At the edge of the Black Forest, Breeze was waiting with Lysandra for the others to join them. While they were patiently standing at the entrance of the forest, a lot of people appeared—knights in polished mail clinked and rattled with each step, mercenaries of various ages checked their weapons, and some crazy lunatics who wanted to hunt monsters on their own.
Every batch passed by, side-glancing and inspecting them from head to toe—taking in the quality of their gear, the confident way Breeze carried himself, and the mysterious figure beside him. Yet all of them gave the same sigh—a sigh that seemed to say, 'You are going to die today.' Meanwhile, Lysandra, wearing a cloak, kept her hood drawn low, following Jasper's orders to avoid drawing attention.
"Brother," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Should we find another area to hunt? We won't be able to work properly while everyone is checking each other's movements."
Breeze exhaled sharply. "Annoying, isn't it? I'd bet half of them are just troublemakers waiting to steal from others." He glanced around, his expression wary. "Jasper gave us exact instructions on how to extract the heart." His voice dropped low, avoiding potential eavesdroppers. "Our method is highly secretive—we can't let anyone copy it. Let's wait for the others and split into two groups: one for hunting, the other for guarding the perimeter."
Lysandra nodded, the motion barely visible beneath her hood. Then her posture straightened as movement caught her attention. "Hey, brother—look! The others are finally here."
From a distance, the silhouettes of Ivar's distinctive broad shoulders and another eighteen members of his group come into view. These members had been trained diligently in Ace Swordsmanship; the only thing they lacked was life-and-death experience.
Once they regrouped, Breeze relayed his plan. No one objected; it was the best choice for smooth hunting, after noticing that they were being watched.
The number of people hunting the monsters had dwindled since the early days of the announcement. Word had spread about the true ferocity of monsters—especially those in the Black Forest—and many would-be heroes discovered that courage came easier in taverns than in the face of death. Still, that didn't mean the current number was small. As some prefer to die than living a poor life.
The forest was a bit dim, its floor was a treacherous carpet of rotting logs, moss-slick stones, and leaf litter that could muffle footsteps. Some areas were normal and others were eerily abnormal.
An hour of careful navigation through increasingly dense undergrowth brought them to their destination. Three of the group stood as watchguards, while Breeze, Ivar, Lysandra, and the others went for their first hunt.
Ivar took out a small vial filled with a substance called The Fake Call—a pheromone for the wolves, specifically the black wolves. Anyone could guess why it was given that name. He dampened a rag with the liquid for five seconds and quickly cleansed it with a purification potion that hissed and steamed as it neutralized the pheromone. That way he wouldn't invite the whole forest and bear their anger for tricking them.
About two to three hours earlier.
"Ahem, so after applying The Fake Call, Lysandra is currently crafting. Cleanse it in five seconds, then lie down on the ground, and you, Sneaker, climb the tree and aim for any wolf straying away or if there's another wolf sniffing the others beside their marked target," Jasper explained, outlining a strategy for hunting black wolves.
"Aye, Boss," Sneaker answered, straightening his back.
"But Master, we can't fight those monsters while lying down," Ivar questioned.
"Don't worry—most monsters don't eat cadavers, unless you're unlucky enough to attract a scavenger instead of the black wolves."
…
Before they started the operation, Breeze helped Lysandra into the crook of a massive tree, his hands gentle despite their strength as he ensured she was secure among the branches. He checked overhead twice—no glistening webs, no suspicious hollows that might hide lurking predators.
They lay scattered on the ground like corpses, silent and motionless, playing dead waiting for the soon-to-be-disappointed wolves. The moment hissing footsteps rustled through the grass, everyone tightened their grip on their daggers.
Lysandra was scared beyond measure, but no sound came out of her mouth. She was only observing, wishing for a smooth hunt.
Sneaker was on top of the tree, watching nervously as he stretched the string of his bow. There were about ten black wolves approaching, their noses twitching in a sniffing motion. They turned their heads left and right, searching for the female, disappointed that the scent stopped here. As they saw the corpses in front of them, they stepped closer to check whether they were still edible or not.
Two wolves stationed beside Ivar, their noses twitching as they sniffed him. His massive frame promised a hearty meal; all it needed was for the scent to stimulate their appetite.
'Shit. Talk about luck. There are at least five people lying around—why are you two trying to share the pitiful me, you dumb mutts?' Ivar's internal monologue screamed while his body remained perfectly still.
