Nightfall Forest, a land where toxins roam like feral wolves; many wander in and never see dawn. North lies Dragon Gorge, a terror like a sleeping mountain—rumor says a true dragon dreams there.

After a long trek under a sky like tarnished steel, Kuiyas kept frowning. Strange—too strange. Why was legendary Nightfall Forest this quiet?

Karosen Kingdom’s capital sits west of the forest, close as a shadow at noon; an airship reaches it in about an hour.

At dawn, scouts carried whispers like smoky banners: a massive blast in Nightfall Forest turned a quarter of its land to desert.

Children had been seen nearby, and demonfolk remnants stirred like rats in grain.

As captain of the kingdom’s knight order, Kuiyas naturally took point, a spearhead cutting into the dark like a comet.

Since entering, they’d met nothing. Beasts seemed cowed by the earth-shaking blast, hiding in their holes like embers under ash.

“So this is the famed Nightfall Forest? No danger at all.” Banner-bearer Collin spoke with scorn, his voice like dry flint.

“Collin, don’t get careless. A place called peril has its fangs.” Kuiyas felt pressure coil like a dragon; all beasts held their breath.

As a Sky Knight, a Third-Tier master, Kuiyas had seen a living dragon. Around its lair, silence pressed like wet wool.

The heavier the hush, the deadlier what sleeps. In this calm, some hidden monster felt vast as a storm-swollen sea.

“Your Highness, return to the palace. This isn’t routine. I’ve got a bad premonition.” He drew his sword; cold light pooled like water.

His ‘Highness’ was Jelinka Layedi, vice-captain of the order, her name like silk over steel.

Protocol said she should ride with them, yet her bloodline blazed like a banner. If she fell, the Empress would scorch them all.

He remembered raiding the Demon King’s palace. Jelinka’s sister worried like a burning lamp, and three captains starved in an iron cell.

She wasn’t Empress then; now power rings around her like a crown of thorns. Punishments would cut deeper.

Jelinka didn’t argue. She moved to the formation’s heart like a pearl in a shell, meaning to stay but not grandstand.

If anything pierced the order and reached her center, it meant doom like a felled forest. Dead she, dead all; blame would scatter like smoke.

Her stance was clear: she would share life and death, a vow like ink sealing paper.

Watching her, Kuiyas sighed, breath wisping like mist. The realm’s elite order faced a mere Nightfall Forest—danger, but not catastrophe.

Dragon Gorge was the exception, a throat in the world. A few adult dragons loose could topple Karosen Kingdom like a clay idol.

Adult dragons are apex, a Demigod at mortal heights, jaws like anvils and wings like stormclouds.

They advanced through dead hush. The deeper they went, the colder Kuiyas felt, a chill like water climbing bone.

He’d crossed Nightfall Forest before, skirting several Third-Tier beasts like reefs in a black sea.

He didn’t know if Fourth-Tier lurked. He wouldn’t test it with his life like a gambler’s coin.

“Change course. We’ll visit a Third-Tier beast’s territory. I want to see if that epic-ranked beast still remains.” His voice was steady, a blade.

Epic beasts can speak; parity is the law in the beast realm, like mirror to mirror.

A Sky Knight at Third Tier with a company behind him—most beasts wouldn’t strike first, like wolves wary of torches.

“An epic beast? It’s real?” Collin wilted like grass in frost, his bravado cracking.

The order rustled with unease, a hive stirred. Same tier, humans rarely matched beasts fang to fist.

Kuiyas ignored the buzz. He led, eyes scanning like hawks, steps measured like drumbeats.

The path stayed mute. No birdsong, no rustle; the forest felt dead, a painting without breath.

They reached a vast cave, mouth gaping like a black wound in the hill.

“That’s the lair. I’ll see if it left. Rear ranks, fall back and prep retreat.” His commands snapped like flags in wind.

He bundled dry leaves, lit them, and tossed the fire in. Time would answer like a slow pendulum.

If the beast was gone, the strangeness grew like mold. If present, it would come out like thunder.

If it refused to talk, he’d run, legs like arrows from a bow.

The fire guttered and died, ember to ash. The cave kept its silence like a sealed tomb.

“Captain, you overthought it. Epic beast? Nightfall’s legend is just smoke.” Collin jogged inside, cocky as a crow. “See? Nothing.”

His childish swagger passed without rebuke, a stain everyone ignored. He’d joined by ties, not temper.

His skill met the order’s floor, but his heart lacked steel, like sugar glass.

“Weird, what’s this? Soft underfoot…” Collin halted, peering into dark like a blind cat.

Sensing danger rising like heat, Kuiyas moved to yank Collin back.

A screech split the cave, sound like a saw ripping bone.

Collin scampered out, a rabbit without honor. A centipede, over ten meters long, heaved from the cave like a train.

Its head was swollen, a bruised mask. Its eyes burned blood-red, twin coals in a skull.

The centipede roared, fury boiling like pitch. Now, Lord Centipede was very angry.

A sky-rending blast earlier had spooked this old fox; it curled deep to sleep, safety like earth over a seed.

Wake in a few years, danger gone like last winter—so it thought.

After the blast, gossip swept the beasts like wind through reeds: many had been beaten senseless.

Lord Centipede laughed inside, glee like a rattling gourd: idiots, all of them. I hid at once, unlike those fools prancing about.

Then a snake slithered to its door, green like a spilled ribbon. It cracked one eye, pitying a rabbit on the run.

For its own skin, it stayed put, caution like a stone in its gut.

Just as the rabbit neared the snake’s mouth, the rabbit shouted, voice like a bell. It sounded human.

A human and a beastman rushed in, feet like thunder. The poor snake got pounded until living felt like a broken cup.

The centipede chuckled, smug as a cat. It blurted, “Bunch of idiots,” words like burrs.

The rabbit glanced toward its cave, eyes like chips of obsidian. Then it spoke to the human, wind carrying its scheme.

The trio of bullies walked toward the den, steps like falling hammers.

What was this? How had it offended three terrorists, doom like a storm front?

“Hey, you called us idiots. Rabbit heard you. Prepare for punishment.” The rabbit spoke in the common beast tongue, clear as rain.

Regret flooded the centipede like cold ink. “You three, let me explain—”

They gave it no chance. The beating fell like hailstones. The centipede lay half-dead, unable to care for itself.

“Why can’t I stop my mouth…” It sprawled in its lair, wounds like torn bark, pride like shattered pottery.

“Remember. In this forest, Rabbit is Number Three. He’s Number One. He’s Number Two. If they’re gone, Rabbit is Number One.”

The black rabbit stood on the centipede’s back like a banner, pointing at the human and the beastman.

“Also, for mental damages, we’ll accept your cores and gear.” His grin was sharp, like a saw.

The three scoundrels stripped the hoard, loot clinking like rain. The centipede didn’t dare whisper, breath held like a fish.

After lying still, it healed a little, strength like sap returning. Then another group came, steps like distant drums.

After tasting despair, it feared rabbits, humans, and tiger-headed beastmen, shadows in its mind like stains.

When the humans arrived, it played dead, patience like a stone. Kuiyas tossed in fire. It endured like iron.

Collin stepped on it. It still endured, grit like gritstone.

But Collin stepped on its vital part, a pain like a lightning nail. How could it not rage?

Humans had beaten it before; but when lifeblood is crushed, a beast fights to the death, madness like a red tide.