Chapter 61
Nille stepped into the Tikbalang domain without hesitation.
The moment he crossed the boundary, the atmosphere shifted. The creatures immediately sensed the intrusion. Their reaction was instant, territorial aggression triggered at once. Several Tikbalang moved at high speed from different directions, their presence flickering between physical form and illusion.
But Nille quickly realized this wasn't going to be a straightforward fight.
The environment itself began to distort. Trees bent unnaturally, shadows stretched in impossible angles, and the terrain seemed to rearrange itself around him. The Tikbalang were not just strong, they were manipulating perception.
The strongest among them stepped forward.
In front of Nille stood what looked like a massive, ten-foot-tall man holding a heavy axe. Its presence was overwhelming, designed to intimidate. Around them, the rest of the herd circled, cutting off escape routes and applying pressure from all sides.
Scarf immediately flagged multiple anomalies.
"Shapeshifting confirmed. Illusion layering detected. Invisibility cycles active. Psychological distortion field increasing."
Nille understood then, this was exactly the type of enemy that wasted time. Tikbalang were unpredictable, using fear, deception, and environment control to drag fights into prolonged confusion.
He didn't allow it.
The illusion giant stomped the ground, sending a shockwave meant to destabilize his focus and instill fear.
But Nille responded instantly.
He stepped forward and launched a direct counterattack.
In a single motion, he drove his fist into the illusion's jawline. At the moment of impact, he released a compressed burst of fire energy, five fused layers detonating outward in a controlled explosive strike.
The blast didn't spread wildly. It condensed at the point of contact before erupting outward, breaking through the illusion layer and forcing physical disruption beneath it.
The ten-foot form staggered violently from the hit, its structure cracking under the combined force of impact and internal fire pressure.
Around them, the encircling Tikbalang reacted immediately, shifting their formation as the domain turned from intimidation into full combat engagement.
Nille didn't wait.
The fight was already unfolding around him, but Nille's mind stayed partially focused on something else.
He didn't understand why this group existed here.
As he moved through the pressure of the encounter, he thought to himself: Tikbalang were usually solitary in his experience, elusive entities that avoided sustained contact, not herd-based territorial units like this.
In his country, they were rarely seen in groups, and even then, they would scatter quickly after detection. But here, in Sector 12, it was completely different. They moved like an organized system, not isolated predators.
While blocking another incoming strike, Nille spoke briefly to Scarf.
"Why are they like this here?" he asked. "Tikbalang are supposed to be solitary… not a herd."
Scarf responded immediately, even as it tracked multiple shifting illusions. "Environmental adaptation is the primary cause. Within this subterranean ecosystem, prolonged territorial pressure has altered their behavior patterns."
It continued, "Isolation is no longer efficient for survival in this domain. Group structure increases dominance control, illusion stability, and territory defense. Over time, solitary behavior was replaced by coordinated herd hierarchy."
Nille narrowed his focus as another illusion shifted around him.
"So they changed because of the place," he said quietly.
"Correct," Scarf replied. "This is not their original behavioral model. It is an evolved survival structure influenced by this ecosystem's layered threat environment."
Nille exhaled slightly, adjusting his stance as he processed it.
They weren't just enemies.
They were adapted survivors shaped by this world.
The battle escalated instantly into chaos.
The Tikbalang herd moved as one, but not through strategy, through overwhelming instinct and coordinated pressure. Illusions layered over reality, breaking the battlefield into shifting fragments. One moment Nille stood in open ground, the next he was surrounded by towering figures that weren't fully real, their forms flickering between humanoid and equine distortion.
Weapons appeared out of nowhere, axes, spears, and curved blades, but Scarf immediately flagged them as false constructs, illusion-based attack projections meant to force hesitation. Still, the timing was perfect. Each fake strike was synchronized with real brute-force attacks from hidden angles, making it difficult to separate truth from deception.
Nille was forced into constant motion.
The ground beneath him cracked as multiple Tikbalang charged at once. Some attacked head-on with overwhelming physical strength, while others warped perception around him, creating phantom strikes that blurred his instincts. The air itself felt unstable, as if space was folding in short bursts.
He fought nearly ten of them at the same time.
A Tikbalang vanished mid-charge, only to reappear behind him with a crushing downward strike. Nille twisted just in time, deflecting the blow with his forearm while countering with a controlled burst of fire that forced the attacker back. Another illusion layered over the scene, three more enemies rushing from his left, but only one was real. He pivoted, striking through the false images and connecting with the actual body hidden beneath them.
The herd adapted instantly.
