The red hooded shawl hid her silver hair and softened the sting of her crimson eyes—a veil over her Blood Clan nature whenever she walked unveiled. But deep in the Demon Realm Forest, it did nothing but keep dust and bugs at bay.

Because the depths were choked with miasma.

On the Nordland Continent, miasma is a kind of primal mana. Creatures absorb it easily; life swells too fast and too wild. Plants twist into eerie, nightmarish forms; beasts grow into all manner of monsters—the more miasma they drink, the stronger they become.

That’s why Fulin stepped into the deep. She needed a beast strong enough to yield a bounty of life essence.

Not that it was easy. The canopy smothered the sky; fog pooled thick as milk. Ordinary folks here wouldn’t just get lost—they’d fail to see their own feet. Fulin had prepared. She could cast detection.

Fulin Belit had mastered several detection arts. By their origins, they split three ways: the Dark Warrior’s true‑sight, the Arcane Mage’s map scan, and the Chaos Vampire’s hunt‑sense. True‑sight reveals invisibles and shapeshifters. Map scan sweeps a chosen region at range. Hunt‑sense ignores countermeasures to force a lock within a small radius on lower‑grade prey.

For this situation, the Arcane Mage’s map scan was best. It wasn’t subtle; it could be noticed in reverse. Fulin didn’t care. If the scan provoked a beast to come charging, it saved her time.

She steadied her heart and cast.

At once her senses surged past sight. A fierce ripple spread—a net flung to every side—then snapped back. When the scan ended, Fulin held the positions of every beast within two kilometers.

Two signatures flared strong. Both closed on her fast.

“Just right.” Joy quickened her steps as she moved to meet them.

She was eager to measure them.

Lance Morrison’s memories were clear. Beasts keenly attuned to magic are at least Grade A. Or they’re elite among Grade B. One such beast equals a hundred‑man legion. It takes at least six Charge Knights to bring one down. If it escapes the miasma and rampages through human lands, villages fall. Even a town of a thousand could be erased.

Soon, as distance shrank, the forest ahead erupted with noise.

A mass of Grade‑C beasts, as if driven, surged into a small beast tide toward her. Fulin harvested on the move, a counter‑current cutting through the waves. Ten minutes later, she met the two powerful marks.

Two utterly different beasts.

One, though stronger than the local average by her scan, looked like a large feline. By Earth standards, a size up from a Siberian tiger. By bulk alone, it was plain among the giants that roamed the deep forest. Maybe for that reason, it glanced at Fulin, detoured, and fled with the tide.

It left Fulin facing the other—a three‑headed hound of staggering size.

Eight meters tall, eighteen long—like a two‑story house with teeth—it plowed through the trees. By the time it reached her, the world behind was wreckage: crushed blooms, splintered trunks, and dead beasts strewn like broken dolls. It was a super‑heavy road roller thundering straight at her.

Roar!

The first thing it did on sensing her—pure, raw rage. It must have realized the earlier mana surge came from this two‑legged humanoid and felt duped. It lifted a forepaw and swatted.

The swipe was fast, fierce, and heavy—air itself trembling.

For ordinary humans, that blow is certain death. Even an Earth Knight, if they take it head‑on, won’t walk away whole.

Fulin’s answer looked unreal. She drew her longsword, set into an iaijutsu stance, and unsheathed to meet the falling claw.

Godspeed Cut—Umbral Gloom.

Steel and talon collided in a brutal shock. The world shook harder than before, like a mountain falling in one breath.

Her blade powdered at once, but the loser in leverage was the three‑headed beast. One razor talon was blasted free. Its whole foreleg wrenched aside; its huge body pitched, balance gone in a heartbeat.

For Fulin, a perfect opening.

The sword for Umbral Gloom had broken, but her offense hadn’t. She was an Arcane Mage built for burst. Beyond counters, their badge of honor is chantless speed—fast spells that hit like thunder.

Quickcast—Moon‑Sunder Sky‑Howl.

The spell began and ended in a blink. The massive hound split cleanly in two. The remaining half geysered blood that drifted like snow, slowly painting the air in a withering hue that belonged to Fulin alone.

“Mm. That should be enough.”

She did the math in silence. That strike equaled the essence from twenty Grade‑B wolf‑types. Converted by the Essence Conversion Law, it was enough experience to light Lance’s warrior bloodline—Battle Aura Lv.1.

The result soothed her—and set her on edge.

The big cat that fled with the tide hadn’t truly left. It loitered at a “safe” distance, eyes locked on Fulin.

That irked her. Quietly, she said, “Well, look at you, trying to fish in troubled waters.”

She had no time to guess the cat’s aim. She misted, flashed to its front, and raised both hands to repeat the trick.

In that instant, the cat flipped over, all four paws in the air, belly offered, and roared—

“Meow meow meow!!!”

Fulin hesitated. That wasn’t an attack. It was meowing like a cat. She wasn’t cold‑blooded. If a beast shows human‑like sense and doesn’t strike first, she intends to spare it.

But she wasn’t easy to dupe. Was this a hunter’s ploy or true sentience? She had no time for an IQ test.

She chose the simplest method. “If you understand, raise your left paw. If you don’t, raise your right. Lie or play dumb, and I’ll cut you down. Hear me?”

The cat rolled up, stood straight, and lifted its right forepaw.

The air went awkward and still.

“Stop wasting my time.” Fulin puffed her cheeks, hands rising to cast.

“Meow meow! ...meow...” The cat sounded wounded.

Seeing that, Fulin frowned. Did she phrase it wrong? No—the cat’s every move said it understood her. She tried again.

“Raise your right paw if you understand human speech. Left if you don’t.”

This time, the big cat carefully extended its left forepaw, timid and slow.

Now Fulin understood. The cat didn’t grasp the Nordland Continent’s common tongue. It used a sound‑linked intent to communicate—no matter the language, it caught the meaning, but the more complex the words, the easier to misread. The common tongue isn’t complex; clearly, this was the cat’s first talk with a humanoid mind.

Her interest kindled.

“Will you serve me? I’ll provide delicious food. You’ll guide me through the forest. Deal?” Fulin asked, blunt and simple.

The cat widened its eyes, went still for a beat, then padded closer and turned over again, belly offered. It seemed to agree.

Fulin didn’t believe it would be sincere.

In her former life, thirty years in Xia Kingdom had taught her contracts and risk. Not from malice, but because before accepting a nonbinding, spoken vow, you picture the ways the other side breaks it.

Maybe the cat disappears after parting, ignoring the deal. Maybe it leads her somewhere deadlier, then strikes. Flip the coin: if its wits rival a Celestial Spirit’s, it doubts this underage Blood Clan female’s promise of “delicious food.” Is it truly delicious—or a trick?

Simulations like that never end.

Fulin set a demand first. “Carry me to the forest’s exit.”

She needed to see if this cat‑taxi actually worked.