Orren hit the ground hard again.
This time, he didn’t get up immediately.
Draco was in worse condition.
Covered in wounds, barely able to stand, it struggled to remain upright.
For the first time since entering this Nightmare, Orren understood clearly that his Echo might not survive another exchange.
He exhaled slowly and dismissed it.
The battlefield narrowed.
Now there were only two left.
Orren and the Tyrant.
He leaned back against a tree, his left arm completely unresponsive.
He couldn’t even feel it properly anymore.
His body was at its limit, broken in multiple places, pushed far beyond what a normal human should endure.
He looked at the approaching monster.
And then at himself.
‘Not like this…’ ‘This can’t be my end.’ Something shifted.
Subconsciously, he began circulating his soul essence.
At first it was instinct, chaotic and unrefined, but as he focused, he seized control of it completely.
The river of essence within him responded.
It surged.
Condensing.
Compressing.
Being forced into a single point as if a dam had finally broken.
Inside him, something began to form.
Essence collided with essence, merging, compressing, refining—until it no longer remained a flow, but a core.
A dark orb, deeper than black, condensed at the center of his being.
His body trembled violently as the transformation completed, as if something fundamental had shifted within him.
Every fiber of his existence resonated with the change.
The Soul Core was formed.
Orren opened his eyes.
He could feel it immediately.
Strength.
Clarity.
Control.
Not just more essence—but a fundamentally different level of existence.
The Tyrant was still there, but now its movements seemed slower, heavier.
Its left head was gone, and with it, part of its perception.
Orren slowly pushed himself upright.
A faint grin formed on his face.
“Well then…” “Shall we end this?” Orren pushed himself upright, using the strength of his newly formed soul core.
His left arm still hung useless at his side, limp and unresponsive, while blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth.
His armor was barely holding together now.
Cracks, corrosion, and deep structural damage covered its surface.
The Drowned Husks had already weakened it significantly, and the Tyrant’s blows had pushed it to its absolute limit.
The fact that it had survived this long was nothing short of a miracle.
He took a slow breath and then moved.
The moment he did, he broke into a charge.
The Tyrant reacted immediately, opening its remaining arms wide in an attempt to catch him in a crushing embrace.
A bear hug meant to turn bone and armor into fragments.
But Orren dropped low at the last instant.
He slid beneath the creature’s center of gravity, skidding between its legs and slashing upward as he passed.
His blade carved into the back of its right knee, cutting deep into already-weakened flesh.
‘Is it slower…?’ The thought surfaced briefly.
It wasn’t just imagination.
The Tyrant’s movements were noticeably dulled, its reactions slightly delayed.
Draco’s venom was finally taking full effect, spreading through its system and eroding both flesh and armor from within.
Combined with the loss of its left head, its coordination had clearly degraded.
But Orren didn’t waste time analyzing it further.
He didn’t care why it was weaker.
Only that it was.
With enhanced senses sharpened further by Hunter’s Token and the breakthrough of his soul core, he no longer fought on pure instinct alone.
Now, he could actually read the flow of attacks, seeing them form before they fully manifested.
The Tyrant, however, did not appreciate this shift.
The right head roared louder than before, its hostility almost tangible, its gaze locked entirely onto Orren as if trying to crush him with pure malice alone.
Orren ignored it.
He focused entirely on the legs.
Again and again, he targeted the right knee, cutting and stabbing at the same weakened point, slowly breaking it down.
Eventually, the Tyrant reacted by catching his sword mid-strike with its clawed hand.
Then it pulled.
The force was overwhelming.
For a moment, Orren tried to resist, but the difference in raw strength was too great.
His grip failed, and he was yanked forward violently before being flung through the air once more.
He twisted mid-air, managing to land on his feet this time, though the impact still sent pain shooting through his body.
Without hesitation, he dismissed the sword before it could be damaged and resummoned it instantly in his hand.
Then he dove back into the fight.
Now, however, something had changed.
With only one hand fully usable, he could no longer rely on raw power.
Every strike became sharper, more efficient, slashes and thrusts aimed only at precision rather than force.
Bit by bit, the right leg finally gave way.
With a final cut, the Tyrant’s knee collapsed.
