The sudden ergence of a wooden castle—rising eerily from the heart of a shattered stone courtyard—drew attention like moths to a fla.
Dozens of ters away, shadows shifted as a pack of monsters approached the edge of the clearing, their glowing eyes gleaming through the thick canopy of mist. They had been drawn by the mana fluctuations and the unnatural architecture, their primal instincts telling them that sothing powerful had taken root here.
Each of them had already broken through to Stage 1, their bodies thrumming with raw, untad power. Though the group numbered no more than ten, their presence carried a weight far beyond their size. The weakest among them could likely tear an ordinary beast limb from limb—and the strongest... was a creature that made even the surrounding trees lean away in unease.
He stood at the front, towering over the others: a grotesque fusion of tiger and sea crocodile. The lower half of his body was all coiled muscle and feline grace, every step radiating power and balance. But his upper body was a reptilian horror—broad-scaled shoulders, gnarled skin thick like battle-hardened armor, and a jaw packed with uneven rows of serrated teeth that glead like polished obsidian. Each breath he exhaled ca with a hissing growl, thick with killing intent that made the air vibrate.
And yet...
None dared approach the wooden fortress.
Sothing—so invisible force—seed to pulse out from within the castle’s strange walls. Not violent, but unyielding. It wasn’t a barrier in the physical sense, but a spiritual pressure that quietly whispered you do not belong here.
It wrapped the area like a second skin, keeping the intruders at bay without so much as lifting a blade.
From atop one of the castle’s towers, Ricky observed them with his usual silence, his wings folded and mandibles clicking faintly in thought. His compound eyes scanned each of the beasts below, reading their movents, their posture, their hunger.
He had noticed them long ago.
Yet, he made no move to chase them away. Nor did he descend to greet them.
They had not attacked. They hadn’t even howled or roared to assert dominance. Their presence was watchful, cautious—perhaps even reverent. As such, Ricky allowed them to linger.
For now.
The castle remained still. The monsters, waiting.
In the middle of the forgotten ruins, beneath the shadow of great trees and rising mist, a quiet standoff took place—wordless and tense.
And sowhere, behind Ricky’s calm stillness, a plan began to form.
Moreover, Ricky could already sense the shape of their intent.
He didn’t need to probe them deeply—the way they held their distance, the caution in their gaze, and the way the others instinctively deferred to the Tiger-Crocodile hybrid spoke volus. This wasn’t so aimless gathering of beasts... no, they had co here for a reason.
And Ricky could guess what that reason was.
The Erald Green Forest was changing.
At its farthest reaches—beyond the swamps and misted valleys—the undead had already begun to stir.
Much earlier than expected.
Even Noctyss, with her vast ancient knowledge and predictive insight, had estimated that the undead tide wouldn’t arrive for at least another year.
And yet now... there were sinking in the earth, tremors in the roots, and unnatural chill riding on the wind.
Ricky narrowed his eyes.
The hybrid and his group weren’t rely curious bystanders—they were scouts, possibly even survivors fleeing sothing worse.
His gaze shifted away from the group and returned to the flickering blue window hovering silently in front of him.
---
[Target – Tiger Crocodile Hybrid]
[Lifespan – 160]
---
A low click echoed from Ricky’s mandibles.
One hundred and sixty...
That was rare. Exceptionally rare.
Most Stage 1 beasts possessed lifespans barely scratching three digits—yet this one had already crossed that threshold comfortably. There was sothing different about him. A latent strength. A bloodline worth watching.
This one’s a gem, Ricky thought, his compound eyes narrowing slightly as a trace of intrigue flashed in their depths.
Among all the Stage 1 creatures he had seen, this hybrid might be the most talented.
And the most dangerous... or useful.
Ricky’s wings buzzed faintly as he made his decision.
He would keep a close eye on this one.
If the undead were truly approaching far earlier than anticipated, then every capable force in this forest—be they friend or foe—could shift the balance of what was to co.
And this hybrid?
He might be the first of many pawns... or perhaps a future knight.
anwhile, beside a wide clearing rimd with mist-shrouded trees, Markos stood still, his sleek, scale-spotted body tense. He turned his head slightly, peering toward the distant wooden castle that stood like a misplaced fortress in the sea of green.
His voice, calm yet edged with certainty, broke the silence.
"Did you feel it? Soone was watching us just now."
His glowing eyes narrowed.
"I’m sure of it. That was the Venom Fang Overlord."
The others fell silent.
Markos had no proof—only instinct. But when Markos spoke, few dared to doubt.
They had arrived from the west, a land now haunted by cold winds and deathless horrors. The undead had poured across their lands like a disease, choking villages, devouring towns. His tribe had stood firm—for a ti.
