Chapter 88: The Molted Hunger
The clearing fell silent for only a moment—then the undergrowth rippled, and a massive head emerged. The serpent was nothing like the crude sketch on the parchment. Its scales were darker, thicker, like molten iron cooled to a sick sheen, catching flecks of sunlight in ghostly gleam. Drool hissed from its fangs as it struck the ground with a guttural rumble.
And beside it, stretched out in brittle coils, lay the shed skin—pale, hollow, and far smaller. Ethan's stomach tightened.
"It evolved…" he muttered. "That explains it."
The serpent's body writhed in agitation, muscles coiling and uncoiling as if it hadn't fed in days. Its eyes burned with predatory hunger. Every twitch, every hiss radiated raw need: it wasn't simply defending territory—it was hunting.
Ethan's grip tightened on the hilt of his blackened longsword. The blade drank in the forest's dim light, its edge whispering with faint traces of mana.
He exhaled. "System—Inspect."
