Ailith's crimson eyes swept across the mist-laced forest, her long demonic tail flicking once as she took in the surrounding tension. The trees whispered secrets in a language only predators understood—low groans in the bark, tiny tremors in the soil. She inhaled slowly.
"We're in range," she murmured. "Rei... the pack should be near. Seven wolves. Level 3s."
Rei, standing a few paces ahead, didn't respond at first. His head was tilted slightly upward as if listening to something beyond her senses—something not bound by wind or weight. Then he spoke:
"They're here. Ten o'clock, twenty meters. Fast approach."
Ailith blinked, her brows twitching upward. How the hell did he sense that already? She hadn't felt a damn thing until just now. The only explanation—he was Level 7. She was still at Level 4. Maybe the gap really is that wide...
Still, even if she expected more from him, the difference unsettled her. He hadn't even shifted his stance, yet he saw what she couldn't. Was it instinct? No... something else.
The moment stretched—and then shattered.
From the thickets emerged a blur of fangs and muscle: the wolf pack. Seven bodies, sleek and powerful, fur coarse like shattered obsidian. Their eyes glowed with primal hate, but it wasn't aimless—these weren't wild animals. These were corrupted beasts, warped by Void-spill in their veins.
The first wolf lunged.
Ailith raised her hand, ready to conjure a black flame sigil—but Rei moved before her thought could finish.
He was a blur, slipping through the pack like a silent judgment. One wolf snapped at him, only for Rei's heel to collide with its skull—not with brute force, but with surgical precision. The sound was sickeningly soft. Bone cracked inward without tearing skin. The beast crumpled. The fur—untouched.
Ailith froze mid-summon. He didn't even damage the hide...
Another came from his flank—gone. Crushed gently. Again and again, Rei moved through the six Level 3 wolves like rain falling through dry leaves. Each kill was clean, controlled. He wasn't just faster or stronger—his body moved like it had memorized gravity itself.
And he never drew a weapon.
His fingers dug just enough to silence. His grip, lethal yet measured, preserved what mattered: the fur. After all, the mission required intact pelts. Anything else was irrelevant.
By the time Ailith blinked, six wolves lay dead. Necks bent. Skulls caved. No blood spilled.
And then came the seventh.
It stepped forward from the mist—larger, broader-shouldered, its growl deeper and more intelligent. A shimmering glyph glowed faintly on its left fang.
"That's a Level 4," Ailith whispered, eyes narrowing. "The mission said Level 3s. This shouldn't be here…"
The beast let out a low growl and lunged straight at her.
She shifted to defend—until Rei's hand simply appeared around the wolf's throat mid-leap. No wasted motion. No expression. He didn't slam it down. He just... squeezed.
There was a faint crack.
Then silence.
Rei let the corpse drop softly into the ferns, not even glancing down.
Ailith stared. She knew he could handle it—Level 7s were monsters compared to her tier. But this? This was domination.
There had been no tension in his muscles. No effort. Just deliberate, perfect movement.
"...You weren't like this before the RainTiger," she murmured under her breath. Her fingers curled slightly. "What exactly changed?"
She didn't expect an answer. Rei was already crouched near the bodies, gently examining the furs for damage, expression still as empty as the void behind the stars.
But something about the way he moved…
It was like he was getting used to this body—no, like it was catching up to him.