The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the rocky plains as the hunting party made its triumphant return. Dust rose under heavy footsteps, accompanied by the rhythmic rustling of scales brushing the ground. Garuk led the group, his massive frame at the forefront, muscles rippling beneath thick, dark-green scales.
Strapped across his back was a slain beast—a First-Grade (Mid-Level) monster, its body carved with deep gashes and claw marks. Its fur was matted with dried blood, its once-fierce eyes now dull and lifeless. Behind him, the other hunters dragged several smaller First-Grade (Low-Level) creatures and a majestic deer whose antlers gleamed under the dying light of day.
Garuk's chest swelled with pride as he approached the center of the tribe's settlement, where Arthul stood waiting. The leader's golden eyes gleamed with approval as he took in the sight of the victorious hunters. The tribe gathered swiftly, eyes wide with anticipation, stomachs growling at the sight of so much food.
Garuk dropped the Mid-Level beast before Arthul and knelt. "Leader, the hunt was a success. This beast gave us a fierce battle, but we prevailed—thanks to the weapon you bestowed upon me." He tapped the crescent blade sheathed at his side, its edge still gleaming with the remnants of battle.
Arthul's gaze lingered on the weapon. The crescent blade was no ordinary tool. It had been enhanced a hundredfold when he gave the original to Garuk—an artifact transformed by his unique ability. It had played a pivotal role in subduing the stronger monster, a silent testament to the power he wielded.
"You did well, Garuk," Arthul said, voice steady and commanding. "Your strength and leadership have brought glory to our tribe."
Garuk's head bowed lower, voice reverent. "It was your wisdom and generosity, Leader. This blade... it is unlike any other."
Arthul's eyes flickered with satisfaction. His power was growing, and with it, the future of the tribe brightened. "Rise, Garuk. You have earned this honor."
He turned to the gathered tribe, voice rising above the excited murmurs. "Today, we celebrate victory. Today, we feast!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the crowd. Younglings leapt with joy, eyes shining, while warriors pounded their chests in pride. The hunt had brought more than food—it had delivered hope and strength.
As tradition demanded, Arthul personally oversaw the distribution of the hunt's spoils. His role as Leader granted him the right to the most precious part of the First-Grade (Mid-Level) monster—the heart, brimming with potent qi and raw life energy. With practiced ease, his claws sliced through sinew and bone.
The heart was large, still warm, pulsing faintly with residual power. Arthul's eyes gleamed as he claimed it, the energy crackling through his fingertips.
The rest of the Mid-Level beast was handed to Garuk in recognition of his valor. The warrior's chest puffed with pride as he accepted the prize, his fellow hunters cheering his name. He then distributed the meat among his companions, ensuring those who had fought by his side received their share.
The smaller First-Grade (Low-Level) monsters and the deer were divided among the rest of the tribe—from the strongest warriors to the youngest hatchlings. Fires roared to life, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat as laughter and celebration filled the settlement.
As the feast unfolded, a familiar chime echoed in Arthul's mind:
Ding! The host has distributed food from a First-Grade (Mid-Level) monster to loyal subordinates. Triggering a hundredfold return—obtained meat of a Second-Grade (Low-Level) monster.
Arthul's eyes widened. His heartbeat quickened as he sensed the space within him expand, the system storage filling with meat from a far more powerful beast. The energy radiating from it was immense—beyond anything the tribe had ever encountered.
His mouth watered at the thought of consuming such nourishment, but he forced himself to remain composed. Around him, the tribe celebrated, unaware of the treasure now hidden within their leader.
He clenched his fist. If he revealed it now, questions would arise—questions he wasn't ready to answer. He would keep the meat stored and untouched, until the right time came.
He would grow stronger first. Unshakable. Unquestionable. And then, he would uplift them all.
As the fires burned low and the tribe drifted to sleep, Arthul retreated to his cave. Moonlight cast jagged shadows on the stone. Sitting cross-legged on a flat rock, he slowed his breathing and let his mind descend into silence.
Within, the system storage space unfolded.
The meat appeared before him in a flash of light—rich in qi, aromatic, radiant.
Without hesitation, Arthul devoured it. His sharp teeth tore into the flesh, warmth exploding through his core. Power flooded his veins, his muscles tightening, bones hardening beneath the force. His blood surged.
He entered a meditative state, channeling the Blood of the Abyssal Tide technique. Qi coursed through his meridians, tempering flesh and refining blood. His senses sharpened, instincts deepened, his crocodile demon heritage resonating with the primal power of the beast he had consumed.
Time faded.
The energy enriched his body and spirit. Injuries vanished. Strength surged. The essence of the Second-Grade (Low-Level) monster melded into him, inching him closer to the peak of the Blood Awakening realm.
When dawn broke, Arthul opened his eyes.
His golden irises blazed with new intensity.
He stood, his body humming with power. The hunt had been a success—not just for the tribe, but for him.
He stepped out of the cave, looking out over his people. They trusted him. Relied on him. Believed in him.
And he would not fail them.
The crocodile demon tribe would rise.
He would lead them to the summit of the demon race—
No matter what stood in his way.