Conqueror Of The Dark Soul

Chapter 1 - The Youth

In a giant dome, a young man in a short cloak stands facing a dwarf statue between two pillars supporting the dome. The youth, around nineteen or twenty years old, gazes with awe at the dwarf statue, which emits a mysterious dark energy.

"Fletus Spina Obscure," the youth utters, causing the dwarf statue to gradually change color from its natural stone hue to a reddish tint. Dark red liquid drips from the statue's eyes, and black thorns appear within it, wrapped in light, moving toward the outstretched right hand of the youth.

The wrapped black thorns now rest on the palm of the youth's hand. The youth clenches his fist, crushing the black thorns into ash particles that float in the air. By then, the youth is seated in front of the dwarf statue, casually chewing on a greenish root, seemingly a normal part of his diet.

A middle-aged man in a clean white robe with a cross symbol on his back walks slowly toward the youth. "Traveler, how was that?" the man asks.

Still munching on the root, the youth glances at the now-normal dwarf statue. "Luckily, it's still in time. The Dark Soul seed can still be lifted," the youth says calmly, despite the peculiar words, continuing to chew the root.

The middle-aged man smiles warmly and relieved, noticing the absence of any signs of evil aura from the statue. "Thank you, Traveler," he expresses gratitude, bowing his head.

Then, he continues, "What do you desire as a reward?"

The youth smiles with the greenish root still in his mouth, "No need. I've got what I wanted."

"No. You need to accept a gift. How about this?" The middle-aged man presents a metal ring.

The youth looks at it and accepts it reluctantly.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I want to ask, do you know the way to Heinburg?" the youth inquires.

...

Heinburg.

Nighttime, inside a bar.

"Hey, young man. It's the first time I've seen you; I guess you're not from around here," a bartender asks while preparing a beer for the youth in front of him.

The youth smiles, his green eyes glancing to the side, towards the window where darkness prevails. "That's right," he says.

The youth is handsome, with short black hair in the front and longer in the back, tied up.

"I figured," the bartender says, satisfied with his correct assumption.

"Where are you from, young man?" the bartender asks while placing a frothing glass of yellow beer in front of the youth.

The youth grabs the mug with one hand and casually speaks, "Guess."

The bartender's eyes lift slightly, intrigued by the challenge.

The bartender strokes his silver beard, occasionally examining the youth for useful information. After a moment, he raises his index finger and says, "From your appearance, you definitely don't come from the western alliance like Leinburg and others. That means you're from a small town in the north or south, maybe from Stanburg in the southern alliance!" he concludes.

The bartender waits for his answer to be confirmed, feeling nervous. Meanwhile, some patrons at the bar are also curious. It's rare for a visitor to come to this small town.

The youth shakes his head after taking a sip of his drink. This is followed by disappointment from the bartender and increased curiosity from other customers.

Shortly after, the bartender asks again, "So, where are you really from?"

The youth smiles and replies, "Virshire."

The bartender is stunned, and so is the entire bar.

In the silence that follows the youth's answer, a burly man stands and smiles, "You're not good at lying. Virshire has been consumed by the Dark Soul." The muscular man shakes his head, now convinced that what the youth said is a lie.

"I know. I was there when it happened," the youth replies casually.

These words invite laughter from the patrons. They now believe the youth is lying.

"Besides, Virshire is at least eight months away from here... you surprise us." It appears that even though these people look like thugs or bandits, they are friendly and easy to socialize with.

The youth laughs along after finishing his drink. "Exactly seven months," the youth nods slowly.

The bartender intentionally takes the empty glass from the youth to fill it with a new drink, doing so while asking, "Tell me, where are you really from?"

The youth's face blushes slightly from the alcohol, but he sticks to his answer, "Virshire."

The bartender sighs, "Alright, if you don't want to tell the truth, there must be a reason. Just as long as you're not a Dark Soul Bearer." The bartender chuckles.

The youth just smiles.

Time passes until darkness truly envelops the city.

The youth opens his eyes, realizing he fell asleep at the bar due to intoxication. Now, still a bit dizzy, he notices the window showing the darkness of the night.

"Old man, what time is it?" Realizing the bartender is still awake, the youth asks.

The bartender then says while wiping the glass with a cloth, "Eleven at night."

The youth raises his eyes in surprise, then quickly hurries. He takes the cloak hanging under the bar table and stands. He takes out a gold coins with intricate engravings and says, "Keep the change."

The bartender furrows his brow when he sees the two coins. He has never seen coins with such engravings in the Devon Empire. Then, he looks back at the youth who is now walking away. He shouts with a not-too-loud tone, afraid of waking up the sleeping customers, "Hey, what's your name?"

Without answering, the youth has disappeared from his sight.

The bartender frowns. A moment later, confused, he looks at a coin in his palm, "Eh? What coin is this? Why is it in my hand?"

He looks towards the door in confusion. "I feel like I just saw someone... I knew it... the older I get, the more forgetful I become." Shaking his head, the bartender quickly puts the coin back in his pocket.