Chapter 62: Habit and Instinct

Chapter 62: Habit and Instinct

After leaving the stockade village and heading north, Bran entered the Wanye Plain. The Mogu Mountains loomed at the far edge of the plain. First, Bran had to cross this plain, then climb over the Mogu Mountains to reach the Trial Grounds. The mountain range stood like a barrier, dividing the wilderness from civilization.

Scattered across this plain were settlements of various sizes. The Northlanders’ settlements were never large, ranging from a few dozen inhabitants to around a thousand, with most holding only a few hundred. If they grew larger, they naturally split and migrated. For the Northlanders, gathering too many people in a limited area was a disaster. Luckily, the Northlands were vast enough, and the current Northlanders only occupied a corner. As long as they guarded the gateway to the Northlands, they could ensure ample space for survival and growth.

…

Bran moved clumsily forward. His small current frame struggled to push through the tall grass. Black Cat Huahua, as usual, stubbornly curled up in his arms, making the journey even harder. Habits were powerful things. Even in this difficult situation, Huahua habitually clung to Bran’s embrace, and Bran habitually held her. Neither felt anything amiss; it seemed only natural.

In this environment, Bran realized that even detecting dangers in advance didn’t mean he could effectively avoid them. His small body was largely to blame – his speed and endurance just couldn’t handle the optimal responses. What troubled him more was that the natural Evolution always found a better way. Here, he surprisingly couldn’t sense the lurking predators beforehand; they blended perfectly with their surroundings. Often, by the time Bran spotted them, they were already within effective striking range.

Bran had underestimated things. The environment within the Castle grounds was no match for the raw wilderness. And so, he found himself in true peril; a pack of hyenas had surrounded him. These foul-looking creatures drooled as they circled him continuously. Huahua launched several attacks but was quickly called back by Bran. Though their necks were torn open and bleeding, the vital blood vessels beneath remained untouched. Natural Evolution had taught Bran another memorable lesson.

Humans used wisdom and tools to overcome their flaws, while animals in nature Evolved their bodies directly to withstand harm. Huahua’s attacks, effective against humans, became less deadly against beasts. Facing one or two hyenas, Bran and Huahua could handle them easily. But confronted by an entire pack, with the surrounding terrain hindering him, Bran found himself unable to move freely. The hyenas darted through the grass, forcing him to never let go of his Short Blade. If he dropped it, the chain controlling it would tangle in the undergrowth, and if he couldn’t retrieve it, he would face an even greater crisis.

One hyena grew careless, trying to distract Bran from behind by nipping at him. A flash of blade darted across its neck. This time, the creature wasn’t as lucky as its kin. Its windpipe severed, it staggered a few paces before collapsing, beginning its death throes.

Bran’s weapon now showed its weakness too. If he’d had a spear or a Long Blade, he wouldn’t have been so helpless. Habitually armed with an array of gear meant for fighting humans, he had entered this land. Now, he had to pay for his oversight.

Bran could only trudge slowly, trying to get out of the grassland. A clearing just a few meters wide would let him easily kill or scatter these vile beasts. But there was none. Even extending his senses to their limit revealed nothing.

Now, it was a contest of wills, a test of who gave up first. Bran pressed forward resolutely, while the hyenas circled him with unnerving patience.

Another flash of blade. A third throat torn open.

The beasts grew ever more cautious, testing the limits of Bran’s reach, constantly provoking him. The thick grass blocked his sight, leaving him deeply uneasy, reliant as he was on vision. Though his Mana Web still fed him information – particularly sharp and precise within its direct range – the unfamiliarity lingered. Unfamiliar meant hesitation. Black Cat Huahua had jumped down now, padding cautiously beside him.

One hyena attempted to attack Huahua but gave her an opening. She grappled its neck and clamped her jaws fiercely onto its windpipe. Bran guarded her side as the creature thrashed and slowly stilled.

He could hear the cries and movements of the other hyenas nearby, but discerned no fear, no sign of retreat.

Enough, Bran stopped moving. The scent of blood would draw other predators. The ensuing chaos might yet offer him a chance to slip away. But first, part of this hyena would serve as provisions.

Bran cut through the dead hyena’s back and stripped the two thick strips of muscle clinging to its spine. At that moment, three others slinking behind him thought they saw their chance. They lunged towards his exposed back. Bran’s blade flashed again. Two ran off yelping, paws crippled. A third, throat slit, became an extra meal.

Now Bran sat before two hyena carcasses, tearing slowly at a strip of meat in his hand. Huahua too was chewing eagerly on another piece. Around them, the persistent rustling of hyenas moving through the grass continued, punctuated by their calls summoning more of their kind.

Bran couldn’t understand. It wasn’t a season of food scarcity, and these creatures should possess decent intelligence. Why were they fixated on him? Especially after he had killed and maimed several, they should have retreated. This stubbornness wasn’t typical of efficient predators.

He must have overlooked something that led to this; but what had he missed?

Bran had hoped blood might draw White Wolves, whose presence could provide an exit. But as the rustling sounds multiplied in the grass, he abandoned that hope.

The Dragon Gold fused with his skin slowly unfurled, covering him and Huahua like a second layer. This time, a brutal clash seemed unavoidable, no mere probing attacks. But why? A direct confrontation favored Bran; his real worry was an endless campaign of harassment. Any creature that stepped into his reach, he’d show what Bran’s blade truly was.