Iver had been having a strange dream lately.
He stumbled and staggered through a burning maple forest, while the maple leaves resembled flame butterflies fluttering their wings.
His body was covered in charred wounds, and the smoke had blackened his skin. It seemed he was searching for something—or perhaps fleeing from something.
When he looked up absentmindedly, he saw only a dark red expanse in the fire-reflected night sky.
There was no sun or moon in that black-and-red sky, only a gigantic, constantly bleeding wound.
It looked like a gash pierced by a sharp blade, or perhaps a wound run through by a spear. Thick black blood seeped from it drop by drop, forming a sparse waterfall.
For some reason, the Iver in the dream insisted on braving the burns to reach the bottom of that waterfall.
But every time, Iver failed to get there.
As he gradually drew closer in that direction, he would always stumble and collapse from exhaustion. Then he would suddenly awaken, and that vivid dream would fade into a fleeting jolt of fear and anxiety, leaving behind only a few blurred fragments of memory.
This time, perhaps because Iver had taken the "Drunken Dream Tincture" before falling asleep, his dream became much more stable.
He walked an incredibly long way and finally reached the bottom of the wound.
It was a small, empty plain in the Dense Forest. The blood flowing from the wound in the sky had gathered into a massive lake, and a tiny island lay in its midst. On the barren island, a Two-Handed Sword stood alone, soaked by the waterfall-like viscous blood until it had turned pitch-black.
Iver stared intently at the Two-Handed Sword.
He approached it in a daze.
But just then, he suddenly heard a bear's low growl from