As James adjusted his newly acquired gear, he couldn't help but glance at his crystal card now showing a balance much lower than when he'd first arrived.
Barely a day in Westmere, and he had already burned through almost all of his savings.
The realization settled in—quality gear, premium accommodations, and essential supplies all came at a steep price. The best armor, the finest enchanted tools, even the food designed for hunters wasn't cheap. If he hadn't chosen a high-tier room at The Silver Crest , he might've had more credits left to spare. But then again, the rune array could prove invaluable in the long run.
Still, Westmere wasn't a place where one could afford to be reckless with money. If he wanted to survive here—truly establish himself—he needed a steady source of income. Missions paid well, especially the harder ones, but the cost of living made it clear: he had to keep moving forward, keep earning, or risk running out of resources altogether.
With that thought in mind, James tightened the straps on his armor and continued toward the city gates.
James stepped beyond the towering gates of Westmere, leaving behind the structured order of the city and entering the wild expanse of Southridge Forest.
The transition was immediate—the neatly paved roads gave way to rugged trails, the chatter of civilization replaced by the distant calls of unseen creatures. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and aged bark, the light filtering through the dense canopy casting flickering shadows across the ground.
Every step further into the forest solidified one truth in his mind that this was no place for hesitation . The wilderness held both danger and opportunity, and only those who could navigate the line between them would thrive.
James exhaled, scanning the terrain ahead.
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James tightened his grip on the arcane tracker beacon, activating its detection field. A soft hum pulsed from the device as it began scanning for energy signatures—any lingering traces of the Crimson Fang Pack's movement.
The forest stretched wide before him, a labyrinth of towering trees and thick undergrowth. He crouched near a fresh trail—clawed imprints, deep and deliberate, pressed into the damp earth. Whatever left them was large, fast, and had passed through recently.
He followed the tracks, weaving through twisting paths and tangled roots, keeping his senses sharp. The air was thick with tension—silent enough that every distant rustle and snapped twig felt magnified.
Then, the tracker beacon flickered. A spike in arcane energy.
James halted, his grip tightening around the arcane tracker beacon as the device pulsed erratically. This wasn't just a lingering energy signature—something powerful was close.
The air around him felt heavier, charged with an unnatural tension. Instinctively, he lowered his stance, scanning the dense undergrowth. The forest, once a shifting backdrop of rustling leaves and distant sounds, had gone eerily still. Predatory silence.
Whatever was nearby was definitely something strong. Something aware of his presence.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. He wasn't alone anymore.
James' pulse slowed, each beat measured as his body instinctively prepared for whatever was lurking beyond the veil of trees.
The silence wasn't just unnatural—it was oppressive, a weight pressing against his senses. Something was close.
A faint rustle. Not the wind. Not an idle shift of leaves. Deliberate movement.
He didn't move, didn't breathe too deep. He knew better than to give himself away. Whoever—whatever—was out there had already spotted him. The only question was when it would strike.
His grip tightened. He had seconds, maybe less.
A sudden flash of crimson erupted from the undergrowth—not just movement, but a concentrated blast of flame elemental energy, aimed straight at his head.
Instinct took over. James barely reacted in time, throwing himself to the side as the fire streaked past, close enough for him to feel the burning heat against his skin. The air cracked with the force of the attack, a roaring wave of flame tearing through the space he'd occupied just moments before.
His shoulder hit the dirt hard, but he didn't have a second to recover. The ground where he'd been standing ignited instantly—scorched earth smoking, the remnants of the blast still sizzling.
The stench of burnt wood mixed with the burning smell of his own hair, singed at the edges.
James barely had time to register the narrow escape before a deep, rumbling growl filled the air.
The growl barely finished reverberating through the air before a blazing shape erupted from the undergrowth, lunging straight at James with terrifying speed.
Instinct screamed at him to move—no time to think, only react.
He twisted sharply, throwing himself backward as flaming claws tore through the air, narrowly missing his chest. The heat from the beast's strike singed his armor, the fiery energy crackling against the damp forest air.
James hit the ground hard, rolling onto his feet in an instant. Now, he saw it clearly.
A massive Emberfang Tiger, its muscular frame wreathed in flickering flames, its stripes glowing like molten embers against obsidian-black fur. Its eyes burned with a deep, predatory intensity, its fangs bared in a vicious snarl.
It wasn't just a rogue beast—this was a purebred hunter, a predator forged in flame, known for relentless pursuit and brutal combat.
The ground beneath its paws scorched with every step as it prowled forward.
James steadied his breath, every muscle in his body coiled for the coming clash. Running wasn't an option. The Emberfang Tiger was built for speed, its flame-wreathed limbs capable of closing the gap in an instant. Turning his back would be suicide.
But standing his ground meant facing pure destruction. The beast wasn't just fast—it was a living inferno, its every movement radiating blistering heat. One wrong step, and he wouldn't just be wounded—he'd be burned alive.
The scorched earth beneath its paws cracked, embers swirling in the air as its fire-infused breath flickered between its bared fangs. It wasn't waiting anymore.
James' mind raced. Precision. Control. Ruthless efficiency. If he hesitated even for a fraction of a second, this wouldn't just be a difficult battle—it would be his last.
The Emberfang Tiger's claws flexed. And then—it lunged.
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