Chapter 66: Beast Monarch

Chapter 66: Beast Monarch

No fully-grown Predator was easy to deal with. When life was the stake of competition, surviving itself was proof of strength, proof of excellence. Male lions never relied on numbers as their advantage. Their hunting skills and naturally evolved claws, teeth, and fur were their natural weapon s and armor. With Huahua’s assistance, Bran didn’t consider such an opponent invincible. However, to help the lioness return to the Lion Pride, he had to challenge the young Lion King alone, to drive it off or kill it.

To guarantee a safe period for the lioness and her cubs, Bran preferred to kill this lion. But with only two Short Blades currently in hand, it was somewhat difficult to achieve. Thus, he had to adjust his weapons.

…

Bran now stayed at a safe distance from the Lion Pride with the lioness and her cubs. He laid out all the odds and ends from his person onto the ground, finally pulling out the Dinner Knife.

Bran sighed and mumbled, “I don’t need you anymore now.” The Dinner Knife gave a light tremble.

“I know it’s wrong. It’s abandonment. I don’t want to abandon anyone, but… you are no longer useful.”

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t carry you like this forever.”

“I know it’s wrong…”

“Perhaps this is self-consolation. Maybe it will make you happy. You’ll stay by my side in a new form of life.” The Dinner Knife let out a crisp sound, seeming to agree. As long as it could accompany Bran, nothing else seemed important. It was but a futile self-comfort from Bran’s most helpless moments. A fractured piece of Bran’s spirit. An illusion of his self-deception. It was once Bran’s sole inner reliance, his final imagined defense against fear.

Watching all the scattered things on the ground gradually merge into the two Short Blades, until finally even this Dinner Knife faded into them. All the lingering sentience gathered together. They were the false barriers Bran had built while searching for and grasping security. They were born from Bran’s countless sleepless nights, imaginary bubbles in his spirit that no one had pricked. Now, Bran finally stripped them away, turning them into the weapons for his challenge against the Lion King. He would take all these fragments of his former fragility to test his newfound strength.

Finally, a pair of sharp, curved blades over two feet long, like lion’s fangs, took shape in Bran’s hands. A living energy began to flow within the blades, constantly bursting forth golden and silver starlights.

They were a pair of heavy, guarded Short Blades, yet they possessed a sense of lightness and sharpness. Bran looked at the twin blades in his hands and whispered, “You… are my strength.” (“You are my bravery” simplified contextually to “strength” for plainness/age appropriateness).

…

The lioness led Bran and Huahua towards the Lion Pride. This drew the pride’s attention. But most only lazily lifted their heads for a look before lying back down. Bran and Huahua were too insignificant to warrant much caution from the pride, especially with a familiar lioness beside them.

As they moved closer to the pride, Bran kept calming Huahua, telling her this was his fight, one she absolutely could not participate in.

However it was, the not-too-long path was finally walked. They stepped fully within the Lion King’s warning range. So the Lion King advanced, letting out a roar of challenge, shaking its majestic mane as it awaited the expected submission. But Bran answered with his own challenging cry. This caused agitation within the pride. All the lions rose warily to their feet, with a tendency to gather closer.

The lioness roared. The pressing-in formation slackened. Only the Lion King and Bran remained, standing face to face.

…

It was a mature male lion, at the peak in every aspect. Even simply standing there, it possessed a natural, imposing presence. An invisible aura radiated from its body, the result of power forged through countless trials and battles. It showed no underestimation of Bran’s small stature. Northlanders were monarchs of this Plain. Even a child made other beasts wary. Moreover, the lion felt dangerous power emanating from within Bran’s body.

Bran felt only excitement. The thrilling tingle of danger brought him an indefinable pleasure, an urge impossible to suppress – he craved more danger, more intensity. He loved the feeling that made his scalp prickle. His eyes grew brighter and brighter.

The Lion King understood Bran’s intent. It grasped that this was a battle with no retreat. Unlike before, defeat wouldn’t just mean expulsion. It sensed only pure killing intent from this small figure – plain and simple: life or death.

Bran didn’t plan to tangle with the lion for long. The terrain was open, offering no cover to exploit. In this one-on-one duel, the lion held an absolute advantage in raw power. The huge difference in size meant even a single collision could deal Bran devastating damage. Therefore, Bran aimed for a single, decisive strike. Using his dexterity and speed, he sought to dart into its throat as the Lion King began its attack, aiming to pierce its neck.

Yes. Exactly like this. The feeling of dancing on a blade’s edge. Bran was immersed in the perilous high it brought, addictive, impossible to resist.

…

After the tense standoff and observation, the vast physical disparity gave the Lion King excessive courage. Its wariness and caution was gradually replaced by impatience. Hesitating no longer, it charged forward and unleashed a simple, powerful swipe. Its sharp claws slashed straight for Bran’s neck.

But its claws met only air. The small target vanished abruptly before its eyes. A wave of panic surged through it, followed immediately by tremendous pain exploding in its neck, robbing it of all strength.

Bran thrust both Short Blades upwards with all his might, then wrenched the blades apart, ripping open the lion’s neck from the center outwards. A flood of warm, coppery-sweet blood streamed down over Bran’s head, enveloping him in crimson. Then the massive body of the lion crashed down heavily upon him.

With the lioness’s help, Bran crawled out. Only then did he feel a numbing ache spread from his left shoulder. He hadn’t completely avoided that swipe; the earlier tension had dulled his usual sensitivity. As the adrenaline faded, weakness and pain crowded in. Bran now felt hollow inside, not physical exhaustion, but a mental void. He finally understood why Northlanders courted danger, even if only for a fleeting moment. Because… it felt incredibly good…

Bran felt it was all worth it. Not because the lioness was reunited with her pride. Not because he had slain the Lion King. Merely the thrill that shuddered through him between life and death was worth any price.

…

The Lion Pride now had a new king—Bran. Yet this new king brought little change. He neither exercised a pride monarch’s rights nor fulfilled its duties. For now, he was playfully interacting with the cubs, utterly carefree.