In the heart of the dense forest, a torrent of raw energy surged through Han's veins, an unyielding tempest that defied all restraint. It was as if the very essence had chosen him as its vessel, a blazing vitality that radiated from his veins to the very tips of his fingers. The moment hung suspended...

With a masterful command of his mana, Han wielded the pliers before him like an extension of his being. The pliers, their edges gleaming ominously, became instruments of calculated destruction under Han's guidance. Precision guided each movement, and with a swift and uncanny accuracy, they were propelled towards the unsuspecting figure of Ralf, his back turned to the impending maelstrom.

The metallic impact of the pliers against Ralf's body reverberated through the forest like a haunting refrain. Caught off guard, Ralf's body jolted, his bloodshot eyes widening in shock and agony. Han seized the moment with unrelenting determination, driving the pliers deeper into Ralf's flesh. The attack was relentless, a flicker of hope amid the chaos that had consumed them.

As the pliers dug into the left side of Ralf's back, a spray of crimson marked the dance of violence. Ralf's thunderous aura crackled around him, a testament to his frenzied attempt to retaliate. His pained gaze bore into Han's eyes, a venomous mix of rage and disbelief. Yet, despite his agony, Ralf's resilience remained as he staggered back.

But Han was not to be deterred. The pliers remained lodged in Ralf's wound, a grim reminder of Han's resolve. Each movement was a symphony of precision and desperation as he continued to drive the pliers deeper, drawing forth more blood and the haunting chorus of Ralf's anguish. The forest air seemed to shiver with tension as if holding its breath in anticipation of the inevitable hit.

As Ralf's struggle intensified, white foam formed at the corners of his lips, his gasps for air growing desperate. His control over the pliers wavered, and Han sensed the tide of fate shifting in his favor. Yet, even as Ralf's strength waned, his malevolent glare remained, a final testament to his unyielding hatred.

And then it happened. Han's grip faltered, his control over the pliers and his mana slipping like sand through his fingers. A surge of panic gripped him as the window of opportunity began to close, and he watched helplessly as Ralf wrenched the pliers from his wound, blood erupting forth like a dreadful fountain. Ralf's efforts to staunch the bleeding were in vain, a losing battle against the torrent of life seeping from his body.

As the realization dawned upon Ralf that his end was near, his eyes widened with a mixture of confusion and terror. His form, once imposing and defiant, faltered, and he crumpled to the forest ground. Gasping for breath, his consciousness slipped away, leaving only the stillness of death in its wake.

Meanwhile, Han's eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, captured the tragic tableau before him. The pain that had been temporarily suspended surged back with a vengeance, and he collapsed against the tree trunk to which he had been bound. Yet, in his unconscious state, he remained oblivious to the notification that materialized before his eyes.

Beneath the moon's gaze, a lifeless body lay, blood pooling in solemn testament. Han, unconscious and bound, his breath a fragile whisper. The forest was a silent witness. Time paused, fate's enigma unfurled.

Meanwhile, on a different side, Rasial began to sense something amiss. Notably absent from the expedition's camp were Ralf and Han, the two most crucial figures. Rasial's observations showed that all other members had settled in their tents. Upon questioning, the members maintained silence, refraining from sharing any information.

Frustrated by the circumstances, Rasial's patience wore thin. He summoned his mortal-ranked swordsmen bodyguards and instructed them to scour the area for Ralf and Han. He provided a detailed description to aid their search. As the bodyguards swiftly disappeared, Rasial felt reassured by his decision to enlist their protection. He had specifically requested their presence from the guild, and now he bore witness to the wisdom of that choice. With a sigh, he settled within his tent, the weight of anticipation heavy in the air as he awaited Han's return.

Dividing their efforts, the bodyguards dispersed to opposite sides of the forest in search of their missing companions. After a brief interval, the bodyguard assigned to the eastern sector made a discovery – two prone figures on the forest ground. Hastening to the scene, his immediate concern was for Ralf. An examination of his pulse yielded disheartening results – no response.

Turning his attention to Han, the bodyguard meticulously assessed his condition. Relief washed over him as he detected vital signs in the young man. Surveying the scene, his deductions led to a grim realization of the events that had transpired. Despite his understanding, he swore an unwavering vow of secrecy, a commitment reserved exclusively for the guild he faithfully served. The pieces of the puzzle aligned – the contrast between Han's injuries and Ralf's singular, significant wound spoke volumes.

 

Uttering a quiet sigh of exasperation at the troublesome circumstances, the bodyguard retrieved both individuals and began making his way back to the campsite, grappling with the complex situation at hand and uncertain of how to proceed.

