After one day…
Deep within the forest, the gentle rustling of leaves was suddenly cut short by a low, guttural growl that reverberated through the shadows.
Lin Chen stood beneath the twisted branches of a tree, his expression calm, almost indifferent, as his eyes locked on the predator before him—a leopard-like spirit beast.
And for the record, this wasn't his fault. He hadn't gone out of his way to poke a beast for fun. He had simply been passing through, minding his own business, when the creature suddenly decided he looked like breakfast.
The beast's sleek coat shimmered faintly with Essence Qi, each muscle beneath its hide drawn taut like a spring about to snap. Its glowing eyes fixed on him with unrestrained hunger, promising violence the moment he made a wrong move.
If it were just a wild animal, Lin Chen could've swatted it aside with one hand and walked away. But this wasn't some ordinary forest cat—this was a spirit beast.
A fourth-stage Root Vein Realm spirit beast, no less.
And beasts, unlike humans, were born with natural advantages: bodies forged stronger, instincts honed sharper. At equal cultivation, a careless human could be torn apart before even realizing the danger.
Lin Chen exhaled slowly, grounding himself. His stance sank lower, feet pressing into the soil as faint arcs of lightning crawled along his arms, hissing softly in the air.
"Alright then," he muttered. "Let's see how the first form of the Azure Thunder Art holds up in a real fight."
The leopard sprang—faster than the eye could follow, a streak of fangs and claws cutting through the air.
But Lin Chen was faster.
His feet slid half a step back, Qi coiling through his legs as he triggered Lightning Footwork. A sharp flash burst beneath his soles, and he vanished sideways, the beast's claws tearing through empty air. The spot where he had stood exploded into flying dirt and ragged claw marks.
He didn't hesitate.
In the next heartbeat, he twisted mid-step and lunged forward like a thunderbolt, fist drawn back, lightning Qi crackling wildly around his knuckles.
The first form of Azure Thunder Arts wasn't meant to impress—it was built for one purpose: strike the weak point before the enemy could react.
"Lightning Fist!"
His fist slammed into the beast's ribs, right where Aiva's analysis had marked the heart.
The blow detonated like a thunderclap. Lightning compressed into a single piercing point, bursting against flesh and bone.
A blinding blue flare lit up the forest.
CRACK!
The beast froze mid-pounce, eyes wide with shock.
Then its body collapsed, crashing into the earth, its limbs twitching at once… before going still.
Lin Chen stood there for a second. His knuckles were wet with blood, but still warm. He looked down and frowned as he saw the mess on his hand.
"...Gross."
It was his first time seeing fresh blood up close—at least, not from a nosebleed or a scraped knee. This was beast blood, thick and dark, and it didn't smell great either.
He turned his head slightly and fought the strange urge to gag.
"Ugh… really should've brought some proper weapons…"
He wiped his hand on a patch of grass nearby, not caring if it was proper cultivator etiquette. Honestly, it was a miracle he didn't hurl on the spot.
"Mental note," he muttered. "Killing spirit beasts is way messier than the novels made it sound."
He glanced at the beast's body again, making sure it wasn't going to suddenly jump up like some second-phase boss. When it didn't move, he let out a small sigh.
"At least the Lightning Fist works," he muttered, stretching his hand a little.
The combat art worked as intended—if anything, it worked even better than he expected.
Now, how to deal with the corpse?
After staring at the corpse for several seconds, he finally came to one way to deal with it.
"Spirit beast meat is supposed to be super nourishing for cultivation," he muttered. "Would be a waste to just leave it here…"
He glanced at the leopard-like creature once more. Its muscles were still taut, its body faintly radiating spiritual energy—it really did look like a good food ingredient, if you ignored the small detail that it had tried to kill him only five minutes ago.
Pulling the small utility knife from his robe, he crouched beside the beast. "Alright. Just slice it open. Easy. How hard can it be?"
The blade slid in with a wet squelch. The moment he dragged it across the belly, something inside gurgled—then—
Splutch.
A flood of steaming, half-digested, meat-smelling goo spilled out onto the grass. A mess of organs, intestines, and unidentifiable lumps slapped against the ground like someone had overturned a garbage bin full of rot.
Lin Chen froze.
His face drained of color.
"…Nope."
He shot to his feet, staggered back several steps, and spun toward the nearest tree—
and vomited.
The retching echoed through the forest for a full minute
"Ugh… how do those so-called 'novel protagonists' do this like it's nothing? They slice open a beast and calmly roast the meat like they're in a cooking show!"
He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, his face still slightly green.
He was a normal, average human until some time ago. Of course that scene had made his stomach churn—it wasn't like he'd been a butcher in his previous life.
Watching guts spill out was one thing in a movie or on a page, but experiencing it up close was another thing entirely.
He eyed the mess from a distance.
***
After a good ten minutes of inner conflict, and only after taking a long walk to mentally recover from the trauma of the beast's intestines, Lin Chen finally mustered up the courage to return to the corpse.
This time, he avoided looking at the guts altogether and focused only on the legs and haunches, where the meat was supposedly the most edible.
Using his knife (which was now forever cursed in his heart), he carefully carved out a few chunks of flesh—still slightly warm and slick with blood.
By the time he was finished, his hands were sticky, his sleeves stained, and his robes made him look less like a cultivator and more like a fugitive who'd just buried a body.
"…I look like a walking crime scene," he muttered.
He glanced at himself, then sighed and muttered, "Forget it. At least I got meat."
A while later, he had set up a small makeshift fire using some dry branches, using a simple fire-starting trick he'd read about in the sect library.
He skewered the beast meat on a stick and started roasting it over the flames.
The aroma of… hot meat filled the air.
"It'll taste good," Lin Chen told himself. "After all that effort? It better taste like heaven."
His stomach growled in agreement. The crispy edges began to brown, little droplets of fat sizzling into the flames.
He imagined all the novels he had read where the protagonists grilled spirit beast meat and leveled up with every bite, declaring how fragrant and delicious it was.
Finally, he tore off a bite, chewed—and paused.
Then chewed again.
Then frowned.
"…It tastes like wet tofu rolled in ash."
He should have expected this. Without spices, the flavor was bound to be dull—but this was worse. The meat didn't have any taste at all.
For half an hour he had worked on preparing it, only to be rewarded with something that might as well have been cardboard.
Still, now that it was cooked, tossing it out would've felt like a waste. So he forced himself to chew through it. At least it was high in protein. But honestly, that wasn't the only reason—he just didn't have the heart to throw away something he'd spent time cooking.
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