Odyssey of the Renegade Sovereign

Host: Astrael Ravenastra / Age: 15 yrs / Race: Human

Title: Blood Berserker, Goblin Slayer....

Class: None

Cultivation: Novice stage 3

Level: 22

Exp.: 4700 / 22000

Bloodline: Ravensastra Bloodline

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Attributes:

- Strength: 67 / Agility: 74 / Intelligence: 185 / Endurance: 63 / Vitality: 67 / Charm: 30 / Soul: 100 (LOCKED)

- SP: 18

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[Soul World]

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Innate Talent:

[ Plunder (???) ] / [ Synthesis (???) ]

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Skills and Abilities:

[ Appraise ]

[ Inventory ]

[ Sword Mastery (Master) ]

[ Quick Draw (E) lvl. 9(max) ]

[ Mana Augmentation (E) lvl. 9(max) ]

[ Bood Berserker (C) ]

[ Predator's Clarity (C+)]

[ Iron Body ]

[ Savage Endurance (E) ] NEW!

[ Blood Veil (E) ] NEW!

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After seeing his current status, Astrael couldn't help but smile. Training with the Raven Astra Scripture had many benefits. It increased his intelligence stats and the mana control ability. Every breath, every cycle, made the flow of mana in his body feel more natural, like an extra set of limbs he could command at will.

This… is what separates a swordsman from a true cultivator, he thought. Raw power was good, but precise power—that was lethal.

He closed the status window, exhaled slowly, and felt the faint hum of mana pulsing in his core.

With that thought, Astrael stepped out of his room, intent on finding someone who actually knew the forest, not a rumour-monger, but a local with real knowledge. And the best place to gather information… was always where ale flowed and tongues loosened.

He descended the narrow staircase and slid into a corner table that gave him a clear view of the room. The din of clinking mugs and boisterous laughter rolled around him.

A young woman approached, balancing a tray under one arm. Her hair was tied back, her smile bright enough to be part of the tavern's charm. "What would you like to order, sir?"

"Bring me your best dish," Astrael said without glancing up from surveying the room.

She blinked, a little caught off guard—probably used to people haggling over copper, not asking for the best. "As you wish, sir." She dipped her head and moved off toward the kitchen.

As she left, Astrael's focus shifted. His expression didn't change, but the passive hum of Predator's Clarity slid into place, sharpening the edges of every sound. Conversations that had been background noise are now separated into distinct threads.

Two tables over, a pair of hunters were grumbling about "those black-pelt wolves getting bolder." Near the bar, an older man in a patched coat muttered about strange lights deeper in Elderwood. And at the far end, a group of younger adventurers were debating whether the "cursed glade" was real or just another guild story.

Astrael leaned back in his chair, sifting through the words for what might be useful.

Astrael's attention narrowed on a table near the far wall, half-hidden in the tavern's dim light. Two men sat close together, their mugs untouched, voices low enough that anyone without a sharpened ear would miss them entirely.

"…I'm telling you, it wasn't just a beast," the older one said, his voice hoarse from drink or age. "The trees there… they've grown in ways they shouldn't. Twisted, like something's been feeding on the forest itself."

The younger man leaned in, eyes darting toward the door. "You think it's the anomaly the scouts were talking about?"

The older man's lips pressed thin. "Could be, all I know is the air there feels wrong. Like it's watching you."

"That could mean treasure," the younger one whispered quickly, almost hungrily. "If it's a remnant from the old war, maybe an artefact… or something stronger. You've heard the stories—"

"I've lived the stories," the old man cut him off, grip tightening on his mug. "Artifacts don't just sit waiting for you to pick them up. They're guarded, and whatever's guarding this… it ain't natural. People don't usually come back from there."

The younger man hesitated, but the gleam in his eyes didn't fade. "Still… if someone did make it back, they'd be rich."

Astrael's fingers tapped lightly against the table. Sighing about not getting any useful information. As he was in lost, the waitress returned, sliding a steaming plate in front of him, but his mind was already on the forest's heart.

Astrael finished the last bite of the tavern's "best dish," a surprisingly rich venison stew with a faint spice that lingered on the tongue. He set the spoon down, slid a few bronze coins across the table, and caught the waitress as she was passing.

