Tall shattered rocks stood like broken teeth, sparse trees stitching ragged shadows; low bramble and weeds carpeted the ground, with faint snake and bug trails scoring the dust.

For ordinary folk, this wild was a thicket of danger, like walking against a thorny tide.

For Fifth- or Sixth-Rank cultivators, it wasn’t harsh; not a paved road, but not a mire either, like moving through tall grass in a steady wind.

They hopped from boulder to boulder, swift as swallows over waves, hardly slower than a road run.

After a few minutes, they were hundreds of meters in; a deer-like beast, two people tall, hung skewered on a stone spike, moonlight cold as ice on its hide.

Bite marks scarred it. It looked like it fell and died by accident, during a chase after a wound, like a leaf torn loose by a gale.

This deer-beast wasn’t strong, but its escape was first-rate; anything that could hunt it down was no weakling, like shadow following firelight.

Cerqin stepped up to examine. The traces left by the pursuer were odd, like a cat toying with a mouse, careless of the deer’s famed fleetness.

The claw marks suggested a smaller body, more like a canid-type beast, the kind that prefers a clean kill, not a cruel game, like a knife meant to end a breath.

“That smell of bloodline’s high,” Cerqin murmured, gaze distant as winter sky. “Not a Northern Frontier breed; likely drifted in from the Northern Wastes, like snow blown across a ridge.”

Qianli nodded, eyes cool as frost. “Exactly. That’s why we hunt it. Let a high-bloodline beast grow, and it turns into a storm on the plain.”

According to the knight who found the scene, the deer had just breathed its last, and the trailing beast’s aura still lingered close, like warmth on a cooling stone.

“Move—this way!” Qianli cut across the rocks, her words sharp as a thrown pebble on still water.

With the signs locked in, they went deeper, like arrows seeking a seam in the night.

A few more kilometers, and traces thickened, stamps and scat scattered like dark beads in sand.

A wolf’s howl ripped up, a silver edge through the dark, followed by thin, broken whimpers like wind snagged on reeds.

“The wolves in this patch are fighting something else,” Cerqin said, anger and fear braided into the howls like smoke and rain.

“Sounds like they’re losing,” she added, breath tight as a bowstring.

In the Northern Frontier, Moon Wolves were common—pack-living, big-bodied, breeding like brushfire, the Adventurers’ Guild’s most frequent quarry, like waves against a dike.

Each one sat around the Third Rank, not much alone, but the pack made trouble, like thorns woven into a net.

You usually needed twice their numbers in adventurers, or several mid-rank cultivators working in step, like oars pulling one boat.

“Looks like we found it.” Qianli’s eyes narrowed, flint-bright.

They arrowed in and found a shallow hollow. Inside, the wolf alpha fought a white figure, black and white grinding like ink on snow.

They crouched among tumbled rocks, breath folded small, like foxes in scree.

“A white wolf?” Cerqin peered. The black alpha stretched over four meters, fast and heavy, a likely Fourth Rank, like a boulder rolling downhill.

The white wolf was much smaller, less than half the alpha’s size, yet it moved like lightning on frost; its mana throbbed stronger, like a drum under silk.

“A White Steppe Wolf, about to break through to Fifth Rank,” Qianli muttered, a thread of regret like chill in spring sun. “Shame it’s a juvenile. An adult hits at least Sixth.”

The blue-haired girl didn’t leak much mana. She simply vanished, like a pebble swallowed by a pond.

Both wolves jolted, hackles up at a danger like thunder behind a cloud; they tried to bolt, bodies twitching like strings cut.

Too slow. The wounded black alpha went flying first, weightless as straw in a gust, the weaker one snatched by the wind.

Cerqin caught only a blur—Qianli flicked a palm forward, like brushing dust. The black giant slammed a far boulder and fell silent, life snuffed like a candle.

The white steppe wolf knew it couldn’t flee. It spun and lunged, a last snow-flash in dark, but the pale-blue figure blinked out again, like frost in sun.

Awooo— The white wolf’s cry broke off in a boom of dust, a brown cloud blooming like smoke, while the pack’s retreating howls wove a rough chorus through the night.

Cerqin didn’t idle. She drove a fist through an unlucky Moon Wolf rushing her way, a single thud like a drum under rain.

She marveled at a Fifth Rank body—handling a Third Rank beast felt like teasing a stubborn child, where once she’d only run, like a hare before hawks.

“Didn’t expect it to end this easy,” she breathed, relief soft as moss.

“Mhm—so? Not satisfied either?” Qianli’s smile tilted, teasing as moonlight on water. “Keep going deeper?”

They stripped the alpha and the white juvenile, stowing usable pieces into storage gear, like squirrels tucking nuts into hollows.

Cerqin’s eyes still burned, a smolder like embers. Qianli laughed and met her look. “Alright—next time I won’t rush. Your turn to try.”

“Heh, deal. Was I cool just now?” Qianli cocked a brow, playful as a cat.

“Mm… your speed’s almost catching Spring Tide,” Cerqin said, tone mild as mist.

Qianli’s mouth twitched, an aggrieved pout like a drizzle wanting thunder. She stared, as if to say, Come on, praise me right.

“Alright, let’s go. Which way?” Cerqin asked, voice light as a tossed leaf.

“Tsk…” Qianli picked a direction with a chin-tilt, and they moved on, steps crisp as pebbles clicking.

Soon they found new traces and a bulkier aura, like heat shimmering over sand.

A round, transparent monster loomed—taller than a person, its body a clear globe, slow-rolling through broken stones like a tide-pool come ashore.

Moonlight poured through it, blue-white and cold, so it glowed like a lantern in a field of red and ocher rocks.

A giant slime. As juveniles they weren’t worse than barnyard stock, and some breeds tasted superb, though hard to raise, like rare mushrooms after rain.

They were frequent capture targets, a steady drumbeat on the guild board.

“Blue giant slime… this size, around Fourth Rank. Wonder if it’s one of the tasty breeds,” Cerqin murmured, curiosity like a cat’s paw.

Color told little; slimes took on the hues of land and meal, like water borrowing the sky.

Blue now meant it likely ate something special lately, tinting the skin like dye in clear cloth.

Hard to tell the breed, the danger went up, a straight climb like a cliff face.

“Yeah. Be careful,” Qianli said, voice dry as frost. “Physical hits barely stick to slimes. Best use high-damage spells from range! Hey—”

Cerqin stared, speechless, flat as a calm pond.

She barely knew any spells. She’d played the road away, hit Fifth Rank, and learned nothing new, like a blade left in its sheath.

She vowed to beg Spring Tide for manuals when they got back, resolve hard as a knot of wood.

She studied the slime, eyes narrow as knife slits. “From its movement, this one’s a counterattacker. It lies in wait, swallows, and dissolves, like a pit under leaves.”

“Mmm… likely,” Qianli nodded, then froze, eyes widening like a spark in tinder. “You’re not planning to brawl a slime, are you?”

Cerqin nodded, excitement rising like steam.

If her read was right, a Fourth Rank slime would need time to breach a Fifth Rank defense; smash the hidden core fast enough, and melee worked, like cracking ice to free a fish.

The trouble was the night—the core hid transparent inside, hard to spot, like a star behind thin cloud.

And if it swallowed her, that corrosive digestion would chew at her even if she held for a while, pain biting like acid rain.

“I’m going in!” Cerqin’s stance sank, firm as a stake.

“Wait! You’re serious?” Qianli blurted, the words sharp as snapped twigs.