In modern terms, it could be described as "surgical combat." The young Grimalkynes thought this style of fighting was incredibly cool, often fantasizing about being able to handle themselves with such effortless grace during their gathering or hunting trips.
After all, given their small stature—even if they had grown braver—their innate physical limitations meant they could never imitate the combat style of a Bazelgeuse. For them, avoiding injury at all costs was the only right way to survive.
Whoosh!
A tail-blade swept upward in a whistling arc. As it severed the foreclaws of a Rathalos that was diving down to strike, it simultaneously sliced through a nearby tree trunk as if it were nothing.
"ROAARRR!!!"
Wracked with pain, the Rathalos beat its wings frantically, trying to twist its body mid-air to retreat upward. However, another swing of the tail-blade blocked the gap between the trees—the very path of its escape.
CRACK!!
Hard scales were easily shattered. Amidst a spray of blood, even the bone within was hacked apart by brute force.
The Rathalos's roar dissolved into something closer to a pitiful wail, but it didn't have the strength to utter it for long. With its wing severed, the King of the Skies could no longer fly; it fell straight toward the ground like a kite with a broken string.
BOOM!
With a heavy thud, Mirrorblade's massive frame landed back on the forest floor. Without a moment's hesitation, he lunged at the Rathalos as it struggled to rise, decapitating the intruder in a few swift motions.
"Invincible, meow!!"
"That was so cool, meow! Boss Mirrorblade, meow!!"
"Great work, Boss, meow!!"
While the headless corpse of the Rathalos was still twitching instinctively, a swarm of black-and-white fur-balls suddenly popped out from nowhere onto the grim battlefield. They cheered excitedly, hopping around Mirrorblade's feet as if they were celebrating a festival.
Well, for them, perhaps it actually was one.
"How do you want to eat the Rathalos, Boss, meow? The usual way, meow?"
More and more Grimalkynes scurried out. They stayed clear of the Rathalos's grisly head, whose jaws were still snapping reflexively, and instead jumped onto the carcass. One Grimalkyne, standing at the highest point, looked up at Mirrorblade and asked for instructions.
"Growl!"
"Understood, meow! We'll roast it then—hey, everyone! Get moving, meow!! Boss Mirrorblade wants roasted meat, meow!"
"OHH!!"
The Grimalkynes were bursting with energy. They brought out various metal tools and began the systematic disassembly of the Rathalos. Scales and shells were hauled toward the storehouse, while the large cuts of meat were reserved as a feast for the leaders.
Ignoring the busy cats, Mirrorblade simply stared at the severed Rathalos head. It was covered in scars; many areas were missing scales, and the wounds had barely begun to scab over.
Not only that, but the Rathalos's wing membranes were tattered, and its body was riddled with wounds of all sizes—none of which were old injuries. They had all been sustained recently.
Mirrorblade hadn't inflicted those particular wounds. With his level of intelligence, he already realized what this implied.
"More and more dragons are invading this territory."
Mirrorblade was deep in thought.
It was somewhat ironic; of the four monsters currently living within the Glavenus Tribe's range, Mirrorblade—the youngest—was the smartest. The Bazelgeuse brothers had noticed the increasing number of intruders, but they simply thought of it as having more "explosive sandbags" to play with—a good thing in their eyes.
The Acidic Glavenus was too dim-witted, caring only about practicing the "Glavenus Sword Style" that Asterion had taught her years ago. The Kulu-Ya-Ku brothers didn't care for such worldly matters at all. Thus, Mirrorblade was the only one left to ponder why the influx of monsters was rising.
It started about two years ago? Mirrorblade couldn't remember the exact timeframe, but since then, monsters from the surrounding areas had begun constantly encroaching on Asterion's territory. At first, Mirrorblade didn't think much of it, assuming they were just testing the boundaries since his "old man" had been gone for so long. That kind of behavior was common among monsters.
