Chapter 63
Nille continued forward without rushing, stepping through the uneven ground where the Drake's massive body had dragged itself earlier. The soil here was torn apart in deep, uneven grooves, and fragments of crushed rock and broken earth marked the path of something far too heavy to be moving in pain. He moved casually, almost like he was walking through a familiar path, even though every step brought him closer to a mass of corpse eaters that could tear him apart if things went wrong.
Nille could hardly believe creatures like this still existed.
The largest beings he had ever encountered before were the Chimera and the Basilisk, monsters already considered catastrophic by most civilizations. Even then, those encounters had never truly frightened him. Strange things had followed Nille his entire life, wandering ghosts, malformed spirits, creatures stitched together from nightmare and instinct. Most people would have broken mentally after witnessing even a fraction of what he had seen.
But fear had never been his first reaction.
Curiosity always came first.
And right now, standing before a creature whose body alone rivaled the combined size of three transport buses, Nille felt something dangerously close to excitement.
He kept his face completely neutral.
His breathing steady.
His posture relaxed.
But internally,
This is incredible.
His eyes quietly traced the massive structure of the beast.
The distribution of muscle beneath the hide.
The way its weight shifted across the terrain without collapsing the ground beneath it.
The layered movement of its breathing.
The slight twitching along the spine whenever it sensed distant vibrations.
The bone density alone must be absurd… no normal skeletal structure should support that much mass this efficiently.
His gaze narrowed slightly.
And the skin composition… not scales exactly. Too flexible. Some kind of adaptive dermal layering?
The creature lowered its enormous head toward the carcass near its feet, tearing through hardened flesh with disturbing ease.
Nille observed silently.
Jaw pressure exceeds anything recorded in Sector Twelve's database.
The creature did not simply bite.
It rotated its neck slightly during consumption, reducing resistance before tearing the meat apart in sections instead of chunks.
Efficient.
Calculated.
Almost evolved specifically for energy conservation.
Interesting… it minimizes unnecessary movement while feeding.
Nille's fingers twitched slightly at his side.
He wanted closer observation.
Measurements.
Samples.
He wanted to dissect the anatomy.
Study the organ structure.
Understand how the muscles anchored themselves to support such explosive force.
Even the behavioral patterns fascinated him.
Does it hunt alone because of territorial aggression… or because its caloric requirements are too extreme for group survival?
His mind continued moving rapidly.
How intelligent is it? Does it understand tactics? Pattern recognition? Emotional hierarchy?
To anyone watching, Nille looked calm to the point of indifference.
Stoic.
Cold.
Unmoved.
But internally, it felt like a child being handed the greatest treasure imaginable.
Not gold.
Not power.
Knowledge.
Living knowledge.
A creature that should not exist according to modern biological limitations was standing right in front of him.
And Nille wanted to understand everything about it.
But obtaining that opportunity was simply impossible. Nille understood the situation too well to indulge in reckless curiosity. The ghouls he had cut down and passed earlier would not ignore his intrusion so easily. Creatures like them did not forgive disturbances within their territory, especially not from something they could still sense moving nearby.
Even now, beyond the distant ruins and darkened terrain, he could already hear subtle shifts spreading through the environment, low scraping sounds, broken breathing, twitching movement from things beginning to stir awake again. The hunting patterns were changing. They were searching.
As fascinating as the beast before him was, Nille forced himself to suppress the urge to continue watching. Logic came before desire. his mission always came first, as his paralyzing needles had already done their work.
Several Gabunan lay scattered along the route, their bodies locked in unnatural stillness. Some twitched faintly, their muscles frozen mid-motion, while others lay completely rigid, unable to respond to the overwhelming scent that had driven them here in the first place. Nille didn't hurry past them. Instead, he approached each one with calm precision, drawing his jungle bolo with a quiet, practiced motion.
Scarf stayed focused, its awareness expanding outward, continuously scanning the surroundings. "No unusual signatures detected within immediate range," it reported. "However, the absence of the Drake's original predator remains unconfirmed. Maintain caution."
Nille didn't respond immediately. He was already standing over the first immobilized Gabunan.
