps they would have even wet themselves in fear.
But Sollivan didn’t flinch, even as the beast’s foul, rancid breath washed over his face, carrying an indescribable stench.
He raised his tightly clenched fist, radiating an indescribable power, and delivered a punch straight to the beast’s neck.
Boom!
The beast’s head jerked violently, twisting at an impossible angle. But that wasn’t the end of it—hundreds of cracks spread across its body, starting from its neck and extending to its limbs, accompanied by a sharp, shattering sound, like a ceramic vase breaking.
Seeing this, Sollivan’s expression finally changed. A mocking smile spread across his face as he muttered coldly,
"You’re just a beast."
He withdrew his fist, clasped his hands behind his back like an emperor surveying his domain, and watched indifferently as the beast howled in agony, slowly crumbling.
But it didn’t disintegrate completely; instead, its cracked body began to ooze a dark, sticky blood that pooled on the ground, forming a small puddle that quickly expanded.
Sollivan took a few steps back, his brows furrowed in deep confusion, but he didn’t intervene. The blood continued to flow, turning the puddle into a vast, red lake.
Then, in an instant, the lake receded abruptly before surging upward, forming a massive wave that grew larger and larger, heading toward the red moon in the sky.
At that moment, Sollivan’s composure shattered. Terror gripped his features, his confidence and calm demeanor vanished, and he began to run in desperation—but it was futile.
The wave crashed down on him, sweeping him away.
His body was crushed, and the deadly whirlpools dragged him mercilessly, tossing him around like an ant caught in a flood. His eyes turned red, his face flushed, and blood began to seep from every pore of his body.
He tried to scream, but the blood rushed into his mouth, choking him, suffocating his last breaths. Before he could comprehend what was happening, his body began to dissolve, merging with the raging waters around him.
He disappeared entirely.
...
"Hooof...?!"
Cough...! Cough...! Cough...!
Sollivan’s eyes snapped open as he gasped wildly, coughing violently. Water spurted from his mouth as if it had been trapped inside him.
Mucus mixed with water dripped from his nose, sticking to his drenched face. His vision was blurry, and a loud ringing filled his ears as he looked around at the vague shapes surrounding him and the flickering flames in the background. His mind struggled to process what was happening.
Cough!
His physical and emotional pain intertwined, and he couldn’t stop coughing and trembling. His heart pounded madly, and his warm blood gushed from his unhealed wounds, staining the ground beneath him a dark color. He tried to move, but he couldn’t, and his suffering only intensified.
He was tied to a large pole embedded in the ground.
After what felt like an eternity, the coughing subsided, but he was still breathing heavily. The blurriness in his vision cleared, but the pain in his head and the ringing in his ears persisted.
Memories began flooding his mind rapidly—
His arrival in this strange world...
The terrifying beast...
His desperate fight, his brush with death...?!
Before he could organize his thoughts, a harsh voice, laced with murderous intent, pierced his ears.
"Who are you? Where did you come from? What is your purpose?"
Sollivan lifted his head with difficulty, drenched and exhausted, looking at the faces before him. They appeared human, but... not entirely.
In front of him stood several individuals with tall, muscular builds. Small red horns protruded from their foreheads, and hard, pale red scales ran across their brows and necks.
Their ears, though human-like in structure, were long and pointed. Their other features, though strange, were close to human.
One of the men frowned as he noticed Sollivan’s eyes quickly scanning them. He stepped forward, lifted a leather pouch filled with water, tore it open, and abruptly poured the cold liquid over Sollivan’s bewildered head.
"Agh...!"
Sollivan’s body convulsed violently, but he couldn’t move due to the ropes binding him.
Unintentionally, he moved his broken hand, causing him to howl in pain. At that moment, he regained full consciousness and stared at the three figures before him, stunned.
But the man didn’t stop at pouring water. He grabbed Sollivan’s hand forcefully and pressed on his broken fingers, making him scream in agony.
"Aaaah...!!"
"Ah?!"
Without any regard for his cries, the man repeated his question in a harsh tone.
"Who are you? Where did you come from? What is your purpose?"
"Answer?!"
He increased the pressure on Sollivan’s hand, watching his pained expression.
When he saw Sollivan’s eyes begin to lose focus, he stopped squeezing, pulled his hand away, and glanced at the small amount of blood staining his fingers with a complex expression that lasted only a moment before he regained his composure and splashed the remaining water from the pouch onto Sollivan.
"Hooof...!"
Sollivan shuddered again, suppressing a groan. His expression twisted in pain, but despite everything, he showed no resentment or hostility. His mind was racing, but the pain in his head slowed his thoughts.
After a brief moment, he finally opened his mouth and spoke in a trembling voice.
"I... I..."
But he couldn’t form the words properly.
The man in front grew impatient and was about to press on Sollivan’s wounds again when one of the men in the back grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.
This person was different from the others—younger, with more prominent features. His skin was smooth, his horns longer and sharper, and their color darker than the rest. Despite standing in the back, his presence was overwhelming.
Sollivan lowered his head helplessly, calming slightly, then finally spoke.