Sneaker's hand trembled as he nocked an arrow. He was a skilled archer, but fear gripped him—one wrong shot, and Ivar was dead. Then movement flickered at the edge of his vision. Something slithered closer, silent as a shadow.
Another monster? His breath hitched. You've got to be kidding me right? What is that thing? This fuc*** is not even a mammal—why's it drawn to the scent?
A reptilian abomination, its scales glinting dully in the dim light, crept toward the clearing. Sneaker's mind raced, a frantic chant echoing in his skull: What do I do? What should I do? What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?
If he shot the wolf, the reptile would lunge for the nearest team member. If he shot the reptile, the wolves would scatter—and their trap would be ruined.
The wolves wrinkled their noses, recoiling from the stench of decay. Time was running out. The whole group had covered themselves with a disgusting odor just in case the plan went south.
Then—inspiration struck the hidden archer.
In one fluid motion, Sneaker uncorked the vial of Fake Call and jammed it into the gap between his boot-top and calf—the scent searing the air as he drew his bowstring taut.
The wolves froze.
Ears pricked.
Nostrils flared.
Once they looked up toward his direction, "NOW!" He shouted for the others to make their moves, and he released his fingers, letting a piercing arrow shoot.
Fweeeeeee.
Splorch!
"Bull's-eye, even though you are a reptile." His arrow whistled through the air, burying itself in the reptile's eye.
Hiss—SKCREEE... The reptile cried.
At the same instant, the others struck. Blades flashed menacingly as they moved, slicing through wolf throats before the beasts could react.
Ivar struck with a quick and powerful move, his dagger carving a deadly arc. Both wolves crumpled, their blood splashing like a fountain. A heartbeat slower, and one would have torn out his throat.
"Phew, these wolves are swift to react. If I weren't already a predator, I probably would have died in that fraction of a second," Ivar sighed in relief.
Breeze noticed the arrow and the screaming sound of the reptile as he slew the black wolf. He dashed instantly, only to find a monster curled up frantically in pain.
The reptile was close to a Komodo dragon, yet its back was similar to an alligator's. Breeze couldn't step closer to this abomination; he didn't know how powerful it was. He asked for a spear, and a member quickly brought it. The bottom part looked softer than the upper one, so he thrust the spear into its throat. The monster gave one last thump before falling dead.
Breeze didn't expect how easy it was to kill it, so he started dissecting instantly while Ivar and Lysandra were dissecting the wolves, extracting their hearts.
Seeing the girl in that state, the group offered to help her. "Miss Lysandra, please let us do it. We can't bear to let you do this disgusting job."
Ivar cried, seeing he was offered the same treatment. "Why is no one asking to help me?"
"Oh, come on, Ivar, you are not a beautiful woman who is in the right mind to help you, ha ha ha," one of them answered sarcastically.
"You biased bastar**," Ivar cursed, but his laughter joined theirs.
Looking at them with a smile, Lysandra pointed at the other corpses. "If you want to help, skin all those wolves—it's of high quality—but leave the inner part to me."
"Aye, aye, Miss Lysandra."
Ivar shook his head. "No cure for fools."
Once Breeze extracted the core, it turned out to be Tier 10 Stage 1. The monster wasn't that weak, but the gladiator was that strong. Others would also be able to pierce the soft part of that reptile, but it wouldn't be as easy as he did.
"Crap." Ivar's voice was barely audible. "I think I'll sleep with a growling stomach tonight."
"Hmm?" Breeze stepped closer after finishing skinning the reptile. He saw a cracked T10S1 core in Ivar's hand. Comparing it to the polished one in his hand, he knew that Ivar messed up while extracting it. "So that's how a low-quality core looks like, huh?"
Aside from the skins of the monsters, the core extraction wasn't that perfect. They acquired: 1 High-quality Blackheart core, 4 Mid-quality, 1 Low-quality.
The other wolves didn't give any cores, probably because they took too long to extract or they were just Tierless monsters.
Hee-hee-hee-hoo-hoo-hee-hee-hee!
Hee-hee-hee!Hoo-hoo-hoo!
The sound hit then suddenly, maniacal laughter that seemed to echo from every direction at once. It was the sound of madness given voice, of creatures that found joy in death and chaos.
"What is this?" Sneaker asked with a terrified expression.
Everyone straightened unconsciously, their eyes darting right and left. The laugh of multiple creatures closing the distance.
