CHAPTER 213: PRETTY MUSCLES

Dylan’s POV

It had been about a week since Dylan and his companion, Julius, had managed to slip out of death’s net. Since then, they had holed up in a remote area far to the south of Pilaf County. Judging by the scenery, they’d even crossed its borders—the forest here looked more like the uninhabited central territories that Pilaf and Martissant were currently fighting over.

"Damn it! And here I thought I was done with this nomad-forest life..." Dylan grumbled, gripping the trunk of a tree. Not the largest in the forest, but still too thick for his arms to wrap around. He hugged it anyway and, with a sharp effort, ripped it out of the ground, roots and all.

The weight nearly pulled him backwards, but he dug in his legs just in time to avoid falling. Leaves rustled, branches smacked into their neighbors. Without wasting a second, he swung the trunk and let it crash to the ground with a heavy thud that made the earth shiver.

"Careful, for fuck’s sake!" Julius snapped, nerves fraying. "I told you to set it down gently. What the hell are you trying to do, dropping something like that? You think we’re in the middle of a lumber yard? You wanna attract every beast in the area? And remember—we only have one sword."

Dylan stared back at him, stone-faced.

"This thing’s a fifty-meter tree. It weighs tons. The miracle here is that I can uproot it at all. What exactly did you expect?"

Julius shrugged, smirking.

"Well... that’s why you’re here. To build those pretty muscles."

Dylan wiped the dirt off his hands onto his torn pants with a low grunt. "Build my muscles? Did you see the size of that thing? I could squash you like a bug, and you’re talking about training?" He jabbed an accusatory finger at the fallen tree lying like a slain giant.

Julius, arms crossed, wore the smug look of a beast trainer. "Exactly, bag of bones. Being awakened is nice and all, but it just gives you a big potential gift-wrapped in laziness. Finding something heavy enough to make you actually sweat is like looking for a needle in a haystack. So..." He gestured casually toward another target—a thicker, even more stubborn-looking oak a few meters away. "That one. And this time, set it down like it’s a phoenix egg, not a sack of rotting potatoes. Control. Precision. That’s training."

"Training?" Dylan scoffed, fists tightening. "Looks more like lumberjack work for Mister Too-Good-To-Get-His-Hands-Dirty." Still, he walked toward the oak, his broad shoulders tensing. He wrapped his arms around the trunk, searching for the best grip.

"Perspective, my boy, perspective!" Julius had seated himself on a stump, striking a deliberately teacherly pose. "Every effort, every controlled move under the constant threat of attracting a pack of Darkclaws—or worse—that sharpens your reflexes, your management of raw power. Much more useful than tossing rocks around for fun. Now focus. Do it in silence this time."

Dylan let out a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh, digging his fingers into the rough bark. His muscles tightened like steel cables as he began applying massive pressure. The ground moaned under his feet. "Silence, huh? Easy for you to say while you’re sitting on your ass, professor."

Julius straightened, pretending offense. "Professor? Your vocabulary’s improving, but not enough." His voice grew firmer, almost theatrical. "For now, and for as long as I deign to pass on the secrets of my supreme swordsmanship—the only hope you have of not ending up in ribbons at the hands of the next bounty hunter or hungry monster—you will call me Master. Is that clear?"

A deep crack sounded as the oak’s roots began to give way. Dylan, face red with strain but eyes locked on Julius, rasped, "Yeah, kiss my ass."

Julius shot to his feet, fast as lightning. In a flash, he closed the distance and landed a heavy slap on Dylan’s back. The impact echoed like a club strike, making Dylan flinch and grind his teeth. "Wrong answer, bag of bones!" Julius hissed, his breath hot by Dylan’s ear. "For now, as long as I’m doing you the favor of teaching you anything, you’re my bitch. You row, you obey, and you keep your mouth shut unless it’s to say ’Yes, Master.’ Got it?"

Dylan clenched his jaw, fury sparking in his eyes. The oak trembled under the pressure. For a moment, Julius thought the giant would just swat him aside. But Dylan looked away, focusing again on the tree. A low, dangerous rumble escaped his chest—more beast than man. He didn’t say "Yes, Master," but he didn’t send Julius flying into the undergrowth either.

That was a temporary win for the so-called mentor. Slowly, with painfully learned control, Dylan began lifting the wooden giant, his muscles burning from both effort and humiliation, while Julius, lips curling in satisfaction, watched every tremor, every bead of sweat, like a falconer taming a stubborn eagle. Maybe the next tree would be set down a little more gently. Or not.

A low thump made the ground quiver. Barely noticeable at first, like a distant heartbeat. Dylan frowned mid-effort, but Julius was already raising a hand for silence.

The sound came again, heavier this time. Thump. Then another. Thump. The leaves trembled in the canopy.

"...You hear that?" Julius murmured, eyes narrowing toward the forest’s edge.

Dylan nodded, the oak still wedged in his arms. "If this is another one of your dumb tests, I swear—"

A shrill scream split the air, so sharp it rattled their eardrums. Not human. Not a normal beast, either.

Julius drew his sword in one smooth motion, the smugness gone from his face. His features hardened. "Darkclaws. And not a small pack."

In the distance, between the trunks, something darted past with inhuman speed. Then another. Yellow glints—eyes, multiple, watching them from the shadows.

"Drop it."

Julius’s voice allowed no argument.

Dylan slammed the trunk to the ground, frustration rumbling in his throat. "Where do we run?"

"Nowhere." Julius stepped back, positioning himself between Dylan and the approaching threat. "If we run, they hunt us. If we stand, we push them back."

The snapping of branches grew louder, faster, like a rain of footsteps. Julius briefly glanced at Dylan.

"This is your second lesson, bag of bones: learning to turn your environment into a weapon."

The first Darkclaw burst from the shadows.