The forest floor was still wet with morning dew as the mercenary squad advanced, moving in a tight line behind Captain Fark Luxro. Sunlight barely touched the ground, the tall trees swallowing most of it. The deeper they went, the heavier the atmosphere grew — even the birds had stopped singing.
The rookie at the end of the line kept glancing nervously around. Sweat trickled down the side of his face despite the chilly air.
Finally, unable to hold it in, he blurted out, "Captain Fark… um, sir… what exactly are Mutamals?"
The mercenaries nearest to him stopped in their tracks and stared like he had just insulted someone's ancestors.
One muttered, "Crazy kid… how did he pass recruitment?"
Another scoffed, "Don't tell me he entered the forest without knowing this…"
The rookie panicked. "I-I'm sorry! Did I say something wrong?"
Fark raised his hand calmly without turning around. "Quiet."
The group instantly obeyed. Even the wind seemed to listen.
Fark slowed his steps slightly so the rookie could hear him clearly.
"You asked the right question," he said. "Listen carefully."
Everyone leaned in — Fark didn't explain things often.
"Mutamals are mutated versions of animals. A strange virus appeared decades ago among meat-eating creatures. No one knows its origin. Once infected, the animal goes berserk. They lose reason, lose pain sense… and their bodies start mutating."
The rookie swallowed hard. "What kind of mutation?"
"Size. Most triple. Some grow four times bigger," Fark said.
One mercenary tapped the rookie's shoulder. "Ever seen a wolf as big as a horse? I have. Not fun."
Another added, "My cousin met a mutated wild boar. It crushed his shield like it was paper."
Fark continued. "And the older the Mutamal, the stronger. If they survive long enough, they evolve in phases. Sharper fangs, stronger muscles, tougher hide. And…" He looked over his shoulder. "If they smell even a drop of blood, they chase the prey until either the prey dies… or they do."
The rookie went pale. "T-That's… insane."
A grizzled mercenary leaned over and whispered loudly, "Kid, be glad Captain Fark is leading us. If it was any other group leader? We'd already be dead just from stepping into this forest."
The rookie blinked. "Is he really that strong?"
"Strong?" another mercenary snorted. "He survived a Mutamal wolf attack alone. A full-grown phase-two one. While carrying two injured teammates."
The rookie stared at Fark with round eyes.
Fark sighed. "Stop exaggerating."
One of them grinned. "We're not exaggerating, Captain. If you weren't here, half of us would've quit mercenary work."
Fark ignored the comment. "Listen carefully. When a Mutamal reaches the final phase, they develop elemental traits."
The rookie froze. "Elemental? Like… breathing fire?"
"Yes," Fark replied simply. "Or releasing electricity. Poison mist. Wind blades. Depends on the creature."
A heavy silence fell over the group. Even the veterans were tense now.
Fark suddenly raised his fist — the signal to stop.
"We're close," he said.
The mercenaries spread out, eyes alert.
When they reached the clearing, every one of them stiffened.
The maffle nest was destroyed.
Completely.
Eggs crushed, shell pieces scattered, mud overturned, trees scratched deeply. Something had torn through the place like a natural disaster.
"What the hell happened here?" a mercenary whispered.
"Something got here before us," another said, eyes scanning the area.
Fark crouched, touching the ground. His expression darkened. "Snake drag marks. Large ones. And… blood."
The rookie trembled. "S-Sir… is this normal?"
"Not at all," Fark said quietly.
Before anyone could react—
Shhhk!
A sudden wooden spike shot out from a tree, slicing across the rookie's arm. Blood splattered on the ground.
The rookie screamed, clutching his injured arm.
Fark's eyes widened.
"Blood—!"
The forest… changed instantly.
The air thickened. Leaves trembled. The birds far away went silent.
A hunting instinct powerful enough to suffocate rolled across the clearing.
"Everyone," Fark said calmly, " retreat. Now. Move back quietly."
They slowly began stepping back—
Then a shadow moved behind them.
Tree branches cracked.
Something enormous slithered out from behind a fallen log, scales scraping against bark.
A python.
But not an ordinary one.
This python was easily thirty-five feet long, its body thick like a tree trunk. Black-and-green scales shimmered with unnatural hardness. Its yellow eyes glowed with bloodlust as its tongue flicked toward the drip of blood on the ground.
One mercenary stumbled backward. "W-What the—"
Another choked. "I-I-Is that… big enough to be a—"
The forest seemed to answer for them.
"M-M-Mutamal!" one mercenary screamed. "Mutamal python!"
Before anyone else could move, the python lunged.
KRAAASH!
Its jaws snapped forward like a guillotine.
It tore a mercenary's arm clean off.
The man's scream ripped through the forest as blood sprayed across the ground.
Chaos erupted.
"Shit!"
Fark lunged forward, planting his spear between the monster and his injured man.
Behind him, a mercenary shouted, voice shaking:
"If Captain wasn't here—we'd all be corpses!"
Another added, "Everyone stick to him! He's the only one who can stall that thing!"
The python's massive head reared back, eyes locked onto the group.
It was fresh.
A newly mutated Mutamal.
Fark could see the slight instability in its aura, the incomplete patches of hardened scales.
"Good," Fark muttered under his breath. "If you were older, we'd already be dead."
He raised his voice.
"FORMATION!"
His voice cracked like thunder.
"Shields in front! Spears behind! Protect the injured!"
The mercenaries snapped into position automatically. Fear still shook their legs, but Fark's presence steadied their breathing.
The python hissed, coils tightening.
It lunged again—straight at Fark.
He stepped forward, spear lowered, eyes sharp as steel.
A small grin flickered across his face.
"Let's see how strong you are… rookie Mutamal."
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Chapter End
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