The creature's chest rose faintly, still alive but completely helpless. Its elongated arms twitched weakly against the paralysis, claws scraping uselessly against the ground. Nille looked down at it without emotion, then raised his bolo.
With a single controlled motion, the blade came down.
The strike was clean. Fast. Efficient. The Gabunan's head separated instantly from its body, falling into the disturbed soil without resistance.
Nille didn't linger. He simply moved to the next one.
Each step followed the same rhythm, approach, assess, strike. No wasted movement. No hesitation. The frozen corpses offered no resistance, and Nille treated them as nothing more than obstacles being cleared from a path rather than enemies being fought.
Meanwhile, deeper ahead, the main swarm continued to shift. The unfrozen Gabunan were still focused entirely on the Drake's overwhelming scent, slowly advancing in waves toward the massive dying creature. Their attention never drifted. Not once. To them, everything else was irrelevant.
Nille observed this quietly as he continued his methodical clearing. The system was working exactly as intended, disruption at the edges, collapse of coordination, and complete focus drawn toward the strongest scent source. The swarm was beginning to stretch thin, drawn forward like a single organism moving toward a dying heartbeat.
Then he saw it.
The Drake's massive form, partially obscured by distance and darkness, finally came into partial view near a cavern entrance deeper within the layer. Its enormous body blocked much of the passage, its tail torn and dragged behind it, leaving a brutal trail of destruction. The air around it was heavy, suffocating even from this distance, as if the entire space was saturated with its fading presence.
The Gabunan were converging faster now, their movements becoming more erratic, more desperate as they neared their long-awaited meal.
But Nille stopped.
Not because of fear.
Because of understanding.
"…Good," he muttered under his breath.
Scarf processed his tone. "Clarify."
Nille lowered his blade slightly, watching the situation unfold ahead.
"No direct fight," he said calmly. "No unnecessary risk."
The swarm was focused. The Drake was near its end. The path was already being shaped by forces stronger than him.
He exhaled slowly.
"We just wait."
His eyes remained steady as he observed the narrowing distance between predator and prey, between collapse and consumption.
For now, his role wasn't to force anything.
It was to let everything fall into place, and step in only when the moment was right.
Nille continued the process steadily until every aluminum needle Scarf had created was completely used up. One by one, the paralyzing strikes had done their work, silently thinning the swarm without drawing the attention of the rest. By the time the last needle was spent, around sixty Gabunan had been eliminated, their bodies scattered along the broken path the Drake had carved through the terrain.
Scarf confirmed the situation calmly. "No remaining needle reserves available."
Nille only gave a small nod in response. He didn't stop moving. Instead, he stepped forward along the same trail the Drake had taken earlier, carefully placing his feet over the deep drag marks and fractured ground. His mind was already shifting ahead, reviewing possibilities, adjusting to the fact that a large portion of his initial control method was now gone.
There were still many Ghouls left.
Too many to ignore.
Behind him, Scarf worked continuously, extracting and securing usable material and residual cores from the eliminated Gabunan, ensuring nothing of value was wasted while they moved. It operated quietly, efficiently, dividing attention between resource recovery and environmental scanning.
Nille's pace gradually increased as he walked. At first it was subtle, just a slightly quicker rhythm in his steps, but as the distance between him and the remaining swarm widened, his movement became more confident. He wasn't running, but he was no longer cautious either.
The Ghouls were far enough behind now that, if they suddenly changed behavior or direction, he would have enough time to react and disengage without being trapped. That margin of safety allowed him to think more clearly.
His eyes stayed forward as he followed the Drake's trail deeper into the cavern path, his mind already forming new approaches to deal with the remaining threats. The situation was no longer about control through tools alone. It was about timing, positioning, and reading the flow of everything happening ahead.
And for now, he simply kept walking, faster, steadier, toward the dying Drake and the opportunity waiting beyond the swarm.
Nille didn't slow down as he walked, but his attention shifted inward.
"Scarf," he said quietly, "the remaining Ghouls… are they a threat to me?"
There was no hesitation in his voice, just a need for clarity.
A brief pause followed as Scarf processed the question.
