They moved on from the fallen Grayling ship, its warped remains shrinking behind them as the trees grew denser, the forest folding in like a quiet shroud. The air was heavy with the earthy scent of moss and old leaves, broken only by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot and the occasional rustle of unseen animals fleeing their path. Dican walked ahead, seemingly content, occasionally humming under his breath, but Bian trailed a few paces behind—silent and simmering.
His gaze stayed locked on the ground, but his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. The bitter taste hadn’t left his mouth.
Jian was alive.
That knowledge was like gravel grinding under his teeth. When he’d arrived at the Wang estate, some part of him had hoped—no, expected—to hear confirmation of Jian’s death. It would’ve been fitting. Clean. His annoying brother, gone. Out of his way. Leaving behind the path Bian could then claim entirely for himself.
But no. That roach was still alive. Kicking. Breathing. Living.
Bian’s hands clenched tightly into fists. His nails bit into his palms, but he didn’t loosen his grip.
No... I can’t lose control now.
He had already won. He had the upper hand. He’d found Dican, bonded with him, become something greater—he was Farian now. He was more than human. He was evolution in motion. Jian, on the other hand, had nothing.
In the original novel, Jian had never regained any powers, let alone Farian ones. He remained an ordinary human to the very end, even as Xing Yu fell in love with him like some twisted Cinderella story. It was pathetic. The kind of unrealistic fantasy crap that tried to convince readers that love could cross all boundaries.
Tch. Disgusting.
With the knowledge of the book in hand, Bian knew the truth: Jian could never be powerful. Never catch up. He was destined to be weak. A tag-along. A hanger-on to Xing Yu’s brilliance.
But him? He was far more. He was Farian now. He had a future.
I can defeat him easily now, he thought, jaw tight.
His legs came to a halt without him realizing, his rage needing somewhere to go. He looked around, eyes landing on a thick, old tree rooted nearby. Without warning, he drew back his arm and punched.
The impact rang out like a crack of thunder. The bark split with a sickening noise, and in one powerful motion, the entire trunk snapped. The whole tree groaned before collapsing sideways, crashing into the underbrush with a thunderous thud, leaves flying like a burst of startled birds.
Bian stood in the settling dust, his fist still clenched, his chest rising and falling with slow, simmering breaths.
That’s the raw power I possess now.
His lips curled slightly, not into a smile, but something darker.
How can a mere human fight against that?
Sudden dican paused ahead of him.
"what is it?"
Dican’s Blue green eyes narrowed, locking on the enormous Grayling in the distance. The creature loomed like a twisted monument of flesh and sinew, its limbs too long, its back arched like a spider hunched in wait. It was feeding—or perhaps resting—nestled between two large stone outcrops, tendrils twitching every few seconds in alert half-motion.
"Love... wait..." Dican whispered, raising a hand to stop Bian, who had taken a step forward in excitement.
Bian froze, and then followed Dican’s gaze. With his enhanced vision, he saw it too—the monstrous Grayling at least a kilometer away. A giddy sort of desperation bloomed in his chest.
"That one... that size... it must have it," Bian breathed, eyes wide. He latched onto Dican’s back without shame, his fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave a mark. Leaning in, lips brushing close to Dican’s ear, he whispered, "Get me that medicine..."
"Yes, my love. Anything for you..." Dican whispered back, his voice steady and sure.
Bian clung tighter, but flinched when Dican stepped forward. "You wait here," Dican added gently. "It’s far too dangerous for you."
Bian opened his mouth to protest—but the memory hit him.
That suffocating pressure. The slick feel of rubbery tentacles wrapping around him. The sound of his own bones cracking under inhuman strength.
He shuddered, recoiling a step. Even with his Farian body now, fear lanced through him. "Y-yeah... You go. Be back soon."
Dican didn’t say anything more. He gave him a small smile, a glance full of devotion—and then he was gone.
Bian crouched behind the thick brush, heart pounding, eyes glued to the battlefield that stretched ahead.
Dican approached silently, the black sword strapped to his back gleaming faintly. The moment the Grayling twitched, Dican unsheathed the weapon in one smooth motion. It wasn’t heavy in his hands—it never was. He spun it once, the dark metal singing softly through the air.
He ran.
The Grayling’s tendrils lashed upward, suddenly aware of the approaching threat. A shriek erupted from its twisted throat, sending birds flying from the trees in all directions.
Dican leapt forward. His blade came down in an arc, slicing clean through the first limb that shot at him. Green-gray blood sprayed out, sizzling against the ground like acid.
The Grayling howled.
It struck again, but Dican ducked beneath it, sliding through mud, rising to slash through another limb. His movements were sharp, almost mechanical in precision—strike, pivot, avoid, slash. The sword danced in his grip, carving black lines through the air.
The Grayling reared back, towering high and bringing down both arms like hammers.
Dican flipped backward, dodging by inches. As the beast landed, it sent a shockwave through the clearing, cracking the ground where he’d stood. Splinters of earth and rock flew upward.
Dican dashed forward again. One slash. Two. He was cutting it down piece by piece.
But the Grayling was massive—and angry.
It swung low, and this time, a tentacle caught him around the waist. Bian gasped from where he hid. He recognized that grip—he’d felt it before.
"Dican!" he whispered under his breath, wide-eyed.
But Dican was already reacting. He stabbed the sword down, driving it straight into the base of the tentacle. The Grayling screamed. Its grip loosened just enough, and Dican twisted, flipping out of the bind.
He landed hard, rolled, and rose again in one fluid motion, chest heaving. His face was calm. Focused.
The Grayling lunged—and Dican rushed to meet it.
He ran up the limb, balancing with inhuman grace, and launched into the air, flipping high. His sword gleamed—then came crashing down.
Straight into the Grayling’s skull.
There was a sickening crunch.
The beast twitched once... twice... then collapsed in a heavy, wet heap.
Dican stood atop its corpse, sword buried deep in its head, chest heaving. For a moment, nothing moved. Then he yanked the blade free, green ichor dripping from the edge.
Bian, trembling behind the bush, felt a shiver crawl up his spine.
That... he thought, that’s power.
Dican walked back slowly, his expression unbothered, as if he hadn’t just faced down a monster the size of a house.
He crouched beside Bian, gently reaching out a hand.
"Here," he said softly, opening his other palm to reveal a small, glowing purple sac. "It’s the medicine you wanted."
Bian looked at it, his throat tight. "You got it."
"I told you," Dican murmured. "I’d do anything for you."