They began cycling illusions faster, overlapping movement patterns to create continuous confusion. Some projected fake openings to bait his attacks, while real attackers struck from blind angles. The battlefield became a rotating maze of distortion and brute force.
Nille responded with precision instead of speed.
He stopped trying to see everything and instead focused on Scarf's real-time confirmations, using it as an anchor to separate illusion from physical presence. Each time a true target was identified, he struck decisively, short, explosive movements designed to break through their layered defenses.
The Tikbalang showed no tactical discipline, but their coordination through instinct and shared perception made them dangerous in groups. They didn't plan, they overwhelmed.
Still, Nille held his ground.
Fire bursts, defensive pivots, and controlled counterstrikes kept him from being swallowed by the herd. The fight stretched on, intense and unrelenting, with no clear advantage on either side, only constant pressure, adaptation, and survival inside a collapsing illusion-filled battlefield.
The pressure didn't ease, it intensified.
The Tikbalang herd closed in, their movements becoming faster, more aggressive, their illusions cycling at a pace that blurred even Scarf's tracking for brief moments. The battlefield tightened, leaving Nille with less space to maneuver. Every step he took was met with another wave of distortion and brute force.
Then one broke through.
A real strike slipped past his guard, faster than the rest, hidden behind two overlapping illusion feints. The impact landed hard against his side, sending a shock through his body and knocking his balance off for a split second.
That was all they needed.
The herd reacted instantly.
Multiple Tikbalang surged forward at once, abandoning illusion-heavy tactics and shifting into raw physical assault. Their massive lower bodies drove forward with explosive force, hooves striking the ground in rapid succession.
Then came their strongest weapon.
Kicks.
A stampede of crushing force.
The ground trembled as they charged, each step carrying enough power to break bone on impact. The air filled with the sound of heavy impacts and rushing bodies as they attempted to overwhelm him completely.
Nille dropped low and rolled to the side, barely avoiding the first wave. A hoof slammed into the ground where he had been standing, cracking the surface and sending debris upward. He pushed off the ground, twisting his body mid-motion to evade another strike aimed at his head.
There was no pause, no breathing room.
Another Tikbalang dashed in from the flank, forcing him to duck as a powerful kick tore through the air above him. He pivoted, slid across the uneven ground, then rolled again as two more charges crossed paths where he had just been.
The stampede didn't stop.
They kept coming, one after another, their attacks relentless, forcing him into constant evasion. Nille's movements became tighter, more reactive, rolling, dodging, shifting angles just to stay ahead of the next impact.
But the pressure was building.
His earlier hit slowed him slightly, just enough to make each movement heavier than before.
Another strike grazed him, not a full hit, but enough to throw off his rhythm again. The herd pressed harder, sensing weakness.
Nille pushed himself up from another roll, breathing sharper now, his body already showing signs of strain.
This fight was no longer controlled.
It had turned into pure survival under overwhelming force.
Nille's survival instinct snapped into place.
For the first time in a long while, he felt it clearly, he was being overwhelmed. Not by numbers alone, but by pressure, coordination, and the sheer force behind every movement. And there were only nine of them.
That realization hit harder than the blows.
He pushed off the ground, barely regaining his footing as another charge tore past him, the air itself shaking from the force. His breathing sharpened, focus narrowing. There was no space left for hesitation now.
Scarf's voice cut through the chaos.
"Warning. Updated scan: target levels increasing. Current estimate, level 270… and rising."
Nille's eyes narrowed.
"They're evolving mid-fight?" he muttered.
"Correction," Scarf replied instantly. "State identified: Berserk. Physical output, speed, and aggression are being amplified. Stability is decreasing, but destructive capability is rising."
Another Tikbalang slammed into the ground in front of him, cracking the terrain. Two more flanked him, their forms flickering between illusion and solid mass. Their movements were no longer measured, they were faster, heavier, more erratic.
Unpredictable.
A kick tore toward him from the side. Nille twisted, but not fully in time, the impact clipped him, sending him sliding across the ground. Pain flared through his side, sharper now than before.
He forced himself back up.
Nine of them.
And each one now pushing beyond level 270.
The herd no longer resembled a coordinated group, they had become something more dangerous. A storm of brute force and unstable aggression, driven purely by instinct to crush the threat in front of them.
Nille steadied his stance despite the strain.
His body was already taking damage, his movements slowing, but his mind had sharpened instead.
If they were becoming more unstable…
Then somewhere in that chaos, there was an opening.
He just had to survive long enough to find it.
Nille's heart pounded hard in his chest, each beat heavy and sharp. He could feel the shift, this wasn't the same fight anymore.
Real danger closed in around him.
