The haul was staggering. Silverbark hound cores, the new thermal-scaled serpents, a cluster of deer, and two six-limbed canopy stalkers weighed heavy in their rings. The ambient essence of the Deepwood had flooded them for four and a half hours, leaving Bruce vibrating with the specific, internal pressure of a soul-body pushing against a sub-tier threshold. He was inches from peak E.
As they broke the tree line into the mid-afternoon light, the A-rank guard gave them a slow, measuring nod.
"Good hunting."
"Full rings," Bruce confirmed.
"The dungeon felt it," she said, her amber eyes tracking the dense, settled gravity radiating from the three of them. "I could feel the ambient flow adjusting to your rhythm while you were in there. Keep cutting clean, Ackerman. The Deepwood rewards surgeons, not butchers."
