Broken Cloud Mountain did not change.
The wind still scraped across stone. The paths were still narrow and dangerous. The distant grunts of Warhogs still echoed through the ravines, reminding everyone that the herd was still there—and still massive.
But the people standing on the mountain had changed.
Not in strength.
In attitude.
The camp was quiet, but not the heavy silence of fear or failure. This was a focused quiet. A working quiet.
Weapons were checked carefully. Straps were tightened twice. No one joked about "easy mobs" anymore. No one rushed.
Body Refining stances appeared everywhere in the camp without anyone needing to say a word.
Knees bent.
Spines straight.
Breathing controlled.
Pain was no longer something to complain about. It was something to measure.
Ironroot moved calmly between groups, pointing things out instead of giving orders.
"Not there," he told one team. "The ground slopes inward. If you fall, you won't stop rolling."
They adjusted immediately.
Warbound stood nearby, watching people rather than terrain. He noticed who listened quickly and who still hesitated. He said little, but when he did, people paid attention.
Unbroken leaned against a rock, stretching his shoulders slowly. Yesterday's impacts still lingered in his body. His movements were careful, controlled.
He didn't complain.
STRWH4T sat a short distance away from the others.
He didn't stand out. He wasn't loud. His gear was simple. If someone wasn't paying attention, they might forget he was there at all.
But he never stopped practicing.
While others checked weapons, he practiced Body Refining.
While others talked quietly, he practiced breathing.
While others rested, he practiced posture.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Sweat formed on his brow despite the cold air. His muscles burned. Every correction felt uncomfortable, even painful.
So this is the real training, he thought.
It wasn't flashy. It wasn't dramatic.
But he didn't hate it.
Warbound eventually gathered everyone's attention.
"Same plan," he said calmly. "Same discipline. Just because it worked once doesn't mean we push harder."
No one argued.
Ironroot marked additional routes on the stone map—more choke points, fallback paths, areas where loose gravel could be used to slow a charge.
Lin Yuan watched from a distance.
He said nothing.
That silence mattered.
If he spoke now, responsibility would shift back to him. They would look to him instead of thinking for themselves.
He refused to let that happen.
Teams formed and moved out in staggered intervals. Six teams total. Different routes. Different timing. No overlap.
The hunts were slow.
Very slow.
One team waited nearly twenty minutes just to get a small group of Warhogs moving the right way. Another aborted entirely when the wind shifted.
No one mocked them.
The first engagement came almost an hour later.
Five Warhogs.
Only five.
They charged into the narrow path, hooves cracking stone. The choke point forced them to slow, their bodies bunching together.
Unbroken stepped forward and braced.
The impact rattled through him, pain flaring, but he held.
Weapons struck together.
One Warhog fell.
Then another.
The team withdrew immediately, hearts pounding.
No cheering.
Just nods.
The second engagement went smoother.
Seven Warhogs this time.
One slipped while trying to climb over the fallen tree. Spears pinned it long enough for the others to finish it.
When the bodies dissolved into Qi, the air felt different.
Not safe.
But manageable.
STRWH4T watched everything closely.
He wasn't jealous.
He was studying.
Timing, he thought. Everything depends on timing.
During a rotation break, something went wrong.
One team misjudged their spacing. A Warhog broke past the choke point—not a full charge, but fast enough to be dangerous.
STRWH4T was too close.
He realized it too late.
Instinct took over.
His breath locked. His muscles compressed—not randomly, not wildly, but all at once, as if his body agreed on a single moment.
Pain vanished.
His right arm turned black.
Not shiny.
Not glowing.
Matte. Dense. Wrong.
The tusk slammed into his forearm.
The sound was different. Heavy. Dull.
STRWH4T was thrown backward and rolled across the ground. The black faded almost immediately.
He gasped, staring at his arm.
It hurt badly.
But it wasn't broken.
"What was that?"
"Did his arm turn black?"
"Was that a skill?"
Unbroken was already there, checking him quickly.
"I'm fine," STRWH4T said through clenched teeth. "Just tired."
That was an understatement.
A few people immediately tried to copy what they had seen.
They tensed too hard.
Held their breath too long.
One nearly passed out. Another cried out as his muscles cramped painfully.
Lin Yuan's voice cut through everything.
"Stop."
Everyone froze.
"Don't imitate what you don't understand," Lin Yuan said calmly.
No anger. No accusation.
Just fact.
STRWH4T understood the warning was meant for him too.
A quiet system notification appeared in his vision.
[Personal Technique Detected]
Name: Armament Haki
Type: Body Refining Derivative
Status: Unstable
Classification: Personal
Reward: None
He swallowed.
It was real.
But it wasn't something he could rely on yet.
The hunts continued.
Slowly. Carefully.
By the time the light dimmed and shadows stretched across the mountain paths, the numbers had climbed steadily.
Five.
Eight.
Twelve.
Some teams retreated without kills. Others nearly made mistakes but corrected in time.
No one rushed.
Lin Yuan checked the system once.
Then closed it.
He didn't smile.
But for the first time, he felt confident—not in power, but in direction.
That night, STRWH4T sat alone, staring at his hands.
They looked normal.
But he could still feel it.
This isn't anime, he thought.
It was harder than that.
And somehow… that made it better.