A low, guttural growl echoed through the smoke.
Fangs bared in a snarl, the Smokey Wolf thrashed in place. One of its hind legs had been caught—tied tightly with a rope anchored to a nearby tree.
Surrounded by swirling greyish-white smoke, the young monster fixed its deep crimson eyes on River, burning with rage.
It showed no fear.
Only fury.
The trap had enraged it, not humbled it. It wanted to shred River apart—rip through bone, muscle, and sinew with a hunger not born from need, but vengeance.
The wolf was confident.
Too confident.
And that confidence twisted into arrogance.
River stood still, eyes sharp, watching the Smokey Wolf writhe and snap in the thinning fog. It lunged forward suddenly—claws swiping at his throat, a blur of fury and muscle. Razor-sharp nails sliced through the smoke.
But they never touched him.
Only air.
Again, the wolf attacked—biting, pouncing, howling. Fangs like daggers. Claws like knives. But no matter how hard it tried, the monster couldn't reach him. The rope held firm.
Wolf-type monsters were notoriously difficult for beginners. Most hunted in packs. The Smokey Wolf was a lone predator—but no less dangerous. Its kind were proud, aggressive, and so overconfident that fear seemed like a foreign concept.
That's also what made them vulnerable.
With the right preparation, they could be taken down. Easily.
But unlike the other Candidates in this dungeon, River didn't have the budget for cold weapons or high-grade explosives. He didn't carry a plasma rifle or high-spec grenades. He was lucky to afford the few smoke bombs he had, along with his multi-use backpack and mini fridge container.
Distant echoes of gunfire and explosions bounced across the forest. Faint, but getting closer.
He needed to end this—fast.
Getting spotted while fighting a wolf meant becoming a target himself. He couldn't risk it. Candidates with advanced weapons could kill him just as easily as the monsters around them. Guns were popular for beginners, and while not ideal for long-term Hunter careers, they were still dangerous in the hands of the right people—especially those with weapon-enhancing Skills.
River had no clue who was nearby, but he wasn't about to stick around and find out.
His gaze snapped back to the wolf.
It was still lunging, barking, trying to tear him apart.
River narrowed his eyes.
Close combat was too risky. The Smokey Wolf might be young, but it was already the size of a medium horse. One misstep, one bad angle, and he'd lose a limb—maybe his life.
This wasn't a game.
So, he shifted gears.
Suppressing his killing intent, River slowly reached into his bag and pulled out his knife... and a strip of beef jerky.
The wolf stopped.
Its growl faltered.
Its snarl softened into a sniff.
The moment the scent hit the air, the Smokey Wolf's attention zeroed in on the jerky. It inhaled deeply, its ears twitching, eyes narrowing not with rage—but hunger.
River smirked and gently waved the jerky from side to side.
"You want this?" he asked, voice low and even. "Trust me, it tastes way better than I do."
The wolf snapped its jaws, lunging toward the jerky with primal instinct. River pulled his hand back just in time, causing the beast to snarl again, more frustrated than furious now.
"Don't look at me like that," River muttered. "I know you want it. But I need you to be a little more cooperative, alright?"
The bait was set.
The wolf's aggression dulled—but only slightly. Its vigilance remained, yet the smell of beef jerky slowly chipped away at its instincts. The scent fogged its mind, narrowing its focus to the human's hand.
The jerky wasn't warm anymore, and its aroma had faded. But to the Smokey Wolf, whose nose could pick out a drop of blood from miles away, it still smelled rich and irresistible.
River couldn't face this monster head-on. His Stats were simply too low. He had to rely on strategy—and this was the safest approach he could come up with.
"Don't take this personally," River murmured, tossing the strip of jerky to the side, just within the wolf's reach—though it would need to stretch for it.
The wolf snapped into motion, bounding toward the bait with a single-minded hunger, completely exposing its back.
A mistake.
A fatal one.
If it were any older or more experienced, the wolf might have kept its eyes locked on the threat while approaching. But this one was young. Reckless. Overconfident.
River was lucky.
Raising his knife, he stepped forward silently, suppressing even the tiniest flicker of killing intent.
"I'm sorry, kiddo."
With no hesitation, River drove the blade into the back of the wolf's head.
There was a moment of resistance—a brief shudder of flesh and bone—then the knife pierced straight through. Into the skull. Into the brain.
The young Smokey Wolf didn't even have time to cry out. It slumped forward, collapsing silently to the ground, the jerky still dangling between its teeth.
Simple. Efficient. Clean.
River exhaled, stepping forward to retrieve his blade. A thick, wet sound echoed as he pulled it free. Blood gushed, dark and steady, soaking the earth and pooling beneath the wolf's motionless body.
He stared at the corpse—at the knife slick with blood, at the glazed-over eyes, at the stillness.
Strangely… it made him pause.
He had killed thousands—monsters, humans, things far worse. With his Bubblecraft Skill and masterful Mana Control, he had torn through enemies in the future like a force of nature.
But this?
This felt different.
Or maybe it didn't.
Maybe this was just the feeling he had forgotten after so many years. The weight of a first kill. Or the echo of it.
River sighed.
"I get it now… it's the same feeling I had the first time I killed a monster."
There was understanding in his eyes. Not regret, not guilt—just quiet clarity.
He had gotten used to being strong. Using raw power to kill without hesitation. But now, stripped of everything, starting over from scratch as a normal human… the act felt heavier. More personal.
For the past week, River had been drowning in emotion—trying to adjust, trying to settle into a life that no longer belonged to him. He hadn't even had a real conversation with his younger brother. His mind had been too occupied with the weight of the future.
The pressure was suffocating.
No teammates. No allies. No guidance.
Alone.
...But only for now.
"This isn't the time to be sentimental," River muttered, shaking off his thoughts. He could already hear gunfire echoing through the trees, growing louder. Candidates. Maybe Guild members. And they were getting closer.
Howls rang out in response, followed by explosions.
Judging by the sound of the fight, and the number of gunshots, River guessed at least two groups were moving through the Smokey Wolves' territory—probably sweeping through the forest and drawing in every monster they could find.
A strategy to maximize Experience Points.
Efficient, but chaotic.
And dangerous.
He couldn't afford to be caught in the crossfire. River wasn't here to prove anything. He just wanted to level up—one careful step at a time.
Thinking quickly, he called up his Status Screen.
Let's see if that kill was enough.