Chapter 63: The Mistake

Chapter 63: The Mistake

The killing was not one-sided. Although over a dozen jackals were injured or dead, Bran began to feel strained. The environment gave these hunters too much advantage; this was not Bran’s home ground.

These were not the hunting hounds Bran had slaughtered before. That pack of hounds actually had no intent to kill. Only now did Bran understand he had merely wiped out a group of playing hounds, and now it was time to pay for his mistake. Even large beasts would retreat from a pack of hounds; the power of group cooperation was where such species excelled. It was just that they had lived with humans for too long and grew accustomed to human dominance. If they had all attacked him together back then, would Bran have calmly killed them all? Perhaps he could have, because back then, Danny was behind him.

People always pay for their arrogance, Bran let out a breath. Facing the state of being surrounded, he dared not relax in the slightest. He knew that if even one jackal managed to bite and hold him, his life would be over.

Relax, Bran told himself. Don’t be nervous. Nervousness only speeds up the drain on stamina. Huahua kept issuing threatening hisses from her mouth. Several jackals had their eyes scratched by Huahua, but they were far from being blinded. Although it caused some impact, the threat was still significant. Huahua had been tangled by the jackals several times, but she used her abilities to break free each time.

In a real life-or-death fight, the tense mental state accelerated the stamina consumption for both Bran and Huahua. In past hunts with Danny, even when facing stronger beasts, they had never been in such a sorry state. Because back then, they could retreat to Danny’s side at any time; there was always a safe place to return to. So they could relax both mind and body to kill their prey, without worrying about any counterattack. Everything was just a game.

Blood was flowing down Bran’s arm—it was his own blood. Dragon Gold did provide Bran with decent protection, but it fell far short. No one was a fool. If Dragon Gold could truly offer protection far superior to metal materials, the Dragon Riders wouldn’t have come to the Northlands seeking help. The characteristics of a biological material showed clear advantages and disadvantages here. Dragon Gold could indeed repair itself, but its strength paled in comparison to metal. Bran had still been clawed in the end. Using his own ability, he temporarily sealed the wound through the Dragon Gold, but the pain wouldn’t disappear, and the discomfort from the wound wouldn’t vanish either.

Bran said softly, “Huahua, it’s just you and me now.”

…

Danny had been following far behind Bran, but only following. From the moment Bran decided to begin his Trial and chose to walk into the Wasteland alone, as a Northlander, she would not interfere with the child’s chosen path. Only this child could decide his own actions—whether to enter a settlement to rest or to travel through the wilderness. As long as the child did not call for help, others could only watch.

Danny regretted it. She could have let Bran choose to have her accompany him. She knew that if she insisted, Bran would definitely yield. Just like when she insisted on holding Bran while riding a horse—that’s how it had always been when they were together. Why did she agree? To let little Bran undergo his Trial in this way.

High in the sky, at a height difficult for the human eye to see, two giant Snow Falcons circled. Bran’s small figure flickered in and out of view among the grass. Dozens of beasts prowled around this small figure, tracing rise after rise on the grassland like ripples on water.

Danny couldn’t bear it. She wouldn’t just watch Bran come to harm, even if it meant breaking Northlands tradition. But had Bran broken tradition so few times already? One more wouldn’t matter. A living Bran was more important than anything else.

Just as Danny prepared to step in, Bran acted decisively and firmly, no longer hesitant, with a sense of relaxation, a sense of not caring anymore.

…

“You know, Huahua, we don’t have to guard each other like this, afraid the other gets hurt even a little. We should trust each other. So you protect yourself, and I’ll protect myself. We were never good at defense anyway. We are both agile hunters. Since it’s come to this, why don’t we let go and fight freely once? It’s better than dying miserably. We just need to kill them, one by one.”

After saying this, Bran fully released his Mana. A tide of Mana surged out from within the web. This was the best help he could give Huahua.

Bran no longer hesitated or delayed. He started moving his short little legs to pounce toward a jackal. When that jackal tried to dodge, Huahua’s attack arrived too. The jackal was forced to leap toward Bran, and then a blade shadow slit open its belly. Huahua vanished into the grass again, out of sight.

Bran changed from his previous cautiousness. He and the black cat Huahua began separating and reuniting in the grass, driving prey for each other, creating opportunities for each other.

Before, Bran and Huahua were too dependent on each other, which actually held them back. They clung to each other, unwilling and not wanting to let go. They refused to let the other disappear from their sight even for an instant. It had been this way since Huahua was born; neither was ever willing to leave the other’s sight. Many times, they had long become burdens to each other, each other’s dead weight.

The life-and-death moment made them completely let go and release everything. But they did not abandon each other. Instead, in the fight, they each created greater chances of survival for the other. And then they found a tighter way to connect. A deeper Resonance began to form between their spirits. They no longer dragged each other down. They were each other’s eyes, each other’s hands. They truly let go of each other, yet truly became inseparable.

Bran let out a breath. This battle wasn’t difficult. At least in the final part of the killing, Bran felt an unprecedented sense of exhilaration. So he let out a long cry, mingled with Huahua’s howling.

…

The Snow Falcons that had been diving steeply upward turned and soared again. Danny’s forward running steps gradually slowed to a stop. She called back the White Wolf. A relieved smile appeared on her face. Little Bran was right. He was beginning to find his own path.

He and the black cat Huahua had finally seen their own positions clearly. They had both begun to grow and mature, no longer clinging to each other’s embrace.

Danny suddenly felt like laughing. In her mind was the image of that child holding a giant Lynx. That Lynx, seeming like a rascal being held, was actually spreading its own paws to hug the child back. They held each other like that, unwilling to let go.

…

After traveling a bit further, Bran finally understood why he had been ambushed. He discovered a small mound of earth where several jackal pups were playing. The remaining jackals guarded in front of the mound, snarling at him defiantly, but it was just a show. They had already lost the courage to attack.

Bran sighed and walked around the mound. This was a pointless slaughter. If he had known, if his experience were richer, if his sensing range were larger, if these jackals didn’t blend so well with the environment, he would have chosen to avoid them in advance.