Oliver stepped backward into the surrounding darkness while Rook dashed forward, reducing his own presence almost instantly as instinct screamed at him to abandon the area without hesitation.

Fighting a Rank 2 Puppet while still Unranked was not a matter of bravery or determination.

It was suicide.

Besides, no character within the novel possessed something as convenient as ’plot armour.’

Anyone could die at any moment regardless of their importance, and that fact alone should have been obvious considering a mere side character had once killed the protagonist like a ragged doll.

Not to mention that this world was no longer a novel anymore, but reality itself.

Oliver had absolutely no intention of gambling against something like that.

Unfortunately, just as he prepared to fully retreat by dashing into the darkness ahead, his eyes caught something unusual about the creature standing in the distance.

...The Drifter was wounded.

One of its arms had been completely torn away from the shoulder, leaving behind countless translucent strands drifting weakly through the air like exposed nerves. Pale fluid continuously leaked from the ruined section while the creature itself swayed unnaturally whenever it attempted to move.

Rook feigned an attack toward it, yet the Drifter did not even flinch. The beast leapt past the creature before landing behind it with a threatening growl, remaining low to the ground while maintaining a cautious distance.

Still, the Drifter never even glanced back.

Oliver’s gaze sharpened gradually.

’Something already fought this thing.’

That realization immediately transformed the situation within his mind.

A healthy Drifter would never appear in such catastrophic condition unless something overwhelmingly powerful had nearly killed it beforehand, and around this mountain, only one creature matched that possibility.

The Mourn Wyrm.

Oliver briefly glanced toward the upper mountain swallowed beneath darkness before returning his attention toward the Puppet once more.

The odds were still terrible.

But no longer impossible.

Forty Fragments from killing a Rank 2 Puppet would immediately propel him far beyond his current limitations and drastically improve his chances of crossing the Serpent’s Hollow afterward. Opportunities like this were extraordinarily rare within the Garden, especially for someone weak enough to desperately require them.

Then the Drifter suddenly stopped moving.

Its hollow head slowly tilted toward Oliver despite the Shadow Hue concealing him within darkness, and moments later, the creature vanished entirely from its original position.

Oliver’s instincts detonated with warning.

He twisted sideways instantly while drawing the Imperial Sword within the same motion, narrowly evading elongated claws that tore through the air where his neck had been mere moments earlier. The Drifter reappeared beside him almost immediately, its distorted body stretching unnaturally while pale threads drifted around it like smoke.

Oliver retaliated without hesitation.

The Imperial Sword slashed directly across the creature’s torso with enough force to cleave an ordinary Puppet completely apart, yet the blade rebounded without inflicting any visible damage, almost as though he had struck an indestructible mass of iron.

His expression twisted into a scowl immediately afterward.

’Damn it. The sword really can’t cut through its main body. If this was truly the same blade Oliver’s mother used, then why the hell is it like this?’

The Drifter lunged again without pause, its remaining arm extending unnaturally while distorted claws tore toward Oliver’s chest. He retreated backward across the rocky slope before unleashing another strike toward the creature’s center mass.

Again, the Sword phased straight through it.

The Drifter suddenly materialized directly before him afterward, and the moment Oliver entered closer proximity to the creature, he immediately felt something frigid rake violently against his thoughts. Pressure accumulated behind his eyes while fragmented sensations that did not belong to him attempted to force themselves into his awareness.

His concentration wavered briefly beneath the mental intrusion.

The creature was trying to invade his memories.

Oliver gritted his teeth before forcing himself backward once more while suppressing the foreign pressure clawing against his consciousness.

’So this is the mental attack... shit. Staying close for too long is dangerous.’

The Puppet attacked again almost immediately afterward.

This time, its claws slammed directly across Oliver’s torso before he could evade completely, producing a sharp metallic sound that echoed through the mountain. However, despite the overwhelming force behind the strike, no pain followed whatsoever.

Oliver blinked once before lowering his gaze toward the black garment covering his body.

