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The sun had barely risen when Sandro and his group moved deeper into the dense forest, the morning mist curling around the towering trees. Birds scattered overhead, startled by the sudden movement of five young hunters, but even they seemed cautious, aware of the hidden dangers that lurked below.
Sandro led the group, his single-edged sword strapped across his back, eyes scanning the treeline. The wind whispered around him, carrying subtle hints of movement, scents, and disturbances—a language he had learned to read through countless hours of training with his mana.
"This area seems clear… for now," he said, voice low but steady. "Keep your eyes sharp and your mana ready. Even the smallest rustle could be a trap."
One of the other hunters, a tall boy with earth mana, nodded nervously. "I've heard stories about monsters here… stronger than anything we've faced in the city."
Sandro didn't respond immediately. He was focused, listening to the subtle currents of wind around him. Then, without warning, the leaves ahead shivered violently. Sandro's instincts kicked in.
"Form up!" he shouted, spinning to face the threat. Wind swirled around his arms, coalescing into sharp, slicing currents ready to strike.
From the shadows leaped a creature unlike anything Sandro had seen in training—a massive wolf-like beast, its fur blackened with smoke, eyes glowing crimson, and fangs long enough to pierce armor. It snarled, a sound that made even the seasoned hunters take a step back.
Sandro's hands moved in a precise rhythm, manipulating the wind with skill and instinct. Small whirlwinds formed around him, deflecting debris and preparing for an attack. The creature lunged.
He sidestepped with effortless grace, wind propelling him forward as he swung his sword in a single, clean arc. The air itself cut into the beast's flank, slowing its advance. Another member of the group, wielding fire mana, summoned a small burst of flames to distract it.
But the creature was fast—unnaturally fast. It darted between attacks, snapping at anything in reach. Sandro's heart raced. This was more than a simple training exercise; it was a test of everything he had learned.
He focused, feeling the wind around him tighten, respond to his will. The currents became sharper, faster, like a blade of invisible steel. With a sudden surge, he struck again—this time aiming to disable rather than kill, cutting off its advance and forcing it to retreat into the underbrush.
The group exhaled in relief. Sandro lowered his sword, sweat beading on his forehead. "Stay alert," he said quietly. "This was only the first. There are stronger monsters ahead. The forest doesn't forgive mistakes."
As the group moved cautiously forward, Sandro glanced at the rising sun piercing the canopy. He felt a thrill he couldn't explain—a mixture of fear, excitement, and the unshakable sense that the real adventure was only beginning.
Somewhere in the distance, the Great Desert awaited, its endless sands and deadly secrets calling to those brave—or foolish—enough to venture beyond. And far away, though forgotten by most, Mo the Catastrophe's shadow still lingered, a silent threat whose presence could change everything.
Sandro tightened his grip on the sword and whispered to himself, almost instinctively:
"I will be ready… no matter what comes."