CHAPTER 72: DEAD END

While the world burned under the chaos of rampaging beasts, Auren remained half-conscious as Robert carried him swiftly through the eastern edge of Runewood, heading toward what used to be their safe haven.

"Hold on, kid... we’re almost there..." Robert muttered, his voice strained but determined. His legs pounded the dirt path, eyes glowing with alertness as he weaved through the forest trails, ready to dodge stray fireballs or the deadly tremors caused by battling titans in the distance.

But deep inside Auren’s mind, things were even worse.

The once-vibrant glowing lake in his mental space—his sanctuary—was now bone-dry, cracked like a scorched riverbed in the heart of summer. In the middle of that desolate space sat his mental form, pale and gaunt, as if every ounce of moisture had been drained from him. His hands, usually steady and full of life, were blackened and charred like burnt coal.

And Bigbird was nowhere to be found.

In its place sat a golden egg—still, humming faintly, slowly pulsing with fading light. It had reverted back after unleashing its full power in that desperate clash against Vulkris. That final burst of energy hadn’t just tested Auren’s mana. It tore through his body, soul, and mind like a wildfire. The cost of survival had been steep—almost fatal.

When Inferna Hollow collapsed, it ripped through Auren like a stretched rubber band, flinging him back to the outside world just before the explosion slammed into him like a collapsing star. That impact shattered his transformation, drained him to his core.

He would’ve died right then and there—if not for Robert, and the emergency vial of health potion he managed to pour into Auren’s mouth just in time.

"Th-thanks, old man..." Auren whispered faintly in his mind. Speaking out loud hurt too much.

He managed a weak grin. "Damn... that was epic. So that’s my new avatar mode, huh?"

The grin faltered. "Way too painful though. I really need to find a better way to control my mana... maybe stretch that form longer than three minutes without frying my soul."

He turned toward the glowing egg beside him, his expression softening.

"Thanks, Bigbird. If you hadn’t been with me... I’d be dead."

The egg didn’t answer, only emitted a soft hum as its occupant recovered in silence.

"I wonder..." Auren muttered, staring up into the dark sky above his mental realm. "How long before I wake up this time?"

This wasn’t the first time he’d used that form. Ever since Bigbird arrived, he was warned that tapping into its power would massively boost his stats—but only for a very limited time. Three minutes of godlike power. Three hours of unconsciousness. And at least three days of cooldown. That was the old rule.

But now, with the avatar form evolving—complete with golden armor and enhanced abilities—the price had grown steeper. The strain on his body had pushed him to the brink.

"I guess I’ll just have to trust the old man to keep me safe this time," he sighed. Then he closed his eyes, slowly focusing inward, channeling the traces of Golden Phoenix mana still flickering inside him, allowing it to wrap around his injuries like gentle fire.

"I hope everyone’s alright when I wake up..."

A soft chuckle escaped him.

"I thought I heard something about Marissa earlier. Hope she’s okay... I could really go for some deer steak and her carp soup right now."

And as sleep began to pull him deeper, his final thoughts drifted gently into the void.

"Damn... I miss my family."

Outside, Robert finally arrived—only to freeze in horror.

"No..."

Their home—once a modest, peaceful hut nestled in the woods—was now a smoking wreck. A giant fireball, easily the size of a carriage, had completely leveled it. Nothing remained but a blackened heap of smoldering wood and ash.

His stomach twisted.

Marissa...

The roars of Vulkris and the Nighthral continued to echo behind him. The ground trembled slightly. Robert’s fists clenched.

"My potions..." he whispered. "Damn it!"

POW!

He slammed his fist into a nearby tree, bark splintering from the impact.

"If I’d brought more potions...!"

He looked down at Auren. The boy’s face was regaining some color, but his hands were still burned, his wounds swollen and raw. One potion wasn’t enough. Not for damage like this.

"I guess I’ll have to start over from scratch," Robert muttered. He knew what that meant.

His potions weren’t like those given by the system. They required rare herbs—many of which weren’t native to Runewood. Some could only be found in human territories.

The system-made healing potions he could craft required exact ingredients and methods. Any deviation meant total failure. That was both the beauty and the curse of system-generated skills—they granted instant knowledge, but enforced rigid boundaries.

Fighting styles, movement patterns, spell structures, crafting methods—even potion recipes. All locked in place. All immutable.

But Auren was different.

He wasn’t bound by the system. He learned things the hard way—step by step, mistake by mistake. And while he couldn’t instantly master new skills like others could, his freedom meant he could go beyond the limits. He could invent.

Robert remembered how Auren had taken two full years to invent his own "fireball" and "waterball" skills. They looked basic to outsiders—laughable even—but to Auren, they were proof. Proof of what could be done without chains.

"Marissa gave him theories, sure... but the deeper truths? He found those himself..." Robert said to himself. "I wonder if I could ever recreate your potions, kid."

He spoke with a trace of envy. No matter how hard he tried, he could never replicate the brews Auren made. The system simply wouldn’t allow it.

"Whatever..."

He glanced toward Aetherthorn. In the distance, the silhouettes of Vulkris and the Nighthral continued to clash, monstrous figures gnashing and tearing under a blood-red sky.

"If even the elves are evacuating this hellhole... guess that makes my decision easier."

Turning south, Robert began moving again, hoping to scavenge tools, herbs—anything that might help Auren recover.

But just a few steps in, the world around him darkened—like twilight falling in an instant.

"What the...?"

A kilometer ahead, a massive wall rose from the earth, swirling with shadow and darkness. It stretched upward, impossibly high, forming a dome that engulfed the land, sealing them in like rats in a cage.

Robert’s breath caught.

"I’ve got a very bad feeling about this..."

And then it came.

A deep, guttural voice, resonating across the forest like thunder wrapped in poison.

[SHADOW DEATH DOMAIN]

Robert froze.

In that moment, it became terrifyingly clear—

It was already too late for them.

Too late for Auren. Too late for Robert. Too late for the elves.

What lies before him is the dead end.