Unlike his time in the library, Liam knew exactly where what he wanted was.
The only problem was the distance—and the monsters standing in his way.
He headed west, toward Hollowgrove's edges, using the tallest hill as his landmark.
All around him the trees stood tall and close, their branches stretching like black arms across the sky.
The path was thin, nearly swallowed under dead leaves. Each step crunched too loud, as if the forest itself was listening.
Liam fidgeted, clamping harder on his sword.
The air was damp and heavy, thick with the smell of wet earth.
Fear itched at him.
This forest didn't only hold F-rank monsters but also E-rank, even the occasional D or C.
Sure, it was controlled ground. A distress call from his band would summon help.
But what if help didn't arrive in time?
What if he died before he could even pull the band out of his storage ring?
That thought gnawed at him.
And even if he was rescued, what then?
He sucked in a sharp breath.
If anyone caught him here, losing merit points would be the least of his worries.
A cold wind slid between the trunks, brushing the back of his neck.
He stiffened.
Rustling. Shadows shifted with the sway of leaves, but no one was there.
He glanced left, then right.
The deeper he went, the less sky he could see. The light thinned, swallowed by the green and the dark. His chest tightened. The forest felt like it was closing in, pressing him small, silent.
A branch cracked in the distance. Not from him. Not his feet.
He froze.
The sound grew louder. Approaching. Footsteps.
Slowly, he raised his guard, eyes locked on the shadows ahead. His breathing slowed.
And then he saw it.
Big. Bulky. Horned.
Its hide was thick as stone, hooves digging into the earth like a bull's.
A Bulvak.
Liam's pulse spiked. He bit down a curse.
"…Shit."
Recognition hit instantly—he remembered the creature from his Beast Studies elective. Territorial, dangerous, infamous for its "unrelenting" trait. Once it charged, it didn't stop.
Bulvaks weren't just E-rank monsters. They were monsters as tough as E-rank could get.
Liam's heart pounded.
He crouched lower behind a tree, praying it would just pass him by.
The beast stomped closer, each heavy step vibrating through the ground.
Liam's grip on his claymore turned slick with sweat.
Then—suddenly—the Bulvak bent its head and began grazing, ripping at grass.
Relief hit him like a wave, but not enough to lower his guard. He waited, every nerve strung tight, until the creature finally turned and lumbered away.
Liam pressed his head against the tree's bark and sighed, chest heaving.
"That was close," he muttered, his hand pressed over his pounding chest.
He stood there for a long moment, forcing his breath to steady, before continuing west.
***
Two minutes later.
Liam had his second encounter.
This time, he didn't see it right away. He only felt it—prickles down his neck, the crawling sense of being watched. Thirty seconds later, movement in the shadows confirmed it.
A Sabre.
It stalked him with the patience of a predator.
The beast was massive, almost horse-tall at the shoulders, its body corded with raw muscle and speed. Its fur was short, dense, patterned like a jaguar's.
Yellow predator eyes gleamed at him from the dark.
And then he saw the fangs. Long, curved, saber-like—dagger-length, sharp enough to pierce armor or bone. A heavy skull, jaws powerful enough to snap spines.
This wasn't some common beast.
This was an apex predator—an E-rank monster on par with the Bulvak.
The difference?
The Bulvak defended.
The Sabre hunted.
Once it realized its cover was blown,
the Sabre lunged.
The roar hit Liam like a hammer.
He raised his claymore too late—the paw slammed the flat of his blade, hurling him off his feet.
He crashed through dirt, lungs burning, vision rattling. The claymore almost tore from his grip.
Too fast—!
The Sabre was already on him again. Its claws tore trenches where his chest had been a heartbeat earlier.
Liam rolled, scrambled up, swung. His blade cut nothing but air.
The Sabre rammed him with its shoulder, solid as stone.
Pain shot through his ribs as he smashed against a tree.
Bark scraped his back, the world tilting.
"Ungh…"
He staggered upright, spitting iron.
His arms trembled around the claymore's hilt. He was strong for a first year, but this thing was raw power and hunger.
Every breath reminded him how breakable he was.
The Sabre circled, tail lashing, fangs glinting.
Liam's heart hammered. Fear clawed at his chest.
He closed his eyes for a blink. Forced his breath steady.
And whispered inside himself—
[Focus].
The world bent.
Roars stretched into echoes. Dust drifted like ash. His pulse slowed, loud and steady in his ears. The Sabre's charge no longer blurred—it unfolded, paw by paw.
Clarity cut through him. The claymore felt light in his hands.
'Alright,' he thought as black mana flickered along his arms like smoke. 'My turn.'
The beast lunged, claws flashing, Liam stepped aside, blade sweeping into guard.
Sparks bit the air as claw met steel.
Liam twisted, redirecting the strike, then slashed upward at the exposed chest.
Steel kissed flesh. A shallow cut. Not enough.
The Sabre skidded, wheeled back with a roar.
Liam felt the strain gnawing. [Focus] would fade in less than two minutes.
The earrings boosted it, but only by one.
He couldn't waste moves. Couldn't waste breath.
Dropping into a low stance, he raised the claymore again, black mana flickering faintly. His muscles screamed.
The Sabre pounced.
Another slow-motion rush of death.
This time he caught the fang strike, sparks flaring as steel met tooth.
The impact rattled his bones, shoved him half a step back—but his counter was ready. He pivoted, slammed his boot into the beast's foreleg, and drove his blade down toward its neck.
Blood sprayed. The Sabre thrashed.
Liam's heart thundered. Time was fraying. Seconds left.
He clenched his teeth, black mana coiling tighter, and charged.
The beast roared back, blood streaking its neck. Rage burned hotter. It leapt, claws wide, fangs bared.
For a heartbeat, the world froze.
Liam slid under its claws, claymore braced. With his body screaming, he drove the blade up, black mana sparking.
Steel ripped through fur and flesh, biting deep into its throat.
Hot blood splashed his face.
The Sabre's roar broke into a gurgle.
Its weight crashed down, nearly crushing him.
Gritting his teeth, Liam twisted the blade free and rolled aside as [Focus] shattered.
Sound slammed back—the beast's final thrash, the thud of its body, Liam's ragged breaths tearing his chest.
The Sabre hit the dirt and didn't rise.
Liam staggered, vision blurred, ribs aching. His claymore dug into the ground as he leaned on it, black mana fading like smoke.
He looked at the corpse—fangs still gleaming even in death—and finally exhaled.
He had survived. Barely.