The Tikbalang had changed. Their levels were rising, their movements more reckless, their strength overwhelming. It was clear now, he was no longer in control of the battle.
For the first time, he felt truly threatened.
Not cautious. Not calculating.
Threatened.
But instead of freezing, the feeling sharpened him. His senses heightened, his focus narrowed. Every sound, every movement, every distortion in the air became clearer.
Fear didn't slow him down.
It drove him forward.
This was the kind of fight he wanted to overcome.
Nille steadied his stance and reached for his weapons. In one fluid motion, he equipped all three, his jungle bolo, his tactical hard knuckle fingerless gloves, and his butterfly knife. The shift in his posture was immediate. No more holding back.
As the next wave of Tikbalang charged, Nille moved first.
He dashed forward instead of retreating, closing the distance with explosive speed. The first attacker swung down with brute force, but Nille slipped inside its range, his bolo flashing upward in a sharp arc, striking across its torso. At the same time, his other hand drove forward, reinforced by the hard knuckle gloves, delivering a crushing blow to its frame.
He didn't stop.
Another Tikbalang appeared from his flank, real this time. Nille pivoted, flipping the butterfly knife into a reverse grip and slashing across its limb before releasing a short-range burst of fire at point-blank distance. The impact forced it back, breaking its momentum.
The herd responded instantly, surrounding him again, but this time, Nille didn't let them dictate the pace.
He moved through them.
Fast. Direct. Relentless.
Each motion was tighter now, more aggressive. He cut through illusions without hesitation, trusting instinct and Scarf's guidance to identify real targets. His attacks became heavier, more committed—no wasted movement, no retreat unless necessary.
A Tikbalang lunged in with a full-force kick.
Nille met it head-on.
He shifted his stance, redirected the impact just enough, then drove his fist forward with another compressed fire burst, slamming into its body and sending it staggering back into the others.
The battlefield erupted again into chaos, but now, Nille was part of that chaos.
Not avoiding it.
Not surviving it.
Fighting through it.
The clash reached its breaking point.
The Tikbalang, driven into full berserk, abandoned all restraint. Illusions shattered and reformed in rapid cycles, but their bodies moved with only one purpose now, crush the threat in front of them. The ground cracked under their stampede, the air filled with violent force and distortion.
Nille didn't step back.
He drove forward.
One charged head-on, he met it with a rising slash from his jungle bolo, the blade biting deep as he followed with a point-blank fire burst that detonated across its upper frame. It staggered, form breaking, and before it could recover, Nille pivoted and drove his knuckle-reinforced fist into its core point, the impact releasing a compressed explosion that tore through its structure.
Another lunged from behind, he twisted mid-motion, butterfly knife flashing across its limb, severing its balance before finishing it with a downward strike.
He kept moving.
No pause.
No hesitation.
The herd thinned, one after another falling under relentless counterforce. Their illusions began to destabilize, flickering uncontrollably as their physical forms took damage. What once was overwhelming became chaotic, then broken.
The final three charged together in a last attempt to overwhelm him.
Nille stepped into them.
He compressed everything he had left, fire, strength, timing, and released it in a single forward surge. The impact collided head-on with their charge, a violent clash of force that erupted outward. The ground beneath them fractured as the blast tore through their formation.
When the force cleared,
Silence.
The last of the Tikbalang collapsed, their massive forms breaking apart and dissolving into ash and residue.
Nille stood there, unmoving.
Then his body gave in.
He dropped to one knee, gasping for air, each breath heavy and strained. His muscles burned, his body carried the weight of every hit he had taken. The battlefield around him was ruined—cracked earth, scorched ground, and fading remnants of what had just been a full herd of level 270 berserk entities.
Scarf remained silent for a moment.
Then it spoke.
"Analysis complete. This encounter deviates from standard Malignant behavior patterns."
Nille looked up slightly, still catching his breath.
He understood it too.
This wasn't normal.
Enemies increasing in level mid-fight. Entering a berserk state that amplified their power beyond baseline. Acting in coordinated pressure despite lacking true strategy.
This wasn't just a hunt.
It was something new.
Something evolving.
Nille exhaled slowly, still trying to steady himself.
For the first time since entering Sector 12, he realized the true scope of what he had just faced.
And it was far more dangerous than he expected.
The last of the Tikbalang fell.
Its massive form staggered, then collapsed, breaking apart into ash and fading fragments under the weight of Nille's final strike. The distorted illusions that once filled the battlefield flickered, then vanished completely, leaving only silence behind.
No more movement.
No more pressure.
Just the aftermath.
