The crimson fox's massive carcass sprawled across the riverbank, a reminder of the chaos and struggle that had nearly torn Bahamut and Ren apart. The once-glorious beast now lay reduced to meat and bone, its scarlet aura fading into nothingness.
Bahamut crouched beside the body, the large slab of hide he had ripped free dripping with blood. His claws had vanished, leaving his bare hands stained crimson. He flexed them, tired but determined.
"System," he muttered, eyeing the steaming hide. "This can't just rot. How do I preserve it?"
[Processing Host's request…]
[Beast hide requires cleaning, drying, and curing. Tools unavailable. Improvisation necessary. Estimated preservation time: 4–6 days.]
"How and where can I get tools if possible?" he asked.
[Through exchange. You can exchange something of equal value for tools and items from the system. Example is a Beast Core.]
"Four to six days…" he sighed, dragging the heavy pelt closer to the stream. "Then let's get started. Hopefully, I find a beast core..."
Day One – Cleaning
The next hours were a blur of work. Bahamut knelt in the stream, scrubbing the thick hide with river water. He plunged it repeatedly beneath the surface, squeezing out blood that bled into the current like smoke. His arms ached, and the smell was nauseating, metallic and rancid, but he pushed through.
[Remove excess flesh. Use claws.]
He hesitated, then summoned the fox's claws once more. With them, he scraped away stubborn fat and sinew from the underside of the pelt. His hands moved clumsily at first, tearing uneven gouges into the leather, but with each cut, he grew steadier. Flies swarmed, drawn to the carcass and the strips he discarded.
By nightfall, his body reeked of blood, and his arms burned from labor. He lay by the fireless riverbank, hide stretched on rocks to dry, and fell asleep to the stench of death.
Day Two – The Core
When morning came, Bahamut found something glittering faintly near the fox's shattered skull. He crouched, fingers brushing dirt away, and pulled free a marble-sized orb glowing with a faint crimson light.
"A core…" he whispered.
[Correct. Beasts at Tier 2 and above condense energy into cores. This one contains the elemental essence of fire.]
He clenched the core in his palm, the faint warmth pulsing against his skin.
"And I can trade this?"
[Confirmed. With sufficient focus, the system will provide material exchanges.]
Bahamut grinned through cracked lips. "Then let's make a deal."
The system pulsed with light in his vision.
[Beast Core (Tier 2: Crimson Fox) detected.]
[Exchange initiated.]
[Available materials: primitive stone needles, bone awls, twine substitute (sinew), tanning salts (basic), firepit schematic.]
He selected them all. The core dissolved in his palm, its crimson light scattering like embers. In its place appeared a crude pile of materials beside him, rough, simple, yet invaluable.
"Now we're in business."
Days Three to Five – Preservation
The work consumed him.
He built a shallow pit with stones, lining it with salt provided by the exchange. He packed the fox hide into it, pressing it down until every fold was coated. His hands grew raw from rubbing the salt in, his nails torn and caked with dried blood. The pelt began to stiffen, its stink growing worse before it grew better.
[Stretch the hide. Use wooden stakes.]
Bahamut followed, driving branches into the earth and pulling the skin taut. It resembled a grotesque tapestry strung across the clearing. Each day, he returned to scrape, rub, and stretch. He cursed, sweated, and bled, but with each passing sunrise the hide grew tougher, less like meat and more like something usable.
At night, he gnawed on strips of roasted fox meat, his stomach rebelling but his will unyielding.
Day Six – The First Garment
By the sixth day, the hide was stiff but durable, smelling faintly of smoke and salt rather than rot. Bahamut sat cross-legged before it, crude tools at his side.
[Use sinew to stitch. Begin with coverings for the chest and legs.]
He worked clumsily, threading sinew through rough holes pierced by bone awls. The stitches were uneven, the cuts jagged, but slowly a garment took shape, a sleeveless tunic of fox hide, patched and raw, tied with strips of leather.
When at last he tied the final knot, he pulled it over his scarred torso. The hide clung awkwardly, heavy and barbaric, but it was clothing nonetheless. He fashioned crude leggings from leftover scraps, little more than a loincloth and bindings, but enough to shield him from the elements.
Bahamut stood, tugging at the crude outfit. His reflection shimmered faintly in the river, a scarred youth clad in beast hide, looking more savage than civilized.
[Primitive attire crafted successfully.]
[Survival rating: +15%.]
A grin tugged at his lips. "Not bad for my first step."
He stretched, the fox-hide creaking across his frame. It wasn't comfortable, it wasn't dignified, but it was his. His victory. His survival.