Until the tide broke them.
Most of his kin were slaughtered. Only he escaped.
Alone, hunted, he wandered aimlessly. It was then he t others like him—survivors, warriors, loners. They shared no blood, yet a common enemy forged them into sothing more: a tribe born of ruin.
Driven by fear and desperation, they fled across regions, always one step ahead of the rotting swarm.
Eventually, their path brought them to the Erald Green Forest—a forest that breathed life but whispered death. Here, tales echoed of a monstrous being that ruled the depths.
The Venom Fang Overlord.
So called it a myth. Others called it madness.
But when the wooden castle blood like a phantom among the trees, they all stared in awe.
Even those who doubted couldn’t dismiss the truth any longer.
Still, none dared to approach recklessly. There was a line between courage and foolishness—and they had no desire to be seen as enemies by a power beyond their comprehension.
Markos had chosen to wait.
But not everyone shared his patience.
From the shadows, a massive leopard padded forward. Its spotted coat shimred faintly in the filtered sunlight, muscles rippling beneath its fur. A sneer curved its mouth, and its golden eyes held unhidden contempt.
"I don’t understand what’s so special about this Venom Overlord," Ramson scoffed, tail flicking irritably.
"If he was so powerful, why did he hide like a rat when those warriors ca for him?"
Markos turned toward his old friend, eyes tinged with sadness. Ramson had been one of the first to stand beside him when he lost his tribe. A trusted comrade.
And yet...
He still didn’t understand.
With a forced smile, Markos responded softly,
"Ramson, you don’t understand."
The leopard let out a snort.
"Right. I don’t. So why don’t you explain it to instead of dragging us out here when we could be safe under the Morning Sun Spiritual Lord? Why are we still waiting?"
Markos exhaled, a long and weary breath.
He wanted to explain—truly. But how could he?
There were no words for what he felt.
From the mont he was born, Markos had been... different. Sowhere deep within, a strange intuition guided him, like a compass embedded in his soul. It whispered to him in monts of silence, nudging him toward the choices that would shape his fate.
And now, that sa voice was screaming.
eting the Venom Fang Overlord would change his life forever.
He didn’t know how or why. But the pull was undeniable.
Still, if others couldn’t sense it—if they truly wished to walk away—he wouldn’t stop them.
"Fine," Markos said at last, his tone steady.
"Those who wish to beco slaves under the Morning Sun Spiritual Lord may follow Ramson. I won’t stop you."
His words rippled through the crowd like a thrown stone in still water.
Murmurs surged. Doubts, whispers, wavering hearts.
And then—
Clop. Clop. Clop.
A slow, deliberate sound of hooves on moss echoed across the clearing.
The crowd turned.
From the treeline erged a colossal boar. Its tusks were curved like blades, polished from countless battles. Dried blood stained its dark hide, and its small eyes glinted with amusent.
It grinned.
"What do we have here...?"
Every day, without fail, Boar would wander to this clearing to ditate beneath the ancient, moss-covered trees. The wind here carried a stillness that sharpened his focus, and the earth thrumd faintly with mana, as if holding old secrets.
And every day, without fail, he sensed them.
A ragtag group of wandering Stage 1 monsters—watching, waiting, too cautious to approach.
For days, he chose to ignore them. Not out of rcy, nor indifference. Sothing had restrained him—an instinct, a silent thread tugging at his thoughts, telling him to wait.
Until today.
Today, the signal ca.
Subtle as a whisper, yet heavy with intent.
A flicker of spiritual pressure—calm, calculated—emitted from the depths of the wooden castle. It was the silent command of the Venom Fang Overlord.
And Boar understood: It was ti.
From the mont he stepped into the clearing, the atmosphere shifted. The forest itself seed to hold its breath.
Markos and Ramson, both seasoned in survival, imdiately tensed.
With just a single glance, they could tell—this Boar was no ordinary beast.
He radiated danger in waves, the kind that ca from raw strength honed through countless battles. His hulking form moved with deliberate grace, and each step seed to echo louder than the last.
A monster like him wasn’t just strong.
He was lethal.
Markos, ever the perceptive one, took the lead. He stepped forward with lowered head and cautious eyes, choosing his words with care.
"Forgive for my ignorance, senior... but may I ask who you are?"
Boar paused, his tusks glinting faintly under the slanting rays of sunlight that pierced through the canopy.
Then he chuckled—a deep, rumbling sound that felt more like a tremor than laughter.
"?" he echoed, amused.
"I’m just a naless entity... no titles, no legacies worth speaking of."
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