Just as their gazes connected, the wolf rushed!

  The wolf moved as if there was no resistance from the air, its speed cutting through the ambient. Its glistening fur contrasted heavily with the scenery of chaos and death.

  Faust stepped to the side with considerable agility, a rat escaping from a cat. By a hair's breadth, the wolf missed its bite and landed on the burnt soil. As the wolf went past, Faust seized the opening, thrusting his wooden stick toward the beast's flank!

  Unsurprisingly, it easily dodged the move; a wind wolf’s speed was abysmally superior to Faust’s own. It circled him as he struggled to follow its movements, the wolf looking like a blur of speed.

  In the next moment, Faust felt it. A sharp pain accompanied by a hot liquid seeping down from his back; the wolf had scratched him with its claws.

  “Gah,” he exhaled, ignoring the pain and attempting to land an attack on the feral creature, only for it to dodge once again. After missing, it did not take long for another attack to land on him, this time on his ribs, which exposed his muscles and began to bleed profusely.

  Faust’s expression twisted in pain as grim thoughts stirred inside his brain.

  Will I die to it!? I can’t follow its movements. His eyes darted around as he spun in place, failing to catch a real glimpse of the enemy as it kept slashing him with its paws.

  In a way, Faust held the feeling this beast was merely playing with him. It landed no fatal moves, although it clearly could, only scratches that would cut his skin and cause pain. Was he being played for a fool by a damn wolf?

  Quickly, he recomposed himself and shook away the thought of dying. If the monster was playing with him, that meant he had a chance; he would just need to use it.

  I have to use the chance… but I can’t follow it. So how?

  Another scratch landed on Faust’s arm, causing more blood to fall and stain the soil. By pure instinct, he kept trying to counter-attack, but the monster was simply too fast. That was the same reason he had not run away; it was not possible.

  Faust knew that dearly thanks to his past; running from a wind wolf was simply not something a normal person could do.

  His crimson eyes caught short glimpses of the monster as it kept circling Faust, like a vulture ready to take the body. But it was no vulture; it was a wolf, and it had to kill him first. For a short while, Faust forced himself to resist the beast’s attacks, waiting for an opportunity.

  Gradually, he could catch longer glimpses of the monster moving, the blur of its movement held for a fraction of a second longer—just enough for his eyes to lock onto its heaving ribs.

  It's getting tired.

  But why was it playing with him until tiredness? Did it want to deplete his energy as well before landing a clear finish? Whatever the reason, Faust was ready to capitalize on it.

  And then, after another session of failed counter attacks, the opportunity appeared. In a sudden change of movements, the wolf did not circle him anymore but stopped behind him and gained distance before lunging towards him with utmost speed.

  It opened its mouth, revealing a row of teeth so sharp they could cut through steel. It was aimed at Faust’s column, the back of his neck—a single strike to finish the enemy. That was the nature of a true predator. In its eyes, Faust was but prey that showed no danger.

  It leapt into the air, ready to end the fight, to end its hunt. But then, Faust turned.

  Now!

  In a single motion, he turned and planted his short, pointy stick on the ground, pointing towards the direction the monster was coming. It was mid-air; it was too close!

  Even a wind wolf could not change positions anymore.

  Faust threw his body back, falling to the ground as he struggled to keep the stick pointed towards his enemy.

  Thrkk!

  In the next moment, blood spurted onto his face; his hands were drenched by the crimson liquid as a heavy pain inundated his right shoulder. His face contorted from the dreadful feeling, and yet, he resisted. The beast had its chest pierced, its fur perforated by the wood. It slid down as the rough weapon reached further into its insides. At the same time, it howled and used the last of its feral instincts to bite Faust’s shoulder.

  Its jaws tightened, a strange gloom appearing in its eyes.

  Faust breathed heavily as he stared at the dying beast. If it could have had an expression, it would be rage. It could have killed the weak, crimson-eyed rat in front of it with such easiness; why did it not? Was the rage mixed with regret? It was impossible to tell the feelings of the beast.

  All that Faust could tell was that its jaw released its strength in the next moment and its eyes lost all brightness in the following seconds.

  It was dead.

  Throwing the creature’s body to the side caused his weapon to break. Faust could only watch in disbelief. Had he just killed a wind wolf? Such a strong beast? It was… it was not by skill, he could recognize that much. It was by luck, pure luck. Maybe praying earlier resulted in such good luck?

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  He was confused, but… he had killed it.

  However, it had not ended yet. His body was heavily damaged by the foe, bleeding so much it was ridiculous. Especially his right shoulder, which had been perforated by the monster’s teeth.

  Thankfully, it had not used its full strength; otherwise, his shoulder would be paste now.

  Faust quickly scrambled to all fours and approximated a body nearby, ripping the surviving fabrics from its clothing and wrapping them around his wounds.

  I need to put pressure, I know that… but how much pressure?!

  Even wrapped, the bleeding did not stop, only being reduced slightly. It took a while for the blood to coagulate enough that the fabric could stop it, but in the end, it all worked out. Still, Faust felt his strength heavily depleted; bleeding so much did not come without consequence.

  Once calmed down, he idly thought of something.