"Based on current estimates of their number and individual levels," it replied, "they do pose a measurable threat. However, the level of danger depends on how you engage them."
Nille's eyes stayed forward.
"Compare them," he added. "To the Tikbalang."
Scarf immediately understood.
"The comparison is valid, but their combat profiles are fundamentally different."
Nille listened.
"The Tikbalang you encountered relied on brute strength," Scarf explained. "Their attacks were direct, force-heavy, and required space to execute. They were predictable once their movement patterns were understood."
A short pause.
"The Gabunan are the opposite."
Nille's grip tightened slightly as he walked.
"They lack the same raw strength," Scarf continued, "but compensate through speed, flexibility, and attack frequency. Their elongated arms increase their effective range, allowing them to strike from angles that are harder to defend against."
Nille pictured it clearly.
Not overpowering force,
But constant pressure.
"They are also more agile," Scarf added. "Their movements are erratic and low to the ground, making them difficult to track visually in large numbers."
Nille nodded faintly.
"…And they don't rely on sight."
"Correct. Their primary detection methods are smell and hearing. In this environment, both are significantly enhanced due to the dense spiritual energy."
That made things more complicated.
Scarf continued its analysis.
"In a one-on-one scenario, a Gabunan is inferior to a Tikbalang in terms of destructive output."
Nille expected that.
"But in groups," Scarf added, "their threat level increases exponentially."
Nille exhaled softly.
"…Because they swarm."
"Yes."
Scarf refined the comparison further.
"A dozen Tikbalang would attempt to overpower you through direct force. Their coordination is limited, and their attacks can be countered through positioning and timing."
Another pause.
"A swarm of Gabunan, however, will attempt to overwhelm you through continuous pressure. They will attack from multiple directions, exploiting openings created by their own numbers."
Nille's expression hardened slightly.
"…So they're harder to manage."
"Correct."
Then Scarf added something more specific.
"Compared to the Gabunan you encountered in Bulacan, these variants are significantly more dangerous."
That made Nille's eyes narrow.
"Explain."
"The Bulacan variants were weaker, slower, and less refined in their movements," Scarf said. "Their coordination was minimal, and their physical structure was less developed."
Nille remembered that clearly.
They were easier to read.
Easier to kill.
"These current Gabunan," Scarf continued, "have adapted to a high-density energy environment. Their muscle structure is more efficient, their reaction time faster, and their sensory capabilities more acute."
A brief pause.
"In simple terms, they are evolved versions of what you faced before."
Nille let that settle.
"…So if I get surrounded…"
"Your chances of sustaining critical injury increase significantly."
No exaggeration.
Just facts.
Nille clicked his tongue once.
"…Got it."
He adjusted his pace slightly, his movements becoming more deliberate.
"So I treat them differently."
"Yes," Scarf confirmed. "Avoid prolonged engagement. Maintain mobility. Eliminate only when necessary."
Nille's gaze sharpened again as the distant presence of the Drake grew heavier.
"…Same goal then."
"Correct."
He didn't need to fight them all.
He just needed to survive them.
And take what he came for. then go back to his room,
Scarf's voice cut through Nille's thoughts with quiet urgency. Time was no longer on their side. The Drake's pulse was weakening faster than expected, its presence fading in uneven waves that echoed through the entire layer. "Recommendation," Scarf said, "proceed with calculated risk. The Drake is nearing termination. Delay will result in loss of opportunity."
Nille didn't answer immediately, but he understood. The balance of the area was shifting. The Drake wasn't just a creature, it was part of the structure that held this layer in place. As it weakened, something else would inevitably move to fill the gap.
Scarf continued, its tone more analytical now. "Multiple Malignants have already detected the instability. The current hierarchy is destabilizing. This will attract stronger entities if the transition completes."
That was enough to push the situation from dangerous… to urgent.
Nille exhaled once, steady and controlled, as his pace subtly increased again. Waiting was no longer the safer option. Waiting meant losing everything.
Far beyond his position, in a separate layer of awareness tied to the hunting grounds themselves, another presence reacted.
Dean Asakura Setsuko paused.
She didn't see Nille. She didn't see the Drake.
But she felt it.