Within the depths of darkness, a figure was ensnared, enshrouded by a crimson mist that encircled it without respite. It floated ceaselessly, lost in an unending abyss. Abruptly, the figure contorted, its form convulsing in agony, and a desperate cry shattered the eerie stillness. The pain persisted, an unending torment that seemed to stretch on for endless days, devoid of solace or succor. Loneliness clung to the figure like a shroud, and a ceaseless refrain whispered from its lips, a haunting chant: "Why? Why? Why?"

Through the void, the echoes of despair reverberated...

The resonance of rumbling noise pierced through Han's consciousness, prompting his eyes to snap open. His surroundings were unfamiliar, leaving him disoriented and searching for answers. The recollection of pain coursing through his body before his unconsciousness remained the last memory. As he surveyed his bandaged limbs and body, he pieced together a fraction of what transpired. Seated within a carriage, the weight of the tragedy he endured weighed heavily, his eyes brimming with tears.

In moments such as this, Han yearned for the comfort of his past life...

Amidst his tears, Rasial entered the carriage from the front, where the horses were tethered. The sight of Han awakening brought a visible sense of relief to Rasial's demeanor; his concern was palpable. Hastening to Han's side, his worry was evident.

Han, noticing Rasial, responded with a smile that seemingly brushed away the weight of the past. "How have you been?" he inquired as if the intervening events were mere trivialities.

Rasial approached Han in silence, his emotions overwhelming. Tears streamed down his face as he spoke, "I couldn't do anything for you. I... wanted to protect you, but look what happened." His voice broke the weight of his inability to shield Han from harm evident in his words.

With a gentle touch, Han patted Rasial's head, a gesture of reassurance. "I'm okay," he offered in a tone that carried a sense of lightness, attempting to alleviate Rasial's distress.

"No, you're not okay!" Rasial's voice cracked with emotion. "I witnessed the suffering you endured, the state you were left in. Now that he's gone, the situation has grown more complicated."

Curiosity and concern filled Han's gaze as he inquired about the current circumstances. His longing to understand what had unfolded during his unconsciousness was palpable.

"It's been a week since you fell into this state of unconsciousness," Rasial began, his demeanor fraught with concern. "I was unable to manage the situation effectively as the bodyguards acted independently. They reported what had occurred to the Alchemist Guild about Ralf."

Han leaned against the carriage, shock painted on his features. He had been incapacitated for a week, a realization that weighed heavily upon him. A sigh escaped him as he absorbed the disadvantageous position he now found himself in.

"What lies ahead for me?" Han's question was laden with apprehension, his gaze seeking understanding.

"The aristocrats convened a meeting upon learning of Ralf's demise at the hands of a young Physician," Rasial explained, recounting the week's events. "To my surprise, their rage was restrained by the King's orders."

Han couldn't help but give a wry smile, acknowledging that his predicament had grown even more complex. Now indebted to the King for sparing him from the aristocrats' wrath, he realized that navigating this new path would be far from straightforward.

"While this situation is not ideal," Rasial continued, his tone laced with awkwardness, "it could have been worse. They might have accused you of murder and sentenced you to execution."

A chuckle escaped Han's lips, albeit accompanied by a wince as his hand brushed his neck. "And where are we heading now?" he asked, his curiosity shifting to their immediate destination.

"We're nearing the slums," Rasial responded, his voice carrying determination. "The other expedition members are in the carriage behind us. I've made sure they won't approach you. Once we arrive in the slums, I'll assign a bodyguard to remain by your side at all times."

Han's nod reflected his understanding, despite the inward acknowledgment of Rasial's excessive concern. His thoughts briefly contemplated the potential hindrance posed by an ever-present bodyguard as he worked on the Virus. However, at this moment, that was a concern he could set aside. He cast his mind back to the confrontation with Ralf, relief flooding him as he realized he had survived facing such a monstrous individual.

The memory of Ralf's lifeless body and the action Han had taken resurfaced vividly, prompting an involuntary reaction.

The retching sound of vomiting echoed within the confines of the carriage.

The acrid smell of brown-colored vomit permeated the air, casting a pall over the carriage's interior.

"I'll open the curtains to air it out and get someone to clean this," Rasial's voice carried a tinge of disgust as he exited the carriage, situating himself beside the driver to escape the stench.

Amidst the lingering smell, Han chuckled, finding amusement in Rasial's reaction, even as he wiped away the vomit around his mouth. However, the image of taking a life continued to mar his thoughts, leaving an uncomfortable residue akin to the lingering stench of the carriage.

The gesture of someone caring for him was a comforting realization in this unfamiliar world, a balm to the ache left by his traumatic encounter. With a sigh, Han turned his attention to his future endeavors concerning the Virus, pondering the potential symptoms he might need to address. The pleasant introspection was short-lived, however, as a repugnant odor emanated from his breath. "I need to clean myself," Han mused aloud, recognizing the need for immediate attention to his well-being.

Setting aside the discomfort, the carriages carried on, steadily advancing toward their destination – the Slums.