As the wind swept across the Dwarven rooftops, and the distant clanging of a blacksmith's hammer rang like a warning bell, Riven handed Oliver a folded parchment—the edges still faintly warm from the Systematic seal.
> "Your first real job as a Track Mercenary," Riven said, that sly glint flickering behind his eyes.
"Tradition dictates… every new Track must face a Beast of the Elements."
Oliver unfolded the note carefully. Ink scrawled in ancient characters slowly shifted into readable language as his Systematic Guide synced.
> "Target: The Behemoth of the Verdant Veins."
Classification: Land Beast
Rank Estimate: Green-Tier Creature
Alias: "Mountain's Breath"
Description: Colossal flora-infused titan, composed of hardened soil, massive roots, stone-clad limbs, and an entire mountain slope's worth of foliage layered over its hulking form.
Danger Level: 🌿🌿🌿🌿 (Extremely Dangerous)
Primary Ability: Nature Pulse — Can manipulate terrain, cause tremors, awaken the forest around it.
Secondary: Camouflage Slumber — Sleeps for centuries, blends as a mountain, awakens when threatened.
Weakness: ??? — Unknown.
Oliver's fingers tightened around the page.
> "A mountain-sized beast," he muttered. "You're sending me to fight a… walking ecosystem?"
Riven shrugged with that faint, infuriating smile.
> "It's not about winning. It's about surviving. And proving you're ready for what's next."
Fern, quiet as always, stepped beside Oliver. Her green cloak shifted gently in the wind. She didn't speak, but her hand pressed softly against the ground, and in moments, faint green sparks of natural energy danced around her fingertips.
> "She'll guide you," Riven added. "Druids are rare. She knows the terrain better than most of us. You're not alone."
Oliver looked up, determination replacing the hesitation in his expression.
> "Where is it?"
Riven turned, tapping a portion of the Systematic Map overlay near the Leafhowl Range, a series of mossy hills bordering the southern wilds.
> "There. Past the Whispering Pines, where the land is too quiet, and the air tastes like sap. If you're lucky…"
He glanced back.
"It's still sleeping."
---
Fern merely nodded and turned south, wordlessly beckoning Oliver.
The hunt for the Verdant Behemoth had begun.
--------
Under the warming gold haze of the second morning sun, in the quiet fields near the Dwarven village outskirts, Aurelia Dawnmere, bold and ever daring, twirled an apple between her fingers and smirked at Nico Faelwyn.
> "Bet you can't gather more apples than me in ten minutes, fox boy."
Nico's orange tail flicked sharply in offense, ears twitching.
> "You're on, silver tongue. Prepare to watch a master at work."
The countdown started, and within seconds, both of them vanished into the trees, rustling branches and shaking canopies like wild spirits. Apples dropped like rain, tumbling into their bags, into the grass, sometimes bonking their heads—Aurelia laughed manically every time one hit Nico.
Ten minutes later, both came running back, nearly crashing into each other, baskets overflowing with red and golden apples.
> "Call it a draw?" Nico panted.
> "Only if you're okay losing," Aurelia teased, tossing one at him.
Then, out of nowhere—splash!
A hidden enchanted puddle leftover from the earlier storm erupted, launching both of them into a mini water-slide down a muddy slope. They crashed to the bottom soaked, apple juice and mud everywhere. Goldie squealed with laughter from a distance.
Back at the tower…
Riven didn't even blink as he calmly handed two oversized mops to Garrick Ironhart and Hale Eryndor.
> "Clean it up."
Garrick took the mop with a groan.
> "Why is it always us?"
Hale, stoic as ever, just took his and got to work without a word.
> "Because you two look like responsible adults," Riven added, sipping tea.
"Sort of."
Meanwhile, Aurelia and Nico were still bickering playfully, soaked but victorious, tossing apples at each other under the sunny morning sky.
------------
Chapter: Footsteps in the White Mist
The thick mist swirled low across the forest floor, curling like ghostly serpents around gnarled roots and jagged rocks. Each step landed with a soft creek on the wet wood beneath, echoing faintly in the hollow silence of the White Mist Woodland.
Luke Astoria moved steadily forward, his eyes narrowed with the sharp alertness of a seasoned hunter.
Golden strands of hair framed his youthful but weathered face, falling just below the beaded necklace that clicked lightly with each step—red and blue stones glinting in the pale light.
His white shirt was stained with days of travel, partially concealed beneath a snug brown vest and pants built for trekking through thorns and mud. He was not dressed to impress—he was dressed to survive.
Luke Astoria, monster hunter.
His goal: singular. Clear. Ruthless.
Slay them all.
Charybdis, devourer of fleets.
Leviathan, the dread tide serpent.
Behemoth, the walking mountain.
Ifrits, fire-born scourges of ruin.
He would hunt them. Track them. Bring each myth crashing down to the mortal world with steel and strategy.
Trailing behind him, the muffled steps of seven short figures shuffled through the fog. The Seven Dwarves—each with their own quirks, skills, and unbreakable loyalty—followed their towering leader with a mixture of curiosity and caution. None of them spoke. Not yet. The silence was sacred here.
Suddenly, Luke paused. One gloved hand rose in the air—finger extended in a firm signal.
Silence.
The dwarves halted immediately. A few adjusted their oversized packs or checked their tiny crossbows, but none spoke. They trusted him. Luke tilted his head, his hand subtly brushing the interface on the bracer strapped to his left forearm.
The thin glass-like surface lit up with a flicker.
Luke Investigation & Analysis App: SCAN INITIATED
A soft pulse vibrated under his skin.
Detecting...
Analyzing terrain signatures...
Unidentified movement: 127 meters northeast.
Thermal anomaly: confirmed.
Type: unknown.
Estimated threat level: Grade A+
Luke's eyes narrowed. His breath slowed. His fingers flexed slightly over the hilt of the hunter's blade strapped diagonally across his back.
"Something's out there," he whispered under his breath.
The mist parted faintly up ahead, disturbed not by wind—but by motion. Large motion.
Branches swayed without sound.
A low, distant growl rumbled, not quite from the earth... but not quite above it either.
Luke turned his head just enough to glance at the dwarves.
"Form a perimeter," he ordered, voice low. "No fire. No noise. If it sees you, don't run—scatter."
Without question, the dwarves moved, spreading into the surrounding thickets with silent discipline.
Luke tapped the app again.
Target Lock: Initiating.
The interface displayed a pulsing dot, drawing a line through the misted terrain toward the heat source.
His fingers reached to his belt, retrieving a small vial of glowing blue liquid. One swig, and his pulse steadied even more. He exhaled, his body acclimating to hunter's focus.
"Let's see what monster fate dragged into my woods tonight," Luke murmured, eyes glinting.
Then, with blade in hand and purpose in stride, Luke disappeared into the fog.