"Ha! That went smoothly!" Luke's laughter pierced the air, his elation palpable after felling the Scaled Beast.
Weighing in at a full 45 kilograms, the creature proved this expedition's worth.
"Not bad at all," Luke grinned, clapping Oliver's shoulder repeatedly. "Our luck's taken a turn for the better since you joined. Ha!"
Typically, ordinary prey came easily enough, but monster encounters often proved scarce – perhaps one every few months.
It wasn't for lack of sightings. Rather, even spotted monsters often eluded capture. Some, more formidable, could even turn the tables and hunt the hunters.
Bagging a few hundred kilos of wild boar and over forty kilos of monster meat in such quick succession? That was extraordinary fortune indeed.
"Born at dawn, dead by dusk..." Oliver mused, growing suspicious of his supposed "luck." Was this truly good fortune?
As the saying goes, when good fortune seems too good to be true, misfortune often follows. Their celebration proved short-lived as a brass blur suddenly materialized, its aura radiating menace as it lunged at the team.
Horror gripped Oliver. His internal energy exploded outward as he narrowly evaded the attack.
The bronze figure's speed far outstripped the previous Scaled Beast. It zeroed in on the nearest target: Eric.
Eric's face contorted in shock, but his reaction came too late. He found himself paralyzed, unable to muster his strength.
Even as he frantically circulated his internal energy, the Scaled Beast struck faster, its jaws clamping onto Eric's neck.
For all its enhancement of physical strength, internal energy provided little in the way of defense. There was no hope of withstanding this bite.
Eric struggled desperately, trying to protect his vital points.
But the enraged Scaled Beast acted with brutal efficiency. With a savage shake of its head, it tore Eric's throat clean open.
Blood gushed forth. Eric's expression twisted into a rictus of agony. His mouth worked silently, producing only pained whimpers as he thrashed in his death throes.
"You'll pay for that!" Luke's eyes bulged with fury, his internal energy manifesting visibly around his blade. He brought it down like a thunderbolt upon the Scaled Beast.
BOOM!
The strike sent the creature flying, one of its claws severed. Yet its ferocity remained undiminished as it lunged again, this time at Oliver and Laura.
But it had spent its element of surprise. Even with its incredible speed, a killing blow now proved elusive.
"Wolf Chase!" Oliver channeled a stream of basic internal energy, his physical capabilities spiking dramatically to match the Scaled Beast's. As he exploded backward, his blade lashed out, parrying the monster's attack.
Luke, unwilling to grant even a moment's reprieve, roared as he unleashed a triple sword strike.
"Demon Slash!"
Three vicious arcs of steel converged. The first pinned the Scaled Beast to the earth, immobilizing it. The second cleaved deep into its back, exposing bone. The third bisected the creature entirely, its lifeblood spilling onto the forest floor.
"Captain, it's... it's hopeless." Laura's voice cracked as she crouched beside Eric, her face ashen. The wound was beyond any hope of treatment.
Their second hunt, and they'd lost another team member. How could this happen?
"Damn it all!" Luke's fist connected with a nearby tree, sending tremors through its trunk. "A second Scaled Beast, and it came here seeking death! Who could have foreseen this?"
Monsters, like animals, typically sought self-preservation. When hunted, flight was the norm. For one to launch such a brazen attack, knowing its doom was sealed? Unheard of.
Revenge for its fallen kin? Preposterous!
In the ensuing silence, Eric drew his final, ragged breath. His wounds proved too severe for even internal energy to sustain him.
Energy Cultivation, at its core, focused on harnessing life energy and enhancing the body's capabilities. It fell far short of accelerating healing by orders of magnitude.
Even minor wounds required a day or two to mend.
A throat torn half-open? Assuming regeneration were possible, it would take months to regrow.
But a person deprived of breath perishes in minutes.
To save such a grievous injury would require healing not ten thousand times faster, but tens of thousands of times faster.
After all, even accelerated ten thousandfold, a minute becomes merely a week.
"What am I pondering?" Oliver chastised himself silently. "Avoiding injury entirely – that's the path mortals must tread..."
In that moment, gazing upon his "Mayfly Fate" as described in the Rebirth Codex, understanding finally dawned.
This fate of being "born at dawn, dead by dusk" likely referred to the "Oliver" devoid of reincarnation memories.
Without the Rebirth Codex, death by starvation, illness, or exposure might have claimed him long ago.
His life held no inherent weight, easily snatched away by this harsh world. Hence, "mayfly."
Only one factor had preserved him thus far:
He'd grown strong enough to weather minor risks.
When the Scaled Beast attacked, his heightened alertness had saved him.
Eric represented the polar opposite. Not only had he grown complacent, but his strength proved insufficient to alter his fate. Death claimed him swiftly and brutally.
Oliver couldn't afford arrogance. Eric's present could easily become his future.
"Gather your things. We're heading back," Luke grunted, hoisting Eric's body – easily over 100 kilograms – onto his shoulders. He set off toward the Middle Layer River without another word.
Oliver and Laura exchanged weary glances, sighing as they each shouldered a Scaled Beast carcass and followed.
Typically, those who fell in battle were left for the wilderness, sparing the living unnecessary risk.
But they hadn't ventured too deep. Dangerous monsters seemed unlikely to cross their path.
Luke, confident in his abilities, chose to return Eric's body, providing closure for his family.
As for sharing the monster meat with Eric's kin...
A portion would be allocated, but meager – perhaps a quarter of what should have been Eric's share.
The second Scaled Beast didn't factor in; Eric had been as good as dead when it appeared.
Was a life worth only so much?
Given Willowbrook's harsh realities, perhaps life truly held such little value.
This was common practice. Each person bore responsibility for their own survival. Blame held no currency here.
In this context, sharing even this small portion was seen as "wasteful" or "foolish" by many.
Relationships were transactional, devoid of sentiment. Death was simply a fact of life. Why sacrifice precious resources to support another's family?
What if misfortune befell you next, and that generosity wasn't reciprocated? Could you rise from the grave to claim your due?
Risk avoidance trumped potential gains. Gradually, these unspoken rules solidified.
When hunters fell, their teams were considered generous for offering even token compensation. It placated bereaved families, minimizing unnecessary conflict.
Thus, the group returned to the village in somber silence, surrendering their catch to the Village Chief.
"Processing the demonic energy will take three days," they were told. "Return then to collect your share and settle your contribution."
With this pronouncement, they dispersed to their homes, awaiting the final reckoning.
Demonic energy – a lethal poison only the Smith family could safely handle.
If it entered one's body, the best-case scenario was internal energy disruption and severe illness. Worst case? Organ failure and death.
The Smith family's expertise in neutralizing demonic energy negated the need for hunter oversight.
If you wanted monster meat, you'd best surrender your full 50% tithe honestly!