Amon slowly opened his golden eyes, only to be greeted by the blinding light of the sun. He was confused, almost as if in a daze. His head felt light and his body heavy. All he could hear was a loud buzz that seemed to be echoing inside his head.

The sun in his eyes was too strong. He tried to turn his head away, but a sudden piercing pain in his left shoulder made him scream.

The pain properly woke him up. It was enough for him to feel hurting all over. A splitting headache made him grunt and almost pass out again. He closed his eyes hard until his head's throbbing lessened and the pain became somewhat manageable.

Then, he looked around. He saw that he was still on the raft, stranded in a riverbank. He had no idea if he was still in the Red River or in one of the streams that originated from it.

He was feeling cold despite the blazing sun, and realized his clothes were completely drenched, clinging to his body. They were in tatters, and strange stains of black could be seem in his chest and shoulders. Amon didn't mind them one bit, he had other things to worry about.

He tried to move again, but his left shoulder hurt in protest. Amon tried to slowly move his arm, but realized he couldn't handle the pain. He probably broke his left collarbone when Daniel threw him in the raft.

He slowly turned to take a closer look, resisting the pain and he saw that his shoulder was incredibly swollen. He had for sure broken the collarbone.

He could also faintly see bruises all over his arms and legs, and moving them was hard. He felt very lethargic, and even if he had just woken up, he was starting to turn drowsy.

He tried to take deep breaths. Even breathing made waves of pain run through his body.

He slowly turned on his right shoulder, trying to slightly move his right hand and his legs and get used to the pain.

It took what seemed to be an eternity, but Amon eventually managed to stand up. Limping away, he started walking upstream.

He had no real choice. He didn't know where he was, all he knew was that going upstream would lead him back, even if he wasn't in the Red River anymore.

He had no food and he had no medicine for his wounds. His hearing was blown away with the Direwolf's howl, so he couldn't even hear the running water of the river over the buzz echoing in his head. He wouldn't even hear a spirit beast that might approach him. His chances of making it back alive were grim.

Still, he looked at the sky and started crying in sorrow and relief. He had somehow survived the ordeal, but he didn't know what price Daniel had paid because of him.

He didn't know what had happened after he was thrown in the raft and blown into the river. Before he lost consciousness, he remembered seeing what seemed to be a small sun flashing from the direction Daniel was.

It was his fault. It had been his fault five years ago and it was his fault again now. His mother had been hurt because of him, and now Daniel was hurt too. He was sure he was the reason Direwolves appeared where they shouldn't have. That strange feeling he had when he was close to them… he had no idea why, but he was sure it had something to do with the wolves targeting him.

"Daniel is alive. I will find help and save him." Amon started muttering, trying to convince himself while he travelled as fast as he could. His steps were uneven as he walked. His dirty appearance and pale face, combined with his unceasing muttering made him look like a ghost.

He was just a kid, and now he somehow had to survive through a situation like that.

He walked for what seemed to be like hours, almost in a trance. He fell more than once, but always got up. The pain was still there, but was greatly numbed by his clouded mind. He didn't know how far he walked alongside the river, but he never stopped.

"Eh?"

A shock ran through him, clearing his mind. He looked around, confused. He felt something tugging at his mind, almost calling to him.

He realized he knew this place, what should have been impossible. He gazed somewhere in the middle of the trees, and had a sudden impulse to go there. As he walked he felt the headache returning, stronger than ever.

A strange voice echoed in his head, whispering. It managed to stand out from the ever present buzz in his ears. However, it was so faint and low that he couldn't understand what it was saying.

His head throbbed and he fell on his knees.

"What the hell? Stop!" He screamed to the air.

His impulse started getting stronger and he stood up. It was almost as if his body wasn't his own. He wanted to get somewhere, but he also didn't. He knew where he was going, but he also didn't. It was almost as if his mind was split in two and the halves were superimposing, making for an unharmonious whole. The only clear thing he felt was an inexplicable sense of longing and anxiousness.

As he was being dragged by his own body somewhere away from the river, he suddenly felt a jolt. He looked ahead and realized he was walking directly into a tree. Behind it, there was just a dirty ground and more trees, just like everywhere in the forest.

He tried to stop, but to no avail. That part of him that had taken over his body threw itself into the tree.

He braced for an impact that never came. He felt a cold sensation running through his body, as if he was underwater. The air turned almost viscous and it was hard to move.

The feeling didn't last long. It disappeared as suddenly as it came, and Amon fell to the ground.

To his surprise, he didn't fall into hard ground, but into a patch of soft, green grass. He looked around, confused, and suddenly felt as if he had teleported to another world.

It was a wide, open space, at least a mile wide. Lush green grass grew everywhere, still moistened by the morning dew. Small trees filled with delicate white flowers were everywhere. A gentle breeze made the trees and grass rustle and, in the middle of the space, shining in the golden light of the sun, was a lake. Amon felt he was inside a painting rather than the real world.

The lake was not big, being only a few hundred meters wide. It reflected the white clouds and the blue sky like a mirror, which seemed to be set ablaze when the sunlight shone on it, creating golden patterns in the water. The light that reflect on the water twisted around itself as small waves rolled over the surface of the lake.

However, the scenery wasn't all beauty. Looking closer, Amon saw long gashes crisscrossing everywhere on the ground, as if someone had cut the earth open. Many of the trees were chopped in half, what remained of their trunks withered and cracked.

