Chapter : 603

Lloyd stood in the center of the carnage, his chest rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths. A thin sheen of sweat pasted his dark hair to his brow, and the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back burned with a deep, satisfying fire of exertion. His unified power core, the central reservoir of his strength, felt significantly depleted. A noticeable portion of his reserves had been consumed in the high-intensity, full-power engagement. This was a world away from the almost trivial energy cost of the goblin hunts. This battle had demanded everything he had: his sharpest strategic mind, his peak physical conditioning, and the full, coordinated, and devastating power of his two Transcended spirits.

He felt a deep, resonant satisfaction that was entirely different from the cold, intellectual pleasure of outsmarting the goblins in the forest. This was the pure, visceral thrill of the hunter. He had faced down a truly powerful and dangerous prey, a force of nature that could have easily trampled a lesser man into paste, and he had emerged victorious. He had been tested not just as a commander, but as a warrior, and he had not been found wanting.

He walked over to the carcass of the last boar he had slain, the magnificent, scarred old warrior. He placed a hand on its coarse, bristly hide, feeling the solid, unyielding plate of bone armor beneath. These creatures were a testament to the brutal, beautiful efficiency of evolution in a hostile world. They were engines of pure, instinctual force, and defeating them felt like a genuine, meaningful accomplishment.

The System, ever the dispassionate accountant of his bloody work, was quick to quantify his success. A notification, brighter and more resonant than any he had received in the goblin forest, chimed in his mind.

[Tier-3 Monster Defeated: Wild Boar (x12)]

[Progress toward 'Savage Cull' Quest: 12/20]

He had not yet completed the full quota for the 150 FC reward, but the progress was officially logged. He was more than halfway there after a single, intense engagement. The path to his next major System upgrade, the one that would unlock the foundational skills for his secret gunpowder project, was paved with the bodies of these magnificent, powerful beasts.

He summoned his spirits to him, to assess their condition. Fang Fairy appeared in a flicker of cool, azure light, her ethereal form as pristine and untouched as ever. She had been a ghost in the battle, a master of harassment who had never once put herself in a position to take a direct hit.

Iffrit, however, materialized in a swirl of heat and simmering embers, and for the first time, he showed the marks of a true battle. His magma-plate armor, usually a flawless shell of obsidian and crimson light, was marred. There were deep, gouging scratches on his forearms where he had blocked the furious swipes of boar tusks. A long, shallow crack, like a lightning strike frozen in black glass, ran across his chest plate, a testament to the raw, kinetic force of a charging boar that had managed to land a glancing blow.

Lloyd felt a flicker of genuine concern through their psychic bond. "You are damaged," he projected, his thought a statement, not a question.

The response from his fiery familiar was a wave of pure, dismissive, and volcanic pride. Scratches. Insignificant. Their fury was admirable. Their strength was… noteworthy. But they could not break me.

Lloyd understood. Iffrit’s armor was not mundane metal; it was a manifestation of his spiritual essence. The damage was not permanent. It would heal as Iffrit rested, drawing ambient energy from the rich matrix of the Soul Farm to reforge himself. Still, it was a potent and humbling reminder of the genuine danger these boars represented. Even a being of Iffrit’s immense power was not entirely immune to their brute-force, physical assaults. If they could crack the armor of a fire demon, what would they do to his own, far more fragile, human form?

"Rest," Lloyd commanded them both, his voice firm but laced with an undercurrent of respect. "You have performed exceptionally. Recover your strength."

They dissolved back into the sanctuary of his soul, leaving him alone once more on the silent, sun-baked battlefield. He found a relatively clean spot on one of the large sandstone rocks and sat down, the stone still radiating a pleasant warmth. It was time to analyze. To learn. To optimize.

His new strategy had been a resounding success. Iffrit as the disruptive artillery piece and Fang Fairy as the area-denial controller had been far more energy-efficient than his previous "wall of fire" tactic. They had shaped the battlefield perfectly, creating a kill zone of his own design.

