Savior in Shadow Slave

Murphy wandered alone through the forest that bordered his village.

Ordinary villagers—mundane humans—were strictly forbidden from entering this place.

But the truth was far from what most believed.

This forest wasn't just a dangerous stretch of wilderness—it was a training ground, a crucible where the village's awakened warriors were forged.

In the present age, humanity relied on the Nightmare Spell—a terrifying yet invaluable phenomenon that served as training wheels, accelerating human growth in the waking world.

But in ancient times, no such crutch existed.

Only blood, sweat, and relentless struggle against the beasts of the land could temper the soul. Only through this primal battle could one begin to sense the essence, awaken their core, and carve the path forward.

It was only after walking this brutal path that a warrior would finally confront their Flaw—and through that, give birth to their Aspect.

As he walked through the forest, his gaze steady and composed, a low groan echoed within the chambers of his mind.

"That damned old man…"

The three weeks he had spent under his grandfather's tutelage had been nothing short of brutal. Every misstep, every mistake, was met with ten merciless blows. The training was unrelenting—harsh to the point of cruelty.

And yet, it had not been in vain.

On the first day, he had been unable to block a single strike. On the second, he managed to deflect one. By the third, two. And by the eighteenth day, he could fend off most of Alex's attacks—though they were stripped of essence, and the old man wielded no more than a fraction of his true strength.

Even so, by then, his grandfather was grumbling and cursing beneath his breath. When Murphy teased him about it, the old man only scowled, shoved a task upon him, and promised that upon his return, he could choose any weapon he desired from the village treasury.

"He wants me to hunt down three monsters—Awakened ones, no less—or two Dormant Devils. Only then can I return."

As a cradle for forging Awakened warriors, the village's outskirts were teeming with Awakened beasts—and, on occasion, the remnants of Fallen ones. By most accounts, it was considered relatively safe.

But not for him.

For a mere mortal to step into this forest was to flirt with death. For someone like him—unawakened, unshielded—the jungle wasn't training ground. It was a death sentence.

That didn't mean he ventured out unarmed. His grandfather had granted him permission to take anything he desired—except for enchanted weapons.

After poring over the village's bestiary and records, he made his choice: three Awakened monsters.

The first was a hulking creature known simply as the Black Boar, a beast that towered three meters high and carried the weight of a small boulder in its flesh and bone.

The second was more insidious—a tree-like monster with the passive ability to lure both humans and beasts toward it, as if whispering to the primal desires buried deep within.

But it was the third that gave him pause. Not because it was the strongest—but because it barely existed at all.

An illusionary entity, incorporeal by nature, that made touch and steel ineffective.

Truth be told, he would have never chosen to face such a creature on his own. But this was no choice—it was a command, issued by his grandfather.

Yet, curiously, he didn't feel oppressed by the task. Quite the opposite—he felt alive.

Murphy was on the edge of an impossible wager: to face three Awakened monsters armed with nothing but skill and will, while possessing mundane tools. It was madness, no doubt. But what was life, if not a gamble? If one didn't stake everything when the moment came, how could they ever hope to win?

If a man dared not dream beyond the stars, was he not betraying the very soul of his ambition?

With those thoughts kindling his spirit, Murphy felt his chest rise with purpose—his heart ablaze, brimming with anticipation.

***

Murphy knew he was nearing the creature's den—the signs were unmistakable. Splintered trees lay strewn across the earth, and colossal footprints sank deep into the forest floor. His expression darkened.

But he was neither shaken nor rattled.

His mind was a fortress, impervious to fear. If anything, fear became his whetstone—sharpening his focus, heightening every sense.

Murphy stepped onto the green grass, quietly approaching the mountainous boar.

The black boar had its head buried, puffing and snorting as it dug at the earth with its claws and snout, rummaging through soil and grass in search of worms.

Murphy crept slowly from behind.

Under the bright moonlight, the greyish-black fur of the boar glistened. Its body was strong and sturdy, with short, powerful limbs. A long, stiff mane ran down its back, and atop its ears, sparse fur stood upright like needles. With all four limbs planted firmly, each foot bore four toes—yet only the two middle ones clawed at the soil.

Suddenly, the boar stopped digging and raised its head. Its sharp little ears twitched rapidly. Though Murphy managed to freeze in place just in time, the black boar had already sensed him. It turned around with a snort, its eyes brimming with madness—as if it had just discovered the most delicious meal it had ever seen.

Murphy wasn't surprised by this. An Awakened monster didn't survive by chance—they were all extremely alert. Especially the Black Boar, known for its acute sense of smell. It could detect even the most well-hidden bird nests.

Even if this particular boar hadn't heard a sound, the moment Murphy came within a hundred meters, it could still detect his body odor and sense his presence.

At the moment, Murphy possessed four abilities: his sword, which he had personally enchanted with 2 enchantments; his Terror Attribute; his Sorcery; and his Spectator Powers, which allowed him to predict his opponent's next move—especially effective against mindless monsters.