The massive creature dropped for the first time.
Orren didn’t hesitate.
He launched himself onto its back, driving his sword into the right head with everything he had left.
The impact sank deep, but he didn’t linger.
The moment the strike landed, he kicked off and retreated immediately.
No counterattack came.
The Tyrant didn’t move.
It simply lay there, motionless.
‘It’s not dead yet… and the Spell hasn’t announced anything.’ Cautiously, Orren closed the distance once more.
He shifted his grip and drove the blade into the central head from the side, piercing through with a final decisive strike.
A moment of silence followed.
Then the world responded.
[You have slain an awakened tyrant, Mire Warden.] [You have received a Memory: Warden’s Embrace.] Orren exhaled slowly, the tension finally breaking from his body.
“…Well.
Thank you for giving up, I guess.” His legs gave out, and he slumped against the base of a nearby tree.
‘I can’t move…’ Now that the fight was truly over, the weight of everything hit him at once.
The adrenaline drained away, leaving only exhaustion; deep, total, bone-deep exhaustion.
‘Why put me in a Nightmare like this…?
It feels like I’ve already gone through three trials.’ He closed his eyes briefly, knowing no answer would come.
Then he called forth the new Memory.
Memory: [Warden’s Embrace].
Memory Rank: Awakened.
Memory Type: Charm.
Memory Description: [A pendant carved from a fragment of dark shell.
Three weathered faces are etched into its surface, their features worn away by time.
Despite its age, the charm feels strangely warm against the skin.] The moment it manifested, a gentle warmth spread through him.
It wasn’t overwhelming.
Just steady.
Grounding.
His eyelids grew heavier almost immediately.
Between the exhaustion, the lingering pain, and the strange comfort of the charm, his resistance faded without him even realizing it.
Somewhere in a forest filled with danger, beside the corpse of a fallen tyrant, Orren Veil finally fell asleep.
….
‘Hmm…’ Blink.
Blink.
“AAAHHHHH!” Orren shot upright in a panic, still half-asleep, immediately recoiling at the sight of the dead Tyrant still lying nearby.
For a brief moment, his mind failed to connect the present with what had happened the night before.
Then everything snapped into place.
“Shit.” He clamped a hand over his mouth, lowering his voice instinctively as the memory fully returned.
The chaos, the pain, the fight, it all came back in a rush.
He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself.
“I feel strangely refreshed…” His gaze drifted to his arm.
It was still damaged, but far better than he expected after a fight like that.
Whatever the new Memory did, it was clearly assisting his recovery.
‘That was one hell of an experience… and I actually survived.’ A faint grin formed on his face.
‘Let’s see what changed in my runes.
I hope my Aspect evolved.’ With growing anticipation, he called up his status.
The moment the runes appeared, however, his expression twisted.
“FUUUUUUCK.
WHAT WENT WRONG THIS TIME?!” Name: Orren Veil True Name: — Rank: Dreamer.
Soul Fragments: [0/1000].
Memories: Ironscale Fang, Tyrant’s Shell, Vigil, Hunter’s Token, Warden’s Embrace.
Echoes: [Venomhide Tyrant].
Attributes: [Unanchored], [Mark of Divinity], [Mist-Touched].
Aspect: [Wayfarer].
Aspect Rank: Dormant.
Aspect Description: [You walk paths others fail to notice.
Where direction falters and certainty fades, your steps remain strangely correct.
The world does not guide you, yet it allows you to proceed where others would become lost.] Aspect Ability: [Orientation].
Ability Description: [You possess an instinctive understanding of your surroundings and your place within them.] “This is bullshit.” The words came out less controlled this time, frustration bleeding into his voice.
He wasn’t just annoyed, he was genuinely baffled.
“It doesn’t make any sense.
Why am I still a Dreamer?
I awakened naturally.
And why is my Aspect still Dormant?” He paced slightly, gesturing at the air as if the Spell itself would respond.
“Come on, Spell.
Do your thing.
Evolve it.
I think I’ve done more than enough to earn it.” His tone was sharp, sarcastic now, but underneath it was genuine confusion.
Then he paused.
‘Wait.’ He closed his eyes and sank inward.
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