"I just can’t get a grip inside this body, can I? Now what the hell was all that?"

Oliver steadied himself before glancing around the mountain and then back toward the twilight sky.

Darkness still dominated the horizon, making him realize he had not been asleep for very long, though his body had gone through an absurd amount of trauma within that short span of time.

The dream had felt painstakingly real and continued replaying vividly inside his head.

Much of it remained distorted, and several details were incomplete, such as the face of Oliver’s mother, yet he could already tell the memory itself was deeply traumatic for anyone forced to experience it.

Not to mention the fact that he had endured every single emotion the young child felt.

...From happiness to unbearable agony.

But that was not the only thing weighing heavily on him. Although he had now learned more about the Original Oliver and his memories, especially regarding his mother, several mysteries still remained unresolved.

He now knew what she was, how she had seemingly died despite the unclear circumstances, and where the Imperial Sword currently in his possession had originated from.

Yet the most disturbing detail from the dream remained the little girl who had tapped his shoulder.

Her white hair was the most distinct feature he could clearly remember, and there was only one person in this world, at least from his knowledge, who possessed such an appearance.

...Teresa.

Oliver exhaled slowly.

’So she had some kind of connection to the Original Oliver when they were children? A lot of things still aren’t adding up, but at the same time, little by little, some mysteries are finally beginning to explain themselves,’ the young man wondered before shifting his gaze toward the screen floating before him.

[You have received a Keepsake: Mother’s War Attire — Tier 8]

[Your fractured memories surfaced as a mother’s final gift to her son. An armour of soft fabric possessing the greatest defensive strength across the Garden...]

To be honest, he had never expected Oliver’s resurfacing memories to grant him a Keepsake, let alone a Tier 8 one at that.

Judging from the Tier alone, it was bound to be extraordinarily powerful, and if it truly was the same attire Oliver’s mother had worn, then there was no doubt that a far greater mystery involving the Garden, Teresa, the system, and Oliver himself was slowly approaching.

He simply could not identify the connecting thread yet.

Oliver summoned the Keepsake, and cold energy immediately surged across his body before black and white garments materialized around him layer by layer.

Pale inner clothing wrapped neatly against his body beneath a fitted black outer robe that loosened near the waist and flowed naturally around his legs without restricting movement, while wide dark sleeves covered his arms and white bindings secured his wrists and forearms tightly beneath them.

Subtle silver patterns stretched across the edges of the fabric like flowing branches.

A thick black belt rested firmly around his waist with several layered straps crossing portions of his torso, while protective guards covered his shoulders and forearms without adding unnecessary weight.

The lower section narrowed around his legs before ending above dark boots reinforced with pale bindings around the ankles and calves.

The garment felt... ancient.

Oliver lowered his gaze toward the attire while faint wind brushed against the flowing robe around him before muttering:

"...This definitely belonged to her. So it was a Tier 8 Keepsake, huh?"

***

Later on, Oliver began venturing back down the mountain with Rook since the hunt around the area no longer yielded many Puppets anymore, or rather, he had not seen a single one for quite some time. It was as though they had collectively chosen another route and abandoned every corner of the mountain entirely.

Master and beast eventually descended from the mountain, though not without regret. His original plan had been to hunt down three more Puppets before leaving the area, but like most of his plans lately, that had failed spectacularly.

Still, hope was not lost, and he knew that.

So with newfound resolve, Oliver abandoned his previous plan and shifted his focus toward crossing the Serpent’s Hollow and confronting whatever danger might be lurking within it.

There were rare locations throughout the Garden that Puppets instinctively avoided, and surprisingly, many of those places were relatively safe to traverse, much like the route Mara and Elias had once used to transport him and the other slaves toward the Settlement. Because of that, there was a reasonable possibility that the valley ahead functioned in a similar manner.

Of course, he did not want to jinx that either.

...Unfortunately, that possibility already seemed void, and in the worst way imaginable.

After reaching the base of the mountain and preparing to move toward the Serpent’s Hollow, Oliver suddenly found himself trapped in a rather troublesome situation before he could even properly react.

Several meters away from him, a Rank 2 Puppet stood completely motionless while staring directly at him.

A Drifter.

The Drifter remained unnaturally still in the distance, a tall and emaciated humanoid figure. Its body possessed no discernible face, only a shallow hollow where a head should have existed, while its limbs stretched into grotesque proportions that ended in elongated fingers tapering into faint wisps trailing behind it whenever it moved.

Deep within its chest ran a single pale thread, a vertical white line only visible whenever light struck it from the proper angle and only when it was close enough to feed.

Oliver instinctively took two steps backward alongside Rook as a deep frown settled across his features.

’You’ve got to be kidding me. Give me a damn break already. Why the hell do I have to face a Rank 2 now? This is basically suicide!’

String Puppets were defined by relentless physical pursuit, hardened carapaces, and the overwhelming swarm behavior of their hive mind, making them truly lethal only in large numbers.

Drifter Puppets were something else entirely.

Where the String Puppet threatened the body, the Drifter threatened the mind itself, feeding upon conscious thought while extracting fragments of memory until its victim eventually collapsed into a hollow, dreamless state before being consumed entirely.

At his current level as an Unranked, Oliver would find a single Drifter comparable to fighting a fully realized Rookie opponent, perhaps even worse. In practical terms, it was nearly forty percent stronger because its method of attack bypassed conventional defenses altogether.

...The only reasonable thing for him to do right now was run, but retreating backward was no longer an option.

Oliver drew his blade before signaling for Rook to charge directly toward the Rank 2 Puppet.

"Hmph. I guess I can’t avoid clashing with this abomination after all. Still better than running into the Mourn Wyrm. But seriously, why the hell is this thing here instead?"