Meanwhile, Oliver was fleeing eastward with Rook. He rode atop the beast with a broad grin carved across his face as though fortune itself had descended upon him.

The creature thundered across the fractured landscape, its claws striking against stone with violent force as it occasionally vaulted over uneven ridges to avoid losing momentum.

The young man had orchestrated his escape in his head ever since they began nearing the edge of the fog.

And naturally, everything unfolded exactly as intended...

Oliver knew about the black canyon that lay beyond the mist, and the caravan had unknowingly advanced straight toward it. Without a doubt, they would have eventually entered the narrow trail imprisoned between those colossal canyon walls.

Continuing further along that route would lead them toward the northern territories of the Outer Ring.

And certainly, not everyone would survive the passage, because it was regarded as one of the deadliest routes within the Garden.

Even so, he was fairly confident Kaden and Teresa would reach the destination alive. However, upon arriving there, they would discover a Still Point.

In the novel, a Still Point was described as a rare location where clean water and Flesh Fruit trees coexisted.

Barely ten such sanctuaries existed throughout the entirety of the Outer Ring, each separated by vast, merciless distances.

Even the Settlement’s castle had been constructed around one of them, though it also stood as one of the oldest surviving structures within the Garden itself.

Truthfully, Oliver had numerous reasons for abandoning the caravan, and every single one revolved around his own ambitions rather than preserving the story’s original plot after he had already shattered that beyond repair.

Besides, distancing himself meant no longer dealing with being hunted by the Settlement, and from what he had already observed, Glassy was targeting Teresa, so he had no interest in seeing her die.

The motive behind that remained a mystery he no longer concerned himself with, at least not for now.

Heading toward the eastern route, Oliver’s objective was singular.

Strength.

Too many obstacles awaited him in the near future, alongside countless unpredictable variables capable of overturning everything at any moment.

He also understood Teresa would eventually come after him, which was yet another significant reason why he had separated himself from the caravan.

Beyond that, they would only hinder his progress.

’Jeez. I should’ve killed that dumbass who abandoned his sister, too, but whatever. The Garden and its Puppets will take care of that for me.’ Oliver mused calmly while Rook barreled ahead.

While the caravan advanced toward the canyon, Oliver had deliberately strayed far from their course, forcing himself through lethal territory and crossing paths with more Puppets than he could reasonably handle, all to avoid encountering them again.

Through that reckless detour, he discovered a route that arched directly above the caravan’s path, and that was how he ended up here now, racing through the savage wilderness with only a single desire burning inside his mind.

Power.

By now, perhaps everyone already believed he was dead...

But truly, he no longer had anything to do with them anymore, and the only thing capable of intertwining their paths again would either be fate or some unforeseen encounter or catastrophe, which, in the end, was merely another form of fate itself.

Oliver summoned his Sword as Rook approached the base of a towering mountain that pierced high into the darkening heavens like a colossal wall standing alone amidst the endless wasteland.

Thick vines smothered the mountain’s surface from bottom to summit, sprawling wildly across the rough black stone in tangled layers that made the entire cliff appear as though it had been devoured over countless centuries.

Some of the vines were monstrous, thick enough to rival ancient tree trunks as they coiled tightly around massive rock formations before vanishing higher above into the fog-choked darkness.

Smaller ones dangled loosely from the upper cliffs, swaying gently beneath the freezing wind while long thorns jutted from their surfaces like crooked fangs. Strange crimson flowers bloomed from certain sections of the vegetation, though many had already withered into dark, shriveled husks beneath the fading twilight.

The mountain itself was steep and mercilessly uneven.

Jagged rocks protruded from various sections of the cliffside, forming narrow footholds and treacherous climbing paths that looked unstable even from below.

Deep fissures crawled across the ancient black stone like scars, while patches of pale moss and unfamiliar dark vegetation clung stubbornly between the rough surfaces.

Far above, the summit could barely be perceived.

A suffocating veil of fog drifted around the upper half of the mountain, obscuring everything beyond a certain height and making the peak appear endless from where Oliver stood.

Occasionally, small fragments of stone rolled downward from somewhere high above before vanishing between the dense vines wrapped around the cliffs.

Above him, the twilight sky gradually deepened with every passing minute. The crimson radiance stretching across the distant horizon slowly drowned beneath heavy clouds drifting across the heavens.

Shades of deep violet and black spread overhead like an encroaching tide, swallowing the final remnants of daylight little by little.

The faint scarlet glow reflecting against the vines and rugged cliffside caused the entire mountain to appear darker and far more ominous.

Cold gusts occasionally swept through the barren terrain, causing the hanging vines to sway softly while loose dust slithered across the rocky earth.

Oliver silently observed the mountain looming before him while tightening his grip around his Sword.

Night was approaching rapidly.

And within the Garden of Death, darkness only meant one thing.

More creatures would soon begin stirring.

Puppets became more absolute and numerous whenever darkness dominated the land, and it was during such hours that most people wandering through the Garden either met horrifying deaths or stumbled upon unimaginable fortune.

But before any of that, he still had a Keepsake to obtain, one that would reward his journey tremendously.

For now, Oliver desired nothing except focusing on himself.

A few minutes later, he managed to climb halfway up the mountain before deciding to rest upon one of the more stable sections of the cliffside.

Rook collapsed beside him in exhaustion, and together they stared quietly toward the dim twilight sky overhead.

Oliver gently patted the creature, combing through its coarse fur as he spoke solemnly.

"Don’t worry, Rook. After hunting here, we’ll head toward a Still Point, then continue moving until we reach the gate of the Middle Ring. Crossing that gate is gonna be horrible, but yeah... we’ll survive somehow."

Afterward, Oliver gripped his blade and proceeded alone toward the upper paths of the mountain, concealing himself within the darkness through the natural effect of the Shadow Hue.

He still wasn’t entirely certain how to activate the natural effects of the other two Hues, so for now, this was the only thing he could depend upon for survival.

He also needed to hunt more Puppets down by whatever means possible in order to advance toward Rookie.

Furthermore, the darkness greatly amplified the natural effect of his Shadow Hue since no light existed to expose his presence, making the ability far stronger during this hour.

...And only a few minutes later, the first String Puppet foolishly wandered directly toward him, utterly blind and oblivious to his existence.