CHAPTER 236: EMBERS

Its fur was a burnished orange, deeper and more vivid than the pale white of the first, with black dotted markings that clustered along its shoulders and back like scorched embers. The lightning curling around its frame shimmered hotter, more volatile. Less like a storm and more like a wildfire barely contained beneath skin and fur.

[Analyze] flashed across my vision for a moment.

Level 45.

Higher than the last.

But somehow, I doubted it would matter. Not against that skill. Zivra’s Mindbreaker had killed the first one mid-air, silenced it before it even landed. If she had enough strength left to activate it again, this beast might be walking to its grave.

The leopard took slow, deliberate steps until it stood just a few feet from her. Then it paused and sniffed, its nose twitching as its whiskers sparked.

"Goblin," it said, voice low and curious, "why do you reek of the blood of one of my kind?"

Zivra didn’t answer. She just stared back, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, her limbs trembling faintly. Too drained to speak. Too tired to pretend she wasn’t.

But she didn’t need to explain anything. The answer was already painted across her skin, dried and glistening red. The smell alone told the story.

The beast studied her silently, then asked, "Is he dead?"

Zivra gave the faintest nod.

There was a pause.

Then the orange leopard sighed—not in anger, not in rage, but with a strange, almost human disappointment. As if he’d expected the answer, but still hoped to be wrong.

"To think he’d fall to a mere goblin."

The orange leopard clicked its tongue against the roof of its mouth—a sharp, irritated tsk tsk—and slowly shook its head, eyes narrowing with quiet disdain.

"I knew it, I shouldn’t have mated with him. His offspring would become weak."

My brow tightened as I heard that. Mated?

And then it clicked.

What the first leopard said earlier—natural obligation. That wasn’t some poetic metaphor. It wasn’t hunting or protecting a territory. He meant sex.

The orange leopard stepped closer to the corpse, her eyes scanning the broken, bloodied remains with a strange mix of loss and detachment. She wasn’t mourning. Not exactly. More like she was grieving an investment that had fallen through.

"Unfortunately," she continued, her voice softer now, more resigned than angry, "there are so few of us left in this world. Every year, another mating season comes and goes, and I don’t find a partner."

"And now, after all that time, I finally find him—after seasons of chasing, and he ends up dead."

She exhaled slowly, a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl, eyes still fixed on the body.

"Do you want revenge?" Zivra asked, her voice barely more than a whisper—thin, strained, and trembling at the edges.

The orange leopard tilted its head slightly, considering her, then spoke with a bitter calm. "Seems right. To honor him."

Zivra swallowed, her stance wavering, but she held her ground. "Honor him? If you really want to do that... then live. Survive. Birth his heir. Don’t throw your life away over something so... so pointless."

Her words stumbled near the end, hesitant, as if even she wasn’t fully convinced of what she was saying. But she said it anyway.

The leopard’s pupils narrowed. Her body tensed.

"Pointless?" she echoed, almost disbelieving. "You think my wrath is pointless?"

A low hum filled the air, followed by a sudden crackle as arcs of lightning ignited along her spine, crawling down her legs, wrapping around her limbs like coils ready to snap.

The atmosphere thickened again, and Zivra instinctively took a step back, her breath hitching.

Sparks danced across the forest floor.

"Do not make me do this," Zivra warned, her voice breaking through the static.

But it was clear the beast wasn’t going to stop. Her muscles coiled. Her fangs bared. The scent of scorched earth filled the clearing.

Zivra didn’t wait.

She triggered it again.

Her eyes locked onto the leopard’s. There were no words, no chants, no flash of power, just a quiet shift in pressure, barely perceptible, yet terrifying in its weight.

And once again, the world stilled.

But what I expected to happen... didn’t.

There was no sudden stillness, and no mental collapse or twitching limbs.

Zivra’s ability had failed.

Instead of breaking her target’s mind, she broke.

Blood sprayed from her nose in a sharp burst, and she dropped to her knees, clutching her face with both hands, eyes wide with confusion and panic. Her whole body trembled, not from fear this time, but from sheer physical strain.

"I cannot believe this... this is what he lost his life to," the leopard said, slow and disgusted.

Zivra looked up, desperate now, trying once more to activate the skill—her lips parting, her eyes narrowing in focus.

But nothing happened.

Except for another spill of blood running from her nostrils, thick and dark this time, trickling down her chin as her arms gave out and she collapsed forward, barely catching herself on her elbows.

The orange leopard began to walk.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Each step crackled with soft sparks, her movement calm, almost surgical in its pacing.

Yep. Zivra was done.

Her skill, powerful as it was, came with a price—and she’d already paid too much of it when she took down the white leopard. Unlike my abilities, which I could loop and chain, hers demanded something more costly. And from the looks of it, she’d just overdrew.

She was completely exposed now.

And the predator knew it.

I exhaled slowly, the sound slipping out between my teeth as the orange leopard advanced, each deliberate step pressing deeper into the soil. Zivra was crawling backward now, her movements weak and frantic, her limbs trembling as though every inch of ground she gained was being dragged out of her by sheer will.

Yeah. This wasn’t my fight.

Whatever was happening to her—whatever mess she’d made—was the consequence of her own choices. She’d played with fire, and now it was burning back. The smart thing to do was to let it. Let her deal with the fallout.

My hand fell from Gravefang’s hilt, and I straightened slightly, ready to turn away.

Then she whimpered.

A small, broken sound, half breath, half sob.

If she died here, that would be her fate. Nothing more, nothing less.

But...

As the leopard lunged, lightning rippling across its limbs, fangs bared, death in motion, I hesitated. Not because I wanted to save her. Not because I believed she deserved it.

But because... how could I just watch her die?

She was the only creature I’d met who had an ability that could break me—truly break me. That alone should have been reason enough to let the beast finish the job. Tie up the loose end. Eliminate the threat.

And yet, in that heartbeat, something in me stirred.

My fingers...