A shift.
Subtle, but unmistakable.
"…Something changed," she murmured.
The flow of spiritual energy across the all of the known hunting grounds had become uneven, like a thread being pulled too tightly from one end. It wasn't just a creature dying, it was a disruption in the system that maintained the balance of the area.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she traced the source.
"…This isn't normal."
For a brief moment, her thoughts shifted to the recent anomaly, the sudden appearance tied to the Yamatai Curse Island. That place had introduced a weak but distinct foreign energy into the system, something that didn't originally belong.
Now, that same faint signature seemed to resonate, just barely, with the deeper, the core that governed sector 12 hunting grounds.
Not strong.
Not direct.
But aligned enough to matter.
"…So it's connected," Setsuko concluded quietly.
Back in the underground layer, unaware of her observation, Nille continued forward.
The pressure in the air grew heavier with each step, the Drake's presence flickering like a dying flame. Around him, the remaining Gabunan grew more restless, their movements less controlled as their instincts pushed them closer to feeding.
Scarf's final assessment came calmly.
"Delay will result in failure. Action is required."
Nille's eyes sharpened.
Then he moved faster.
Because now, it wasn't just about beating the swarm,
It was about reaching the end before something else did.
And just like that, Nille moved.
No more waiting. No more calculations.
He drew in a sharp breath, and the air around him tightened as heat began to gather in his core. The fire spell didn't flare wildly, it compressed, condensed into something denser, more violent. The temperature around his body rose in an instant, distorting the space around him as faint waves of heat rippled outward.
"…Now."
He launched forward.
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he accelerated, his body cutting straight through the dark like a burning projectile. The first Ghoul didn't even react in time—its head came clean off as Nille passed, his jungle bolo flashing once in the dim light.
Then the swarm noticed.
Too late.
Nille crashed into them with full force.
Fire erupted.
A concentrated burst exploded from his hand straight into the heart of the swarm, igniting the air itself as it tore through clustered bodies. The impact sent several Gabunan flying, their forms twisting and burning as the flames clung to them unnaturally, feeding on more than just flesh.
Screeches filled the cavern.
The swarm broke into chaos.
But Nille didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Every second mattered.
He pushed deeper, his movements sharp and relentless. A Ghoul lunged from the side, its elongated claws slicing toward his torso, but Nille twisted just enough, letting the attack graze past as his blade carved upward, splitting it from shoulder to jaw.
Another came from behind, he drove his elbow back, fire bursting on impact, sending it crashing into the ground before finishing it with a downward slash.
No pauses.
No wasted motion.
Just forward.
The Gabunan swarmed, their blind senses now locked onto him as the overwhelming scent of fire and blood disrupted their fixation. They attacked from all sides, claws ripping through the air, bodies colliding into him in desperate attempts to stop his advance.
But Nille forced his way through.
Burning. Cutting. Breaking.
Each step forward was earned through violence.
His fire lashed outward in controlled bursts, creating momentary openings in the swarm, while his bolo moved with brutal precision, hacking, tearing, clearing anything that stood between him and his target.
Time.
He could feel it slipping.
Scarf's voice cut in between the chaos.
"Drake pulse critical. Less than fifteen minutes."
Nille's eyes sharpened further.
"Then move faster."
He surged forward again, pushing past the last dense cluster of Ghouls. His body was already heating up from the strain, his breathing heavier now, but he didn't slow down.
Ahead,
The Drake.
Its massive form lay near the cavern entrance, its body trembling faintly as its life continued to fade. The ground around it was soaked, its torn tail trailing behind like a scar carved into the earth.
The remaining Ghouls were converging on it.
Closing in.
"Not happening," Nille muttered.
With a final burst of speed, he broke through the last line of resistance, fire erupting outward in a wide arc that forced the nearest Gabunan back just long enough,
For him to reach it.
The Drake.
Up close, it was even more overwhelming. Its presence pressed down on him, heavy and ancient, even in its dying state.
But Nille didn't hesitate.
His grip tightened on the jungle bolo.
His entire body burned with intent.
"…I'm taking it."
No fear.
No doubt.
Just action.
Because now,
There was no time left.
