The forest was quieter than usual.
Not peaceful—just waiting.
John stood on the edge of a broken ridge overlooking the valley that marked the outer boundary of his territory. The ground beneath his boots was cracked from previous clashes, claw marks etched into stone like scars that refused to fade. He exhaled slowly, watching mist drift between the ancient trees. Somewhere beyond that haze, *it* was moving. The Level 10 monster.
He clenched his fist.
"Head-on is death," he muttered to himself. "No debate. No pride. Just fact."
The words steadied him. Saying them aloud made the truth less suffocating.
He crouched and pressed his palm against the soil. Mana pulsed outward in a thin wave, invisible but sharp. The surrounding stones trembled slightly. He was measuring the density of the terrain—how brittle it was, how much force it could take before shattering. The results weren't encouraging.