Nille remained standing for a second longer, as if his body hadn't fully realized the fight was over. Then his strength gave out. He dropped to one knee, one hand braced against the cracked ground, breathing hard, sharp, uneven breaths that burned his lungs.
The battlefield around him was devastated. The once-living terrain of the Tikbalang domain was now scarred with impact marks, scorched earth, and shattered stone. What had been a coordinated, overwhelming herd was gone.
Nine Tikbalang.
All eliminated.
Scarf's voice came in, calm as ever. "All hostile signatures… neutralized."
Nille let out a long breath, lowering his head slightly.
He had won.
But the cost of that victory lingered in his body, the pain, the exhaustion, the realization of how close it had been. This wasn't just another hunt. This was something else entirely.
Slowly, he pushed himself back up, forcing his legs to stand despite the strain.
The silence of the domain remained.
And for now,
It belonged to him.
For a brief moment after the fight, Nille stood still. too still.
Then the pain hit.
It didn't come all at once. It surged through him in waves, sharp and heavy, spreading from every point where he had been struck. His side burned where the first solid hit had landed, his ribs aching with each breath. His arms felt numb and heavy, muscles strained from constant impact and forceful counterattacks.
He tightened his jaw as another wave pushed through, deeper this time.
His legs trembled slightly under his weight. Every step he tried to take sent a dull shock upward, reminding him how much pressure they had taken during the stampede. Even his hands felt it, the strain from gripping his weapons too tightly, from blocking, striking, and enduring.
His breathing grew uneven.
Not from fear anymore, but from the effort of holding himself together.
Nille slowly exhaled, steadying himself, forcing his body to remain upright despite the pain flooding through it. He didn't collapse. He didn't let it take control.
But he felt it.
Every part of it.
And it reminded him clearly,
He had won, but not without cost.
Nille pulled out a potion from his storage, staring at it for a moment before drinking it. The liquid burned slightly as it went down, but he hoped it would be enough to restore what he had lost in the fight.
He then asked Scarf for the time.
"Current time: 8:00 PM," Scarf replied.
Nille exhaled slowly. It had been a long, exhausting hunt, far longer and more intense than he originally expected. What he had assumed about Sector 12 at the start now felt completely different from what he had just experienced. The gap between what he knew and what he had encountered was massive, almost like he had stepped into an entirely different world of combat understanding.
Behind him, the remains of the Tikbalang were already beginning to break down. Their massive forms slowly disintegrated, turning into dust and unstable residue as the domain lost its energy balance after their defeat.
Without delay, Scarf extended its collection threads into the battlefield. It moved efficiently through the fading remains, extracting what could still be salvaged. Core fragments, usable essence, and any remaining materials that had not fully decayed were carefully gathered and stored. Nothing valuable was left behind, only what had already turned useless or unstable was allowed to dissipate.
Nille watched quietly as the process continued. Despite the pain still lingering in his body, he understood the importance of it now. Every hunt was not just about survival or victory, it was also about what could be recovered afterward, and how efficiently it could be done.
As the last of the materials were secured, the battlefield fell into deeper silence, marking the end of the encounter.
Nille used the moment of silence to rest, leaning slightly as the potion began to spread through his body and slowly ease the strain from the battle. He decided to stay in place for about an hour, giving himself enough time to recover properly before moving again deeper into Sector 12.
As he rested, another thought surfaced.
He looked across the fading Tikbalang domain and asked Scarf, "Does this place change ownership when the previous ruler is eliminated?"
He remembered the earlier zones clearly, the Chimera and Basilisk territories. After their defeats, those areas didn't immediately become occupied again. They had remained empty for a time, unstable and untouched, as if waiting for something stronger to claim them.
Scarf responded calmly.
"Territorial control is not permanent," it explained. "When a dominant entity is eliminated, the area enters a temporary neutral phase. Depending on environmental stability, it may be reclaimed by weaker entities, or eventually occupied by a new apex predator."
It added, "The Chimera and Basilisk zone remains largely vacant due to high instability. However, this region, Tikbalang territory, has stronger structural balance, making recolonization more likely."
Nille listened quietly, processing the pattern. The entire system wasn't static, it was constantly shifting, rewriting itself based on survival and dominance.
As he began to shift his position, preparing to move deeper toward the lower layers where the Chimera and Basilisk fought for territory, something else happened.
Neither Nille nor Scarf immediately noticed it.
Behind him, just a few meters away, a massive creature was already moving through the area he had passed.
It was large, far larger than most LEVEL tier Malignants Nille had encountered so far.