Nille ran with everything he had left. His body felt lighter now, some of his strength had returned, and his wounds, while not fully healed, no longer slowed him the same way. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. His slashes had lost their earlier precision, turning rough and forceful as urgency took over. He no longer aimed for clean kills. Anything that got in his way was struck down just enough for him to pass.
A Ghoul lunged, his blade cut across its shoulder instead of its neck, but he didn't stop. Another came from the side, he pushed through it with brute force, fire flaring just enough to break its advance. He wasn't fighting anymore. He was forcing a path forward.
Then he saw it. The Drake.
Its massive body was slumped near the cavern entrance, barely holding itself together. Up close, the destruction it left behind was overwhelming. The land, once part of a Chimera or Basilisk territory, was completely ruined.
Trees were snapped like twigs, the ground torn open in long scars, and whatever vegetation remained had been crushed or burned. It wasn't just movement that caused this. It was struggle. The Drake had forced its dying body forward, dragging itself through everything just to reach this point.
Even now, it refused to collapse completely.
Around the area, smaller Malignants were fleeing in panic. The moment the Drake entered their domain, the balance broke. They scattered without hesitation, disappearing into distant tunnels and deeper shadows. None of them dared stay. Even at the edge of death, the Drake's presence was enough to drive them away.
The air felt heavy, thick with its fading power.
Nille slowed his pace as he stepped into the ruined clearing, his breathing steady but deep. Behind him, the swarm was still coming. Ahead of him, the Drake's life was almost gone.
No more distance. No more delay.
He tightened his grip on his jungle bolo, eyes locked onto the massive creature.
"…Just one strike," he muttered.
This wasn't a battle anymore.
It was an ending.
Nille's actions looked reckless from the outside, almost like he was forcing himself into danger without thinking. A normal observer might call it foolish, charging into a collapsing battlefield, ignoring the swarm behind him, and focusing only on a dying Drake that could still kill him in one final burst of strength.
But inside Nille's mind, the process was far simpler.
He wasn't reacting emotionally. He was filtering everything down to one thing: opportunity.
The swarm, the pressure, the uncertainty about the hidden Level 600 entity, all of it existed, but none of it changed the immediate fact in front of him. The Drake was weakening. Its core was close to instability. And the window to take it was closing fast. For Nille, complicated situations were never something to analyze endlessly. They were something to reduce until only the essential action remained.
This was how he survived and progressed. Not by trying to control every variable, but by identifying the single moment where action mattered most, and committing fully to it.
From a psychological perspective, Nille's thinking leaned heavily on decisive simplification. When faced with overwhelming complexity, instead of getting trapped in fear or hesitation, he stripped the situation down to a single question: What is the most direct path to the result I want? Everything else, risk, uncertainty, external judgment, was treated as noise.
That's why, even as others might see his approach as dangerous or reckless, Nille himself didn't register it that way. To him, hesitation was far more dangerous than action. Waiting meant losing control of timing, and in this world, timing often decided survival.
At the same time, Nille also carried a quiet resistance to external judgment. He understood that people would label decisions as foolish whenever outcomes were uncertain. But he didn't let that definition guide him. In his mind, regret and resentment only came from decisions made for others, or decisions avoided out of fear of criticism.
So he chose differently.
He acted based on opportunity, not approval. Risk, to him, wasn't something to avoid—it was something to calculate quickly and then commit to. And once the decision was made, he no longer revisited whether it was "right" or "wrong."
Only whether it worked.
And right now, everything inside him had already settled on one conclusion: the Drake was dying, the opportunity was here, and anything else, including judgment from others—didn't matter anymore.
Nille didn't hesitate.
The moment he stepped into range, everything narrowed down into a single point of execution.
The Drake's dying body loomed ahead, massive, collapsing, barely holding its final breath of existence. Its core was unstable, its spiritual structure already breaking apart under the weight of its injuries. This was the exact moment Scarf had warned him about: the final window where everything could either be harvested cleanly… or lost forever.
Nille moved.
He broke into a full sprint straight toward the Drake's chest.
And at the same time, he activated his strongest trump card.
"Disintegration."
