Chapter 4: A Father’s Grief

Chapter 4 - A Father's GriefChapter 4

Han's breath caught in his throat as he locked eyes on the child—barely seven, trembling, frozen in place while the monster's shadow loomed over him like death itself. His legs felt like stone, fear rooting him to the ground. He was just an E-rank... he couldn't win. Not against that.

But then the boy whimpered. And something inside Han snapped.

> "Screw this world."

He gritted his teeth, eyes burning. "I won't let a kid die. Never ."

One foot slid back, carving a shallow groove into the dirt as he bent low—his spine coiled like a spring, hands clawed at his side, muscles twitching.

> "4th Jungle Art: Cheetah Stride."

A blur.

He ran across the street with blistering speed, wind screaming past his ears as his stamina drained like a broken dam. He reached the child just in time, scooping him up mid-sprint, spinning into a somersault. With practiced grace, Han landed several meters away—knees bent, body shuddering from the impact.

He set the child down gently.

"Run." His voice was steady—heroic.



"Thank you, mister!" the boy shouted as he dashed off, never looking back.

Han smiled faintly. Blood dripped from his lips.

> "E-rank or not... I'm a Hero."

But the real battle had only begun.

The monster roared—a deafening, guttural screech that echoed through the ravine. Han turned to face it, eyes hard. His body screamed in protest, but his resolve didn't falter. With a twist of his foot, he shifted into another stance—fluid, snake-like.

> "8th Jungle Art: Snake Curl."

His legs snapped left, then right, his torso twisting in impossible angles as he launched the attack. His body became a whip, striking with unpredictable angles and deadly speed. The blow struck the beast's head with precision.

But then—nothing.

No bruise. Not even a scratch.

The creature's body was far tougher than a human's.

It slashed.

Han dodged, barely—his ribs grazed by a claw the size of a shovel. A second strike hit true. The monster's leg crashed into him like a cannonball.

> CRACK.

Air fled his lungs. He flew backward, twisting mid-air. Dirt exploded beneath his feet as he landed, sliding, blood pooling in his mouth. Still, he rose.

He wiped his lip, glaring upward.

> "If one Jungle Art won't work... I'll use all of them."

He roared, charging with fierce intensity. His arms spread, hands curled into hooked talons.

> "3rd Jungle Art: Eagle Pulse!"

He leapt through the air, and collided with the beast in a brilliant flash of motion.

---

Elsewhere...

A man knelt on cold tile, his forehead pressed so low it kissed the floor. His voice cracked with desperation as tears streamed down his face.

> "Please... please save her. She's all I have left."

His hands trembled. His shoulders shook. His entire body bowed in a silent scream as he begged.

The young doctor before him—Dr. Lin—could only look on, her expression tight, eyes filled with pity.

> "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Her condition is critical. We need at least an A-rank healer... and that level of treatment requires funds we just don't have."

The man's face drained of color. He knew those words—he had heard them before. Years ago, when his wife lay dying in that very hospital bed. He had tried to work—every job they offered. But no amount of sweat, pain, or time had been enough to save her.

Now... his daughter.

The vow he made to his wife—to never awaken, to never risk their daughter growing up alone—he broke it.

He awakened.

But fate mocked him. E-rank. Useless.

Now... he was powerless again.

> "Please..." His voice cracked like glass. "I'll do anything. My life, my soul—just don't let her die."

He sobbed, voice raw, heart torn open.

"I'll give everything. I'll be a test subject. Just—please..."

Before Dr. Lin could respond—

> "Dr. Lin!"

A nurse—young, pale—rushed into the room. Her voice trembled. "It's the girl in Ward 4A..."

She turned sharply. "What about her?"

"She's... I think she's... dead."

Time stopped.

The man's pupils shrank. His breath hitched. Without a word, he sprinted—heart pounding, lungs burning, feet slamming against the floor.

> Don't die. Please, don't die.

You can't—

He burst into the room.

Flatline.

The machine's line was straight—lifeless. Cold.

"No..." he whispered.

He stumbled to her side and lifted her frail, pale body into his arms. Her skin was already losing warmth.

> "Wake up... please—wake up!"

He shook her gently, then more violently. Her little arms dangled lifelessly.

> "Please! You promised—you promised you'd stay with me!"

He screamed. A sound so raw it silenced the entire floor.

Tears poured from his eyes, his voice breaking as he held her close, forehead resting against hers.

> "You were all I had... my reason to live..."

He wailed, his cries echoing through the halls like a shattered soul.

Dr. Lin stood frozen in the doorway, her own heart heavy.

> "I'm sorry... I truly am."

But nothing she could say would change it. Not even an S-rank healer could bring back the dead.

And in that room, the sorrow of a father grieving his last light swallowed all.

Back in Velmora...

"What class do you think the hero is?" a frightened woman whispered to her husband as they huddled behind the remains of a shattered building.

"I... I don't know. Maybe a C-class?" he murmured, trying to keep his voice calm. "Do you think he can survive?"

"Let's hope so..." she said, her voice trembling. "If he dies, then we're all dead too."

As if fate itself responded to her words, a body was hurled through the air—crashing down hard beside them, sending dust and debris flying. They turned, fear tightening their throats.

It was him. The young hero. Bloodied, battered, and barely standing.

His black-and-white hair was drenched in crimson. Blood trickled from gashes across his chest and arms. Yet his expression remained calm—eerily calm, even as he gasped for breath.

"You two," he said, voice raspy but steady. "If you want to live, leave now."


From the distance, a guttural growl echoed. A nightmare in the form of a beast advanced with heavy, thunderous steps.



