CHAPTER 69: WHITE FOX

The morning sky was not the soft gold Ahce had grown used to. It was a restless gray, heavy and bruised with the promise of rain. The sun had vanished behind thick storm clouds, and the air felt electric, charged with the wild energy of an approaching tempest. Even the forest seemed uneasy. The birds had gone silent, and the rustling of leaves had become a low, anxious murmur.

Ahce stepped outside her hut, squinting against the rising wind. The scent of damp earth filled her lungs as she gazed up at the horizon. A thick wall of fog was already creeping through the trees, swallowing the world in slow, rolling waves. The sound of distant thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, deep and long like the growl of an unseen beast.

"A storm," she murmured. "And a big one."

She didn’t need her survival instincts to tell her what to do. Immediately, she began to move, swift, deliberate, and efficient.

She gathered the baskets she had used for fishing and placed them inside. The bamboo poles stacked against her fence were tied together and secured beneath the eaves of her hut. Her tools, knives, ropes, and her spare spear were hung on the wall hooks she had built earlier.

Then she closed her windows, securing the bamboo shutters tight against the wind. Inside the hut, the air was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of her fire pit. She reinforced the flame, keeping it low but steady, its warmth cutting through the chill that had settled in her bones.

"Let’s see how long this will last," she whispered, pressing her palm against the bamboo wall as another roll of thunder boomed across the sky.

Outside, the rain began to fall, softly at first, then all at once, pounding the roof like a drumbeat. The wind howled through the gaps in the fence, carrying with it the smell of ozone and wet leaves. The storm’s intensity quickly surpassed what she had expected. Water ran in streams through the clearing, pooling in the dips of the ground.

Ahce chewed her lip, eyes scanning the corners of her hut for leaks. Thankfully, her work had held. No water seeped through the walls, and her elevated flooring kept her safe from the flood that was beginning to rise. But she couldn’t help the small knot of worry that formed in her chest.

"How long will this last? And... are the others even close by?" she wondered aloud.

The forest outside was an impenetrable wall of fog and rain. She hadn’t seen another student since landing on Planet Rhino, and now, with the storm raging, it felt like she was the last living person on the entire planet.

Her stomach rumbled. Ahce smiled faintly and turned her attention to food, her favorite form of distraction. From the wooden crate beside her, she took out a slab of the wild boar meat she had hunted days ago. She sliced it into thick pieces and began to cook, the familiar scent of sizzling fat filling the hut.

She added a dash of the vinegar she had brewed earlier from forest fruits, a pinch of the coarse rock salt she’d found near the cliffs, and a handful of brown sugar she had refined from sweet sap the previous evening.

As the sauce began to caramelize, the rich aroma of braised pork spread through the air, savory, tangy, and slightly sweet. She stirred the pot with her bamboo spoon, her mouth watering.

"If only I could find some rice," she sighed wistfully, "this would be perfect."

Unbeknownst to her, the galaxy was in chaos. The sensory simulators on Starnet transmitted not only her live image but also the scent and sound of her cooking. The moment she began braising the meat, millions of viewers across Orion and beyond were glued to their screens, their senses overwhelmed by the mouthwatering aroma.

[What is she cooking? It smells so good!]

[Is that... pork? Actual pork!]

[I swear, I can taste the tangy sauce through the feed!]

[Someone bottle this smell! We’ll make a fortune!]

Food companies were already scrambling to analyze the sensory data. Chefs attempted to recreate her dish in simulation kitchens, failing miserably each time. And in the Qin Clan residence, Alexander and Amiel could only laugh helplessly as they watched the feed.

"She’s turning the galaxy into gluttons," Amiel muttered.

But Ahce remained blissfully unaware of her rising fame.

She was just about to eat when she froze.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The sound was faint at first, but distinct, two soft thuds against her bamboo door.

Who could possibly be out there?

Her entire body went still.

"Did... someone bypass the gate?" she whispered under her breath. Her hand instinctively reached for the saber lying near her bed. She gripped it tightly, her senses sharpening. Her drone hovered silently above, recording the tension in high definition. Millions held their breath across the galaxy.

Ahce approached the door cautiously. The rain had softened, and the sound of dripping water echoed faintly through the clearing. She could see a faint silhouette beyond the bamboo slats, small, low to the ground, unmoving. Her pulse quickened. With her saber poised, she unlatched the door and pulled it open, just enough to see what was outside.

Something white darted past her feet in a blur.

Ahce stepped back, startled, as a soft glow filled the dim room. Before her stood a magnificent creature, an Arctic white fox, its fur glimmering like freshly fallen snow, its nine tails swaying gracefully behind it. Each movement shimmered faintly, scattering motes of light that danced in the air.

For a moment, Ahce was struck speechless. The fox was enormous, its shoulder nearly reaching her waist, and its eyes gleamed with eerie intelligence, one a deep sapphire blue and the other a pale silver. But what stunned her most was what it carried gently in its mouth, a tiny cub.

"A... nine-tailed fox?" she breathed. "Here?"

The drone captured everything. The awe on her face, the steam rising from her meal, the quiet elegance of the mythical beast. Viewers on Starnet exploded in disbelief.

[A divine-class creature! That’s a Tier 10 entity!]

[Is that even possible on a training planet?]

[She’s going to die!]

But Ahce didn’t draw her weapon.