Riven froze.
Three spiders hung inches from his nose, suspended by fine, quivering threads. They were small — no larger than his thumbnail — with long spindly legs and pale translucent abdomens.
He took a careful step back. Then another. His heart beat a little harder, but the spiders didn't move. Didn't react.
Right.
They weren't hostile.
Riven let out a slow breath, calming down and turned his attention deeper into the forest. The light from his Illuminating Stone cast long shadows through the underbrush, catching on thick roots and low-hanging strands of silk. A constant hush filled the air — the faint skittering of unseen legs on bark, the distant creak of webs shifting high above.
This place was alive. Completely, terrifyingly alive.
But not loud.
No birds. No rustling leaves. Just the faint whisper of silk and the too-soft crunch of his own footsteps.
He walked.
And the spiders followed.
For the next several minutes, Riven moved carefully, eyes scanning the trees, the roots, the angles above his head. The forest canopy was thick enough to drown the sky entirely, the only light now coming from the Illuminating Stone in his hand. Occasionally, the bushes rustled. He glanced back more than once.
There were more spiders now.
Some nestled in the crooks of tree branches. Others peeked from behind bark. He even saw one — large as a dog — silently repositioning itself above him, legs moving slow and deliberate. But none moved to intercept. None attacked.
Just watching and following.
Elder Syen did say they'd be tracking...
Still, the growing number of eyes on him made his skin itch.
Then — something changed.
The spiders around him stilled. Legs drawn in. Threads quivering. The quiet didn't deepen, but it shifted — took on a new texture, like air held in a clenched fist.
Something was coming.
A rustle in the underbrush. Not silk. Not wind.
Not a spider.
Riven eyes narrowed as something pushed through the thick brush ahead.
A mantis.
Tall up to his knees, maybe higher. The biggest one he'd seen yet.
Its shell was a murky green, mottled with darker patches like dried moss. Its forelimbs — long and sickle-shaped — flexed with anticipation. The compound eyes gleamed — locked onto the faint glow from Riven's Illuminating Stone.
For a second, neither moved.
Then Riven acted.
He dropped the stone.
The light fell with it — a soft thud as it struck the dirt, throwing a wider, uneven cone of blue across the clearing.
The mantis's head twitched toward the movement, eyes tracking the stone.
Now.
Riven launched forward. One breath. Two steps. Then a burst of speed as he kicked off the ground — leg cocked, body low.
Falconburst Kick.
Qi surged.
It gathered in his right leg — fast, focused — before exploding outward in a sharp burst.
The training of the past few weeks had paid off.
He'd reached a minor mastery of the skill — enough to amplify the speed of his kick by nearly fifty percent.
The Sharpclaw realized too late.
It jerked its blades up — trying to intercept — but its stance was still wide, not yet coiled for combat. Not prepared.
Riven's foot slammed into its thorax with full momentum.
The mantis screeched — a sharp, glassy sound — as it flew backward and crashed into a tree, its limbs flailing.
But Riven wasn't done.
He pivoted sharply and sprinted for the fallen stone.
The glow had already dimmed — barely flickering now. Without active qi running through it, it didn't last long.
Fighting without sight would be far too disadvantageous.
He snatched it up and shoved qi back into the stone.
The glow flared again, casting sharp shadows as he backed away, scanning for movement — tracking the tree where the creature had landed.
It wasn't moving.
Still Riven didn't relax.
He crept forward — slow, deliberate steps — keeping the stone raised high to cast the light as far as it would go.
Just because something wasn't moving didn't mean it was dead. He'd learned that in the Combat Dungeon. A twitch could be bait. A limp could be a trap.
He stopped two steps away and watched. Waited. No shuddering breath. No sudden lunge.
Then, finally, he edged closer and kicked the creature's side with the toe of his boot.
Nothing.
Dead.
Only then did he exhale — a slow breath easing out of his chest as the tension finally began to fade.
He turned the stone slightly to get a better look at the thing.
The cold blue glow caught on the mantis's scythe-like forelimbs — twin blades curved and jagged, gleaming faintly in the light.
