The black sea of Arthev's subconscious stretched endlessly around him, water lapping at his legs as he sat, staring at Shukaku. The One-Tailed Beast lounged across from him, its sandy tail swishing lazily, amber eyes glinting with a smug edge.
Arthev's voice came out low, almost a whisper, as the weight of Shukaku's words sank in.
"A month?" he repeated, stunned. "I was out for almost a month?"
Shukaku grinned, baring jagged teeth. "Yup! Thirty days, give or take. You were snoozing like a champ, Stunned Face. Thought you'd never wake up."
Arthev blinked, running a hand over his chest—smooth, no hole. His left arm flexed, whole and unscarred. "Wait. My injuries… the chest wound, my arm—they're gone. Healed. How?"
"Surprised, huh?" Shukaku chuckled, leaning closer. "Your tree's got some tricks up its branches. When you were out—blood everywhere, looking like a mess—a tree sprouted right outta the ground next to you. Not too big, not too small, just towering over you like a worried mom. Shimmered with these green sparkly bits—pretty, if I'm honest—and started patching you up, slow and steady. I pitched in too, threw some soul power your way. Team effort!"
Arthev's brow furrowed, but he didn't flinch. "Healing properties… That's not shocking, I guess. If this tree's really the Ten-Tails—like I've been thinking since you showed up—it'd make sense. Regeneration's part of the package. Other beasts might pop up with their own perks too."
"Smart kid," Shukaku said, nodding. "You're catching on. But that's not all I've got to tell ya. Remember that box-thing that dropped from scale-face after I smashed it?"
Arthev's eyes sharpened. "The box? Yeah. What about it?"
"Left it right next to you," Shukaku replied, tail flicking. "Figured you'd wanna poke at it when you woke up. Looked weird—didn't feel like anything alive, that's for sure."
Arthev exhaled, the subconscious fading as he willed himself back. "Let's check it out, then."
Reality snapped into focus. Arthev's eyes opened to the ruined chamber—cracked walls, shattered stone, the aftermath of Shukaku's rampage. He lay on the floor, the sand shield crumbled around him, and the air still hummed faintly. The beast was long gone, but near his side sat the box-like structure—small, metallic, unassuming. He sat up, wincing at a phantom ache, and pulled it closer.
"Still looks like junk," Shukaku's voice echoed in his head, dry as ever. "You sure it's worth the fuss?"
"Quiet," Arthev muttered, activating his Three Tomoe Shinragan. The crimson spun, silver-white hue glinting as he scanned the object. "No soul energy. No energy at all. That's… odd." He tilted it, frowning. "I thought it might be a soul bone—level 93 beast, right? Should've left something like that. But this? It's not even alive."
"Soul bone? Pfft," Shukaku snorted. "That thing's too shiny for bones. What's your fancy eye saying?"
Arthev leaned closer, Sharingan piercing through the surface. "It's… mechanical. Complex—gears, circuits, layers I can't even name. This isn't just tech—it's advanced tech. Way beyond Douluo Dalu's blacksmiths, beyond even my old world's stuff. And it's programmed."
"Programmed?" Shukaku's tone shifted, curious. "What's that mean? Like, someone told it what to do?"
"Yeah," Arthev said, voice tight. "I know coding—transmigrator perk. But this? I can't read it. No idea what it's set to do." He sat back, staring at it.
"Shukaku, you're sure this came from that beast? It's too advanced—doesn't fit this world at all."
"Saw it drop myself, kid," Shukaku replied. "Popped right outta its chest when it went poof. No clue how, though—didn't exactly stop to ask questions while I was blowing it up."
Arthev's mind raced, piecing fragments together. He turned the box over in his hands, noticing faint etchings along its edges—symbols, angular and precise, unlike any script he'd encountered in Douluo Dalu or his previous life. They pulsed faintly under his Shinragan, as if responding to his gaze. "These markings… they're not decorative. They're part of the design, maybe a signature or a key. But to what?"
"Fancy scribbles, huh?" Shukaku mused. "You think it's some kinda treasure map?"
"More like a puzzle," Arthev replied, his fingers tracing the symbols. "This tech, these symbols—it's not from here. Not from this continent, maybe not even this plane. The beast we fought… what if it wasn't just a soul beast? What if it was guarding something—or part of something bigger?"
Shukaku's voice grew serious. "You're thinking conspiracy stuff now, Stunned Face. Beasts don't just carry shiny boxes for fun. That thing was tough, even for me. Maybe it was… I dunno, built? Like one of those golem things you humans mess with?"Arthev's eyes narrowed.
"A construct? Maybe. But constructs don't drop soul bones, and they don't bleed. It was alive, but this box… it's like it doesn't belong in the same equation." He set the box down, his gaze drifting to the chamber around him. "Let's look around. There's gotta be more to this place."
He stood, Shinragan still active, scanning the chamber. Most of it was rubble—Shukaku's handiwork—but something caught his eye: a recessed slot in the wall, oddly intact, shaped like the box. The stone around it was smoother, less weathered, as if carved with precision tools far beyond the crude chisels of Douluo Dalu's artisans.
"Huh. That's not natural."
"What'd you find?" Shukaku asked, impatient. "Another toy?"
"Maybe," Arthev said, picking up the box. "This fits—perfectly." Curiosity tugged at him, overriding caution. He slid it into the slot, and the chamber trembled—a low, grinding rumble, as if waking from a long sleep. Dust fell from the ceiling, and the air buzzed with a faint electric charge.
"Uh, Stunned Face?" Shukaku's voice edged up. "What'd you just do?"
"No idea," Arthev whispered, stepping back. The box clicked, and a beam of light shot upward, coalescing into a hologram. A man appeared—tall, clad in sleek, metallic robes that shimmered with intricate patterns, his face solemn, eyes sharp.
He spoke, voice deep and resonant, but the the words were gibberish—harsh, flowing, utterly foreign. "Zha'keth vadis, ul'thera kwe vadis," the figure intoned, gesturing with a hand. "Syl'varen thok, dren'zul."
Arthev froze, Shinragan spinning uselessly. "What… is that?"
"Beats me," Shukaku said, baffled. "Sounds like he's gargling rocks. You catch any of it?"
"Not a word," Arthev replied, tension creeping into his voice. "It's not any language I know—and I know a lot. This is… different. Too different."
The hologram stared, unblinking, its solemn gaze boring into him, and the chamber's hum grew louder. Arthev's Shinragan flared, trying to dissect the projection, but it was like staring into a void—no soul, no energy, just a construct of light and data. Yet the figure's presence felt heavy, as if it carried the weight of centuries.