Then, a shadow flickered at the corner of her eye.
Her gaze snapped toward it, but there was nothing there. Just shadows. Snow. Silence.
Her hand gripped the hilt of her axe automatically, her other hand holding onto the frost-covered trunk.
"What the hell is in this forest right now…?" she pondered.
She stayed perfectly still, body pressed close to the tree as she watched.
Whatever had screamed, judging by the speed and scale, it wasn't far away.
Monica took a slow breath, calming her nerves.
She had two options—retreat now and make a wide arc around the commotion to get back to the camp.
But any sudden movement might give away her position.
If the creature that caused the scream was still nearby, making a break for it could be a death sentence.
So she stayed still. Hidden.
Her breath was barely noticeable in the cold air.
Monica never even considered following the trail to uncover what was happening.
Curiosity might kill a cat—but here, it would definitely kill her.
"Let's wait…and watch."Her decision was quick, instinctive.
The wind shifted again, brushing past her ear with a low whistle. She held her breath as her eyes locked on the crash site.
Then—
The snow moved, not drifting or melting, but slowly shifting.
It was as if something beneath it was crawling out from under the collapsed snow and rubble.
Monica's widened eyes reflected the pale moonlight as she focused, her vision enhanced by the passive boost granted by her Superpower: Appraisal.
At the edge of the crater, the snow exploded upward. A tall figure dug its way out, slow but deliberate. The iron armor on its body groaned as it moved.
A man—no, a Half Giant, clad in full-body iron armor, rose from the snow like some kind of fairy tale.
Monica was so sure that it was a Half Giant because.
Only Half Giants could wear a huge armor like that—custom forged, heavy as hell, and forged with cold beast-bone-infused alloys to support their monstrous strength.
There was no mistaking it.
The armor on the half giant's body bore dents and cuts. Deep ones.
Gouges that could not have been inflicted by swords or axes—no, these were violent, unnatural marks, as though made by sharp claws.
"Only an adult could cause such damage to an iron in this world." The first thought that came to Monica's mind when she saw those cuts was made by those adult, cold beasts that her father talked about.
However, the Half Giant moved without hesitation, scanning his surroundings with cold efficiency, sword already in hand, still combat-ready.
Looking at the Giant below, Monica's heart thumped. Her grip on the tree tightened. She didn't know whether to be relieved or more terrified.
Then— she found another movement at the corner of her eye. This time it's from the opposite side of the crash site.
Thanks to her augmented sight, she zeroed in quickly—her eyes locking on a figure emerging from the thicket of snow-heavy underbrush.
At first glance, it looked human.
But the closer she looked, the more wrong it became.
Its arms were too long. The skin along its neck and jaw was covered in translucent, icy scales. There were two sharp ears and long fur on her body.
Its eyes—bright and vacant—gleamed blue under the moonlight, and sharp, bone-like ridges jutted from its elbows and spine like warped armor.
It walked like a man.
But it wasn't…. However, just knowing these details let her blood go cold.
"Damn…" she whispered through gritted teeth. "It's a fucking Feral…"
A mutated hybrid. A human who has undergone uncontrolled beastification by injecting raw or impure cold beast blood into their bodies in an attempt to gain power, resist the cold, or evolve unnaturally.
They were fast. Smart.
And unpredictable.
Each Feral reflects the beast blood lineage they were corrupted by, like Frostfang Feral – Frostwolf bloodline: fast, agile, howling calls.
Slitherspike Feral – Serpent bloodline: stealthy, spine-laced tail, etc..
Monica stayed frozen, her back still pressed against the bark.
She knew if either the Half Giant or the Feral noticed her, she might be forced into a confrontation she couldn't win.
She didn't know why the Feral hadn't finished the Half Giant earlier…But it looked like they were about to start round two.
And somehow she had a front row seat. Just not long back, she felt happy that there weren't any unusual twists in her story, but before she could enjoy the sweetness, she encountered something like this.
The tension snapped like a drawn bowstring.
With a shrill, animalistic screech, the Feral lunged from the treeline—arms swinging low, body twisting unnaturally mid-air. Its claws were long and jagged, black-tipped with frost energy. Snow exploded beneath its leap.
The Half Giant didn't flinch.
He turned with practiced precision and swung his greatsword in a wide arc—so fast, the air cracked with the force.
The edge of the blade caught the Feral mid-air, clanging against its armored forearm. Sparks flew. The impact launched the Feral sideways, crashing it into a nearby tree.
The entire trunk shook.