But as time passed, things became increasingly strange. The number of intruders grew, and most were in terrible mental states, their bodies covered in fresh wounds as if they had survived continuous, repeated battles. This was highly unusual.
Even Mirrorblade could deduce a pattern: when a monster is in poor condition, it usually adopts a strategy of avoidance rather than continuing to pick fights with other apex predators.
As a high-intelligence monster of the new era, Mirrorblade was lonely. There were no other monsters he could talk to or discuss things with. Even when he tried to be "friendly" to squeeze information out of the newcomers about what was happening outside, not a single one of the scarred intruders was receptive.
Even the powerful ones that seemed to understand his words showed no intent of reciprocating friendliness. Some even viewed Mirrorblade's diplomacy as a sign of weakness and attacked. Ultimately, all of Mirrorblade's attempts at communication ended with the other party's total demise.
This sense of the unknown was starting to grate on him. Mirrorblade had noticed that the outsiders were getting stronger, and winning was becoming more taxing. Who knew what would crawl out next?
"Old man, where the hell did you go?"
He couldn't help but curse his irresponsible father in his heart. Even the warm Rathalos meat turning into even warmer roast meat couldn't brighten his mood, no matter how much the Grimalkynes sang and danced around him.
Mirrorblade knew the truth.
The young Grimalkynes genuinely worshipped him, but the older ones were different. They simply saw his father's shadow in him, believing that even though his father was gone, he would continue to shield them.
Ha. How long had that "old man" of his ever actually stayed in the tribe anyway?
To Asterion, it probably wouldn't matter if these worshipping Grimalkynes all died; he'd likely just yawn. Or worse, he'd find a way to "recycle" them and eat their corpses.
Unlike Asterion, Mirrorblade had grown up surrounded by Grimalkynes. To him, everything in the Glavenus Tribe held a different kind of meaning.
To be honest, Mirrorblade felt these little black-and-white fur-balls were more like family than his own father or mother.
Thinking about his father's habit of abandoning the nest for years at a time made Mirrorblade fuming mad—and the fact that the tribe was still covered in statues of that man made him even angrier.
One day, I'm going to replace all those statues with ones of me!!
Mirrorblade swore a silent oath!
Hmm?
Suddenly looking up at the sky, Mirrorblade saw tiny, almost invisible white specks drifting down.
He didn't know where these white things were coming from. They were smaller than the bugs that crawled under his scales. When they landed on his snout, he felt... nothing. No, that wasn't right. There was a tiny, faint trace of moisture.
Standing upright, Mirrorblade's height easily matched the canopy of the surrounding trees. From this vantage point, he could clearly see the falling white specks quickly turning into streaks of water on the leaves.
"A-choo!"
Suddenly, a Grimalkyne couldn't help but sneeze. He shook his fur, feeling a long-lost sensation called "cold"—a temperature usually reserved for the underground limestone caves where they went fishing.
What was this?
The same question troubled every living creature in the Ancient Tree Forest at that moment.
But for the Hunters, this sight triggered a memory that made many of them tremble with excitement—or dread. It was snow.
It was snowing in the Ancient Tree Forest.
Moreover, it was snowing in the Wildspire Waste.
It wasn't happening everywhere, of course, but both Astera and the Glavenus Tribe were within the snowy zone.
Given the Ancient Tree Forest's perennially humid warmth and the Wildspire Waste's eternal dry heat, snow was something that had never appeared before. At least, the Shaman of the Glavenus Tribe could find no record of such a thing in their history.
Thus, when the heavy snow arrived, the Grimalkynes fell into a state of panic. They thought the world was ending and were terrified. It took the Hunters from the Research Base to explain what this white substance was and share their expertise on how to survive a blizzard.
Store food, stockpile firewood, and stay warm. Thanks to powerful monsters like Mirrorblade and the Bazelgeuse brothers, the Glavenus Tribe didn't have to worry about food, and the forest provided plenty of fuel. The only major concern was insulation.
