The Invincible Full-Moon System

Chapter 1932: Stranger in the Woods

The rattan ball skittered across the mud, chased by the bare feet of two teens and ferocious laughter.

Firelight from the tiki torches lit up the excited faces of six boys around the age of sixteen, split into two teams, playing football even though it was already late in the night. Soldiers who were distinctively separated by looks—one side half armored and the other side clad in leather hide of a barbarian—didn’t mind the teens at all.

Frankly, they have better things to do.

All of them were carrying out patrols or carrying out boxes from one military tent to another.

In this clearing, there are hundreds of military tents stretched across miles.

Rumour stated a war in the coming days, but that doesn’t concern the teens.

At least not for now.

Linka stopped the rattan ball, but Ben was already upon him.

He feinted right with a perfect crossover; the ball clung to his instep on the muddy earth, then cut left with a sudden pivot that should’ve broken ankles. But Ben reads it like an expert defender—intercepts it, but kicks the rattan ball away by accident.

It rolled into the treeline, causing the other boys to click their tongues in displeasure.

"Come on, Ben! You don’t have to kick it that hard."

"Get the ball, quick! Before we get into trouble."

"Sorry, sorry," Ben sneaked into the forest quickly, disappearing between trunks.

Even though the soldiers allowed them to play around, they weren’t allowed to wander too far away.

It’s for security and concealment reasons.

Being near the enemy territory meant they couldn’t be too loud or wander too far and alert the locals. But the play was at its apex of intensity; the score was even, and there were still at least five more minutes on the clock.

Stopping now would feel like a waste.

Minutes passed.

"Where’s Ben?" Another boy questioned as he peeked at the soldiers from behind a tent—seeing two walking in his direction. It wouldn’t take long for these two soldiers to notice their current predicament. "What’s taking so long?"

"He’s fine... right?" Another, who was sitting on a wooden crate, asked nervously. "I heard Marsha is in the area."

"Ben is probably the most skilled among us—he’ll survive," the boy leaning against a tree replied. "Not even Marsha; that damn saber-tooth tiger, would be able to sneak on him. I’m sure the ball got stuck on something."

Another minute passed.

And now, the boy who sounded absolutely certain that Ben was fine started to become worried.

"I should’ve gone with him," Linka commented. "It’s dangerous to go al—"

Before he could finish his words, silence suddenly dawned upon them.

One second, the forest was loud, and then it wasn’t.

The cicadas, which had been shrieking their endless, grating chorus, fell mute in the span of one single second as if some unseen hand had reached down and pinched the noise from the air. The birds also fell silent at the exact same moment; their chattering calls were snipped mid-note and swallowed by the odd and sudden void.

Not even the wind made a sound in the area.

Just silence, dropped over the teens like a shroud.

One of them looked around and saw the same nervousness and dread in his friend’s faces.

"Should we call someone?" He asked.

"No, we’re not," Another rebutted. "We’re going to be whipped if they know one of us went missing."

If one of them went missing, then the soldiers would assume an enemy had kidnapped Ben—or worse, that Ben turns out to be working for the enemy force. And that would mean punishment for them that ranged from whipping to outright public humiliation.

Nothing good would come from calling someone to help them.

Linka stood before the treeline, trying to peer through the darkness, "Ben!"

No answer.

"What are we going to do?"

"We’re going in together and find him, that’s what we’re going to do."

"I’m scared..."

"Don’t be a coward. You’re seventeen years old! You’re practically an adult, so act like one."

Ignoring the argument still raging behind him, Linka was the first to step into the woods. His mind was fixed on one thing: the fear that Ben was hurt. It didn’t matter that Ben had gone in willingly. Linka was the one who had sent him to fetch the rattan ball, alone, without offering to go along.

That made this his fault.

Seeing him walking in, the others rushed to follow.

Marsha, the saber-tooth tiger. Iroa, the ghost bear. Leenta, small but dangerous insects that eat people’s faces for breakfast. Every single predator in the area is identified, and they know everything from what they look like, their method of hunting, and how to avoid them.

From the moment they can hold a weapon, they have been trained to fight.

And at the age of ten, they are pitted against a black wild boar.

Only those who survived the trial earned their tribe’s recognition—a streak of red dye on the hair at the back of their heads. Frankly, they were not helpless teens. Not even close. They were proven survivors. And yet, for some reason, the darkness tonight felt different. Hungrier.

It made them swallow hard and stick close.

Just half a minute of a scared walk, the group found the rattan ball.

It sits in a shaft of moonlight, unnaturally clean, as if placed deliberately there.

Linka swept his gaze through the dark woods, searching desperately for any sign of Ben.

As a hunter, his eyes naturally searched for cues and found the footprints that were undoubtedly Ben’s.

He kept his eyes locked onto them as they threaded the undergrowth. But now, the footprints stopped—right where he stood. A cold instinct prickled at the back of his neck, and with a quick snap, he looked up as the only reason the footprints stopped was Ben being taken off the ground.

