The difference between Rank 9 and Rank 8 wasn't just a number. It was a difference in the quality of existence. In this world, reaching Rank 8 (Ascended Step) meant one had condensed the energy inside their body—be it Qi or Mana—into a tangible shield.
Commander Fenrir was proof of that.
As Vaelen dodged to the side using his maximum speed, Fenrir's Morningstar didn't hit him directly. However, the air pressure generated by the swing of the hundred-kilogram weapon was enough to toss Vaelen like a rag doll.
BOOM!
The ground where Vaelen stood a second ago exploded into a knee-deep crater.
"Ugh!" Vaelen rolled on the rocky ground, his shoulder slamming into the carriage chassis.
A red screen flickered in his vision.
[Impact Damage Received]
[HP: 85% -> 68%]
[Status: Mild Concussion.]
"Just the wind did this?" Vaelen thought, wiping blood flowing from his temple. This wasn't a grunt bandit. This was a walking concrete wall.
"Little rat..." Fenrir twirled his mace casually, as if the weapon were as light as a twig. His glowing red eyes pierced through the slit of his wolf helm. "You have cute disappearing tricks. But in the face of absolute power, tricks are just tricks."
Fenrir stomped his foot. Blood-red aura radiated from his body, heating the air around him.
[Warning: Enemy Skill - 'Battlecry of The Wolf King']
[Effect: AoE Intimidation (Fear Effect), Movement Slow (20%)]
Vaelen felt his knees grow heavy. As if lead weights were hung on his legs. His heart beat uncomfortably—the body's physiological response to a higher Rank predator's aura.
But the soul inside that body—Adrian—only snorted.
"You're noisy," Vaelen muttered. He glanced at his steel sword. The blade was already cracked from blocking that minor attack earlier. This weapon wouldn't last long.
Fenrir charged again. This time there was no playful swing. He intended to pulp Vaelen into meat paste with a straight vertical motion.
"Crush!"
As the mace descended, Vaelen didn't retreat. Retreating meant dying cornered against the carriage. He took the biggest risk.
He moved forward.
Vaelen dropped his body forward, performing a low slide between Fenrir's open giant legs.
While sliding under the enemy's crotch, Vaelen thrust his sword upward with all his might, aiming for the gap in the thigh armor.
CLANG!
The sword blade snapped upon meeting Fenrir's skin. Not armor, but his skin. That layer of red Qi Aura acted like invisible plate mail.
"His skin is as hard as steel," Vaelen cursed as he slid out behind Fenrir. He discarded the now useless sword hilt.
Fenrir turned with surprising speed for a body that size. He swung his leg, kicking backward.
This time Vaelen didn't have time to dodge perfectly. He raised both arms in a cross to block.
THUD!
Vaelen was flung five meters, his back slamming into the limestone cliff wall with a sickening crack.
"Cough! Hack..." Vaelen vomited thick black blood. His left arm bone was fractured. His breath was short—broken ribs puncturing lungs maybe?
[CRITICAL WARNING]
[HP: 35%]
[Multiple fractures detected. Pain inhibitor set to Max.]
Isolde, the girl inside the carriage, peeked through the broken window slit. Her beautiful face was deathly pale. She saw her "savior" sprawled on the cliff wall, helpless against the armored monster.
"It's over..." Isolde whispered, tears pooling in her crystal blue eyes.
Fenrir laughed heavily, a sound echoing at the bottom of the gorge. He walked closer to Vaelen who was trying to rise on trembling legs.
"Futile courage," Fenrir mocked. He raised his mace high for the final execution. "In this world, the weak are food for the strong. That is the law of nature."
Vaelen leaned against the cliff wall. Blood dripped from his chin, dyeing his leather armor dark red.
Hearing those words, Vaelen lifted his face.
He... laughed.
The laugh sounded raspy, wet, and out of place.
"You're right..." Vaelen grinned, revealing his red teeth. "Law of nature. The weak are food."
His grey eyes suddenly changed color. His pupils dilated until they swallowed the entire iris, becoming pitch black and bottomless.
Fenrir felt the hair on his neck stand up. What is this? Why does this dying rat suddenly feel dangerous?
Vaelen released the limiters inside his Abyssal Root.
All this time, he held back for fear of going mad. But now? Sane or insane, death was the worse alternative.
"System," Vaelen commanded inwardly. "Disable Safety Limits. Activate Full Predation Mode."
[Safety Protocols: Disengaged.]
[Scripture of The Formless Hunger: OVERDRIVE.]
[Madness Accumulation allowed.]
The wind at the bottom of the gorge changed direction, swirling around Vaelen. The shadow behind his back elongated, forming the silhouette of a giant gaping mouth.
"What are you doing?!" Fenrir roared, trying to suppress the uneasy feeling with rage. He swung his mace down.
"DIE!"
This time Vaelen didn't dodge. He used [Abyssal Step] not to run, but to penetrate.
VWOOM.
The mace hit empty ground.
Vaelen reappeared, not behind or to the side, but he leaped and latched onto Fenrir's chest.
