Hours had passed since Eryon's first battle, and with every skirmish, he grew sharper.
Several Rank One beast cores now filled a small pouch tied to his belt. Horned Hares, Thorn-Tail Lizards, and a handful of other small but vicious creatures had fallen before his blade. His movements grew more precise, his instincts keener.
Yet as the sun dipped below the horizon, a new dread settled over the Verdant Wilds.
Nightfall.
The temperature dropped sharply. Shadows thickened. Distant howls and guttural cries echoed through the trees, and unseen things rustled in the underbrush.
Eryon knew he couldn't afford to be caught out in the open.
Moving swiftly but cautiously, he found a small rocky outcrop nestled against a hillside. At its base, a shallow cave offered some shelter. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.
He spent the next hour working feverishly—clearing loose debris, setting primitive traps of sharpened sticks and tensioned vines at the entrance, and camouflaging his position with branches and mud.
When darkness fully enveloped the forest, Eryon crouched just inside the cave, dagger drawn, heart steady.
Survive the night, he reminded himself.
The forest came alive with terrifying sounds—predators prowling, weaker creatures fleeing, and the occasional screech of something being caught.
For a time, Eryon thought he might make it through without incident.
But fate had other plans.
A low growl shattered the relative calm.
From the shadows emerged a sleek feline-like creature, no larger than a wolf but rippling with muscle. Its eyes gleamed amber in the darkness, and its paws moved silently across the earth.
A Duskrender Panther—a swift and deadly predator.
The beast sniffed the air, ears twitching. It had caught his scent.
With terrifying speed, it lunged.
Eryon barely had time to react. He rolled to the side, feeling the swipe of razor-sharp claws miss his face by inches.
The Duskrender struck again, testing his defenses, moving so fast it blurred.
Eryon slashed with his dagger, catching the creature along its flank, but it retaliated instantly. Claws raked across his left arm, tearing flesh and drawing blood.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Eryon forced himself to stay focused.
He couldn't outrun it. He couldn't overpower it head-on.
He had to outthink it.
Backing toward one of the traps he had laid earlier, Eryon baited the beast into attacking again. As it lunged, he sidestepped and slammed his foot down on the vine trigger.
A cluster of sharpened stakes sprung upward.
The Duskrender shrieked as two stakes pierced its side. It thrashed wildly, giving Eryon the opening he needed.
With a fierce cry, he plunged his dagger deep into the beast's throat.
The panther convulsed, let out a final, gurgling snarl, and collapsed.
Panting, bleeding, but alive, Eryon sagged against the cave wall.
He quickly bound his wounded arm with strips torn from his tunic, staunching the bleeding as best he could.
The beast core he harvested from the Duskrender Panther pulsed with stronger energy than any he had collected so far—it was worth the pain.
As he settled back into the cave, wary and exhausted, Eryon realized something vital:
Surviving the Verdant Wilds wasn't just a test of strength or skill.
It was a battle against fear itself.