Auren's hand trembled slightly as he aimed his weapon at the beast's face. He hadn't expected his heart to pound this hard—this wild—just from facing it alone. The Night Stalker stood its ground, perfectly still, yet alert, its massive body radiating cold dominance. It could sense Auren's intent, his tension, the surge of magic inside him. But the beast didn't attack.
No. It waited.
And why wouldn't it? It was confident—dead sure that no matter what Auren did, it could dodge his bullet. And honestly, it was probably right.
'Master! Let me! Let me take this one!' Bigbird's voice rang in his head, full of crackling excitement.
Auren gritted his teeth. 'Shut your beak, Bigbird. I know you just want to show off right now. But what am I gonna do once the magic backlash kicks in? Let the rest of the pack feast on my crispy roasted corpse?'
He cut off the phoenix's suggestion immediately. Bigbird had been trying to push that idea since the moment the beast appeared. Sure, the phoenix's power was glorious—explosive, even divine—but it came with a cost. And Auren had learned that the hard way.
It had taken him almost a year to master the Phoenix Soul technique—something only those with the activated bloodline of the Golden Phoenix could wield. But after using it once, the mana backlash nearly knocked him unconscious for three days. His body was scorched from within, his skin flaking, his mana core in shambles. He survived thanks to Robert and Marissa's help.
It was powerful. But too risky.
That was his trump card. His final draw. And this wasn't that moment. Atleast not yet.
So instead, he stayed calm. He forced himself to act composed, cool—like the Night Stalker didn't bother him one bit. He knew from training that these creatures delighted in panicked prey. They enjoyed the fear. They liked watching their victims struggle, wounded, crawling away slowly like dying rabbits. The more pathetic the prey, the sweeter the hunt.
Like an icing on a human cake.
But Auren refused to play that role.
He steadied his breathing. In and out. Slow and controlled.
His thoughts drifted—pulled like threads back to his earliest training days, back when he was just a four-year-old tag-along to Robert and Jeis, begging to be included in the hunts. He could still hear Jeis's voice, vivid as ever:
"Night Stalkers are the apex predators of the Runewood. They breed fast, they kill faster, and they can shred even an elite elf warrior to pieces if you're not careful. But..."
She knelt beside him then, her violet braid catching the wind.
"...there are always ways to counter them. As long as you stick to the rules, trust your instincts, and don't try to be a hero—survival's guaranteed."
He remembered the first time he saw one in person. It was far off, half-hidden behind a tree. Even at a distance, it made his skin crawl. It resembled a jaguar, except larger—much larger.
Its body rippled with coiled muscle, its sleek black fur striped white underneath, and it had two massive saber-like fangs protruding from its upper jaw. Its tail was long—ridiculously long—and ended in a tuft that hung from tree branches like a bat when it falls asleep.
Jeis called them "tree ghosts."
A fully matured Night Stalker measured nearly six meters just the body alone. Its weight? Probably five hundred kilograms, give or take. Twice the size of a Siberian tiger from Earth.
If one opened its jaw wide enough, a whole adult human could disappear inside.
And still... Jeis taught him not to be afraid.
Most elves fled at the sight of a Night Stalker, but Jeis? She treated it like a field exam. Like a classroom challenge especially from those hunters of the Velka'Dar tribe.
"There are three key weaknesses you need to remember, Auren," she had said, poking a rough sketch of the beast in the dirt with a stick. "Three flaws that let you flip the tables on them if you're smart and couragous enough to face them - unlike those cowards from the Sylvan'thir Tribe."
He could picture her squatting, her expression animated.
"First—those eyes. When they camouflage, they can hide their bodies almost perfectly, but their eyes? Not quite. If you're trained in advanced Falcon Focus, you can see the faint glow—red-orange, just for a blink—before they strike."
"But Falcon Focus eats up so much mana," he remembered himself whining, small and adorable but already annoyingly curious. "Are you telling me I have to keep that thing on the entire time I'm in the forest?"
Jeis laughed. Not mocking—genuinely delighted.
"Exactly why you're training daily, kid. The more you use it, the less mana it drains. Right now, you've got maybe a minute of use. By the time you're seven? I expect at least five. And if you want to stretch it more..." She twirled a glowing mana vial between her fingers. "...bring juice."
"Now, onto the second weakness," she said as she scrawled more circles on her sketch. "They're arrogant. Their eyes face forward because they never expect a threat from the side. That's a design flaw, and you can use it. Their side vision is weaker, their awareness is more focused on what's in front of them. Hit from the flank, and you'll make them stumble."