It didn't feel like a battle had taken place here, rather it looked like someone had lashed out at their surroundings in a fit of rage. The sword scars covered most of the mysterious space.

Amon started feeling grief and regret as he looked at the scars. He didn't know why, but he could feel great pain hidden in these marks. The sudden emotions took him over by storm and he was overwhelmed for a moment.

As he was trying to get ahold of himself, he suddenly tensed up. He had caught something at the corner of his eyes. He turned around and saw something lying by the lake. He walked towards it carefully, when he realized what it was.

In this hidden world covered by sword scars, by that beautiful lake, lied a corpse.

This corpse was no more than a skeleton. One could still see scraps of what might have been blue clothes under it. The skeleton's bones had a strange luster to it, almost as if they were made of crystal.

Amon knew that he must have been a powerful cultivator in the past. Only when someone's body was tempered innumerous times one's bones would become like that. It was one of the easy ways to appraise the worth of whatever a corpse might have. If the objects belonged to an expert, they were valuable. The way to identify the corpse of an expert was exactly the luster their bones gave.

Decades or even centuries of Qi condensed running through their bodies fundamentally changed their flesh and bones. This was a step further than Body Tempering. A process that was much more natural than a forced tempering, and took place over a cultivator's whole life. Their corpses could be preserved for centuries as long as nothing destroyed them, and even that wasn't an easy thing to do.

Amon examined the skeleton closely. The deceased died lying down on the grass, looking up. Amon could almost feel the wistfulness that certainly showed in his eyes as he died gazing at the sky. His two arms were wrapped around a sword, holding it into his chest in a tight embrace. He obviously held it in high regard. In one of his fingers, a crystalline ring could be seen.

For some reason, Amon felt sorrow seeing this. He felt as if a hand was crushing his heart as a strange pressure spread through his chest. He wanted to cry, and he had no idea why he felt like this.

He hesitated for a bit before carefully moving the skeleton's arms away from the sword. It was a beautiful, yet simple weapon. The blade was about one meter long and the hilt was a bit shorter than 30 centimeters. Amon took it in his hands, taking a better look.

The sheath was made of simple black leather, with a few silver lines running through it in a somewhat complex pattern. A strap was attached to it, so one could tie the sheath to their waist or their backs.

The handle of the sword was wrapped in the same black leather, and was worn out from the use. The sword guard had a silver color and was shaped like a half moon. A small red gem was embedded in it, looking like an eye.

He found it strange for the weapon of an expert to be so simple. Powerful cultivators usually customized their artifacts to their liking, and the results varied greatly. Their artifacts became a symbol of their identities. Cultivators liked being recognized, so it was really rare to see such simple artifact in the hands of an expert.

When an expert used an artifact for many years, his Qi would permeate it, slowly changing its properties and strengthening it, not in the least unlike the natural tempering cultivators experienced with their bodies. The materials used in an artifact defined the upper limit of the artifact's growth, and such a limit was what defined an artifact's tier.

He caught himself wondering how much this sword would be worth. At least a few thousand contribution points. Enough to sustain him and his mother for years. Maybe even buy a medicine strong enough to heal her.

Even as he thought of this, he couldn't smile. He actually started feeling guilt. The thought of selling the sword made him aggrieved.

He gripped the handle and unsheathed the sword with difficulty as he did so with only his right hand. The blade hummed with trill as it was revealed to the world after who knows how long. It was a simple, unadorned blade, but it was polished to the point of reflecting light like a mirror. It had a good balance, although not perfect.

He realized the grip of the sword was so worn out one could see the marks of the fingers of the wielder. Amon's fingers were quite small compared to his.

Amon was really excited as he held the blade, like he had found a long lost companion. Suddenly, a name came to mind.

"Brightmoon." He quietly mumbled to himself.

Wait, how did he know that?

A sudden scorching pain came from his in his palm. He dropped the sword on the ground, surprised. He looked down at his hand. It had turned bright red and was throbbing violently.

"Who dares!" A shout made its way directly into Amon's head. The voice was filled with anger and so loud Amon felt his brain would crack.

The air around him seemed to freeze and he found himself unable to move. It slowly started constricting on him. He was completely powerless.

The pressure increased and he found it harder to breath. The pain in his shoulder flared up again and he screamed.

The sword on the ground slowly floated up, and a silhouette materialized from thin air, holding the sword.

The silhouette slowly turned clear, taking the form of a woman.

She was breathtaking. Her figure was slender and she had long legs. Her white dress seemed to be made of moonlight as it shone with a silver luster. Her hair fell like a waterfall on her back, as black as the night sky. A pair of clear blue eyes that seemed to pierce at one's soul could be seen in a delicate and pale face.

Amon would certainly be dumbstruck by this woman's beauty if he weren't terrified or suffocating. The thick killing intent exuding from her didn't help either.

The woman's eyes shone with a cold glint as she raised the sword. The pressure over Amon's body grew heavier and his vision started to fade. Everything around him turned dark, except for the pair of blue eyes that gazed at him with hostility.

As he was prepared to feel the cold blade slashing at his neck, he heard the woman speaking again directly to his mind. This time, he could clearly hear the melodious tone of her voice as it wasn't the same angry shout as before. Instead, it was full of surprise and incredulity.

What echoed in his mind was a single name.

"Alexei?"

Then, he passed out.