The next day, when Orren arrived at the academy field, there were only a little over fifteen students gathered.
The usual noise and chaos of a full group was gone, replaced by something quieter and more subdued.
The empty spaces between students were hard to ignore.
He walked over to Bran and asked directly, “What happened?
Where is everyone?” “Huh?” Bran turned around, startled to see Orren standing beside him.
It took him a moment to register the question before he straightened up with an exaggerated expression of disbelief.
“Wait, you don’t know?
Do you live under a rock or something?” “Tch.
Just say it already.” Bran puffed out his chest as if he were delivering important news.
“Everyone who turned fifteen got enlisted in the army yesterday.
They only left the bare minimum here to keep the town safe.” Orren frowned slightly but said nothing, letting him continue.
“I heard it’s because the number of monsters in the forest is rising.
The city needs more manpower to deal with it.” Bran shrugged as if repeating something he had overheard rather than fully understood.
Then, as usual, he quickly shifted into his own fantasies.
“I can’t wait to turn fifteen.
I’ll finally be able to fight monsters properly and become a knight.” Orren stopped listening to him after that point and turned his attention inward.
‘So this is what leads to that dreadful battle.’ The timeline was beginning to take shape in a clearer way now.
What once felt distant and abstract was slowly becoming a concrete path that was moving toward something inevitable.
After finishing their session at the academy, nothing more than the usual drills and training, they separated.
Orren went straight to the smith to repair his arm guard, exchanged a few words, and left once the work was confirmed.
He did not linger longer than necessary.
An hour later, he was once again standing at the edge of the forest.
This time, however, his steps were more confident.
He was not alone anymore.
He had something that could fight alongside him.
After roughly thirty minutes of careful movement through increasingly dense terrain, Orren reached the deeper section of the forest where he had fought the Venomhide Tyrant before.
As expected, the corpses were gone, leaving only faint traces of dried blood and disturbed ground.
He scanned the area until he found movement.
A beast.
He stopped about twenty meters away and crouched slightly, observing it from cover.
“Let’s see what you’re capable of,” he murmured quietly.
Then he summoned his Echo.
Space distorted briefly before the massive form of the Venomhide Tyrant materialized in front of him.
Even in a controlled summoning, its presence felt oppressive, its stone like body radiating raw danger.
The awakened crab-like abomination from the previous day stood ahead of it, still recognizable despite its injuries.
Orren was certain the Echo would win.
What he needed to understand now was how easily.
“Go,” he commanded.
The Echo responded immediately.
It surged forward with sudden, explosive speed, closing the distance in an instant.
The crab reacted, but it was too slow.
The Venomhide Tyrant bit down on one of its pincers and wrenched its head violently, tearing the limb clean off.
Blood sprayed across its stone-like scales, but it did not hesitate.
It pivoted its massive body and slammed its tail into the creature, sending it skidding across the ground.
The fight was one-sided from the beginning.
Even as the crab tried to retaliate, it was overwhelmed by sheer strength, speed, and durability.
Within moments, its resistance began to collapse.
[You have slain an awakened beast, Ruinclaw.] Orren watched silently as the notification appeared.
The difference was undeniable.
Speed, venom, raw physical power…
the Echo embodied all of it perfectly.
It wasn’t just a summon; it was an extension of his fighting power in a way he could not have achieved alone.
Without wasting time, he walked over and retrieved the core from the corpse before moving on.
He needed more.
More strength.
More Memories.
More control.
An armor Memory was now his priority.
From that day onward, Orren and his Echo began hunting in tandem.
Every expedition into the forest followed the same rhythm.
He would enter, locate prey, and let the Venomhide Tyrant dismantle it before stepping in only when necessary.
Slowly, the outer forest that once felt dangerous began to feel manageable.
And with every kill, his strength grew.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks slowly began to blur together.
Five months passed in this way.
Orren remained in the forest almost daily, returning only to rest, recover, and refine his growing supply of soul essence.
His body grew stronger, his control over essence more precise, and his Echo more familiar in his hands.
By now, the flow of soul essence inside him no longer felt like a trickle.
It felt like a river slowly carving its path through his body.
He was close.
Very close.
One afternoon, as he was leaving the forest with an irritated expression, Bran’s voice echoed behind him.
“I finally turned fifteen today!
My mom can’t stop me anymore!” Orren glanced at him briefly but did not respond immediately.
Bran caught up anyway, clearly excited.
“And Teacher Zane said the knights from the city will come back in a week to take us to the army.
Isn’t that great?
We’ll go together!” Orren exhaled quietly.
‘This guy talks too much.’ But the real weight of Bran’s words was not lost on him.
‘So it’s already this close.’ The final stage of the timeline was approaching faster than expected.
He continued walking, his expression calm but his thoughts focused inward.
‘Will I awaken before then?’ He could feel it now.
The threshold was near.
But whether he would cross it in time remained uncertain.
After returning to his hut and resting briefly, he set out again.
His Echo had become a reliable partner, and together they pushed deeper into the forest than ever before.
That day, as he moved through the trees with practiced familiarity, Orren summoned his armor.
A sleek, dark-colored armor materialized over Orren’s body, fitting tightly against him like a second skin.
Its surface had a rough, stone-like texture, yet it moved with his body without restricting his motion.
He had obtained it after killing more of the Venomhide Tyrant’s kin.
Roughly twenty more hunts, all of them completed in the same methodical way.
Most of the work had been done by his Echo, but Orren himself had participated in the battles as well, slowly adjusting to fighting in coordination with it rather than relying on it completely.
Over time, he had also noticed something unusual.
Stronger beasts were becoming easier to encounter.
At first, he had assumed it was coincidence.
Now, he was no longer so sure.
It did not take long for him to find his next target.
An Awakened beast in the shape of a hound.
A Gravehound.
He had already hunted several of them before and even obtained a charm Memory from their kind, Hunter’s Token.
Without hesitation, he summoned his equipment.
A long sword with a faint reddish hue appeared in his hand, along with the charm he always kept active during hunts.
This time, however, he did not summon his Echo.
He wanted to test himself.
With his current arsenal of Memories and the combat experience accumulated over months of constant fighting, he was confident he could handle an Awakened beast one-on-one.
‘These creatures always charge headfirst.
All I need to do is avoid the initial attack and counter.
The less I get hit, the better.’ By now, he had also learned their weaknesses through repetition.
The legs were always the best target.
Once mobility was taken away, the fight became significantly easier.
The Gravehound lunged forward immediately, aiming for his upper body.
Orren shifted to the side with a controlled step, avoiding the bite by a narrow margin.
At the same time, he brought his longsword down in a diagonal arc from left to right, cleanly severing the beast’s right front leg.
The Gravehound skidded across the ground, its balance completely broken.
Blood poured from the stump, but it did not die.
Instead, it forced itself back up, wobbling as it tried to regain momentum before charging again.
But Orren did not give it the chance.
He moved in first, closing the distance before the beast could stabilize.
The sword thrust forward in a straight line, entering through its open jaws and piercing through the skull from within.
The Gravehound collapsed instantly.
[You have slain an awakened beast, Gravehound.] ‘Tch.
No Memory.’ He clicked his tongue in mild disappointment, then moved on without hesitation.
Cutting open the corpse, he retrieved the soul shard and left the remains behind, already scanning the surroundings for his next target.
Comment it and let me know.