A shiver worked its way down his spine.
If his foot had met the blades instead of the thorax, the fight might've ended very differently.
And that thing hadn't even been a true beast.
In the cultivation world, creatures were classified by threat level.
At the very bottom were animals.
Rabbits. Horses. Tigers.
No qi in their bodies — just muscle and instinct. Mundane creatures, but that didn't make them harmless. A tiger could still kill a beginner cultivator if caught unprepared. A pack of wolves could tear apart someone stronger.
Then came the semi-ferals.
Creatures that had begun to change.
They didn't cultivate qi themselves, but they absorbed it — from the environment, from rare herbs, or just through proximity to spiritual zones. Stronger than animals. Faster. Tougher. Often more aggressive. Still more beast than beastkin, but different.
The Icefang Bear had been one of those.
By lingering around the Frostdew Flower, it had soaked in enough ambient qi to mutate. Thicker hide. Enhanced strength. Even a mild cold affinity.
If it had been left alone any longer, it might have turned into something worse — a lesser feral.
Riven had been lucky it hadn't.
At the time, he hadn't even reached the Inner Essence Realm. It was only thanks to his physical prowess and speed-focused divine ability that he'd managed to survive — and win.
He looked down at the sharpclaw. The mantis carcass was crumpled against the bark, its jagged limbs bent at awkward angles.
This one was a semi-feral too.
But now, Riven was stronger.
Mid-stage Inner Essence Realm.
That — plus the raw momentum of his Falconburst Kick and the advantage of surprise — had let him end the fight before it truly began. The mantis had never even gotten to strike.
Still…
He was glad it had only been knee-height.
That size alone was a tell. Elder Syen had warned them before departure: Most sharpclaws are semi-ferals, but not all.
Some rare ones reached the level above.
Lesser ferals.
Smarter. Larger. More dangerous.
The lesser feral sharpclaws could grow as tall as his waist, with strength to rival mid to late-stage Inner Essence cultivators. If that had been one of those…
Riven was sure the fight wouldn't have ended as easily.
He exhaled again.
His foot tapped against the edge of the mantis's bladed limb —
Long. Curved. Razor-edged.
A frown creased his brow.
He didn't like this.
Fighting beasts — real beasts, with natural weapons like this — felt different than sparring people.
His martial arts were built around targeting joints, breaking balance, controlling flow.
But beasts didn't care about technique.
No matter how clean his execution was, if he kicked a scythe arm, his leg would still be cut.
He really regretted not bringing his knife with him.
Who doesn't bring a knife to a hunt?
Riven grimaced.
Rookie mistake.
He crouched beside the mantis's corpse, eyeing the sickle-like forelimb.
He'd have to improvise.
Riven reached out, dropped the stone, planted one foot on the base of the blade arm, while using his hand to grab the dead insect's carapace. He pressed his foot down and pulled with his arm — twisting, wrenching — but it didn't budge.
He didn't have a good angle and the limb was connected by dense, fibrous cartilage. Tough. Far tougher than he'd expected.
He gritted his teeth and tried again.
Still nothing.
Of course.
He paused, slightly annoyed.
And that's when he saw it.
A flicker of movement under his elbow — something small, quiet.
He froze.
A spider.
It crawled slowly past his arm, no bigger than his palm, with a faint green sheen across its abdomen. Its legs moved with careful grace, unfazed by his presence.
Riven's eyes flicked up.
The other spiders weren't hiding anymore either.
He hadn't noticed, but there were subtle movements in the branches again, behind the bark. Dozens of small eyes were watching, but not retreating.
They weren't in that earlier passive state anymore.
He looked back down.
The green-tinged spider reached the base of the mantis's scythe limb — the same joint Riven had been trying to break.
It paused there.
Then, with a deliberate motion, turned its head slightly toward him.
Is it… looking at me?
A heartbeat passed.
Then the spider opened its mandibles — and secreted a small drop of fluid.
Purple-green. Thick.
It sizzled faintly as it touched the joint.