The couple didn't wait another second. "Y-Yes, sir!" they cried and ran as if their lives depended on it—because they did.

Han turned back toward the monster, jaw clenched. His body ached like hell, and every breath was a battle. He had already used all nine Jungle Arts he knew, yet he had only managed shallow injuries on the monster. It still looked ready for war.

But me... Han thought, I look like a corpse clinging to life.

The monster roared and charged again.

Han took a stance—one last gamble. Leaping into the air, his fists clenched above his head, he bellowed, "Fifth Jungle Art: Gorilla Smash!"

His blow connected. The monster shrieked—briefly—then retaliated.

Its claws tore across his chest.

Then—bam!

A punch to the head sent Han flying. He crashed, rolled, and coughed out a mouthful of blood. His head spun. Pain—blinding, unbearable pain—surged through his body.

This pain... it's more than anything I've ever felt... he thought, struggling to rise. His body gave out, and he fell to his knees.

He looked up—barely. The monster was approaching slowly, savoring the kill.

So this is how it ends...

First, I awaken a worthless E-rank skill... Now, I die without fulfilling anything...

He thought of the ones he loved.

Laura... Rin... Xin... I'm sorry I won't see you grow up...

Serenya... I've failed as your young master...

The beast raised its claw to deliver the final blow.

Han's gaze dropped to his bloodstained necklace—on it was a silver T with twisted chains.

"Han, we're entrusting everything to you," his mother's voice echoed from memory.

The claw descended.

SPLASH.

Blood sprayed through the sky painting it red, no black.

But it wasn't Han's blood.

The monster howled in agony—its arm severed cleanly from its body.

Han blinked in disbelief.

He stood up slowly, somehow holding a sword—the white one that belongs to noble at the Awakening Hall. He didn't remember the guy giving it to him.

When did this get here...?

He didn't care.

"I'm not letting them down," he whispered. "I will fulfill every promise... every responsibility."

The monster snarled and lunged again, its other claw swinging down.

Slice.

Gone. Another limb, lost in an instant.

Han stood still, dazed, his mind barely holding on. Was that... easy?

The monster, now clearly outmatched, tried to retreat. Its instincts—while not intelligent—knew death when it saw it.

But Han wouldn't allow it. He held the white power sword tighter.

I've dedicated my life to Jungle Arts... but I didn't forget the few sword technique I learnt.

He crouched into his sprinting stance.

"Fourth Jungle Art: Cheetah Stride."

Blazing forward, he appeared behind the monster in an instant, sword already arcing.

"Uppermoon Cut!"

The blade tore through the beast—cleaving it cleanly from hip to shoulder. The monster collapsed in two halves, defeated at last.

Han staggered forward, vision blurring.

But then... something odd caught his eye.

The monster's right eye... is that... a tear?

When... did monsters start to cry?

He thought.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

Applause echoed through the shattered streets. The people cheered, their faces filled with gratitude and awe. The young man had defeated the monster—saving countless lives that surely would have been lost without him.

But Han heard none of it.

The world around him was a blur. His body, numb with pain, moved on its own as he staggered past the gathering crowd.

"You need to get to a hospital!" a woman cried out, rushing to his side. She tried to steady him, but Han gently shrugged her off.

"I'm fine," he said hoarsely. "I just... I just need to see them. One last time."

"But... but—" the woman stammered, her eyes wide with worry.

Han turned to her, a weak but soft smile forming on his battered face. "Don't worry about me," he whispered.

Without any delay , he pressed forward, each step heavier than the last, every heartbeat a thunderous echo in his ears.

Only one thought remained in his mind, burning brighter than the pain:

I need to see them. Laura... Rin.... Xin... I have to see them... one last time.

Elsewhere, deep within a shadowed alley...

A man slammed his bloodied fists into the cold, cracked wall. Again. And again. Each strike more desperate than the last, even as crimson trickled down his arms and painted the stone.

"Why... why does the world have to be like this?" he cried out, his voice breaking under the weight of sorrow.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed beside a small, lifeless body—a young girl, her face eerily peaceful despite the chaos that had claimed her.

"My wife... and now my daughter..." he whispered, clutching her hand. "They both died because of them. They all die because of them!"

He slammed his fist into the wall one final time before slumping completely, forehead resting on the ground.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. I failed you. I'm nothing... nothing but a failure."

Soft sobs filled the alley.

Then—

"You are not a failure."

The man froze. He looked up, eyes blurry with tears.

A figure stood at the mouth of the alley, cloaked in a black and crimson overcoat. Purple hair framed his sharp face, and a single lens covered one glowing red eye.

"Leave me," the grieving man muttered, his voice barely a breath.



The figure stepped closer, unbothered by the blood or the silence. "This world... it took everything from you. Ripped it away and offered nothing in return. All because you didn't awaken a powerful skill."

The man scoffed bitterly. "Whatever you're saying, I don't care. They're dead. I've lost everything. You can't give them back."

The stranger nodded. "You're right. I can't bring back the dead."

His eyes gleamed beneath the lens.

"But I can give you power. I can give you the strength to make those who took them from you suffer. I can give you a way to let the world feel your pain."

The broken man looked up, hesitating. His grief didn't vanish—but something else stirred behind his eyes now.

"...How?"

A faint smile curled the stranger's lips as he opened a small black case. Inside, a vial of dark liquid pulsed with a swirling tinge of green—alive, as if it breathed.

"One injection," the stranger said softly. "One simple step... and you'll be reborn."

He held out the vial.

"What I'm offering... is a second chance."

To be continued.