The wild, unhinged laughter died in Lin Ke's throat, replaced by a ragged cough that shook his entire frame. The adrenaline that had flooded his system, the sheer, manic energy that had carried him through the fight of his life, vanished as if a switch had been flipped. In its place, an exhaustion so profound, so bone-deep it felt like it was in his marrow, settled over him. His body felt like lead. His head swam.
He looked down at the monstrous, pulsating heart in his lap. One thousand, seven hundred and forty-two units. He had actually, truly, unbelievably done it. He had walked into the lair of a thinking monster and ripped out its very soul.
The thought didn't bring another wave of triumph. It brought a wave of nausea.
His partner.
Scrambling to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest, he rushed back to the edge of the mire where his Titan Vole lay. He released it from the Soul Pact, and the sight of its physical form made his stomach clench with a guilt so sharp it tasted like acid. The crystalline armor, once a flawless suit of obsidian and amber, was a disaster. Deep, gouged scratches crisscrossed its surface. A large puncture wound on its shoulder, a parting gift from a dying Thorn-Crawler, was oozing a thick, glowing amber fluid—its own life force. One of the intricate runes on its back was cracked, its internal light flickering weakly. It was breathing in shallow, ragged gasps, its intelligent eyes half-closed in pain.
"Oh, you magnificent idiot," Lin Ke whispered, his voice cracking. He dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over the wounds, afraid to even touch them. "Look what I did to you… I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."
He fumbled in his pack, his hands shaking, and pulled out his advanced field first-aid kit. He worked with a desperate, focused energy, cleaning the wounds with the hiss of antiseptic spray, applying a thick, nutrient-rich healing salve, and wrapping the worst of the gashes in sterile bandages. It felt like putting a bandage on a cannonball wound. As he worked, he activated the Gene Editor for a medical diagnosis. The interface shimmered, overlaying his partner's battered form with a cascade of grim data. He saw the multiple deep-tissue lacerations, the internal micro-fractures in its skeletal structure. He saw its cellular energy reserves were at a critical four percent. And then a stark warning flashed in his mind: The 'Titan's Will' passive has been pushed beyond its operational limits. Subject requires immediate, long-term rest and a high-energy nutrient regimen to avoid permanent damage.
Permanent damage. The words hit Lin Ke like a physical blow. He had been so focused on the reward, on his own brilliant gamble, that he had almost broken the one thing in his life that was truly irreplaceable.
"Okay," he said, his voice a low, fierce promise. "Okay, partner. We're done. No more missions. We're going home. And I swear, you're getting the longest damn vacation a pet has ever had. Mineral baths, the highest-grade food, whatever you want. It's yours."
The Titan Vole managed a weak, tired rumble, nudging its head against his arm. We won, the feeling projected through their bond, simple and proud.
Lin Ke had to swallow the lump in his throat. "Yeah," he whispered. "We won."
He knew they had to leave. Now. But the insatiable scientist in him wouldn't let him go just yet. He recalled his partner, letting it begin its slow recovery in the Soul Pact's gentle embrace. Then, he turned back to the mire. He spent the next hour in a whirlwind of field research, taking samples of the purifying water, the new moss, and even a large, blackened shard of the Grove-Heart's petrified wood. The prize was the heart, yes, but the data… the data was priceless.
Finally, with his pack now laden with his treasures and a dozen new scientific curiosities, he found the main path out of the woods—the one his research had marked as the quickest and safest route. Or, it had been. He arrived at a deep, wide ravine that hadn't been on any of his maps. The sturdy wooden bridge that was supposed to span it was now a pile of splintered timbers at the bottom, a casualty of the Gloomfang Bear's earlier rampage. The easy way home was gone.
"You have got to be kidding me," he groaned, staring at the impassable gap. Of course. The universe just had to have one last laugh.
He looked at his map. There was another way. A long, winding, treacherous goat path that would add at least ten hours to his journey. There was no other choice.
The journey back was a special kind of hell. Every muscle screamed in protest. His frayed mind played tricks on him. Every rustle of leaves was another crawler. He kept flashing back to the fight, to that heart-stopping moment when the Grove-Heart had out-thought him. That lance… that one-in-a-million shot. What if I'd missed? The question echoed in his head. We'd be dead. Just… fertilizer for this damn forest. Was it worth it? He pushed himself onward, one grueling step at a time, driven by a stubborn refusal to fail now, after everything.
He finally stumbled out of the treeline just as the first, grey light of dawn was breaking, looking less like a victorious tamer and more like a refugee from a war zone. He was covered in mud and grime, his clothes were torn, and his face was pale with exhaustion. When he reached the Guild checkpoint at the city gate, the guards on duty, who had seen him leave looking pristine and professional days ago, actually took a step back in alarm.
"Tamer Lin Ke?" one of them asked, his eyes wide. "Gods above, what happened to you out there?"
He was too tired to explain. He just flashed his ID. "Mission… complete."
The journey through the quiet, early-morning city was a blur. He finally reached his house, the sight of his own front door the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He stumbled inside, made his way directly to the basement lab, and placed the heavy, pulsating Corrupted Heart into the most secure containment unit he owned. He stared at it for a moment, the prize of his insane venture, safe at last.
He thought about starting the analysis, about the next steps. But his body and mind had finally reached their limit. He turned, trudged up the stairs to his living room, and collapsed into an armchair. He didn't even make it to his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the back of the chair, his body finally surrendering to the crushing weight of his victory. Downstairs, in its favorite bed, the Titan Vole did the same, its slow, steady breathing a quiet counterpoint to the silent hum of the laboratory equipment guarding their future. They were home. They were safe. And they had won.