He pointed at the bottle. “While it’s on the branch, mutants can’t smell it. But the moment it’s picked—its scent spreads for kilometers. No mutant can resist it. That’s why we seal it with leaves in a bottle before we harvest.”

“If you’re in danger, open the lid, throw the fruit far away, and run. They’ll chase the scent instead of you.”

Axel gently pocketed the bottle and patted his head. “You’re sharp, boy.”

With one last scan of the area using his mental sense, and confirming no mutants were near, Axel stepped out and disappeared.

“Be careful!” Killian called behind him.

Back in the ravine, Axel couldn’t get the boy’s crying face out of his head.

But now, a new question clawed at the back of his mind:

What the hell do I do if I actually find them?

Even if Rosaline and the rest of Obsidian were alive—how the hell was he supposed to get them out?

These mountains were crawling with monsters. Groups like long-clawed black leaf monkeys practically owned every ridge.

He pushed forward, racking his brain for a plan.

And then—twenty minutes later—he spotted a new group of mutants gathering along the ravine.

And just like that… an idea sparked.

......

The sharp-toothed winged wolf was not the kind of creature you casually strolled past.

Each one stood over three meters tall and stretched nearly six meters in length—massive, muscular monsters with bone-piercing teeth and predator eyes. Most ranked as Level 2 or Level 4 mutant beasts.

Right now, a whole pack of the damn things was clustered in a clearing ahead, tearing apart the carcass of a freshly killed unicorn bull. It was a gore-soaked scene—meat and blood scattered like petals in the wind, the stench of iron thick in the air.

Axel crouched low in the shadows, already transformed into one of them. From what he could tell, most of the pack was injured—some limping, others covered in blood, a few with bones clearly fractured or punctured. They’d definitely been part of the beast tide, same as the long-clawed black leaf monkeys. Those wounds? The gifts of elite human Awakeners.

The leader, a hulking white-furred alpha with eyes like frostbitten steel, was different. Even at a glance, Axel could sense the dangerous aura radiating from it. The White Wolf King was a full-blown Level 4. Way out of his league in a straight fight.

Axel's strategy was much simpler.

If he could beat them—he’d take over.

If he couldn’t—he’d play doctor.

“Rrrrowr!”

The moment the wolf king spotted Axel, its gaze narrowed in suspicion. Then, with a low warning growl, it told him in no uncertain terms: Fuck off.

Axel responded like any coward would—by immediately dropping to the ground and groveling with the grace of a whipped dog.

Flat on his belly, tail metaphorically tucked, he looked up with what he hoped passed for a “Hey, I’m friendly!” expression.

The White Wolf King blinked, visibly confused.

Sharp-toothed winged wolves were notoriously aggressive. Even if they couldn’t win, they’d always at least snarl or challenge for dominance. But this one? This new guy just... flopped?

It was weird.

Still, the king didn’t attack. So Axel pushed his luck.

Crawling slowly, he edged toward one of the wolves that had collapsed nearby—a bloody gash stretching from shoulder to flank, still oozing.

Then, gently, Axel placed his paws over the wound and activated his force.

The wolf howled in pain for a moment—but then something incredible happened. The bleeding stopped. The tissue began to close. Infection, halted.

The White Wolf King lowered his raised haunches, the aggression fading into a flicker of curiosity.

Axel shot him a submissive glance and then turned toward another injured wolf, motioning awkwardly with his snout.

The White Wolf King’s eyes gleamed with understanding. This one—this weirdo—had a rare ability. A healer.

“Rooorr!”

It gave a low growl of approval and backed off.

Axel felt like he could finally breathe.

As if to show off in return, the Wolf King swiped a paw at the nearby tree—cleanly severing the trunk. The break was so smooth it looked like it had been sliced by a blade.

Axel's ears twitched. Yeah, alright, he got the message: You’ve got your weird tricks? I’ve got mine.

So began the exhausting process.

Axel treated one wolf after another. Some were infected. Some had torn ligaments. Some had ribs sticking through fur.

By the time he healed the twentieth wolf, more than half his original force was gone. He was sweaty, aching, and had barely started.

And just as he thought he’d get a breather, even the uninjured ones started lining up, just for moral support and a free checkup.

“You’ve got to be kidding me...” he muttered under his breath, surrounded by oversized wolves nuzzling him like he was the last spa appointment before winter.

Meanwhile, the White Wolf King had wandered off to nap in the shade like it had just hired a personal physician.

For the next hour and a half, Axel worked nonstop. He burned through four secondary life crystals just to keep himself upright.

Four. Fucking. Crystals. My babies... Axel internally sobbed.

When he was finally done, and turned to leave, the White Wolf King stood, raised his snout to the sky, and let out a long, thunderous howl.

The others followed. A chorus of monstrous howls echoed across the trees.

Axel looked back. That went better than expected.

Axel had become something of a traveling doctor.

With each new tribe of mutant beasts he passed, he healed injuries, earned trust. His pack was lighter—his supply of life crystals was burning fast—but his rapport with the beasts of the Mirabelle Mountains was unmatched.

Still, just as he started questioning whether he could keep going like this, something changed.

Inside his body, deep within the roots of his awakening force, a pulse of heat rippled through him. The skill tied to the ancient tree—the one he called *Healing*—began to glow red.

“It’s evolving?”

Axel found a secluded spot, shifted into a small, low-profile mutant beast, and entered a meditative trance.

Despite the massive energy drain, his force had grown significantly over the past few days. He’d healed hundreds of mutant beasts—different species, different wounds, even infections and fractured bones. That sheer variety had pushed his awakening skill to the edge.

And now, it had stepped over.

[Awakening Skill: Abundant]

Single Target: Deep tissue and organ regeneration, mental trauma healing, increased physical resistance, +10% original force recovery.

Group Target: Heal up to 15 individuals simultaneously (physical injuries only, no bonus effects).

Axel opened his eyes, heart pounding. His former Healing ability had evolved. His twenty life crystals weren’t wasted after all.

With three solid combat techniques and a force reading nearing 1,500, he was within reach of becoming a Level 4 Awakener.

Later, standing at the top of a massive tree in the form of a long-clawed black leaf monkey, Axel scanned the horizon.

Far ahead, the trail left by the Black-Scale Python—deep gouges, crushed trees, pulverized rock—abruptly stopped.

At the base of a towering mountain, the terrain looked like it had been scraped clean by a goddamn wrecking ball. Trees were uprooted, stones shattered. And in the middle of the chaos, he spotted it: a narrow cave entrance, barely big enough for two people to squeeze through. It was carved deep into the rock, surrounded by scattered black scales.

“Did the captain and his team make it in?”

From the surrounding wreckage, it looked like the python had thrashed around outside the entrance for a while before leaving—or maybe just giving up.

“It’s likely. But I can’t be reckless.”

Axel waited. For a full thirty minutes, he stayed hidden, watching for any movement. When the area remained dead silent, he morphed into a civet cat—small, light-footed, inconspicuous—and tucked his backpack into the thick fur on his belly. Then he moved.

Three kilometers.

Two.

One.

No ambush. No tremors. No sign of the python.