"I’m Sollivan... I was here... because... I don’t know." He shook his head with a distorted expression and stammered, "I... can’t remember... Ah?!"
A deep frown appeared on the faces of the men before him.
They exchanged glances, their brows furrowed, before the young man stepped forward and knelt gracefully, bringing himself to Sollivan’s eye level. His sharp, dark eyes bore into Sollivan as he spoke coldly.
"Sollivan, then... Let me tell you something. We are not patient people, and your silly tricks won’t work on us. So speak up and tell us who you are, and we won’t make things difficult for you."
A serious look crossed Sollivan’s face as he stared into the young man’s eyes with fear and pain.
"I really don’t remember anything. All I know is my name. I don’t even know who you are or what I’m doing here. Why are you treating me like this? What have I done to you? Why?" His fear began to turn into panic, and he lost his composure.
His rapid, fear-filled words only deepened the frowns on the men’s faces.
The rough-looking man’s brow furrowed, and he quickly stepped forward, slapping Sollivan hard across the face. The force of the blow turned Sollivan’s head to the side, and blood sprayed from his mouth and nose. The man growled,
"You filthy wretch, how dare you raise your voice at the young chief!" He raised his hand to strike again.
"Warrior Willard, that’s enough," the young man said indifferently. He then looked at Sollivan, who was staring wide-eyed in the opposite direction, his lips moving as if he were saying something, but no sound came out.
For a brief moment, a dark expression flashed across Sollivan’s face before it turned to sheer terror. He began to tremble and raised his head to look at the young man’s eyes, utterly stunned.
The young man’s brows furrowed, and he turned to Willard with a meaningful look before saying to Sollivan,
"I’ll give you ten minutes. When I return, I want a satisfactory answer." He stood calmly and gestured for Willard to follow him.
...
[Willard’s POV]
Willard raised his hand, which had been gripping Sollivan’s broken fingers, and looked at the dark blue blood staining his rough skin. Though he didn’t show it, his hand trembled for a moment before stopping.
He felt a mix of emotions and wondered inwardly, "Primordial blood..." Even though he had seen it before, touching it made him feel a sense of inferiority.
His complex emotions lingered for a moment before he turned his stern gaze back to Sollivan, who was writhing in pain.
When he saw Sollivan’s lips move as if trying to speak, his frown deepened, and he wanted to inflict more pain. But then he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder. He turned his head respectfully and looked at the young man with the powerful aura behind him.
"That’s enough, Willard," the young man said.
Willard took a step back and, without waiting long, saw Blear stand and gesture for him to follow.
The two walked slowly to the edge of the camp. The number of people in the camp was small, but due to the sudden incident, the rest had been dispersed in all directions to monitor their surroundings.
When they reached a relatively empty spot, they stopped. Blear looked at Willard with wide eyes, unable to hide the shock he had concealed earlier. "Is what we saw true? This person has primordial blood."
Willard couldn’t pinpoint his emotions, but his face twitched, and his expression became unusually stern. "When I touched it, I felt the blood in my body tremble with inferiority."
"Even if I don’t believe my eyes, my instincts can’t be wrong," Blear said with confidence, but he lowered his head and looked at the ground uncertainly.
"How can someone with primordial blood appear in this remote part of the vast plains? It’s impossible," Blear added, scratching his forehead as if trying to massage his brain, which was struggling to find a solution.
Willard thought for a moment, then spoke. "We can’t decide this matter on our own. Even though this person is lying about his identity, killing someone with primordial blood or leaving him be could bring a lot of trouble. We don’t know who supports him."
Blear was surprised and asked, "What do you mean?"
Willard shook his head. "There’s something wrong with this person. Even though he has noble blood, he’s incredibly weak. And his body doesn’t bear any of the characteristics of the three primordial lineages."
Blear was puzzled, and his confusion grew. After a brief silence, he finally decided.
"The only two people in the tribe who can make a suitable decision about this are the chief and the priest. It seems we’ll have to take him with us."
The faint chirping of a bird echoed across the vast, silent plains, making Blear and Willard look to the east.
"Dawn has already arrived. The events of this hectic night have left us unable to rest. Tell the men to pack up the camp. We’ll head back to the tribe in two hours."
...
Sollivan stared at the large fire in the center of the camp, his expression lost and his body tense with fear. His eyes were filled with confusion and a hint of despair, but his mind grew calmer.
’My face betrayed me. Everything happened so suddenly. These brutes didn’t give me a moment to think about what to say or do.’
He sighed silently. ’These people aren’t simple. Their numbers aren’t small, and they’re well-trained and well-armed.’ His thoughts paused as he remembered something.
He lowered his head slowly and looked at his blood-stained clothes. In the clear light of the fire, he noticed the unfamiliar color of his blood—it wasn’t red but a dark blue.
Sollivan was stunned. ’My blood is different. This explains their strange reactions.’ With his limited knowledge and the shock of the situation, he couldn’t form a logical explanation. But he was sure of one thing: his blood wasn’t normal.
’Things are getting more complicated.’