The wagon passed through the forest, wheels creaking against roots and damp soil. The traffickers, once relaxed, had turned silent—each man gripping his weapon, nerves pulled taut like bowstrings.
The wagon jolted to a stop.
Then it came.
A thunderous roar.
It echoed through the forest, shaking leaves loose from the trees and sending distant birds scattering into the sky.
The burly man stiffened. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he stepped down, eyes narrowed toward the treeline.
"That… wasn't normal," he muttered.
A second later, he felt it—a surge of pressure in the air, wild and suffocating. His instincts screamed.
"A Mid-Great Core beast."
He raised a clenched fist. "Get ready!"
Branches rustled.
From the shadows, lesser and intermediate core-ranked beasts began to emerge.
Dozens.
Snarling. Crawling. Circling.
He took a step forward, raising his axe.
But then—he stopped cold.
Four new figures stepped into view.