"These are probably the Mad Hyenas," Lysandra explained, her voice steady despite the fear that had drained all color from her cheeks. "They're scavengers who steal others' prey. They're drawn to the scent of fresh blood."
"Let's escape, guys!" Breeze commanded. "Fortunately, they are targeting the corpses, not us. It's good enough that we got the cores and the skins."
They escaped as fast as they could while the sound rapidly closed the gap. Meeting the others, they shouted, "Escape, and don't ask why—you can understand just by hearing this horrible laugh."
At a certain point, the sound faded into the distance. "Thank God, they were targeting the corpses. We probably wouldn't have been able to outrun them if they were targeting us," Lysandra said.
"This forest… is shockingly… scary," one of the group said, his breath ragged. "If the boss hadn't ordered us here, I'd never set foot in this damned place." The others nodded in agreement, their faces tight with dread. They are members of an intelligence organization after all, so they knew how many died in this forest.
"We don't have a choice." Breeze's voice was steady, but a flicker of anger simmered beneath. "Getting stronger means taking on missions like this—even if I have to do it alone." His fist clenched until his knuckles turned white. Then, under his breath, he added in a bitter, self-reproaching tone, "Pathetic. If it were those barbarians, they'd have done it without running from the Mad Hyenas."
After their lucky escape, they set out to search for the materials Lysandra had directed them to find.
The Black Forest held everything they needed—that was the good part. As for the bad part, they'd have to push deeper in. The outer edges had been picked clean by mercenaries and some other individuals—most likely the royal knights.
"What should we do now?" a member of the group asked.
"We are going in; we need to find those ingredients," Breeze insisted.
"Hey, Breeze, calm down and think carefully. Master forbade us from entering deep into the forest. And out of all of us, only you and I are Predators—the others can't face monsters head-on. They need more training to handle monsters properly without the power of a Predator."
Breeze took a deep breath. "You're right! I wasn't thinking straight for a moment."
Just then, Lysandra gasped. "Look!" She pointed toward a massive, uprooted tree. Nestled among its exposed roots was a cluster of mushrooms—one enormous, gnarled cap surrounded by smaller ones. "A Mummyshroom!"
She darted forward, seizing the opportunity. She squatted to root it out, only for a shadow to loom—too wide, too tall— over her small frame. "Ivar! Instead of standing in front of me, help me root it out—"
Then she froze.
For a second, the air turned cold as she realized something was wrong—Ivar was behind her. Then a cry came from behind.
"Lysandra!" Breeze shouted.
She tilted her head up, but she still couldn't see how tall the monster looming before her was. She tilted it further—further—until she lost balance and fell backward. Her hood slipped back, revealing widened eyes and shrunken irises.
Kyaaaaa!!!!
Roooooaaarrrrr!
Breeze moved in a blur—no, he vanished. The others barely caught his shadow as he streaked toward his sister. Mid-sprint, he launched himself into the air, driving a flying kick straight into the Ogre's face. The brute staggered back—but only a step or Two. Not nearly enough.
This thing was no ordinary beast.
Realizing the deadly encounter, Breeze twisted mid-motion, using the Ogre's skull as a springboard to launch himself onto a nearby tree. Then he rebounded—landing behind the creature in a flash. His arms locked around its thick neck, muscles straining as he tried to crush its windpipe.
No use. Its neck muscles were huge and its flesh was like iron.
"IVAR!" Breeze roared. "GET HER OUT OF HERE! THIS THING—IT'S NOT MEANT TO BE FOUGHT!"
Breeze felt his squeeze was nothing to the monster. What made him try to grab all the attention toward himself in an attempt to create an opportunity for his sister to escape.
Ivar didn't argue. He snatched Lysandra up, ignoring her screams, her nails, her teeth sinking into his arm. Adrenaline drowned out the pain.
"IVAR! YOU COWARD! GO BACK! BROTHER!" She thrashed, trying with all her might to break free but it was of no use. Every struggle only tightened the grip.
Ivar's voice was grim. "I'm sorry, Lysandra. I already hate myself for this. But if even Breeze said this monster isn't meant to be fought, we're not in a position to argue."
Lysandra's cries faded into heartbroken sobs as the distance grew, her struggles weakening as despair replaced fury. She watched over Ivar's shoulder how Breeze and the Ogre were nothing but shadows swallowed by the trees.