His legs wrapped around the giant's waist, his broken left arm hanging, but his right hand—whose nails had now elongated, black and smoking—gripped right onto Fenrir's face, covering the vision slit of his wolf helm.
"You said the weak are food?" Vaelen whispered, his voice sounding double—one human voice, one monster voice from another world.
"Then become FOOD!"
[SKILL: ABYSSAL SIPHON (CORRUPTED VARIANT)]
SSSHHHLLLUUUURRRP!
Not the sound of dripping blood. It was the sound like someone slurping bone marrow with a giant straw.
Fenrir screamed. A scream not of physical pain, but of soul terror. He felt his Qi, his energy, and his years of training being forcibly sucked out through his face.
"AAAAARGH! GET OFF! GET OOOOFF!"
Fenrir thrashed. He punched Vaelen's back with his left hand. He bashed himself against the cliff wall.
BAM! BAM!
Vaelen felt his spine shift. The pain was excruciating enough to turn his vision white. But Vaelen didn't let go. He gripped even harder, his mutated fingers piercing the metal helm, piercing skin, planting themselves into the flesh of Fenrir's face.
Vaelen bit Fenrir's neck, penetrating the weakening Qi protective layer.
Isolde, watching from the carriage, covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a scream.
It wasn't a knight's duel. It was a beast eating another beast alive. She saw Fenrir's muscular body slowly shrinking. His muscles withered. His red aura was sucked into Vaelen's body like water down a drain.
Vaelen's battered body began to regenerate at a terrifying speed. The wounds on his face closed. His left arm bone made a crack sound as it snapped back into place forcibly.
One minute that felt like an hour.
Fenrir fell to his knees. His mace slipped from his withered hand.
"What... a-are... you..." Fenrir whispered with the hoarse voice of a decrepit old man. "M-Monster..."
Vaelen released his grip. He hopped down from Fenrir's body, landing gracefully on his now fully recovered legs.
He stood tall, fixing his messy hair, then kicked Fenrir's chest lightly.
The Bandit Boss's body fell onto its back. His wolf helm came off, revealing a desiccated face, skin clinging to bone, sunken lifeless eyes. Aged to death in seconds.
[PREY CONSUMED: Rank 8 (Mid) Berserker]
[ESSENCE OVERLOAD!]
Vaelen staggered slightly, clutching his head. The feeling of "fullness" was intoxicating. He felt immensely strong—too strong. His energy was overflowing.
[LEVEL UP!]
[LEVEL UP!]
[Rank Promotion Detected...]
[You are now: Rank 9 (Peak Stage)]
[One Step closer to Ascension.]
[Attributes Increased drastically.]
[Strength: 15]
[Agility: 18]
[Vitality: 15]
[Abyssal Qi: 120/120]
[WARNING: SANITY at 65/100]
[High Concentration of "Battle Rage" absorbed. Recommendation: Vent implies violence, or impose extreme mental control.]
Vaelen took a deep breath, exhaling thin black steam from his mouth. He forced the door to Fenrir's rage shut inside his head, locking that "Rage" in a corner of his mind to use later.
Slowly, his pitch-black eyes returned to having grey irises.
The battlefield was silent. The remaining grunt bandits who watched their captain eaten alive had already fled in terror or played dead. Silver knights lay scattered around them.
Only Vaelen stood.
He turned toward the black carriage. The carriage door was already fully open.
There stood Lady Isolde Valstyx. She wore a dark blue traveling dress soiled with dust. Her face was beautiful with refined noble features, but her eyes widened staring at Vaelen. Her body trembled.
Not out of gratitude of a princess saved by a prince. But out of the fear of a rabbit that just watched a wolf kill a lion.
Vaelen walked closer. Every step he took made Isolde step back until her back hit the carriage seat cushion.
Vaelen stopped at the foot of the carriage stairs. He didn't kneel. He didn't smile warmly. His handsome yet cold face still had stains of Fenrir's blood on his cheek.
"Miss Valstyx, I presume?" Vaelen asked, his voice flat yet commanding.
"Y-yes..." Isolde answered, her voice barely audible. "W-who... are you? What do you want?"
Vaelen wiped the blood on his cheek with his thumb, then looked straight into the girl's blue eyes.
"My name is Vaelen. And what I want..."
Vaelen pointed to Fenrir's corpse, then pointed to the carcasses of Isolde's guardian knights.
"...is an escort service fee. You lost protectors, I lost a weapon. It seems we have a common interest in getting out of this forest alive."
Isolde swallowed hard. She knew this wasn't an offer. This was a notification of ownership. She had moved from the hands of barbaric bandits to the hands of a calculating demon.
"How much?" Isolde asked, trying to gather the remnants of her noble courage.
The corner of Vaelen's lips lifted slightly.
"We'll discuss the numbers later in the Capital. For now..."
Vaelen extended his hand—the hand that had just killed a Rank 8 monster—toward the Lady.
"...let me in. I don't like walking."
Amidst the pile of corpses in Iron-Tooth Gorge, an alliance between an exiled noble turned monster and a terrified noble daughter began.
And Vaelen knew, this was his first step to conquering the world that wanted to eat him.