"BOOM!" The resounding blast shattered the tranquility of the forest, unleashing a seismic upheaval that shook the very foundation of the earth.
Trees quivered, their leaves cascading in a chaotic ballet, while rocks trembled and dislodged from their ancient perches.
The giant creature, a formidable Crimsonwing Kirin, succumbed to the deadly precision of the shot, collapsing amidst the verdant landscape.
"Headshot," Lucas Frost declared with a hint of triumph, a satisfied smile adorning his face.
To Lucas, this feat overshadowed any previous hunt; it wasn't merely a duck but a creature that reigned as the hegemon in these territories, boasting formidable power within the late stages of the Foundation Establishment Realm.
As Lucas turned, his eyes fell upon Chief Thaddeus, who stood nearby, his expression a canvas of shock and disbelief at the monumental feat witnessed.
"Oh, you're still here?" Lucas's voice carried an air of surprise tinged with amusement. "Kindly summon your men once more. Let us not waste this precious bounty. It's a disservice to the lives taken to leave their sustenance unattended," he instructed, his demeanor reflective of both respect for life and an understanding of the value of every resource.
With a sense of responsibility, Lucas took the initiative to ensure that the creature's remains would not be squandered but respectfully utilized.
Setting his gaze forward, Lucas strode purposefully deeper into the forest, the weight of the Crimsonwing Kirin's demise on his shoulders as he prepared to transport this monumental prize back to the village, where its significance would be understood and its bounty appreciated by the community.
* * *
Fire erupted, engulfing the surrounding trees, casting a menacing glow that drew villagers from the area to witness the unfolding catastrophe.
Their initial instinct to douse the flames was thwarted by an unexpected menace—the burning miasma emanating from the creature's wings.
Its acrid, searing aura reached out like an invisible hand, rendering the onlookers just a mere hundred meters away, their skin blistering and peeling in the inferno's merciless embrace.
Fear gripped them as they realized the impending threat to their village, yet they remained powerless to intervene, resigned to a grim fate.
Helpless, they could only gaze in despair, hoping against hope that the fire would veer away from their homes, perhaps seeking retribution by consuming their rival's village.
But their grim hopes grew in the face of an unexpected turn of events.
"DING!" A sudden touch of winter descended, shattering the fiery onslaught with an icy chill.
It wasn't a gust of wind but a pervasive coldness that swept through the scene, calming the chaotic conflagration in a single fleeting moment.
The transient peace that followed offered solace to the land, a fleeting respite from the consuming flames.
Before the bewildered witnesses could fully comprehend the abrupt change, their attention was drawn to a tall, gaunt old man clad in the distinct attire of Misty Terrace Village.
His presence was an enigma, unfamiliar yet his allegiance evident to all who beheld him.
With purposeful steps, the old man approached the fallen Crimsonwing Kirin, and in a blink of an eye, the colossal creature vanished from sight.
A ripple of astonishment swept through the spectators as the old man pivoted, taking a few strides before vanishing into the dense foliage as if swallowed by the forest itself.
Though he disappeared from view, his identity lingered in the collective consciousness of the witnesses, an unspoken acknowledgment of the orchestrator behind this extraordinary incident.
* * *
"The spears that Master Lucas carry, are they similar to the one I'm holding?" Chief Thaddeus inquired, scrutinizing the spear in his grasp while awaiting Lucas Frost's arrival.
His gaze probed the weapon, seeking any signs of latent magic or the telltale marks of legendary runes that might imbue it with strength beyond its appearance.
"They're identical, Chief," one of the hunters confirmed, joining Thaddeus in examining the seemingly ordinary wooden spear.
Indeed, these were not extraordinary weapons but rather the most commonplace of wooden spears—a simple shaft with a sharpened tip; no embellishments, no mystic engravings.
They were the usual supplies give to the hunters.
"I believe Master Lucas has already ascended to the Golden Core Realm," a hushed voice remarked among the group, a sentiment echoed by many.
As they waited, they exchanged theories about Lucas Frost's immense strength and his triumph over the Crimsonwing Kirin, yet their discussions yielded no definitive conclusions.
Moments later, their subject of discussion emerged in the distance, striding calmly as if asserting dominion over the very earth itself.
"I've claimed my prize. Let's return," Lucas Frost announced, taking charge and leading the group back to the village.
Despite their eagerness to inquire further, the group hesitated, apprehensive about potentially offending this mysterious powerhouse with their queries.
Their curiosity simmered beneath the surface, suppressed by a mix of admiration and trepidation in the presence of the enigmatic Lucas Frost.
Yet, despite the prevailing atmosphere thick with trepidation, someone among them couldn't resist the allure of quenching their curiosity.
"I wonder if Master Nero might consider joining us on a hunt someday," Chief Thaddeus mused aloud, unable to suppress his intrigue.
He held an unwavering belief in Master Lucas's formidable abilities and sought a glimpse of Master Nero's prowess, sensing an unspoken truth that likely surpassed even Lucas's skills.
"Nero Deathbinder? That man could easily hunt down every fabled beast known to this world and beyond, and it still wouldn't satiate his ravenous appetite. But I bet that it would be fun to watch, yes?," remarked Lucas Frost, his laughter carrying an eerie undertone that resonated in the quiet of the night.
Recollections of Nero's dark deeds lingered, buried beneath the veil of time and masked by the emergence of new life, yet hauntingly vivid in Lucas's memory and those that experienced those chaotic eras.
"Nero Deathbinder," Chief Thaddeus echoed, a shudder rippling through his frame at the mere mention of the name.
His sentiment mirrored by the gathered hunters, who exchanged nervous glances and furtive whispers.
An unexplained foreboding gripped them, an inexplicable instinct urging caution and fear in the presence of the enigmatic Nero.
It was as though some primal instinct within them, untethered from conscious understanding, warned of the latent perils concealed within Nero's name.
Despite their inability to articulate the source of their dread, an unspoken consensus pervaded—a shared and unshakable apprehension at the mere thought of Nero Deathbinder.