The temperature in the Ancient Tree Forest dropped rapidly. It started as a light dusting, but after the first melt came a heavy snowfall, followed by another. Soon, the Grimalkynes realized that leaving the dry warmth of the tribe's central boilers meant facing a lethally biting chill. There were even reports of bold youngsters who ignored the risks to play outside, only to be found frozen to death.
For a time, the entire Glavenus Tribe became deathly afraid of the snow. They viewed the white powder outside as poison and avoided contact whenever possible. To facilitate movement, Grimalkynes used shovels and other tools daily to clear paths for everyone.
After all, the snowdrifts on the outskirts of the Great Tree were deep enough to completely bury a Grimalkyne of average height.
Unlike the anxious adults, the "little fur-balls" weren't afraid. Instead, they were eager to dive into the snowbanks to play, only to be grabbed by the scruff of the neck by panicked adults and hauled back for a lecture and a swat on the behind.
The cries of the scolded kittens made the atmosphere in the tribe even more oppressive. There were some problems that even the supporting Hunters and scholars couldn't solve—for example, providing enough clothing for the tens of thousands of cats in the Glavenus and Forest Bug-Catcher tribes.
Lynians are typically covered in thick fur, which usually allows them to move comfortably in the Wildspire Waste and Ancient Tree Forest without clothes. If one looked closely, the Wildspire Protector tribe had shorter fur than the Forest Bug-Catcher tribe because the Waste was naturally hotter.
But this natural insulation was insufficient against the current external temperatures. Especially after several rounds of heavy snow, the temperature in the Ancient Tree Forest had dropped below zero for the first time in history, and the accumulating snow wouldn't even melt.
In the eyes of the Hunters, this was undoubtedly a major ecological disaster. Given the biological density of the Ancient Tree Forest, if you dug through the deep snow right now, you would likely find the frozen corpses of various creatures.
When the Grimalkynes braved the snow to go to their usual underground caves and rivers for fishing, they found these normally eerie, sparsely populated places packed with all sorts of creatures. Even massive clouds of insects were huddled together, causing the Grimalkynes to scream, drop their fishing rods, and run all the way back.
It made sense. For creatures that didn't know how to build fires, the once-chilly underground caves were now the warmest places available.
The Glavenus Tribe's rapidly expanded population had become a liability. There was no way to produce enough warm clothing for so many cats in such a short time. Sparky could only order the "Dragon-Chosen Warriors," led by Pot, to brave the cold and chop wood. They kept multiple massive bonfires burning in the living areas day and night, trying their best to ensure the heat reached the weaker Grimalkynes.
But this was only a temporary fix. Imagine the sheer volume of wood required to keep tens of thousands of Grimalkynes warm for just one day; it was a staggering amount. Relying solely on Sparky and the evolved Grimalkynes to harvest it wasn't enough.
The demand for firewood was entirely different from when they only burned it for cooking or drying.
Most importantly, warriors like Pot were only physically stronger than average Grimalkynes; they hadn't yet evolved into a new species with the constitution of a monster.
After several months of high-intensity physical labor and a lack of rest, many Dragon-Chosen Warriors collapsed. Some had colds, others had fevers. Their once strong, thick bodies looked pitifully fragile in their beds.
They were literally "sick cats."
The makeshift clothes woven from dry grass failed to provide enough warmth. As the weather grew colder day by day, some Grimalkynes even began suffering from frostbite on their paws and noses. Life was becoming unbearable.
As the snow began to fall yet again, even the most optimistic Grimalkyne couldn't help but wonder—what if the warmth never comes back?
"So, the goal of this mission is to investigate the cause of the sudden temperature drop, right?"
With his arms crossed, the Admiral asked with a serious expression.
True to his reputation as the "Rajang among men," while the hunters accompanying him were bundled up in thick cotton gear, the Admiral stood there bare-chested, his rugged, powerful muscles exposed directly to the freezing air.
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