The spell wasn't loud. It didn't explode outward. Instead, it activated through touch, through intent, through absolute mental focus.
His hand became the trigger.
His mind became the ignition.
Scarf immediately began calculations in the background. "Converting available spiritual energy… stabilizing casting structure… estimated activation time: several seconds."
But those seconds were all the world had left.
Because the Gabunan reacted instantly.
The moment they understood his intention, to kill the Drake before they could feed, all restraint collapsed.
All hell broke loose.
The swarm shifted from scattered scavengers into a unified surge of rage and desperation. Hundreds of Gabunan turned at once, their blind senses locking onto Nille through movement, heat, and the sudden disruption in the scent field. Their earlier patience was gone. Now there was only instinct.
"Target has changed priority," Scarf warned. "Incoming swarm convergence."
Nille didn't stop running.
His butterfly knife flipped into his hand mid-motion.
The first Ghoul reached him.
Steel met claw.
A clean parry, then a twist. Nille stepped through the opening, slashing across its torso just enough to force it back. Another came immediately after, he ducked under the strike, driving his shoulder forward to break its balance, then used the knife to cut upward in a fast, controlled motion.
He wasn't fighting to kill them.
He was fighting for seconds.
The Drake loomed closer.
So close now.
Its massive chest rose faintly, each breath a dying echo of something ancient and powerful. The core inside it was beginning to destabilize, reacting to the incoming spell.
Scarf's voice remained steady but urgent.
"Spiritual conversion nearly complete. Maintain contact focus."
Nille's mind split cleanly in two.
One part stayed locked on the spell, holding the structure, feeding it control, preventing it from collapsing under instability.
The other part reacted instinctively, reading movement, responding to attacks, keeping his body alive in the middle of the swarm.
He had never been taught to separate his consciousness like this.
He forced it.
And it worked.
A Gabunan lunged from the side, Nille rotated his body slightly, letting the attack graze past as he drove his knife into its arm joint, disrupting its movement. Another came from behind, he stepped forward instead of back, slipping through the gap it left behind, refusing to be surrounded.
Every movement was minimal.
Every strike was survival.
And then,
He reached it.
The Drake's chest.
Its enormous body trembled beneath him, heat and pressure radiating from its dying core like a collapsing star.
Nille pressed his hand forward.
"Disintegration."
Contact.
The spell triggered fully.
At that instant, the Gabunan behind him surged forward in a final, desperate wave, realizing too late what was happening.
But it was already decided.
The moment Nille's hand touched the Drake, the structure of its life force began to unravel from the inside out.
And everything else, Arrived too late.
The moment Nille's hand made contact with the Drake's chest, something unexpected changed. The resistance he anticipated never came. Instead of rejection or a violent final struggle, there was resonance. His Disintegration spell continued forming beneath the surface, slowly unraveling the collapsing structure of the Drake's life force, but the core did not immediately resist it. It seemed to recognize his intent.
For a brief moment, Nille's awareness sank deeper than physical reality. He was no longer just touching flesh, he had entered a fractured spiritual space formed from the Drake's fading consciousness. It was unstable and close to collapse, yet still aware enough to perceive intent.
What it sensed from Nille was not greed, hatred, or hunger, but something unusually still. His mind was calm, focused, and devoid of cruelty. There was no enjoyment in the act, only necessity, only the clean decision to end something already beyond saving.
To the Drake, that difference mattered. For a long time, it had only experienced violence twisted by instinct or domination from those who sought to consume it. Even its hunters reduced it to prey without recognition of what it was. But Nille was different. His intent carried no distortion, no malice. It felt, in its final awareness, like being understood rather than destroyed.
A quiet sense of relief passed through the Drake's fading consciousness. Not because it welcomed death, but because the one ending its life did not feel like an enemy. Within that fragile moment, the Drake's remaining awareness reached toward him, not in resistance, but in acknowledgment. A broken thought formed, not as accusation or fear, but as recognition of the one who stood at its end without cruelty.
Inside, everything grew still. And Nille, unknowingly standing within that collapsing spiritual space, became the final witness to the Drake's last moment of calm acceptance as the spell reached its completion.