The path forward was long, but with every scar, every stitch, every bite of flesh, he was carving himself into something far greater.
...
Bahamut tugged at the rough tunic again, feeling the coarse texture scrape against his skin. It was far from comfortable, but it was clothing. He turned slightly to admire his handiwork in the river's reflection, scars twisting across his bare arms, fox hide draped crudely around him. Savage. Barbaric. Feral.
"...Hahaha... you really do look like a cave-beast..."
The words drifted faintly, almost like a whisper carried on the breeze. Bahamut froze, his body stiffening, his breath caught. His head snapped around, scanning the clearing. Nothing. The bunny lay unmoving in the shade, its body slack and eyes shut tight.
His pulse quickened. It had been nearly a week since Ren fell into that strange unconscious state after the battle. There had been no stirrings, no sarcastic remarks, no manic laughter echoing in his head. And yet...
"You're checking yourself out in the water? Hahaha... savage fashion suits you. Cave man chic, Bahamut... fits you too well..."
Bahamut's jaw tightened, shock giving way to a bitter scowl. He clicked his tongue loudly in irritation, turning his gaze back to the stream.
"Tch. Figures the first thing you say after almost a week is this," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "Mocking me, like always."
The voice chuckled weakly in the back of his mind, faint and tired but undeniably Ren's. "What can I say... if the fox pelt fits... wear it."
Bahamut growled under his breath, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.
The chuckle faded, swallowed by silence, and for a heartbeat, Bahamut thought he had imagined it all. Then came a ragged exhale, thin and brittle, like glass cracking under strain.
"...damn... that took... more out of me than I thought..."
The mocking tone had thinned to a frail murmur. Ren's voice trembled, and Bahamut's eyes widened, the annoyance draining from him.
"Ren?!" His voice dropped, sharp and urgent. He crouched beside the bunny's limp form, his hand hovering but not touching.
The bunny twitched faintly, ears giving a pitiful flick before going still again.
[Warning!]
The system's screen flared before him.
[The follower's soul is in a fragile state. Forcing consciousness or speech strains its foundation. The voice you heard was a projection, not stability.]
Bahamut's teeth clenched. "So his mocking cost him?"
[Affirmative. If the follower continues to exert himself prematurely, his soul could unravel. The host must ensure rest and stabilization.]
Bahamut cursed under his breath, the weight in his chest heavier than the fox hide draped on his shoulders. He looked down at Ren's form, mocking grin now gone, his body utterly still.
"Tch... stupid bastard," he muttered, though softer now, almost protective. "Even half-dead, you just had to make fun of me."
The stream rippled beside him, catching his reflection again: bloodstained, scarred, draped in savage clothing. He almost heard the echo of Ren's earlier jab, cave-beast, and couldn't help but snort in grim amusement.
"Rest, Ren. Next time you wake up... you'd better save that tongue of yours. I'll be needing it."
The system dimmed, leaving him alone with the sound of rushing water and Ren's faint, steady breathing.
...
The silence weighed heavily, broken only by Ren's shallow breaths.
Then the system flared again, jagged lines of red and pale-blue text scattering like fractured glass.
[Opening Follower Status…]
Follower: Ren – Chaos Bunny
Condition: Comatose
Vital Signs: Unstable
Soul Integrity: 42% (Degrading)
Projection: 3% Capacity Remaining
Physical State: Locked
Awakening Path: [Pending Host Tier Progression]
[Warning!]
Soul decay rate is increasing. The next projection attempt may result in permanent collapse.
Stabilization Method:
Host must reach Tier 1: Circle of Spirit
Host's Soul Reserves will automatically bind and strengthen the Follower's tether.
Failure to progress = Follower Termination.
The lines flickered, distorted, as if the system itself struggled to maintain the display. One final message pulsed through:
[The Follower is tied to you. Your growth is his only lifeline.]
Bahamut's jaw clenched, his claws digging into the dirt beside Ren's still body.
"…So that's it. You live if I climb. You die if I stop."
His reflection on the water's surface, scarred, hide-clad, primal, stared back at him. Ren's earlier words, cave-beast, echoed in his ears, but now they weren't mockery. They were a reminder.
Bahamut rose to his feet, the weight of the fox-hide cloak pressing on his shoulders. His blind grey eyes hardened.
"Fine. I'll tear through every beast between here and the sky if that's what it takes. Just… don't vanish on me, rabbit."
The system dimmed, leaving only the whisper of Ren's fragile breathing behind.