Vrax shouldn't survive this far—certainly not at level zero in the Forsaken Lands. Yet here he persists, grinding through an eldritch wilderness with impossible standards for his class selection. While sensible adventurers avoid the unthinkable, he outwits and outpaces the horrors that lurk beyond civilization's edge. His existence will bring ruin: unleashed man-eating Daisies spreading across the realm, towns plagued by dandelion dread, a father left mortified by his deeds. Wielding a singular gift for molding and weaponizing monsters into twisted abominations, he ascends from zero toward the kind of power that terrifies church authorities. His progression burns steady—faster than any runesmith's crawl but never matching a mage tank's explosive growth. From the chronicle of Explorer Erni-von Hillbach: What name claims this forsaken wilderness? The Nightmare Wood. Elysium's Ruins. Godsbane. We call it the Forsaken Lands. Our eastern frontier stands both guarded and consumed by impenetrable forests and marshes so dense that sunlight abandons the ground entirely. Its cursed reputation stems not from terrain but inhabitants. High-mana regions typically contain isolated danger zones—stretches demanding seasoned scouts and formidable strength. Here, that certainty collapses. Every corner presents indiscriminate chaos; a deathtrap without structure or mercy, where peril emerges with no rhyme, reason, or discernible pattern to its wrath.