The village woke to blood.
Not the dramatic kind—no screaming corpses strewn across the dirt paths, no burning huts or shattered gates. Just a dark, sticky trail cutting through the morning mist, leading from the edge of the forest straight to the heart of the settlement.
People noticed.
They always did.
A woman carrying a water bucket froze mid-step, eyes widening as she followed the trail. A child crouched near it, poking the dried edge with a stick before his mother yanked him away. Murmurs spread like infection—quiet at first, then swelling.
Kael walked behind the carcass, hands numb, breath steady.
The wolf's body was massive, easily longer than he was tall. He had tied its legs together with vine and rope scavenged from the forest, dragging it with more effort than dignity. His clothes were stained. His hair was matted with sweat and dirt. His side still throbbed where claws had torn flesh, but the wound had already scabbed over unnaturally fast.
He felt every stare.
Fear. Suspicion. Greed.
No awe.
Not yet.
He stopped in the center of the village and let the carcass fall with a dull, wet thud.
Silence followed.
Elder Rusk emerged from between two huts, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. Garron appeared moments later, expression darkening when he recognized both the beast and the boy standing beside it.
"A forest wolf," someone whispered.
"Too big…"
"That thing killed three goats last winter…"
Kael let them talk.
He had learned something important during the night.
This world respected results—not explanations.
"This came from the northern woods," Kael said finally, his voice carrying farther than he expected. "I killed it alone."
Laughter barked out—short, sharp, disbelieving.
Garron stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "You expect us to believe that? You can barely lift a sack of grain."
Kael met his gaze calmly.
"I didn't ask you to believe me."
He bent, gripped the wolf's jaw, and lifted its head.
The torn throat was clearly visible. The crude branch still embedded deep, angled precisely between bone and muscle.
Silence fell again.
Garron's smile faltered.
Rusk's eyes flicked to the wound, then to Kael's side—where bloodstains had already darkened to brown. Calculation replaced anger.
"You want credit," the elder said slowly.
"I want food," Kael replied. "And to be left alone."
A pause.
Rusk stroked his thin beard. "The meat belongs to the village."
Kael nodded. "Of course."
He reached into the folds of his shirt and withdrew the wolf's heart—dark, heavy, still faintly warm.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"I'll keep this."
Rusk opened his mouth to protest.
Kael looked at him.
Not threateningly.
Not aggressively.
Simply… without yielding.
The elder swallowed.
"…Fine," Rusk said. "Take it."
Kael inclined his head once.
The tension broke. People surged forward, knives appearing, arguments already starting over portions. The carcass vanished beneath eager hands in moments.
No one noticed when Kael turned away.
He ate alone, at the edge of the village.
Cooked meat, tough and smoky, filled his mouth. Protein. Fat. Strength. His body drank it in greedily, warmth spreading through his limbs as nutrients reached starved muscles.
He could feel the Eclipse Core react.
Not absorbing.
Not draining.
Balancing.
Life energy flowed in naturally, stabilizing the death energy he had taken the night before. The ember in his abdomen flared brighter, steadier.
Qi Condensation was still far away—but the path was open now.
Kael closed his eyes briefly.
So this is the rule, he thought. Take from death. Anchor with life.
Simple.
Brutal.
Perfect.
A shadow fell across him.
Kael opened his eyes.
A girl stood a few paces away, clutching a small bundle of cloth to her chest. She looked younger than him—maybe thirteen or fourteen. Her hair was tangled, her cheeks hollow, but her eyes were sharp.
She hesitated, then stepped closer.
"My brother says you killed it," she said.
Kael said nothing.
She glanced at the half-eaten meat in his hands, then back at his face. "Is it true?"
"Yes."
Her grip tightened on the cloth. "How?"
Kael considered the question.
"By not running."
She frowned. "Everyone runs from forest wolves."
He shrugged. "That's why they die."
She studied him for a long moment, then held out the bundle. "For you."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"It's bread," she said quickly. "Not much. But… you should eat more if you're hunting monsters."
She shoved it toward him, then turned and fled before he could respond.
Kael stared at the bread.
Then he laughed softly.
Not because of the food.
Because of the lesson.
Kindness existed here.
It was just… rare. Fragile. Often fatal.
He ate the bread anyway.
That evening, Garron came for him.
Kael sensed him before he saw him—the Eclipse Core pulsing faintly, alerting him to hostile intent. Footsteps crunched behind him as he cleaned the wolf's heart near the edge of the woods.
"You think you're something now," Garron growled.
Kael didn't turn. "I think you're drunk."
A fist slammed into the tree beside his head.
"You embarrassed me," Garron hissed. "In front of everyone."
Kael sighed and stood.
This time, when he faced Garron, there was no weakness in his posture.
"You hit me yesterday," Kael said. "We're even."
Garron laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You don't decide that."
He lunged.
Kael moved.
Not with speed—but with timing.
He stepped inside Garron's swing, shoulder slamming into the man's chest. Garron staggered, surprised, and Kael drove his elbow into Garron's throat.
The sound was wet.
Garron collapsed, choking, hands clawing at his neck.
Kael crouched beside him.
"Listen carefully," Kael said quietly. "If you touch me again, I will kill you."
Garron's eyes bulged with terror.
Kael stood and walked away.
He did not finish the job.
Not out of mercy.
Out of restraint.
The Eclipse Core pulsed approvingly.
That night, Kael returned to the forest—but not to cultivate.
He hunted.
Not recklessly. Not greedily.
Methodically.
He tracked smaller beasts, studying their habits, learning the rhythms of the woods. He avoided unnecessary fights, choosing targets he could kill cleanly.
Each death fed him.
Each kill sharpened his senses.
By dawn, he had two more carcasses hidden beneath brush and a mind buzzing with clarity.
But something else had changed.
He could feel eyes on him.
Not physical ones.
Something older.
Something distant.
When he turned inward, the Eclipse Core shimmered faintly—black and white overlapping more tightly than before.
A warning—not urgent, but present.
You are noticed.
Kael smiled.
"Good," he whispered to the trees. "Let them watch."
As he walked back toward the village, blood drying on his hands and power coiling quietly in his core, Kael understood a fundamental truth of this world.
It did not reward kindness.
It did not punish cruelty.
It rewarded those who endured.
And he would endure longer than all of them.
No matter the cost.