  My injuries are too heavy; how am I not bleeding more? Why are they not hurting more? I feel like the damage should have been more severe. Scratching his hair, the link was made subconsciously. Is it because of the sacrifice ritual… because of the flames? Or is it simply an effect from the dungeon? There are no other explanations, unless I’m naturally prone to have better regeneration…

  Faust recalled few times where he had wounded himself deeply. Not only was the pain intense, but the bleeding was as well. In the end, he had to wait at least a couple of days for the injuries to completely heal. His current predicament was different.

  No, that is not it.

  For now, he put the matter aside and went towards the forest, struggling with his injured body to climb a tree and get hold of another stick. Then, he went back to the wolf’s body and studied it further.

  If he could use its leather as protection…

  He quickly dismissed the thought; he had no tool to effectively cut the monster’s pelt, and even if he did, he had no techniques or knowledge on how to do so. Then, his gaze caught hold of the beast’s weapons: its teeth and claws.

  Maybe I can make use of it? he thought. But upon trying to dismantle them, to remove them from the beast's body in multiple ways, he had to dismiss the idea.

  The claws would not budge; the teeth, just alike, would not move. The creature was a totem of resistance. Well, that could be one of the reasons hunters did not actively go after these things. They were fast too, of course, but if he had killed one, then experienced hunters could as well. He guessed the difficulty of quickly dismantling it was reason enough.

  Whatever…

  Faust moved away from the dead creature, exploring the burnt area once more. In the end, he found no further clues but realized something. An explosion. Every trace in the area pointed to an explosion of sorts. Faust knew of that; how could he not?

  Years back in his village, a great fire had happened. It was caused by the explosion of an oil house that quickly spilled fire to the neighboring wooden houses and consequently engulfed a large portion of the village in flames. The aftermath of where the accident started looked just like this: burnt and destroyed, pieces of soil moved away. However, this was a different explosion, a strange explosion, an explosion that Faust did not understand.

  It left no hole, no crater, or anything... Even if every trace, and even his own memory, pointed to an explosion followed by fire, he had no way to be fully sure of it. Unable to determine the exact circumstances of what happened, he attributed it to mana. Of course, mana could do such a thing.

  Faust had read of it in stories and even saw it first hand when Chris—if that even was his real name—turned a man into ashes and then into nothing. Mana was a mysterious energy to him; he knew of its boons, such as unparalleled strength and unreachable potential for normal people. Yet, that was where his knowledge ended. Mana was not accessible in detail for village kin like himself, only to nobles and others at the top of the hierarchy.

  Sometimes, people of talent would rise amongst the common folk and wield mana, but Faust had never seen such a case, only heard of it.

  Mana… it is interesting, Faust idly pondered about the matter, but chose to rather not think of such ineffable things.

  After finishing everything he could do in the area, collecting pieces of clothing that still served him, he was ready to depart and keep going towards the azure beam coming directly from the moon. Every time he went in its direction, he felt good, as if he were answering a calling from within himself, as if someone had knocked on his door and he had opened it to welcome them in. Such an inexplicable feeling could only be attributed to the dungeon's shenanigans, which escaped Faust's ken.

  Looking back at the wind wolf he had killed one final time, his emotions were complicated. He felt no hesitation, no uncontrollable panic or fear. Instead, he felt different, weird even. A sensation rose in his being that had been long forgotten, but it had been so long, even he did not know what it was. For now, that would have to remain buried in his heart, as it quickly faded once he left the area.

  …

  Walking through the forest was a demanding test, but not extremely so. It was tiring, of course, to walk such lengths, but it was an experience far more manageable than the snow area. Here, Faust had food and was not freezing; that was enough for him. On one more occasion, he found the carcass of a dead wolf; this one had its head turned into paste, likely an act of whatever had killed the other wolf.

  Thankfully, the blood of this wolf had already dried long ago, and he could judge it had been killed earlier, which contributed to his prayers that whatever had killed them was going further away from him.

  Faust did not take long appreciating the view of a dead creature; he had no grim interests such as observing the dead. He had no strong feeling about it at all. After observing so many of them in such a short while, he was already getting used to it. If he was unable to forget the view, he might as well get accustomed to it.

  Whether by luck, coincidence, or any other external factor, Faust managed to avoid other enemies. In one specific instance, he found a wolf far away from him, seeing it from a stealthy point. He took a long detour and did not engage in a fight with it, as he was not confident in winning once more. Besides that single wolf, he found no other foes.

  Such luck, he nodded, inwardly praising. This place is rather tranquil. If uncle was here… and he should be, then I’m sure he survived! I did not find his corpse amongst the charred ones… well… I don’t think I could recognize it in such a state, but I’m sure he is alive. He would not die to such a thing. I’m sure of it.

  At the same time he comforted himself with calming thoughts, he heard something in the distance. Steps… slow, heavy, and faltering. They touched the grass and broke it, a sound that contrasted with the calm ambiance of the golden forest, as Faust had nicknamed it.

  What is it? It’s no wolf; the one I found made no such sound… unless it’s injured. An injured wolf? Wait… He scratched his head. How did I hear it from this far?

  The sound was closing in on him. If it was truly an injured wolf, he could finish it and gain more battle experience while eliminating a possible future threat. If it was not, judging by the speed of the steps, it was very likely he could run away from it. No matter the case, he would observe first.

  With his mind committed to the decision, he acted.