One-Eyed Monster

Night quickly enveloped Guru Mountain, rendering the summit exceptionally chilly. Without any experience in the wilderness, Young Master Hustace was soon trembling from the cold. However, as the sickest member of the team, and also its most valuable captive, everyone tended to him with extra care.

Stan Sol sat quietly, his eyes slightly closed. Remaining alert while resting was a habit of his. For now, he couldn’t set up a defense zone like his predecessors. They had been powerful enough to scatter ashes or sprinkle liquid on their resting grounds to keep intruders at bay. This strategy, passed down from the earliest Hunters, involved scattering the droppings or flesh of fierce animals around a campsite to deter potential threats.

This primitive skill was further developed by the Hunters, who started infusing their own blood into the bones of these beasts. With this blood Integration, the bones became even more formidable. Over time, this peculiar skill became exclusive to the Hunters. The most powerful among them would crush these blood-infused bones, carry the powder with them, and use it to establish their defense zones when camping in the wild.

At first, Stan Sol didn’t think there was much to blood Integration. He figured it was merely dripping one’s own blood onto bones and considered giving it a try. However, he soon discovered it wasn’t so simple. The blood he dripped onto the bones quickly dried and would crumble off like powder at the slightest scrape of his dagger, serving no purpose.

As he grew older, he learned that blood Integration required a certain skill. Later, after experiencing his family’s vicissitudes, he figured out that this ancient technique was essentially about infusing one’s Spirit Power into the bones of dead animals. It was somewhat similar to the Alchemists’ trick with their Exchange Beasts, except the Alchemists produced lively creatures, while what Hunters created were still Dead Objects.

Stan Sol knew his powers hadn’t quite reached the level of his predecessors. So when he sensed something was amiss, he could only be more alert. He was the Sol Family’s last flicker of hope. Therefore, no accidents could be allowed to happen before he found his brother.

He had already secured the bargaining chip to meet his brother. Although this item was coveted by all sorts of disreputable people, he was confident he could protect it.

The night wind swept through, bringing a chill. Stan Sol remained as still as stone. He felt none of the residual warmth from the extinguished campfire; it had all been monopolized by Igor and Hustace. The ailing young master, caring little for the ashes, had sprawled wherever it was warmest. Igor had no choice but to cede the prime spot and try to glean some warmth from the periphery.

Baharo, naturally, was also restless. Though he had been defeated by Stan Sol, it didn’t mean he was resigned to his fate. However, he had no intention of resisting Stan. Deep down, I know that even two or three of me wouldn’t be a match for Sol, Baharo thought. It would take four of me to even stand a chance of a difficult fight. Even though Sol summoned the Flame Folk, that’s hardly the extent of his abilities. I could tell that much from what he said earlier.

Baharo had exerted all his strength and still hadn’t detected anything unusual. Yet, Stan Sol had nonchalantly informed them that apart from their group, there was more than one other party roaming the mountain.

The purpose of these wanderers was obvious. They certainly aren’t here for the White Cloud Fruit, Baharo mused. Despite all the legends over the years, not a single one has ever appeared in reality. There isn’t even a convincing replica in any market. Why are these fortune-seeking dreamers so obsessed with something that doesn’t exist?