Next Morning
A pale, silvery light seeped into the mouth of the cave. Cold dew clung to the rocks, and a faint mist drifted through the trees outside. Adam sat at the entrance, cross-legged and quiet, staring into the stillness of the forest.
His stomach growled.
He hadn't eaten since yesterday evening—just some roasted roots and a handful of bitter berries. It wasn't enough. His body had become sturdier through cultivation, but it also demanded more sustenance. He needed meat, real protein, if he wanted to continue tempering his body.
Today, he would hunt.
Adam stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders. His muscles ached slightly, but it was a good kind of ache. He grabbed a sharpened branch—his makeshift spear—and a few strands of twisted vine. Then he stepped out into the forest.
Before venturing too far, Adam walked the perimeter and set a few rudimentary traps. The vines were strung into tension snares between trees, hidden beneath foliage. Sharp branches were staked into the ground at an angle, forming crude spike pits in shallow depressions.
They were far from perfect, but they might slow down or catch a small beast if it wandered close. More importantly, they gave him a sense of control.
After setting the last trap, Adam took a deep breath and ventured deeper into the forest.
The trees loomed tall, their canopies filtering sunlight into flickering patterns on the forest floor. The air was damp, filled with the scent of moss, bark, and faint traces of animal musk. He moved slowly, crouching and keeping close to the ground, pausing every few steps to listen.
Birds chirped in the distance. Leaves rustled above. Somewhere to the east, a branch cracked under heavy weight.
Adam froze.
A low grunt echoed through the trees, followed by the rhythmic crunch of hooves pressing into soft soil.
Then he saw it.
A massive boar emerged from the underbrush. Its body was the size of a small cart, covered in dark, bristled fur. Two curved tusks jutted out from either side of its snout, stained with old blood and dirt. Its eyes glowed faintly—a clear sign it was a demon beast, likely Grade 1.
Adam instinctively crouched behind a fallen log and held his breath.
The boar snorted, sniffing the air. It took cautious steps forward, its snout twitching. Then, its head turned in Adam's direction. Their eyes met.
The beast roared—and charged.
Adam dove to the side just in time. The boar barreled past him, crashing through a tree with ease. Bark exploded around them. Adam rolled, scrambled to his feet, and raised his spear.
The boar turned and charged again.
This time, Adam held his ground.
At the last moment, he sidestepped and thrust his spear toward its flank—but he misjudged the timing. The spear grazed the beast's side and snapped in half from the impact. The boar slammed into his shoulder, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
Pain flared in his arm, but he grit his teeth and forced himself up.
He had no real combat training. His movements were clumsy, unrefined. Every swing was raw instinct. He ducked a charging tusk and threw a punch into the beast's snout—it staggered, more from surprise than pain.
Adam's fists were strong thanks to his cultivation, but without proper technique, he couldn't channel that strength efficiently.
Still, he fought.
The boar charged again. This time, Adam leapt onto its back, grabbing hold of the thick bristles along its spine. It bucked and twisted, trying to throw him off. He held on, searching for a weak point—behind the neck, beneath the jaw.
With a roar, the beast slammed sideways into a tree, crushing Adam between its body and the bark.
Pain exploded across his ribs. He gasped, vision blurring. The beast backed away for another charge.
He couldn't take another hit like that.
Adam's mind raced.
"Calm down. Breathe. Use Insight."
His ability awakened faintly—a ripple of clarity spreading through his thoughts. His eyes focused. Every twitch of the boar's muscles, every shift in its weight—it all became clearer, easier to read.
Left hoof tensed. Shoulders hunched. It's going to charge again.
Adam dove forward before the beast moved. The boar charged past him, skidding in the dirt. He grabbed a jagged branch off the ground—long, broken, but sharp enough—and with all the strength he could muster, drove it upward into the beast's exposed belly as it turned.
The beast howled in pain, thrashing violently.
Adam rolled away, panting, bruised, bleeding—but still alive.
The boar stumbled. Blood gushed from its side. It turned to charge once more—slower, now. Weaker.
This time, Adam met it head-on.
He waited, counting the seconds. Then, at the last moment, he dove to the side and slammed the broken branch into the base of its skull.
The beast collapsed.
The forest went still.
Adam staggered back, breathing heavily, covered in dirt and sweat and blood. He collapsed to his knees, staring at the fallen beast.
He had won.
Barely.
The battle had been anything but graceful. He fought like a wild animal—no training, no techniques. But in the end, it was enough.
More importantly, he had learned.
Every move he made in that fight had carved the experience into his muscles. Every mistake, every blow taken, taught him something valuable. Combat wasn't just about strength—it was rhythm, timing, instinct, and awareness.
He would need to learn more. Train more. But for now...
He dragged the boar's corpse back toward the cave, using a vine to tie its legs and loop it over a fallen branch as a makeshift sled. It took nearly an hour, but eventually he reached his shelter.
He cleaned the wound on his arm with cold water and chewed on a healing root he had gathered earlier. It tasted awful, but dulled the pain.
Then he butchered the beast.
It was messy work, but he managed to strip enough meat to last several days. The rest he salted and dried near a small fire.
That night, Adam sat near the flames, gnawing on roasted meat, his muscles aching from the brutal fight. He stared at the stars through the cave mouth, chest rising and falling slowly.
He was still alive.
Still growing.
Still walking the path.