The wolf was gone.

  Adlet remained still long after the last sound of retreat had faded, eyes fixed on the place where the shadows had swallowed it. His fists were clenched so tightly his fingers ached, his breathing shallow and uneven.

  Slowly, the tension drained from his shoulders.

  Then his legs gave way.

  He sank to one knee, then the other, palms pressing into damp earth. His heart hammered violently, each beat echoing in his skull. Only now did the pain reach him properly—his side burned where claws had torn skin, his muscles trembled from strain he hadn’t felt in the moment.

  That was too close.

  He turned his head, staring at the two fallen wolves. Their bodies lay twisted and still, dark fur already dulling as life drained from them.

  A pack.

  He swallowed hard.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

  His gaze drifted, unwillingly, back toward the remains of the boar. The fire had long since died, but the scent still clung stubbornly to the clearing—fat, blood, cooked meat.

  I should have moved it.

  The thought came with a sharp twist of guilt. He had known better. The Dark Woods were not a place where victories were celebrated openly. Every kill was a signal. Every trace, an invitation.

  He exhaled slowly.

  Lesson learned.

  He forced himself upright, every movement deliberate now. The adrenaline was gone, leaving behind a heavy, bone-deep fatigue. His side throbbed with every breath.

  Staying here would be a mistake.

  The scent of blood and cooked meat still clung to the clearing, thick and unmistakable. He had already paid once for that carelessness.

  Adlet cleaned his wounds as best he could, binding them tightly, jaw clenched against the sting. When he finished, he did not linger.

  He moved.

  Not far—he didn’t have the strength for that—but far enough. He followed the slope, keeping to uneven ground, letting distance swallow the smells and sounds of the fight. Only when the clearing felt truly gone did he slow.

  When he climbed again, it was slower.

  More cautious.

  He chose a different tree this time—higher, sturdier, tucked away from open ground. It took time to fashion another resting place, his hands clumsier now, strength uneven. Each knot tested his patience. Each movement demanded care.

  By the time he wedged himself securely between the branches, his arms burned and his breath came shallow.

  Only then did he stop.

  The forest breathed around him.

  Not silent.

  Never silent.

  Branches creaked. Leaves shifted. Something moved far away, then something else closer. Every sound felt sharper now, edged with possibility.

  Adlet leaned his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes.

  Sleep did not come.

  Time stretched.

  Moments blurred into one another, broken only by the slow ache of his body and the constant alertness he could not shut off. Every time his breathing slowed, some distant noise would drag him back—an owl’s cry, the snap of a twig, the rush of water somewhere beyond sight.

  He replayed the fight again and again.

  The first lunge.

  The misstep.

  The dead wolf’s weight in his hands.

  Too reckless.

  Too close.

  But alive.

  Hours passed like that, suspended between exhaustion and vigilance, until the darkness thinned almost imperceptibly. The forest changed its tone, sounds shifting as night loosened its grip.

  Light returned—not bright, not warm, but enough.

  Morning.

  Adlet opened his eyes, surprised to find them already open.

  He hadn’t slept.

  Not truly.

  His body protested as he climbed down, muscles stiff, joints sore. Hunger gnawed at him, sharp and insistent. His side throbbed where the wound had begun to crust.

  He could stop now.

  Return.

  Ring the bell.

  Two Apexes defeated already. The trial would still count as a success.

  The thought lingered.

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  Then he shook his head.

  One more.

  He hadn’t come here to stop short.

  He moved.

  The river guided him.

  Not deliberately at first—more a matter of habit than strategy. He followed its course through the woods, letting the sound anchor his thoughts as his body warmed again through movement.

  As he walked, something settled into place.

  Even Apexes…

  He slowed.

  …even Apexes need water.

  The realization wasn’t sudden. It was simple. Obvious. The kind of truth that felt foolish not to have considered earlier.

  He nodded once to himself.

  That’s where I’ll find it.

  Fatigue weighed on him, yes—but beneath it was something steadier. Familiar. The quiet certainty that had carried him through the forest since childhood.

  He was hurt.

  He was tired.

  But he was ready.

  The river widened ahead, light catching on its surface. And there—

  Movement.

  A massive shape stood knee-deep in the water, shoulders rolling beneath dark fur as it swiped lazily at fish. At first glance, it could have been mistaken for an ordinary bear.

  Then it lifted its head.

  Horns curved forward from its skull.

  Adlet stopped.

  His heart steadied instead of racing.

  The last one.

  He inhaled deeply.

  Not fear.

  Focus.

  He stepped forward and let his foot strike stone.

