Thorn's vines withdrew at last, slipping back into his body, their barbs leaving raw gouges across the bear's mangled hide. Ember glided down in a slow spiral, landing on Karl's shoulder with a soft chirp. Her feathers bristled proudly, but her breaths came sharp and quick, wings twitching from the strain of repeated strikes.
The forest, which had been filled with the beast's roars and the clash of battle, now lay eerily quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Karl let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His chest felt lighter, though his wounded arm still burned hot. He wiped blood from his palm and turned his gaze to the fallen monster.
It lay like a toppled mountain, quills bent and broken, its massive frame sprawled in the dirt. Already Karl's thoughts shifted from survival to purpose. A beast like this was no simple prey—it was a treasure trove. Its spines could serve as deadly weapons, its hide as armor tougher than steel. And somewhere inside, waiting to be claimed, was its essence crystal.
A grim smile tugged at his lips. "This wasn't just a fight," he thought. "It's a step forward."
Behind him, Grok leaned heavily on his shield, panting hard. Renn crouched near the treeline, scanning for danger even as sweat dripped from his brow. Thorn stood rooted, vines trembling faintly from the strain of the battle, while Ember pressed her head gently against Karl's cheek, as if to remind him she had done her part.
Without wasting time, Karl set to work. Grok, still breathing heavily, moved beside him, and together they began stripping the Razorhide Bear of its most valuable parts.
The jagged spines came first—each one longer than Karl's arm, sharp enough to pierce steel. They worked carefully, stacking them into bundles, knowing these would serve as weapons, traps, or even fortifications for the Sanctuary.
The hide came next. Tough, scarred, and heavy, it resisted even Karl's blade at first. But with Grok's strength pulling and Karl's careful cuts, they peeled away thick slabs of the beast's armor. Already Karl imagined what they could do with it—armor stronger than iron, fitted to withstand even a wolf's fangs.
From the gaping wound in its chest, Karl's hands finally found what he sought: a crystal of bronze II level, glowing faintly like a heartbeat trapped in stone. The Essence Crystal. He held it for a moment, its cold light shining across his blood-stained fingers, before tucking it securely into his pouch.
Even the foul-smelling meat did not go to waste. It was tough, rank with the scent of wild blood, but Karl cut away large slabs from its flank. Wrapped in leaves and cloth, they would serve—whether as food in desperate times, bait for traps, or trade with the wanderers who valued such exotic kills.
When at last the beast's hulking body lay stripped and silent, Karl wiped the sweat from his brow. Around them, the clearing smelled of blood and iron, a battlefield turned into a harvest ground.
Only then did his eyes wander to the far side of the clearing.
Half-crushed beneath the Razorhide Bear's fallen weight lay the boar it had killed before their arrival. Its body was mangled, ribs broken and flesh torn, but not beyond use.
Karl knelt beside the crushed boar. Though its ribs were shattered and its belly torn, much of the flesh remained intact. The tusks, thick and sharp, jutted out unbroken. As his eyes scanned the broken chest cavity, a faint shimmer glimmered between splintered bones.
A bronze I essence crystal.
Karl's pulse quickened. With a sharp gesture, Thorn's vines slithered forward, prying open the ruined ribs and carefully extracting the prize. The crystal's glow was pale, weaker than the bear's, but no less valuable. This one would be enough—enough to push Thorn to Bronze II.
The meat would fill their stores for days. The tusks promised sturdy tools and weapons. And the crystal… the crystal was advancement, strength, survival.
By the time they gathered the last spoils, Karl's clothes were streaked with blood and dirt, his spear heavy in his hand. He straightened and looked once more at the clearing. The fallen bear, the mangled boar, the trampled earth—it was a graveyard of beasts, a mark of both danger and triumph.
"Let's move," Karl said quietly.
The party turned toward the Sanctuary. The forest seemed to shift around them as they walked, shadows pressing closer, the silence almost alive. Every step was cautious, deliberate.
The Razorhide's spines and hide, bundled with effort, weighed heavily on Renn's arms and on the vines, Thorn dragged behind. Sweat beaded Renn's brow as he adjusted the load, pausing now and then to wipe his forehead. His eyes kept flicking toward Karl, seeking quiet reassurance, as though one misstep might draw another predator from the trees.
Ember circled overhead, wings cutting through the gloom. Grok trudged at Karl's side, shield strapped tight, jaw set in weary determination. Thorn, though drained, kept pace, his vines swaying with the burden.
Together, they carried their hard earn harvest back to the Sanctuary.
"Keep a steady pace and stay vigilant," Karl instructed again, his voice low but firm. His eyes swept the tree line, watching how the shadows seemed to stretch and shift with every step. The forest was quiet—too quiet—and silence here was never safety.
Above, Ember traced wide circles, her amber eyes glinting against the fading light. Now and then she dove low, wings rustling as she let out a sharp chirp, a warning that kept every nerve on edge.
Beneath their boots, Thorn's vines crawled like searching fingers, pulsing faintly as they read the earth. Each subtle vibration carried back to Karl—fallen branches, loose stone, even the faint scurrying of small predators in their dens. None dared to draw near, not with the stench of Razorhide blood still heavy in the air, but Karl knew hunger could make fools of beasts.
The smell of iron and musk clung to them, sharp and thick, seeping into every breath. Victory was theirs, yet Karl's grip on his spear never loosened. The forest was not a place to celebrate. It was a place to survive.
Renn shifted under his load with a soft grunt. The thick hide slung over his shoulder dragged against him like dead weight.
"This thing's heavier than I thought," he muttered, his tone caught somewhere between frustration and dry humor.
Karl glanced at him, then at the others. "Don't get comfortable. Keep your eyes open."