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From where Matsurize had climbed, his view was a little clearer. Under the faint moonlight, he gazed out over the night-shrouded forest.
He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a few wild fruits he'd gathered earlier. Sitting there on the sturdy branch, he nibbled at them while quietly enjoying the rare moment of peace.
Night had just fallen. In the human world, nighttime usually meant rest and sleep—a time to recover from the day.
But here, deep in this dense jungle, nightfall meant something entirely different: it was when the hunters awoke.
The forest came alive with sound. The chirping of insects, the calls of unseen birds, and the rustling of leaves in the wind filled the air.
Matsurize reclined against a branch, half-lying down, listening to the natural symphony of the night. It sounded oddly soothing to him.
In his previous life, he had moved to the city when he was still a child. Even if it was just a small county town, the air there had already lost its natural charm.
It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this kind of quiet connection with nature.
His eyes drooped halfway shut, his body relaxed, and after a long day of exhaustion, Matsurize finally drifted into sleep.
The forest grew darker. From below the tree, if one looked up now, nothing could be seen but pitch blackness.
Time passed slowly. Matsurize slept soundly, his snores echoing faintly through the forest.
The tree he had chosen to rest in—he had only noticed it briefly during the day. When night came too quickly, he'd remembered this one was nearby and easy to climb. So he had chosen it without a second thought.
What he didn't realize, however, was that the tree's rough bark—those grooves and gouges that had made it so easy to scale—were not naturally formed.
If he had looked closer, he might have seen that they were claw marks and deep scars from repeated impacts, old and new alike.
If he had known that, Matsurize would never have chosen this tree to sleep in.
But he didn't know.
And so he slept—snoring peacefully—completely unaware that he was resting atop a tree marked by danger.
When Matsurize finally woke, it wasn't from a predator's roar or a nightmare.
He woke because he was hungry. Again.
In his old world, even three meals a day hadn't been enough. Now, in this one, all he had eaten in the past day were a few wild fruits and one unfortunate rabbit that practically threw itself at him.
No matter how plump the rabbit had been, it was still small. That little bit of meat could never satisfy him.
Now his stomach screamed in protest. But even as hunger gnawed at him, Matsurize didn't dare climb down.
Not because he was especially cautious about wild beasts lurking in the dark. The reason was much simpler—he was scared of heights.
When he had climbed up last night, it had been easier than he expected. But now, staring down into the pitch-black abyss below, he realized just how high he was.
He couldn't even see the ground.
For the first time, fear overcame hunger. Matsurize clung tightly to the branch, his hands trembling as he tried not to look down.
And just then—misfortune struck again.
Awooooo! Awooooo! Awooooo!
The sound made his heart leap. If his ears weren't deceiving him, that was definitely a wolf's howl.
Matsurize's grip tightened instinctively around the trunk. Under his breath, he began to mutter frantic prayers.
"Please don't come here. Please don't find me. Buddha, Laozi, God, Heaven—anyone, please bless me!"
He called on every deity he could remember from his past life, praying desperately for safety.
But fate has a cruel sense of humor. The more you fear something, the faster it comes.
Matsurize clung to the tree in a rather unflattering position, shaking with fear.
Then—thud!
Something slammed into the tree. Then again. And again. The impacts grew louder, heavier, more frequent.
The tree shuddered violently. Matsurize's heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
He looked down, but the darkness and thick canopy blocked his view. All he could see was a blur of shadows—and every now and then, a glint of metal-like light flashing through the dark.
He had no idea what was happening below.
What he didn't know was that this place belonged to the rulers of this stretch of forest—the Blade Wolves.
Blade Wolves lived in packs, much like ordinary wolves, except for one key difference: each had one or two sharp, blade-like horns growing from their foreheads.
Their horns were incredibly sharp and metallic in sheen, resembling forged weapons—hence their name.
And now, more than a dozen of them were gathered at the base of Matsurize's tree.
They hadn't come because of him—at least not at first. They came here every night out of habit. Tonight, they had simply stumbled upon him by chance.
But Blade Wolves had exceptional senses. Their sight, hearing, and smell far surpassed any ordinary creature—and now, they had clearly detected Matsurize's presence.
Those grooves and gouges on the tree trunk that helped him climb earlier? Those were left behind by these very creatures, ramming their horns into the bark.
Even the deep claw marks scattered across the trunk—those too were the work of Blade Wolves.
As for why they rammed the tree night after night, it was surprisingly simple. Their horns grew quickly and painfully, much like how antelopes sometimes scratch their horns against trees to ease the ache.
For the Blade Wolves, this nightly ritual was their way of relieving that pressure.
But Matsurize knew none of this.
All he knew was that a pack of wolves was now gathered beneath him, their haunting howls echoing through the night.
If they hadn't noticed him, they might have left once their strange ritual was done.
But now that they had caught his scent, things had changed.
Wolves were patient hunters. Once they found prey, they would wait for as long as it took.
Tonight, Matsurize could forget about climbing down.
Whether he would still be alive by morning—that was another question entirely.