The dawn that followed Kaelen's ascension was cast in a new, tense light. For the first time in over a week, a hunting party assembled at the edge of the camp. It consisted of Loric, Silas, and Piet, the camp's three remaining able-bodied men. They stood with their weapons held loosely, their expressions a mixture of resentment, fear, and a sliver of desperate hope.
Their new leader stood before them. Kaelen was no longer the boy who lurked in the shadows. He stood with Borin's iron-tipped spear held confidently in his left hand, his posture straight, his gaze sharp and analytical. He was assessing them, not as companions, but as assets.
Designation: Human. Name: Loric. Cultivation: 1st Realm - Crucible Foundation, Phase 2. Threat Assessment: Low.
Designation: Human. Name: Silas. Cultivation: 1st Realm - Crucible Foundation, Phase 1. Threat Assessment: Negligible.
Designation: Human. Name: Piet. Cultivation: 1st Realm - Crucible Foundation, Phase 1. Threat Assessment: Negligible.
Loric, surprisingly, was at the same level as Kaelen. Silas and Piet were weaker. This was a pack of mongrels, not wolves. But they were what he had to work with.
"Today, you will not be hunters," Kaelen began, his voice cutting through the morning chill. "You will be beaters. Your purpose is not to kill. It is to drive the prey where I want it to go."
This was a calculated insult, a deliberate stripping of their former roles. Silas bristled, opening his mouth to object, but a sharp look from Kaelen silenced him. The authority Kaelen had established with the five Fire Cores was still fresh and potent.
"We go to the northern ravine," Kaelen continued, turning to lead the way. "I will scout ahead. You will follow my trail at a distance of two hundred paces. Do not make a sound until I give the signal. The signal will be a bird call—the cry of a carrion hawk. When you hear it, you will begin making noise. Yell, bang your weapons against the rocks, whatever you must. You will advance through the ravine from the west, driving everything before you. I will be waiting at the eastern chokepoint. Is that clear?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and melted into the grey, pre-dawn gloom, his movements swift and silent.
The three men exchanged uneasy glances. The boy's plan was sound—a classic pincer maneuver—but his arrogance was galling. Still, the memory of their starving children was a powerful motivator. Grumbling, they began to follow, their heavy footsteps a stark contrast to Kaelen's phantom passage.
Kaelen moved with an efficiency that would have shocked Borin. He used the terrain to his advantage, keeping to the low ground and using rock formations as cover. His senses, sharpened by his Phase 2 cultivation, were on high alert. He could smell the sulfurous scent of Crawlers on the wind long before he saw any sign of them.
He reached the designated chokepoint—a narrow pass between two towering obsidian cliffs, no more than twenty feet wide. It was a natural kill box. He found a perch high on the southern cliff face, a shallow ledge that gave him a perfect view of the ravine floor while keeping him concealed in shadow. From here, he could see the entire area where his "beaters" would make their drive.
He settled in to wait, his spear resting beside him. This was not just a hunt for resources; it was a test. A test of his ability to command, to manipulate others into serving his purpose. He felt no camaraderie with the men, only the cool detachment of a craftsman evaluating his tools. If they performed well, they would be maintained. If they failed, they would be discarded.
After nearly an hour, a faint noise reached him—the distant, clumsy sounds of the approaching hunters. Kaelen drew in a breath and let out a sharp, piercing cry that perfectly mimicked the shriek of a carrion hawk.
The response was almost immediate. Down at the western end of the ravine, a cacophony erupted. Yelling, the clang of metal on rock—his pack of beaters had begun their work.
It was brutally effective.
From fissures and small caves in the ravine walls, Cinder-backed Crawlers began to emerge, startled and agitated by the sudden noise. First two, then three more, then a whole pack of them. Kaelen counted eight in total. They were all Phase 1 beasts, but in a group, they would have been a serious threat to Borin's old hunting party.
Panicked by the advancing wall of sound, the Crawlers did exactly as Kaelen had predicted. They fled, taking the path of least resistance, straight down the ravine towards the eastern chokepoint where he lay in wait.
Kaelen's mind was a shard of ice. He was not one boy facing eight monsters. He was a predator overlooking a panicked herd. He waited until the first Crawler entered the narrowest part of the pass, directly below his perch.
He didn't throw his spear. A thrown weapon was a lost weapon.
He pushed a large, loose boulder from his ledge.
The rock, weighing well over a hundred pounds, fell with a whistling sound and crashed directly onto the lead Crawler. The impact was devastating, crushing the beast's armored back and pinning it to the ground with a sickening crunch.
The other Crawlers, confused by the sudden obstacle, skidded to a halt, bunching up in the narrow pass. They were trapped between the rockfall ahead and the terrifying noise behind. This was the moment of chaos Kaelen had engineered.
He slid down from his perch, landing silently on the ravine floor behind the confused pack. He was now the cork in the bottle.
The Crawlers spun around, hissing, their glowing backs flaring with heat as they saw the new threat. They charged him.
Kaelen stood his ground, Borin's spear held in a two-handed grip. His stance was low, his body a coiled spring of potential energy. The fight with Borin had been a desperate brawl, but this was different. This was a harvest.
The first Crawler lunged. Kaelen sidestepped, the beast's claws scraping harmlessly against the rock wall. As it passed, he pivoted and drove the spear's iron tip into the soft flesh of its underbelly. He ripped the spear free and spun to meet the next attacker.
He moved with a brutal, efficient grace. He was no Master yet, but he was far beyond a Novice. Every movement had a purpose. A parry that deflected a claw, followed by a precise thrust to an eye socket. A quick step back to avoid a charge, followed by a powerful jab to a leg joint to cripple the beast. He was a whirlwind of deadly, calculated motion, using the confined space of the pass to his advantage, ensuring he only ever faced one or two beasts at a time.
When Loric, Silas, and Piet finally arrived at the chokepoint, breathless from their noisy advance, they were greeted by a scene of absolute carnage.
Seven Crawler corpses littered the narrow pass, their bodies still steaming. The eighth was pinned, twitching feebly, under a massive rock. And standing in the middle of it all, leaning on the blood-soaked spear, was Kaelen. He was breathing heavily, his clothes spattered with gore, but he was unharmed.
The three men stared, their mouths agape. Their minds could not process what they were seeing. They had been the beaters, the ones making a commotion. They had thought they were taking the greatest risk. But they had only been the tool. The boy… the boy had been the weapon. He had single-handedly slaughtered an entire pack of monsters that would have overwhelmed the four of them combined.
Kaelen looked at them, his eyes cold and unreadable. He gestured with the spear towards the twitching Crawler under the rock.
"Silas," he commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Finish it."
Silas, shaken to his core, scrambled to obey.
Kaelen had not just led a successful hunt. He had given them a terrifying, unforgettable demonstration of his power. He had shattered their pride and replaced it with a new, potent emotion: awe-struck fear. They were no longer his reluctant followers. They were his pack. And he was, without question, the alpha.
[STATUS UPDATE]
Current Realm: 1st - Crucible Foundation (Phase 2)
Void Corpus Stability Timer: 18 Days Remaining