The hunt ended with dust and blood settling into a heavy silence. There were no cheers, no triumphant shouts only the ragged, rhythmic sound of heavy breathing.
"Check for injuries," the leader grunted, leaning heavily on his sword.
Sohan stood perfectly still for a moment, letting the adrenaline recede. He stepped back into the shadows of a jagged rock and watched the others. This was the cycle now: fight, survive, move on. The wasteland had a way of stripping away everything except the bare essentials of existence.
The Daily Grind
The following weeks fell into a grim, predictable pattern. Every morning, the group left the safety of the Steel Armor Shelter. Nine people, weapons at the ready, eyes constantly scanning the horizon for movement.
They moved in a tight formation. The front line absorbed the initial impact, the middle provided support, and the rear stayed alert for ambushes. Sohan positioned himself in the middle not to hide, but to control his engagement. When the Ordinary beasts rushed them with their wild, chaotic movements and razor sharp claws, Sohan didn't panic.
He watched their rhythm. One beast lunged; he stepped aside with a millimeter to spare. Strike. Clean. Efficient. Another came; he waited half a second longer, letting the creature overextend before he counter-attacked. No wasted motion. No unnecessary flair.
But as the days passed, the groups they faced grew larger. Five beasts. Eight. Sometimes a dozen. That was when things got messy. People panicked. They missed their marks. They got injured.
Sohan never did. He adjusted. He moved with cold, calculated control. Step, avoid, strike. He never chased a fleeing kill and never overextended his reach. He simply eliminated whatever entered his radius.
That was why he was still standing.
The Law of Consequences
Not everyone was so fortunate.
One day, a member of the group stepped too far out of formation, lured by an easy kill. He was surrounded in seconds, gone before anyone could even scream his name. Another day, a delayed reaction to a strike resulted in a venomous bite. Within an hour, he was dead weight.
No one spoke much during the trek back on those days. They understood the silent law of the Sanctuary: this wasn't about luck. This was about consequence. Twenty had become fifteen. Fifteen had become twelve. Now, only nine remained.
The ones left had either learned or adapted.
Accumulation
Each hunt added something to Sohan's foundation. He felt the energy accumulating in his marrow, his movements becoming sharper, faster, and more precise. After a particularly grueling session, he sat in the corner of the shelter and closed his eyes.
Ordinary Genes: 100 / 100
Primitive Genes: 60 / 100
"Done," he whispered. His body felt different stable, balanced, and reinforced. But it wasn't enough. Not for what was coming.
The Rhino Hunt
The air felt heavier the next morning. The tracks on the ground were deep and wide, vibrating with a power they hadn't encountered yet.
"Careful," the leader warned, his voice barely a whisper.
Then it appeared: a Two Horn Rhino. It was a massive slab of muscle and armored skin, crowned with two lethal, obsidian-sharp horns. It charged with the speed of a runaway train. The front line barely dodged the impact, the ground shattering where they had stood a second before.
"Spread out!"
Chaos erupted. One mistake against a beast of this caliber meant instant death. Sohan moved sideways, keeping his distance and watching for the telltale signs of the rhino's fatigue.
It charged again, targeting a panicked scout. This time, the group coordinated. Weapons struck the thick hide but barely penetrated. "Target the side!" the leader roared.
Sohan moved in. He didn't rush; he waited for the exact moment the rhino slowed after its momentum peaked. An opening. Sohan stepped in, struck a vital point behind the front leg, and retreated instantly. Others followed his lead hit and pull back. Again and again.
Slowly, the damage built up. The massive beast weakened, its movements becoming sluggish. With one final, coordinated attack, it fell.
In the ensuing silence, a voice echoed in Sohan's mind:
"Primitive Beast Soul Two Horn Rhino Dagger obtained."
Sohan didn't react. He simply stepped back, his face a mask of calm.
Decision
That night, Sohan checked his Soul Sea. The daggers were there twin blades of dark bone that radiated a cold, primitive power. Nearby, the cocoon containing his Primary Ant Armor remained sealed, silently absorbing the energy emitted by the Gene Stone.
"Three months," he calculated. He opened his eyes, his gaze hardening.
He realized that hunting in a group was no longer serving his growth. He had the raw power, but he lacked the refined skill to back it up. To truly rise, he needed mastery.
"I'm leaving," he decided.
He needed time two months of isolated training to master dagger control and the subtle gene arts he had only begun to touch. He turned toward the exit of the hall, leaving the safety of the group behind without a single word of farewell.
Behind him lay the familiar cycle of the Sanctuary. Ahead lay the grueling path of self-refinement. Inside his Soul Sea, the cocoon pulsed silently, waiting for the moment of its awakening.
"Now," Sohan whispered, "I refine myself."