The elongated claws remained pressed against the Mother’s War Attire without leaving behind even the faintest scratch. The dark robe fluttered lightly beneath the impact while the pale bindings wrapped around his torso remained entirely untouched.

The Drifter itself paused briefly afterward, almost as though confused by the outcome.

Oliver stared at the armour for another moment before realization struck him instantly.

The Keepsake had absorbed the attack completely.

Oliver’s entire understanding of the battle shifted immediately afterward.

Before this, entering the Drifter’s range meant gambling with death every second he remained close enough for the mental corruption to intensify.

Now things were different.

If the Mother’s War Attire could withstand attacks from a Rank 2 Puppet this effortlessly, then he could afford to fight far more aggressively than before.

A slow grin nearly formed across his face before disappearing just as quickly.

’A Tier 8 Keepsake really is absurd.’

The Drifter attacked again almost immediately afterward, its claws tearing repeatedly toward Oliver while pale strands spread around its body like unstable webs searching relentlessly for an opening. Sharp impacts continued crashing against the black garment covering him, yet none of the attacks succeeded in piercing through the attire whatsoever.

Oliver endured the relentless barrage while forcing himself closer instead of retreating.

The pressure clawing against his thoughts intensified the nearer he approached the creature, causing fragmented whispers and unfamiliar sensations to briefly flicker across his mind before vanishing moments later.

Still, he advanced.

The Drifter suddenly twisted its body unnaturally before lunging toward him with explosive force, intending to overwhelm him entirely through sheer proximity.

At that exact moment, Rook erupted from the darkness beside the Puppet before violently clamping its jaws around the Drifter’s leg. The beast twisted its entire body afterward while dragging the unstable creature sideways with savage force, causing the wounded Puppet to lose balance immediately before crashing heavily against the rocky slope.

And for a single fleeting instant, Oliver saw it clearly.

A pale vertical thread running directly through the center of the Drifter’s chest.

The core.

Oliver surged forward instantly afterward.

The pressure assaulting his thoughts became unbearable the closer he moved toward the creature, causing his vision to distort slightly while fragments of foreign memories attempted to invade his awareness completely.

He ignored all of it.

The blade thrust forward with absolute precision before piercing directly into the pale thread concealed within the Drifter’s chest. Fortunately, it was the only part his sword could penetrate because it existed less like flesh and more like a living void.

Then the thread snapped.

The sound resembled a taut wire breaking beneath overwhelming tension.

Immediately afterward, the Drifter froze completely before its body convulsed violently once and began unraveling from the chest outward, collapsing into smoke that scattered throughout the mountain air moments later until nothing remained behind.

Silence returned across the slope.

Oliver remained standing motionless afterward while breathing heavily beneath the cold night wind sweeping across the mountain terrain.

[Drifter (Rank 2) destroyed.]

[+40 Fragments absorbed.]

He slowly lowered the Sword afterward before staring toward the place where the creature had completely vanished.

"So it really was desperate enough to come down here searching for food," he muttered quietly.

The reckless aggression honestly made perfect sense.

Drifters possessed one unusual characteristic among Rank 2 Puppets because unlike most others, they could partially restore themselves by consuming humans directly. The creature had likely escaped from a clash against the Mourn Wyrm before descending the mountain in search of prey weak enough to kill safely and strong enough to restore its damaged body.

Unfortunately for it, the Mourn Wyrm had already reduced it into something barely clinging to existence.

And unfortunately for the Drifter, it had crossed paths with Oliver immediately afterward.

Luck had practically thrown a feast directly into his hands tonight.

And for once, he had actually been clever enough to survive long enough to take advantage of it.

The familiar screen materialized before his eyes again with a new message.

[Anomaly Detected: You have slain a creature beyond your designated capacity. Additional Fragments have been awarded.]

[+5 Bonus Fragments.]

[Would you like to evolve to your First Rank, human?]

A mischievous grin slowly spread across his face.

"...Of course."