  The sound rang out.

  The bear turned slowly.

  Rose.

  Its roar shattered the quiet, water exploding outward as it charged.

  Adlet met it.

  The river muffled his steps as Adlet approached the bank, water sliding over stone with a steady, indifferent rhythm. The scent reached him before the sight—fish, wet fur, iron.

  There.

  The bear stood midstream, water lapping against its legs as it struck with brutal efficiency. Each swipe of its claws sent silver flashes bursting from the river’s surface. For a moment, it almost looked peaceful.

  Then Adlet saw the horns.

  Curved forward. Thick. Wrong.

  An Apex.

  His pulse quickened—but it didn’t spike into panic. Not this time.

  I can take this.

  He crushed a stone beneath his boot.

  The sound carried.

  The bear froze.

  Slowly, it turned its massive head toward him. Its gaze locked on Adlet, dark and heavy with instinct. Water streamed from its fur as it rose onto its hind legs, towering, broad shoulders rolling as it inhaled deeply.

  The growl that followed vibrated through Adlet’s ribs.

  The bear struck.

  Fast.

  Adlet moved on instinct, stepping into the attack instead of away from it. He caught the descending paw with both hands, Aura surging at the moment of impact. Pain flared up his arms as the force slammed into him—but he held.

  Bone cracked.

  The sound was sharp. Final.

  The bear roared, twisting violently, but Adlet was already moving. He tore the beast sideways, dragging it out of the river with a grunt and planting his feet just in time to absorb the weight.

  The bear lunged again, jaws snapping wide.

  Adlet didn’t retreat.

  He drove his fist forward, Aura condensing at the moment of contact, and slammed it into the creature’s muzzle. The impact echoed like stone striking stone. The bear staggered, blood spraying across the water as it crashed back, struggling to regain its balance.

  Adlet didn’t give it the chance.

  One more step.

  One clean motion.

  His fist came down.

  The skull shattered beneath the blow.

  The bear collapsed into the river with a heavy splash, water surging outward as its massive body went still.

  Adlet stood there, breathing hard.

  Then—warmth.

  Energy flowed into him, familiar now but no less overwhelming. Glowing particles rose from the bear’s body, spiraling lazily around his hands before sinking into his skin. Strength settled deep in his muscles, steady and solid.

  He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, the river murmuring around the fallen body.

  “Looks like my mission is complete,” he murmured.

  The words had barely left his lips—

  When the forest went silent.

  Not the calm silence of rest.

  The wrong kind.

  Birdsong cut off mid-note.

  The river kept flowing, but even its sound felt muted, as if swallowed by something larger pressing in from afar.

  Adlet stiffened.

  His Aura prickled beneath his skin.

  Then—

  A distant crack.

  Wood splitting.

  Heavy.

  Slow.

  The ground shuddered faintly beneath his feet.

  Adlet’s breath caught.

  His instincts didn’t whisper.

  They screamed.

  Danger.

  Not a warning.

  A command.

  He didn’t think. He moved.

  Adlet dropped low and slipped into the nearest patch of dense undergrowth, forcing himself into the thorny embrace of a bush just as another sound rolled through the forest—

  A roar.

  Deep.

  Guttural.

  So heavy it felt like it scraped against the inside of his chest.

  Birds exploded from the canopy in a frantic storm of wings.

  Adlet pressed himself deeper into the bush, thorns biting into his arms, leaves brushing his face as he fought the urge to run.

  Don’t move.

  Don’t breathe.

  Through the tangled leaves, he watched.

  The forest parted.

  And something enormous stepped into view.

  The bear.

  It was massive—far beyond anything he had faced before. Over five meters tall, its body rippling with dense muscle beneath thick, dark fur. Twisted horns spiraled from its skull like jagged crowns of bone, and a stark white mark burned across its chest, as if lightning itself had scarred it.

  Each step it took crushed the earth.

  Its snout swept low, nostrils flaring, tasting the air.

  Adlet felt his stomach twist.

  This wasn’t strength.

  This was domination.

  His Aura recoiled inside him, useless, insignificant.

  I can’t fight this.

  The thought came sharp and absolute.

  The bear snorted.

  Turned its head.

  Locked onto him.

  No—

  Not him.

  The scent.

  Adlet’s gaze dropped to his hands.

  Blood.

  Still wet.

  Still warm.

  A beacon.

  The Horned Bear had his trail.

  Run—and be hunted.

  Or stop—and face what he wasn’t ready to fight.

  Either choice would decide whether he survived—

  or became another trace swallowed by the Dark Woods.

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