The forest was quieter than usual.
Chase's feet padded softly against the dirt path as he followed behind Mason, who, as usual, was floating effortlessly like some half-retired deity. The old man's hands were tucked behind his back, his ragged robe swaying gently despite the lack of wind. The sun filtered through the dense canopy above, dousing everything in warm golden light.
"You're not even trying to hide how lazy you are," Chase muttered. His half-black hair caught the sun at an odd angle, casting a faint silver shimmer over the darker strands—an effect that had begun to show after his recent brush with lightning essence.
Behind the gauzy veil that covered his pale eyes, faint grey irises blinked in boredom. Blind as he was, he still saw the world through sound, vibration, and spiritual awareness—though that last part was still unreliable.
"You say lazy, I say refined," Mason replied. "Walking is for people with deadlines. Real masters glide." He spun midair just to prove a point, hovering upside-down like an overgrown bat.
Chase ignored him.
He could sense small creatures skittering in the underbrush and several larger presences farther away. Most of the beasts avoided him by instinct now—either from sensing his subtle killing intent or because of the faint trace of Mason's presence that always clung to his robes like a curse.
They moved deeper into the forest for nearly an hour until Mason came to a slow stop above a grassy clearing surrounded by thick thorn trees.
"This is your test." The old man pointed a bony finger ahead.
Chase turned his head slightly, focusing. His senses stretched out like threads of silk, brushing against something big—something wrong. A low vibration echoed beneath the ground. It was heavy. Rhythmic.
Then came a snort.
Chase stepped back.
Out from the trees lumbered a massive boar, its body sheathed in jagged black fur that bristled like spears. Long, curved fangs jutted from its snout—both obsidian-colored and sharp enough to impale a boulder. Its eyes were red, burning with territorial fury.
"That," Mason declared proudly, "is a Rank 5 Black-Fanged Boar. Big one. Grumpy. Can shatter a tree with its tusks. Don't let it skewer you."
"What happened to a warm-up fight?" Chase snapped, gripping the wooden shaft of his spear. The makeshift weapon felt too light for this.
"You had rabbits last week. Consider this your graduation."
The boar snorted again and charged.
Chase didn't waste time. He gathered wind essence into his legs and kicked off the ground. The beast's charge thundered past him, gouging a trench in the earth.
He barely landed before it turned and came again.
Chase dodged, weaved, and rolled. He jabbed at its legs, but the hide was thick, the beast too fast. Each time he got close, the boar retaliated with crushing headbutts or sweeps of its tusks. His stamina began to fray.
Too strong. Can't win head-on.
He needed to run.
And so, he did.
Like a man possessed, Chase sprinted into the forest, darting past trees, jumping over roots, drawing every bit of air essence he could to his legs. The boar roared behind him, flattening the brush as it gave chase.
"You better not die, brat!" Mason's voice called cheerfully from far above, echoing through the canopy. "I didn't train you for this long just to be skewered by a pig!"
Chase didn't reply. He had bigger problems.
His feet pounded against soil and stone. His lungs burned. His senses told him that the boar was gaining ground, albeit slowly. Despite its bulk, it had terrifying endurance.
But then the forest changed.
The deeper he went, the more silent everything became.
The birds stopped chirping. The air felt colder. Even the wind seemed to vanish. Chase slowed slightly, senses flaring, confused.
Why's it so quiet?
He heard the boar behind him come to a sudden, grinding halt.
Its massive hooves skidded across the dirt, and then—it retreated.
"...What?"
Chase spun, dumbfounded. The beast wasn't even limping or tired. It had just… given up?
He frowned. "Is it tired of chasing me, or... was that pity on its face?"
He turned forward again and continued walking, following the eerily silent path. The deeper he went, the more uneasy he felt. His grip tightened on the spear, and the strange silver spearhead Mason had given him earlier pulsed faintly at his touch.
Eventually, he reached a cliffside with an enormous opening—easily ten times the size of Mason's wooden house. Vines dangled across the stone like torn drapes. A cold mist seeped from within.
Chase crouched near the mouth of the cave and whispered, "Mason… where the hell did you send me?"
Far above, hidden among clouds and trees, Mason hovered midair with a furrowed brow.
"That's odd… I can't sense the beast anymore. Did it… die?" He squinted. "No signs of battle… and the cave's qi still feels dense. Is it sleeping? Hiding? Or did the brat just stumble into something I wasn't expecting?"
He grinned. "Either way, get ready to wet your pants, brat. Hehehe…"
Back on the ground, Chase stepped into the cave.
It was dark—pitch black. But to him, it was merely muted. He could sense vibrations, hear the echo of dripping water far inside. Each step stirred centuries-old dust.
Then, he heard it.
A presence. Immense. Silent.
And dead.
Before him lay a creature larger than anything he had ever imagined—fifteen meters long, black as the void. Serpentine in shape, yet it had four powerful limbs, shadowy wings folded against its back, and three long horns curving from its skull.
It was a dragon.
Or something close to it.
Its body was limp. But in front of it—resting gently on the stone—was a single, glowing egg the size of a boulder. White, flawless, and pulsating with life.
Chase's breath caught. His grey eyes widened.
"What in the name of—"
Then he looked around.
Treasure. Gold coins. Weapons. Herbs. Dozens of rare ingredients Mason had only ever described in passing. There were even entire bushes of the Rising Moon Herb—not one, but a field of them.
Chase fell to his knees and cried.
"I misjudged you, old man… I'll never call you creepy again… You're my benefactor, my savior—Master Lu, I love you!"
Up in the sky, Mason was already in shock.
"WHAT THE—?! The Winged Python Dragon is dead?! No wounds… Did it die in childbirth? Who dies like that?! Where's my dramatic training arc!? The brat's supposed to run for his life, not hit a motherlode!"
Chase began stuffing things into the black spatial ring he found beside a pile of artifacts, shoving in treasures like a starving beggar at a banquet.
Then, as he stepped forward to examine the egg, it cracked.
He froze.
A small black creature emerged, covered in soft scales. It had tiny wings, short legs, and a single golden horn. Its emerald eyes blinked—and locked onto him.
Chase barely raised a hand before the creature crawled into his palm and licked it affectionately.
It stared at him like he was the most important thing in the world.
He stared back. "You… think I'm your mom?"
The beast made a high-pitched chirp and nuzzled against him.
"…You're a weird one."
Above, Mason sighed. "Lucky brat. That thing might one day eat cities."