A six-legged entity moved slowly through the terrain behind him, its body resembling a distorted Komodo dragon stretched far beyond natural proportions. Its scales were dark and layered like hardened stone, absorbing the faint ambient light of Sector 12 rather than reflecting it. Despite its massive size, its movement was eerily quiet, each step pressing into the ground with controlled weight, leaving only faint impressions in the fractured soil.
But it was clear this was not an active predator.
It was injured.
Deep wounds marked its lower body, some still raw and uneven, as if it had recently survived a brutal confrontation. One of its hind sections showed signs of forced trauma, its tail completely torn off, leaving behind a damaged base that was slowly attempting regeneration. The process was unstable; faint biological energy pulsed at the wound site, suggesting it was still actively rebuilding itself.
Its head alone was massive, comparable in size to a bus, lowered slightly as if carrying exhaustion rather than dominance. Even its posture lacked aggression. Instead of hunting or asserting territory, it moved with slow, deliberate steps, as though simply trying to continue forward despite severe fatigue.
Every motion looked heavy.
Every breath felt strained.
It was not attacking.
Not even observing.
It was simply passing through, following an instinctive path deeper into the ecosystem, treating everything around it, including Nille, as irrelevant background to its survival.
Nille did not turn, knowing it might react , he just watch the massive beast move as the creature did not stop.
It continued moving behind him, crossing the area with quiet endurance, as if the only thing keeping it going was sheer persistence rather than intent. its seems the creature knew the area ahead had no current owner, as Nille saw and passed the area , and felt it was trying to escape, the question that can wound a Maglignat this big.
And for a brief moment, Sector 12 returned to silence, unaware that yet another powerful presence had entered its ever-shifting hierarchy, wounded, unstable, and still alive.
Nille stayed still for a moment longer.
Not because he hadn't noticed it, but because he had.
His instincts had registered the presence the instant it entered range. Heavy. Wounded. Massive. Yet strangely non-hostile. The kind of existence that didn't announce itself through aggression, but through sheer survival pressure.
He slowly turned his head slightly, just enough to confirm what Scarf was already tracking.
"Unknown entity confirmed," Scarf reported quietly. "Six-limbed draconic-class Malignant. Status: severely internally injured. Tail regeneration incomplete. Energy output unstable but persistent."
Nille narrowed his eyes.
So it wasn't part of the Tikbalang or the reverse centaur own habitat . Not a territorial member. Not its territorial guardian.
Something else entirely. Because the cave system was undocumented and composed of countless interconnected tunnels of varying sizes and ecosystems, the spiritual energy within this territory shifted unpredictably. As a result, many Malignant entities evolved differently depending on their specific environment.
He exhaled slowly, his earlier tension shifting into cautious analysis rather than combat readiness. The creature wasn't targeting him. It wasn't even acknowledging him. That alone was unusual in Sector 12.
Most Malignants either attacked immediately, This one… simply endured.
Nille watched as it continued moving deeper into the terrain, dragging its massive frame forward with slow, heavy steps. Each movement looked like it cost effort, as if the act of staying alive was already a full-time struggle. The torn tail base pulsed faintly again, regeneration attempting to restart, failing, then restarting again.
That was when the realization formed in his mind.
This wasn't a hunting. It was trying to survive, a creature that had already gone through something worse than what Nille had just experienced somewhere else. the path it came from another cave opening , Nille can only assume there are countless cave branch per Habitat, the area were the Chimera and Basililk fought for a new home.
Nille's grip on his weapon loosened slightly.
"…It's not here for territory," he murmured.
Scarf responded. "Correct. It is not exhibiting territorial or predatory intent. Its behavior pattern indicates retreat, not engagement."
Nille remained silent for a moment.
For the first time in this hunt, he wasn't thinking about winning or losing.
He was thinking about scale.
About what kind of battle could leave something like that alive, but broken.
His gaze followed the creature as it disappeared deeper into the cavern routes, fading into the dim light of Sector 12's lower pathways.
Slowly, Nille spoke again, quieter this time.
"So there are things here… even worse than what I just fought."
He tightened his expression, not in fear, but in recalibration.
The Tikbalang had been a threshold.
But this,
This was something beyond it.
Somewhere deeper in Sector 12, the source of that wound was still moving, tracking its escaped prey.
Scarf's readings suddenly spiked.
"New entity confirmed. It is pursuing the injured target," Scarf said, its tone sharpening. "Detection has locked onto it."
Nille felt it too.
Not sound. Not sight.
Pressure.
A silent killing intent rolling through the layers of the cave like something vast had just opened its eyes.
"…Level 600," Scarf added.
The number didn't echo.
It sank.
Nille didn't speak.
He only stared deeper into the darkness, realizing the hunt he just survived was nowhere near what was coming.