It wasn’t native to these woods, not really.

But there was another predator that he knew hunter like this. One that attacked from above.

A man-sized spider.

Linka found no sign of it; the woods’ canopy was clean of spiderwebs.

It’s not that.

Just then, the group’s attention snapped forward when they saw something move.

A figure was walking out from behind a tree.

Seeing a strange figure in the woods, Linka’s brows drew down into a frown, and so did the others.

The figure that emerged from behind a tree across from him was taller than any tribesman he had ever seen, and draped in expensive silks and a long coat the color of a bruise. He looked more like the traitor nobles who were on their sides.

His amber eyes glowed with their own inner light, fixed on the teens with something none of them could quite decipher.

Then his lips moved.

A smirk? No, it was a smile, but only half of one.

One corner curled upward while the other remained frozen, paralyzed. A smile that did not quite reach his eyes meant a fake one; that’s what the elders told the teens. "What are you kids doing wandering in the woods?" He asked and tilted his head slightly; his eyes shifted to the rattan ball. "For that?"

"Yes, and we’re also searching for our friend. Have you seen him?"

"Are you a noble from the empire, mister? If so, we’ll have to kill you."

Linka ignored the conversation, eyes still scanning the area.

’He looked like a noble from the empire, but those gems and the almost glimmering silk that made up his clothes... How should I put it? It’s grander than even the emperor’s,’ He thought inside—confused as to who this figure was. ’Who is he and where did he come from?’

Just then, right behind the tree where the figure emerged from, Linka saw something.

A pair of eyes stared up from the mud, wide with terror, pressed sideways into the dirt. Familiar eyes. Linka’s brows furrowed deeper, his subconscious screaming before his mind could catch up. But before he could fully register what he was looking at, his gaze was pulled back to the figure, as if compelled.

"I think I’ve seen him," the figure replied. "And I’m not from the empire."

Before the group’s eyes, he pointed a finger at the rattan ball, and it started to float.

No visible energy, but the rattan ball floated like the figure was using telekinesis.

The moment the rattan ball floated, Linka’s eyes went wide with shock.

His mind finally pieced together the pieces and realized what had happened. The thing he saw behind the tree, the shape he’d glimpse from his angle, was none other than Ben; head tilted unnaturally. Clearly had his neck broken.

And the one who had killed him was standing right a few paces away.

The disappearing footprints now made sense as the figure had telekinesis.

And from the stretching smile on the figure’s face, it seemed he wanted Linka to realize what he did.

"Run back to the camp!!"

None of them paused. None of them stopped to think. Linka would never shout like that—unless it was an emergency, and they knew it. Like trained warriors, drilled through years of training, they turned on their heels and sprinted back toward camp, intent on alerting the soldiers about the stranger.

Linka also turned.

He could feel his breath growing heavier from the panic.

And though he was at the very back with the others frantically running ahead, he was not worried.

Since he was fast, chasing after them wasn’t a problem, but at the fourth step, his pupils dilated.

Splash—!

Linka’s breath caught in his throat when the boy to his right suddenly exploded; his body burst into a mist of blood and chunks of flesh. Some got onto Linka’s face—and some of it struck his eyes. He was forced to blink on instinct, squeezing them shut.

And when he opened them again, the others were also experiencing the same thing.

The explosions moved in sequence—starting with the one furthest away, then the next, and the next.

Three of them were gone in seconds.

One managed to let out a scream; a fear-drenched wail that pierced the night.

But it was cut short almost instantly as his body ruptured into red mist.

Linka collapsed into the mud, breaths hitching, and heart hammering like a fist inside his chest.

He stared at what remains of his friends with terror-stricken eyes.

Just minutes ago, they were all playing and laughing together. And now, they were only puddles of blood and meat against the mud. Linka turned to the approaching figure, "What do you want?! What do you want from us?!"

Survival instinct forced him to reach out his hand, pinching the figure’s pants.

"Please..." He begged for mercy.

"For a tribe of hunters, you kids are quite a failure for not recognizing a predator," the figure said, and when Linka lifted his gaze, a slap landed across his face. It was forceful, and it brought enough force to snap his neck.

Despite the begging. Despite the fact that they were teens. The figure didn’t hesitate.

His eyes remained the same.

Killing these kids doesn’t seem to faze him; in fact, he seemed to take perverse pleasure in the act.

The figure’s gaze drifted down to his trousers, settling on the muddy stain—where Linka’s hand had held. A distinct frown creased his face as he flicked at the dirt with visible irritation. "I made sure to kill them while they were further away precisely because of this," he muttered—with a click of his tongue. "Damn dirty mortal children."

Out of spite, the figure kicked Linka’s corpse, launching it to the other side.

No respect whatsoever for the dead.

He then cleared his throat and fixed his clothes before walking ahead, heading straight to the camp.

Though he seemed to be walking, he wasn’t really walking.

Underneath, there’s a good few inches of space between his shoes and the mud.

As a Demigod, he would not want to be sullied by the dirty mud of mortals.