"Stay in a straight line!"

From a bird's-eye view, in the depths of a dark, gloomy forest, a group of young men and women in tattered clothing trudged along a crooked path leading into the shadows.

"Move!" An arm covered in steel-plated armor shoved one of the young men forward, the guard's face twisted in annoyance.

These slaves had no discipline at all. What was so hard about walking in a straight line? Were they so unaware of their surroundings?

His frustration, of course, stemmed from a superiority complex etched into his mind, convincing him he was better than them. After all, they couldn't even manage something as simple as walking in a straight line—even though they had bags over their heads.

"Argh!" Feeling the force of the guard's push, one of the slave boys grunted, hate burning in his eyes.

Did these men expect them to march willingly to their deaths? What right did that guard have to feel annoyed by their resistance?

A few days after being bought, several of the slaves had started disappearing—either taken in the dead of night by a guard or outright slain in mock battles for sport. Both fates were horrible.

However, if given a choice, he would rather die fighting in one of those sham matches than like this. He was sure many of the others felt the same.

"We're here. Slow down at the back!" At the front of the line, a guardsman barked, waving his hand to signal the others to halt.

They had arrived at a forest clearing surrounded by towering pine trees, bathed in the eerie crimson light of a blood-red moon. Despite the scene's haunting beauty, the air was heavy with dread, sending chills down the slaves' spines.

Something was definitely wrong.

"How weak is it?"

As the slaves wrestled with the foreboding in their hearts, a sharp, commanding voice echoed through the clearing. Footsteps cracked through dried leaves and twigs as a young man stepped forward.

"It's weak enough, but we still need to wear it down a bit more. After that, you only need to swoop in for the kill. Then you'll have your powerful Beast Echo," an older woman with gray hair said reverently, standing beside him.

Tonight, they were here to secure a powerful Beast Echo for the family heir—a weapon to ensure he could compete with the other prodigies of his generation.

To achieve this, they had already sacrificed about twenty slaves to weaken the creature in the cave ahead. Tonight's sacrifice would be the final and most crucial one.

"Okay, let's begin," the young man said, taking a deep breath. His heart pounded with anticipation as his gaze locked onto the twenty-foot cave at the clearing's edge.

From the cave, a pair of glowing red eyes slowly opened, staring at the newcomers as if warning them that stepping closer meant death.

"You, move!" The guards, armed to the teeth, shoved the slaves forward with the butts of their spears, herding them toward the cave. The guards themselves followed at a cautious distance.

Despite their armor, they let the unarmed, unprotected slaves take the lead. The cruelty of it was almost laughable. Yet, this was the fate of slaves: disposable but undeniably useful.

"Grrrr…"

As the slaves inched closer to the cave, a low growl rumbled out—a clear warning. But with the monster ahead and the spears of their captors behind, they had no choice but to keep moving.

"This is insane! Are we just going to die like this?" one of the slaves muttered, his hands trembling with fright and resignation. The sight of the cave filled him with a crushing sense of finality.

Then, things got worse.

Thwack!

An arrow shot out from behind them, streaking into the cave and embedding itself deep within the shadows.

A split second later—

"ROAR!!!"

A thunderous roar shook the clearing as a monstrous claw emerged from the darkness, followed by the bloodied figure of a direwolf.

Its fangs were razor-sharp, its claws tore into the earth, and its bulging muscles rippled with raw power. The arrow had blinded one of its eyes, enraging the beast.

"Run for your lives!" one of the slaves screamed.

Panic erupted among the group. The sight of the direwolf was overwhelming, and only a madman would stand their ground.

But it was futile.

With a single swipe of its claws, the direwolf sent several slaves hurtling into nearby trees. Another step crushed one of them underfoot, asserting the beast's dominance.

"Go!"

The guards charged from both flanks, their spears aimed at the direwolf's vulnerable underside.

But this was no ordinary beast. Its resilience was the reason it had survived this long. The guards' spears barely scratched it.

"Awooo!"

The wolf howled, leaping into the air and dragging several guards with it. They lost their grips on their weapons and tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Hold it still, damn it!" a voice shouted from the distance.

A hundred meters away, the young heir steadied his bow, taking aim. He was too valuable to risk in direct combat, but all he needed was a clear shot to kill the beast.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to be easy.

"Argh!" A slave boy groaned as he dragged himself up from the dirt, clutching his ribs. His black hair was matted with sweat, and his ordinary features were twisted in pain. Yet his grit shone through as he composed himself.

Through the chaos, he observed the fight from behind a tree.

At this point, most of the guards were dead. Only a middle-aged woman and two others remained, struggling desperately against the direwolf.

"This was a suicide mission from the start," the slave boy muttered, his voice grim.

Unlike the other slaves, he understood exactly what was happening.

The Blackberry family was under immense pressure at the shelter's third outpost. Years without producing talented fighters had put them on the verge of losing their standing.

In a desperate bid, the family head had sent his son into this forest to claim the Beast Echo of a Grade 3 Sacred Beast. Success meant survival; failure meant death.

"Argh!"

A scream interrupted his thoughts as a figure was flung into a tree nearby.

Thud!

The slave boy glanced over and recognized the young heir, now lying motionless. Blood pooled beneath him, and his injuries seemed fatal.

"Perfect."

Ignoring the pain in his ribs, the slave boy approached the unconscious heir and crouched beside him.

"Still breathing? That's unfortunate."

He rifled through the heir's belongings, searching for anything of value.

Suddenly, a weak hand gripped his arm.

"Get me out of here, slave boy," the heir croaked, his voice trembling. "I'll give you anything you want—money, women, revenge. Just get me out."

He didn't want to be here. This was all his father's fault, forcing him to face this beast. He wanted to live.

The slave boy raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Yes… anything," the heir wheezed, his desperation palpable.

"Hm. No thanks."

Without hesitation, the slave boy smashed the heir's head against the tree, knocking him out cold.

"A dead man can't help me," he muttered, turning back to the battle.

The direwolf, despite its injuries, had utterly dominated.