"Miss, can you tell me the way to the Elderwood Forest?" he said casually.

Her cheerful smile faltered, just for a second. "You mean… the Elderwood? Sir, most folk don't go that far in."

"I'm not most folk," Astrael replied, his tone even.

She hesitated, then leaned in a little, lowering her voice. "Well… if you're set on it, the main path out of Greenhollow heads straight toward the forest's edge. But before you reach the treeline, you'll hit the kingdom's checkpost. The guards there won't let you through without proper clearance—usually a guild card, and sometimes written orders if you're going deeper."

"Clears up a lot," Astrael said, slipping a silver coin into her palm.

Her eyes widened, and she gave a grateful nod. "Just… be careful, sir. It's dangerous there; people vanish in there."

Astrael rose from the table, adjusting the strap of his sword.

Astrael stepped out of the tavern into the crisp morning air. The sky was washed in fresh sunlight, the sun barely cresting over the rooftops of town. Merchants were already shouting prices, carts creaked over the stalls, and the smell of fresh bread mingled from the market stalls.

He followed the route the waitress had described, weaving past shopfronts and clusters of townsfolk. The further he went, the thinner the buildings grew, until the dirt road opened into a wide clearing.

Up ahead, the kingdom's checkpost came into view—solid timber walls reinforced with iron bands, the kingdom's crest painted proudly above the main gate. A steady line of people moved through: hunters hauling game, traders with mule carts, adventurers with mismatched armour, all waiting for inspection before passing into or out of Elderwood's reach.

The low murmur of conversations mixed with the occasional bark of a guard giving orders. Steel glinted in the morning sun as sentries paced along the wall, their spears catching the light with each turn.

Astrael joined the end of the line, his pace matching the slow shuffle forward.

Up ahead, a group of adventurers caught his attention—men and women in leather and chainmail, most of them laughing and trading boasts while waiting their turn. He could see the dents in their armour, but their expressions held the careless confidence of people used to surviving such outings.

Then a shout erupted near the front of the queue. Everyone's heads turned in that way while whispers spread in the crowd. Astrael shifted slightly to the side for a better view.

Two adventurers were staggering out from the forest gate—one clutching a blood-soaked bandage at his thigh, the other supporting him with an arm slung over her shoulder. The man's face was pale, while his breathing was ragged. Their armor was shredded in places, and dark, dried blood matted their sleeves.

"What happened?" someone in the crowd whispered.

"They went in yesterday… that's less than a day," another voice muttered.

"Probably a pack of gnolls," someone else said, though their tone carried more doubt than certainty.

"Gnolls don't shred armor like that," another voice cut in. "Whatever it was, they're lucky to be breathing."

A few in line stepped back instinctively, as though the forest's danger might spill out into the clearing with the wounded.

"Should we even be going in today?" a woman near the front asked under her breath.

"Then stay home," a gruff man replied. "More coin for the rest of us."

The guards moved quickly, parting the crowd and rushing the pair toward the outpost's infirmary.

Astrael's gaze lingered on the trail of dark drops staining the packed earth. He didn't miss the way the woman's eyes darted back toward the tree line as if she was wary, before she disappeared past the gate.

The line inched forward again, the murmur of voices behind him fading beneath the creak of the wooden gate and the clang of armour from the guards posted nearby. Astrael's boots scuffed lightly against the packed dirt as he stepped up to the checkpoint.

A soldier in a polished breastplate, his helmet tucked under one arm, blocked his way with a practised, impassive stare.

"Identity verification," the man said flatly, holding out a hand.

Astrael reached into his coat and produced his freshly issued adventurer card, the bronze surface catching the early sunlight. The soldier glanced at it, running his thumb over the etched crest of the Adventurers' Guild before nodding and passing it back.

"That'll be thirty bronze coins," the guard continued, voice clipped and professional.

Astrael counted the coins from his pouch and dropped them into the soldier's open palm.

The man stepped aside with a curt gesture toward the open gate. "Keep to the marked paths if you value your skin. The deeper zones aren't for fresh faces."

Astrael gave the faintest of smiles, slipping the card back into his coat. "I'll keep that in mind."