Once again, Dirga arrived in the Dusk Forest.
The scent of wet leaves, the hush of distant rustling—familiar now. Yet different.
The bond with Silvael pulsed like a second heartbeat within him.
But a question dug into his mind.
How did the guild even know about this quest?
That garden—the Spirit Realm—it wasn’t part of this world.
And Silvael, that telekinetic tiger, wasn’t some local beast. So how did they list a quest tied to a place like that?
His eyes narrowed as he walked.
No mention in the database. No intel about the creature.
No warning about a Spirit Lord’s domain. Just vague reports of a "Mind Beast" and a rumored "fruit that enhances clarity."
But there was no mind beast here.
Dirga scanned the grove where the map had led him.
And there it was—a golden fruit nestled under a twisted root, glowing faintly like a tiny sun.
"...So this is the version they expected me to find."
He crouched and picked it up. Warm to the touch. Light. Definitely not the same as the black fruit he had taken from the garden beyond realms.
That one still pulsed inside his pack like a sleeping star.
Two fruits. Two sources.
One born of spirit, the other of this realm.
He weighed them in his hands.
"I’ll eat the black one," Dirga muttered. "Sell the gold."
But before he could make his next move, his eyes narrowed.
"...You can come out now. I know you’re there."
From the moment he’d reentered the forest, something had been watching him.
Not a beast. Not a curious scout. A presence—deliberate and patient.
The bond with Silvael had sharpened his senses. His mind was like a pressure chamber—every ripple in gravity, every shift in mental weight now rang louder than ever.
Whoever—or whatever—was spying hadn’t masked themselves well enough.
Dirga’s gaze flicked toward a stand of trees, about fifteen meters away.
"You’ve got three seconds," he said. "Or I’ll drag you out myself."
No response. Just the silence of the wind.
So Dirga released the Gravity Surge.
The air around the trees screamed. Space warped. The bark of trees twisted inward as though a black hole had gnawed through them.
The attack collapsed five meters of terrain into a crater of dust and shattered roots.
And from the swirling remnants of gravity—
Ten meters to Dirga’s right.
It stepped out of the gloom like mist becoming flesh. No footsteps. No sound.
Dirga’s eyes locked onto it.
And he recognized the figure instantly.
The image had been burned into his mind from the Apex Nine roster—the top contenders of the Hell Roulette Tournament.
Noxeea the Shadow. The First Seed.
The file had said it clearly: Unknown race. Unknown gender. Unknown origin.
No outline. No pattern. Just one truth:
No one truly knew who—or what—Noxeea was.
And now that impossible entity stood before him.
The voice came like a broken speaker. Garbled, cracking, barely human.
"My name is Noxeea... the Shadow."
Dirga didn’t flinch. His eyes narrowed. The Crimson Core in his hand twisted into a hovering sword, floating just behind him like a coiled predator waiting for the command to strike.
"I know you," Dirga said flatly. "Because you’ve been monitoring me."
"Yes," Noxeea replied. "I apologize. That’s true. I’ve been watching you. But I mean no harm."
Dirga’s grip didn’t relax.
"Then what do you want?"
There was a strange hum in the air—like a faint vibration carried on shadow.
"Curiosity," Noxeea said. "I’m... intrigued by the human chosen by the Black Joker. I’ve always admired him, you know."
The tone changed—static flaring with emotion. Excitement?
Dirga arched an eyebrow.
"You’re a fan of Sasa?"
"Let’s say... I’ve always had a certain fascination with him," Noxeea said, voice trembling with a mix of reverence and obsession. "And now he’s chosen you."
The temperature dropped a degree.
"You’re young. Strong. A prodigy, Dirgantara. Not just from your world—from the multiverse. That makes you... interesting."
"So what? You want to fight me?"
A chuckle—flat, mechanical.
"Not now. We’ll fight at the tournament. If fate allows."
"This was just a visit. Curiosity satisfied. So, allow me to say goodbye—"
Dirga’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
"You don’t get to just appear in front of me and vanish like smoke."
The hovering sword shot forward, accelerated by refined telekinesis—faster than any human eye could follow.
At the same time, Dirga unleashed Gravity Surge—twisting the air, locking space around Noxeea’s position like a vise. The shadow shivered. Warped.
And passed right through the body.
An illusion? A trick? No—Dirga had expected that.
But the last blade, he’d coated in Black Flame.
And this one struck true.
Noxeea staggered. Not a scream—just a sharp inhale, barely audible. The figure caught the flaming sword with one hand, extinguishing the fire—but not without effort.
The edges of their shadowy form crackled, destabilizing for a heartbeat.
"Well... interesting indeed," Noxeea rasped, still holding the blade.
Then they tossed the sword to the ground—gently.
"I’ll remember this," Noxeea said softly. "But for now... goodbye."
And before Dirga could launch another strike, the figure smiled—a shape barely perceptible beneath the hood of shifting shadow—
Like smoke swallowed by darkness.
Silence returned to the trees.
Dirga activated his Gravity Sense, scanning the surroundings with sharpened precision. He stretched it wide—meters, then dozens of meters. No ripple. No presence.
Whoever—or whatever—Noxeea was, they were gone.
But Dirga knew one thing now:
He wasn’t just a participant in this tournament.
He was being watched. Hunted. Not by one enemy—but by the Apex Nine.
And they were taking him seriously.
Dirga exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing at his sides. The Black Star within him pulsed once—a silent reminder that stakes were shifting.
This wasn’t just about winning anymore.
It was about surviving eyes that saw further than most could imagine.