He remembered that lesson all too well.
When he was first teleported into the Runewood by Jorthon's sacrifice, he was nothing but a baby in a basket. Weak. Vulnerable. And somehow, the scent had drawn a Night Stalker right to him. It approached without sound. Just a breath away from tearing him apart...
And then Robert's wooden spear, infused with raw aura, slammed into the beast from the side.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't glorious. But it worked. A cheap attack but very effective.
"And lastly," Jeis had said, tapping her temple, "They hate it when they're seen. Being spotted ruins their stealth advantage. If you stare them down, if you look them in the eye, they hesitate. They stall. But if you can bait them into lunging... and that's when you strike."
Auren smiled bitterly.
That was exactly what this one was doing right now — stalling. Calculating. Watching him with those intelligent golden red eyes, waiting for the rest of the pack to arrive and box him in like a rabbit in a snare. It didn't need to rush. It knew it had time and the human dont. It knows backup is coming.
And when they do…
Well, a young human like Auren—lean, toned, flushed with adrenaline—was basically a delicacy. Tender, juicy meat for a proper predator's feast. Probably enough to share with three of its closest buddies - or maybe he can have it all on his own?
He could almost hear them now:"Look at that, boys. A rare human steak—fresh, warm, and seasoned with fear right in Runewood! Dibs on his little head!"
Auren's jaw clenched.
"Alright," he muttered aloud, raising both hands slightly in mock surrender. "You win, kitty cat."
The Night Stalker didn't move.
It simply narrowed its glowing eyes, head low, still poised like a loaded spring. Despite his gesture, it didn't buy into the performance right away. Caution flickered in its body language. It was arrogant, yes—but not stupid. It had seen tricks before.
But that didn't matter.
Because Auren didn't need it to believe him.
He just needed it to feel confident enough to attack.
He rolled his shoulders and straightened his posture. Let the tension fall from his limbs. His face took on an easy, unconcerned expression—like a traveler on a casual stroll. Cool. Calm. Casual. The very picture of surrender... or maybe just stupidity.
Then, with smooth, unhurried movements, he slid his weapon back into the holster strapped to his thigh. The sound was soft—barely audible—but in the quiet tension between predator and prey, it rang out like a challenge. And yes, you need massive balls to do the next step.
Without a flicker of hesitation - Auren, turned around.
His back, exposed.
Deliberate.
Calculated.
A massive, metaphorical middle finger to the beast's ego.
A flashy, taunting F-you to its pride as an apex predator.
Auren didn't even look over his shoulder. He kept walking away—slow, relaxed strides as if he didn't have a care in the world. As if he hadn't just stared down a killing machine seconds ago. As if he wanted to die.
The Night Stalker twitched. It's instinct calling it to move.
And sure enough...
It worked.
With a thunderous snarl, the Night Stalker leapt forward, enraged. Its jaws opened wide, its fangs gleaming with saliva, and its claws extended like obsidian blades. It was no longer silent. It was insulted. Furious and starving to add.
"Gotcha, beach!~," Auren whispered with a confident smile.
He felt the shift in the air, the pressure snap as the beast lunged. But he was already in motion.
He twisted, activated his MJ boots booster and flipped backward mid-air—pulling out his MK sidearm in a flash—and locked eyes with the oncoming predator.
[TIGER FOCUS]
Auren's vision exploded with clarity. This was the skill he'd invented himself. Not granted by a system, not taught by anyone.
Through endless trial, practice, and failure, he had refined it to a dangerous art. He may look like a seven year old kid outside, but there is a 26 year old life experience inside. Experience that he converted into useful knowledge in this fantasy world.
Unlike Falcon Focus, which expanded his vision range to thirty meters like a crystal-clear camera lens, Tiger Focus condensed his attention to a tight ten-meter radius—but with near-total spatial awareness and a full-body boost.
His heartbeat slowed.
The world around him sharpened
Every breath, every ripple of air, every twitch of muscle on the Night Stalker's flank—it all came into perfect focus.
Tiger Focus didn't just enhance sight. It amplified reflexes and increased his mental clarity to the maximum . Auren could practically feel the killing intent of the Night Stalker like it was a heat wave washing over his face.
His crosshair lined up on the creature's snarling mouth. It's supposed celebratory roar was cut.
ROAR-
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!