Monica flinched, watching from above, barely daring to breathe. Her hand moved instinctively, her lips parting as she activated Appraisal again.
[Target: Feral Variant – Infected Humanoid]
[Subtype: Frost Night Cat Bloodline]
[Traits: High agility, frost resistance, enhanced sensory perception, regenerative flesh]
[Threat Level: High]
[Status: Hostile, Blood Frenzy Active]
A Frost Night Cat bloodline. That explained the speed, the sharp claws, and the way it moved like a blur through snow.
And worse, these kinds of Ferals inherit the keen instincts of the cold beasts and don't stop unless killed.
She shifted her gaze to the other figure.
[Target: Sylvia Frost]
[Race: Half Giant]
[Rank: D-Class]
[Traits: Enhanced strength, cold resistance, endurance, partial Giant Blood activation]
[Weapon: Greatsword – Forged Iron Fang (custom alloy)]
[Threat Level: Medium-High]
[Status: Injured, Fatigued]
The Feral hissed, already recovering, steam rising from its back where bark and splinters had torn into its flesh.
It didn't bleed red, but bled pale, milky blue. The tree it slammed into groaned and leaned, nearly splitting in half from the impact.
But it wasn't down for long.
With another shriek, it bolted forward on all fours like a beast, kicking up snow in waves behind it.
Its claws dug into the earth, launching itself low—slashing toward the Half Giant's knees.
The Half Giant—Sylvia Frost—grunted and shifted her weight. Her greatsword swung down in a brutal, crushing arc.
WHAM!
The blade missed the Feral's core, but it carved a deep line across its back as it passed, sending a fresh spray of that unnatural blue blood across the snow.
The Feral yelped, twisted, and rebounded off a tree like a shadow, its movements sharp and fluid, almost inhuman.
Sylvia didn't hesitate.
With a roar, she lifted her sword overhead and slammed it across— CRACK!
The ground split. A thick tree trunk beside her was cleaved clean in two, like it was paper.
The massive blade sliced through its three-meter width without slowing, crashing into the earth with a shockwave of snow and frozen soil.
But the Feral had already dashed sideways, darting behind her, claws poised to strike her exposed side.
Too fast—
Monica's eyes widened.
But Sylvia wasn't caught off guard.
With pure instinct, she spun on her heel and kicked—one leg slamming into the Feral's ribs like a steel battering ram.
BOOM!
The Feral went flying, tumbling through snow, smashing through two trees before skidding to a stop.
The snow hissed and melted slightly around its twitching body. Its breathing was ragged now, but its eyes still burned ferociously.
It wasn't done yet.
The creature let out a violent growl—then, suddenly, it disappeared into the snow.
Monica blinked. "It's burrowing—!"
A second later, Sylvia's foot sank an inch. The Feral burst from beneath her, claws flashing straight toward her midsection.
Sylvia raised her sword just in time—
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
A flurry of rapid strikes echoed across the forest. Sparks lit the air.
Her blade blocked each claw in a blur of motion, her boots skidding backward step by step as the Feral pressed forward in a frenzy.
Its eyes were wide, bloodshot, and twitching.
Monica could see it clearly from above now.
The Feral's claws weren't just frost-tipped—they were crystallized, like jagged shards of ice laced.
Every strike chipped away at the metal of Sylvia's armor.
But Sylvia didn't back down.
She planted one foot deep into the snow, roared, and drove her blade forward with both hands.
The greatsword pierced straight through the Feral's left shoulder, pinning it into the frozen ground.
The beast shrieked in pain, thrashing violently, ice forming around its wounds as it struggled.
"STAY DOWN!" Sylvia snarled.
But the Feral didn't listen.
It opened its jaw wide—far wider than any human could, with sharp teeth like fangs, and lunged straight at her neck.
Sylvia released her sword and caught the Feral mid-lunge with both gauntlets, wrestling it back as it snapped and spat in her face.
She grunted, her boots sliding in the snow. "You're one stubborn son of a—!"
Then— CRACK!
With a surge of brute strength, she lifted the Feral over her head and slammed it down into the snow with bone-jarring force.
The sound echoed across the forest like thunder.
The Feral lay still.
Steam curled around its limbs. Its breathing had slowed. For a moment, it looked like it might be finished.
But Monica, who was still watching, didn't relax.
Neither did Sylvia.
Her hands tried to reach her sword, but the Feral that was lying still started struggling, above its body, more and more bone spurs emerged one after another.
Unable to hold, Sylvia finally let go of the Feral from her grip.