CHAPTER 136: THAT TERRITORIAL GUY

Dylan was healing slowly, but surely. The stigma was doing its work, repairing muscles and bones with painful precision. Yet every step was still a struggle, and every breath a reminder of the bite of those fangs. But his breath was returning—along with clarity. The feverish haze had faded. His legs held better, and his gaze was steady once more.

The group didn’t ask for more than that.

They moved now in a calculated silence—not just for stealth, but by choice. Words wore you down, and weariness could kill. In these mountains, every slope was as dangerous as the beasts that roamed them. Talking too much was an invitation for death.

Their strategy was clear: avoid confrontation. They weren’t reckless anymore.

The forest had taught them well—and still was. That fight with the cursed black macaques had driven the lesson home.

They had learned something crucial: they were strong enough to survive now... but that didn’t mean they had to prove anything to anyone.

As for stronger creatures—they avoided them. If they saw a footprint too large, they changed direction. If the air grew too heavy, too saturated with beastly essence, they slowed, waited, or turned back. The mountain offered no room for arrogance.

They killed only when necessary. To defend themselves. Or to punish a creature foolish enough to get too curious. And even then, they did it fast, clean, without flair. Precise strikes. Quiet deaths. The age of flashy battles was behind them—for now, at least. The world had no shortage of violence. It was just a matter of choosing where to place it.

The territories they crossed were not deserted. The signs were there: claw marks on bark, carcasses ripped apart in rage, the reek of urine marking invisible borders. These mountains had their laws. And they, as outsiders, were merely tolerated—or ignored—depending on the mood of the predators.

Élisa often led the march. She listened to the wind, read the stones, sensed the zones to avoid. At the same time, she kept training her control of the stigma—lifting her spear with psychokinesis and sitting on the shaft, letting her own power carry her along.

Maggie followed close behind, weapon in hand, body relaxed, eyes sharp, always watching for the slightest twitch in the shadows. Dylan took the rear. Not because he was weak, but because his gaze now saw better behind them. Because he understood what it meant to have a monster at your back.

Their progress was slow—but steady. Step by step, they moved. In this world where even the sky seemed to watch them, they had become tightrope walkers—advancing along a razor’s edge, between life and the void.

The group began their ascent. The slope turned steep, scattered with loose stones and treacherous roots. Dylan clenched his teeth with each step, pain tugging at his wound, but he kept pace. Élisa, in the lead, used her psychokinesis pragmatically: her floating spear probed stone stability, cleared paths through dense brush.

Sometimes she drove it into the ground to support her weight, her power lightening her step. Maggie scanned the ridges and scree, flail-halberd low, its head dragging slightly across the dirt—ready to sweep or strike in a blink.

Her vigilance was constant, fingers constantly adjusting their grip. Dylan watched the rear and flanks, his jian unsheathed but pointed downward, eyes sweeping the shadows. He didn’t truly master the weapon—but his posture alone was deterrent enough for smaller threats.

They skirted a zone reeking of rot and musk, choosing a narrower but less marked path. The wind hissed through the rocks, masking their sounds—but also those of others. The descent was quicker, but far more treacherous.

Rocks slid beneath their feet. Maggie used her halberd’s shaft as a walking stick, planting its head into the soft earth to slow herself. Élisa eased her psychic lift, her spear becoming a floating anchor, guiding them down sharp inclines. Dylan slipped once, catching himself at the last second, pain flashing across his chest. His knuckles went white on the sword’s hilt.

At last, they emerged into a wide basin valley. The air was heavy, still, thick with the smell of damp earth and churned soil. A sluggish river curled through the center. But the crossing wasn’t free.

A massive boar, larger than an ox, blocked the only shallow ford. Its gray, knotty hide was carved with deep scars. Curved, yellowed tusks jutted from its lower jaw, chipped and worn with age.

It chewed noisily on roots, but its bloodshot eyes had been locked on them since the moment they emerged from the rocks. A low, thunderous growl rumbled in its chest. It rose slowly—the ground seemed to tremble under its weight. It scraped the earth with its hoof, throwing up clumps of dirt, then lowered its head, tusks aimed.

There was no other path. The ford was narrow, flanked by muddy banks too steep to climb and a river too deep and fast upstream and down. Turning back meant climbing again—something Dylan likely couldn’t endure.

The boar let out a furious bellow, planted like a sentinel on sacred ground.

There was no other choice. The fight was inevitable.

Maggie moved first. She didn’t draw her weapon—not yet. She studied it.

This wasn’t a mere beast. There was nothing natural left in it. Something in the way its muscles shifted beneath its hide, in how it carried its bulk—it radiated presence. A pressure in the air. As if the mountain itself had sculpted it to stand guard over this place.

Élisa frowned. She could feel the essence radiating off it—dense, black, ancient. Her stigma pulsed faintly, in warning, nearly painful. This was a second-rank creature, maybe worse. It didn’t need a reason to attack. Not here. This was its domain.

"It’s an awakened beast," she murmured—needlessly. They all knew it.

Dylan stepped to the side, slowly. Not to flee, but to put distance between himself and the others—to spread out. If they had to fight, they needed to flank it. He still gripped his jian, its tip pointed toward the ground, his fingers tense. But his breathing had steadied. A kind of acceptance settled in.

Maggie raised her weapon slightly, careful not to make any sudden moves—just a warning.

The boar growled, and the ground trembled.

"We’re not going around this one, are we?" Dylan muttered.