If Murphy had enchanted his clothes to suppress his body odor, and placed another enchantment on his boots to mute his footsteps, he could have approached as close as ten steps from the massive beast without detection.

However, since he was not yet Awakened, he wouldn't be able to use such enchantments at all.

Still, Murphy pressed on without hesitation, steadily drawing closer to the Black Boar.

The Black Boar let out a deep, guttural screech, the white bristles on its neck rising like a warning banner—agitation made visible.

As Murphy crossed the final line, moving closer than the creature could tolerate, it responded in ritual fury. Its hooves struck the earth three times—thud, thud, thud—before its body tensed, limbs spreading, muscles bunching beneath a coat of coarse fur. Its head lowered, tusks gleaming beneath the silver moonlight.

Its upper jaw pulled back. The lower curled upward, revealing two jagged ivory tusks that caught the night light like blades drawn from the dark.

If those tusks reached him, Murphy knew what awaited—ruptured flesh, pierced organs, the agony of a slow death.

But he remained composed. Still.

With a single motion, he unsheathed his sword.

The blade inhaled the breath of the forest—the raw essence of nature—and responded with a ghostly radiance, weaving itself into the moonlight that bathed the clearing.

The boar thundered toward him, a living avalanche of rage and muscle.

Murphy raised his right hand and sliced through the air.

A whisper of steel became a roar of energy.

A flying blade, a moonblade, shot forward, streaking with eerie grace—then struck the Black Boar's face.

Blood exploded into the night like crimson mist.

The Black Boar cried out loudly, turning its anger into fuel. Its charge accelerated, and in the blink of an eye, it closed the distance—only a few steps now separated it from Murphy.

Murphy quickly leapt to the side, rolling as he landed to break his fall.

The Black Boar thundered past him and, with a loud crash, slammed into a tree behind. The tree, barely as thick as a human torso, couldn't withstand the force—the trunk cracked, tore open, and split in two.

Murphy rose swiftly, closing the gap between himself and the boar while simultaneously launching a moonblade from his right hand.

The eerie blue crescent cut through the air in a clean arc, striking the Black Boar and slicing thin lines across its black fur. The cuts were deep, and bright red blood began to ooze from them.

This moonblade, powered by nature's raw essence, held the strength of a newly awakened warrior—it could break human bones in a single strike. Yet on the Black Boar, it caused only surface injuries, not even reaching bone.

To think even a mere Black Boar was this durable—it showed just how cruel and unforgiving the world truly was.

The Black Boar growled and charged again.

As it sprinted, the open wound on its side tore further, and warm blood flowed freely, spilling across the ground.

Murphy used the same maneuver, tumbling to the side and avoiding the charge.

Despite its brute strength and ferocity, the Black Boar had a glaring weakness—it couldn't change direction quickly. Its speed was its downfall; each charge was a straight line. For an awakened fighter—or even a careful observer—it wasn't difficult to evade.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

With every charge, Murphy unleashed a flurry of moonblades. The boar's old wounds overlapped with new ones, and the more enraged it became, the more its blood spilled.

After several exchanges, its pace slowed. Its growls now carried not just rage, but the unmistakable tremble of fear.

Exactly what Murphy wanted.

With his [Terror] Attribute, the more fear an enemy felt, the weaker their attacks became. And by channeling his Aspect, he could amplify that fear.

A blow that would have killed him outright now left only minor injuries.

At that moment, Murphy drew deeply on nature's moonlight essence. A moonblade shimmered to life—this time glowing with an eerie blue light. But then, another formed alongside it, shining with a milky white glow.

This was the second enchantment by storing the inserted essence and releasing in one go.

The milky white light fused into the moonblade, and the small orb of power instantly doubled in size.

Murphy pointed.

"Go."

Murphy's right hand swept forward, and an enhanced giant moonblade shot out.

Swoosh!

Black Boar was astonished by sudden increase in power and was too late to dodge, along with Murphy's mild interference with Boar's thought. It couldn't dodge at all.

The moonblade struck the Black Boar's neck, slicing through its grey-black fur. It emerged from the other side, flying another three to four meters before dissipating into the air.

Glup, glup...

The Black Boar froze in place. For a moment, it stood still—then blood erupted from its wounds like a fountain.

With a loud thud, it collapsed. Half its head was severed, held to the body only by a small piece of torn flesh. Blood poured freely, soaking the earth in crimson.

[You have slain an Awakened Monster Black Boar.]

'Ah, what a lovely chime it is.'

The thick, metallic scent of blood filled Murphy's nostrils.

Breathing heavily, Murphy sheathed his sword. Though utterly exhausted, he didn't leave right away. Instead, he drew a knife and knelt beside the carcass, carefully extracting the boar's two tusks.

'It seemed that I had underestimated nature's essence. If it had not been for it he could not even fight an Awakened beast. It would be nice if it could carry him. Sadly it won't work at ghost or the tree.'

The Black Boar's body held several items of value:

First, its pork.

Second, its fur.

Third, it's core.

Fourth, and most precious to many—its teeth.

And just like that, the first target fell—dispatched with a swiftness that was almost unsettling.