Chapter : 604

But there was still room for improvement. The fireballs were effective but had a degree of randomness. Perhaps he could have Iffrit focus on creating jets of flame, more like a flamethrower, for precise and sustained area denial. Fang Fairy’s electrical fields were powerful, but their circular shape was predictable. Could she perhaps weave the energy into lines, creating tripwires of pure lightning to better channel the herd's movement?

And his own role. He had been brutally effective as the finisher, the exploitation expert. But he had been entirely reactive, relying on his spirits to create every single opening. He needed to be more proactive. He could use his Steel Blood chains not just for binding, but for creating physical barriers, for tripping and entangling the boars before they even reached the kill zone. And his Black Ring Eyes… he had been saving their power, but perhaps a wide-area, low-intensity "Seal of Minor Confusion" could be placed on the herd at the start of the charge, making them even more susceptible to his spirits' disruption.

The possibilities churned in his strategic mind. Every battle was a data set. Every victory was a lesson. And every lesson was an opportunity to refine the beautiful, terrible machine of his warfare. He was not just hunting for coins. He was forging himself into a more perfect weapon.

Lost in the intricate web of his strategic analysis, a general redrawing his battle plans after a successful but costly engagement, Lloyd almost missed the first, subtle sign. It was a faint vibration in the sandstone rock he was sitting on, a low-frequency tremor that was almost imperceptible. He dismissed it at first as a tectonic settling of the Soul Farm's simulated geology.

But then it came again, stronger this time. A rhythmic, resonant pounding that was steadily growing in intensity. It was a sound he now recognized with an instinctual, gut-level certainty. It was the sound of hooves. Many of them. And they were heavy.

He shot to his feet, his mind snapping back from the abstract world of strategy to the immediate, brutal reality of the savanna. He leaped to the top of the large boulder, his eyes scanning the hazy, heat-shimmering horizon. A knot of disbelief tightened in his gut, warring with a dawning, exhilarating, and utterly terrifying realization.

Over a low, grassy rise to the north, perhaps a mile distant, a new cloud of dust was forming. A familiar, roiling, golden-brown plume.

It couldn't be.

The respawn rate in the goblin forest, while faster than the slimes, was still measured in hours. A cleared encampment would remain empty for a significant period of real-world time, allowing him to rest and recover. He had, foolishly, assumed the same fundamental rule would apply here. He had expected a long, quiet interlude to analyze, rest, and prepare for his next hunt.

But the thundering of hooves was undeniable, a physical truth that was rapidly approaching. He focused his enhanced senses, pushing his awareness out across the savanna. He could feel their life signatures, a cluster of powerful, aggressive, and furiously vital energies. Another herd. At least a dozen strong. And they were on a direct intercept course.

He had been in the Savage Brushland for less than an hour. The scorched, broken bodies of the first herd were still cooling at his feet. And already, the next wave was cresting the horizon.

A slow, dangerous, and slightly unhinged grin spread across his face. He had fundamentally misunderstood the nature of this new biome. He had assumed the System would enforce a pace, that the primary constraint on his progress would be the world's own internal clock.

He had been spectacularly, wonderfully wrong.

He pulled up his System interface, a new, urgent question already forming in his mind. He didn't even have to ask. The Administrator, the ever-present, all-knowing ghost in his machine, anticipated his query and provided the answer. The text scrolled across his mental vision with a stark, informative clarity.

[Alert: User has entered a Tier-3 'Active Farming Zone'.]

[Explanation: In contrast to lower-tier 'Passive Farming Zones' like the Slime Plains, Active Farming Zones are designed to facilitate high-intensity, continuous combat. Monster spawn rates are dynamically linked to the User's combat activity and biome clearance rate. Stronger, more aggressive monster types possess significantly reduced respawn cooldowns. This protocol is intended to encourage active, sustained engagement and test the User's core combat endurance.]

Endurance.

The word hung in his mind, a single, perfect key that unlocked the entire puzzle.