CHAPTER 186: CLASH BEGINS!

The crimson mist hung low in the Blood Valley, clinging to the jagged rocks like a living thing. Distant growls and heavy footfalls echoed through the haze, but for Aamir, the place felt... quiet. Too quiet.

He stood atop a broken boulder, hands in his pockets, the corpses of twelve massive beasts scattered in a loose perimeter around him. Each was unique — scaled wolves with molten breath, horned bears whose hides could stop most steel, a winged cat-beast with talons like sickles — but all were dead with single, precise blows.

Aamir clicked his tongue. "This is no fun... only these weaklings keep coming. It’s making things easier than I’d hoped."

When the tournament began, he had slipped away from the other competitors, vanishing into the deeper valley without a word. It wasn’t strategy — he simply preferred to move alone. The others assumed it was arrogance, maybe overconfidence. They didn’t know the truth.

What Aamir didn’t realize was that his mere presence warped the balance of the hunt. To the beasts of the valley, he wasn’t just another intruder — he was something else. Something older. Something higher. The invisible authority of a Beast Lord clung to him like a crown of unseen fangs.

Most creatures, even the savage Blood Beasts, sensed it instantly. They avoided him entirely, retreating into the deeper shadows rather than risk the wrath of whatever he was. Only the so-called Area Lords dared to confront him.

These were no ordinary monsters — each ruled a swath of territory like a king, their dominance earned through countless battles. In the wild, they were feared and respected, beasts strong enough to challenge armies.

Every Area Lord Aamir faced today was at Level 15 — the peak of the Legend Class, the very brink of ascending into the feared Titan Class. According to human classifications, a single one could destroy several small cities before being stopped.

And yet...

Aamir yawned, brushing dust off his shoulder. "All bark, no bite. If these are the valley’s kings, I’m not impressed."

Somewhere behind him, hidden in the red mist, something stirred — heavier, slower... and far more dangerous.

Aamir trudged through the thick undergrowth, swatting away dangling vines. "Pathetic... all these so-called ’beasts’ are barely worth the breath it takes to kill them," he muttered, kicking aside the limp body of a low-tier predator that had crossed his path minutes ago.

But then—his expression shifted.

Something stirred in the air.

Not the snapping of twigs by clumsy wildlife, not the faint rustle of wind through the trees—this was sharper, deliberate.

His senses sharpened instantly. Pran Domain.

Aamir closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. A ripple of invisible energy burst outward from him like a silent shockwave. The forest around him seemed to darken as his pran spread through every tree, rock, and shadow, weaving itself into the fabric of Blood Valley.

Within seconds, the domain expanded... wider... and wider... until the entire cursed valley pulsed faintly under his awareness.

There—movement.

Multiple presences.

Heavy footsteps, timed... calculated.

Not beasts.

Aamir’s lips curled into a smirk. "So, the rats finally leave their holes..."

From deep within the jungle’s murk, shadows broke away from the foliage—dark, humanoid figures advancing with silent precision, unaware that he had sensed them the moment they crossed into his reach.

Aamir tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he watched their approach.

"By their life energy... werewolves. Man, these dogs—why do they want to die so badly?"

Luman’s voice hummed in his mind.

"Host, it’s three in total."

"Yes, I know," Aamir replied with an amused grin. "And they actually think they can defeat me. I mean... that’s just foolish. I already showed them my speed—now it’s time to show them my strength."

"Do not try to kill them, Host,"

Luman warned.

"Yes, yes, of course," Aamir said, waving his hand dismissively. "I’m not going to kill them."

The jungle grew still. Then—fwshhh!—three werewolves emerged from the shadows, surrounding him in a loose triangle. Two males, one female, all exuding predatory confidence. Their claws glinted faintly under the crimson light of the Blood Moon filtering through the canopy.

Aamir’s gaze swept over them lazily.

"Hm... so, what do you want?"

One of the males stepped forward, his towering frame corded with muscle.

"I am Korr," he said, his deep voice vibrating through the air. "The so-called King of Beasts, huh? Let me teach you a lesson—never parade that title in front of real predators."

Aamir didn’t even blink. One instant he was there, the next—gone. A faint blur, a whisper of displaced air—he reappeared behind Korr without so much as a sound.

"Oh, really?" Aamir’s voice slid past Korr’s ear like cold steel. "But are you capable of doing that?"

Before the werewolf could turn, Aamir’s fist shot forward in a tight, explosive jab aimed squarely at Korr’s ribs.

CLANG!

Korr’s forearm intercepted the strike, muscles bulging as he absorbed the force. The ground beneath his feet cracked, sending dirt and roots spraying.

Aamir’s brows rose in genuine interest.

"Remarkable... you handled my attack."

He smirked, leaning in slightly.

"So... let me see just how strong you are, Korr the Unbroken."

Far away in the grand arena, the colossal viewing screens shimmered, showing the scene in the Blood Valley with crystal clarity. The crowd leaned forward in unison, sensing the tension in the air.

A vampire elder in the front row narrowed his eyes. "That speed... he vanished from sight and reappeared behind Korr in less than a blink."

A young werewolf warrior scoffed loudly, crossing his arms. "Hmph! Korr blocked it. That punch didn’t do a thing. He’s strong, but not unbeatable."

An older werewolf sitting beside him shook his head slowly. "You fool. Did you not see the ground shatter from just that jab? That wasn’t even his full strength."

Whispers spread like wildfire.

"Is this... the real King of Beasts?"

"No, no—Korr will tear him apart. He’s never been broken in a fight!"

"Look at their eyes. Neither of them is holding back now."

High in the royal balcony, King Zalmic’s gaze remained fixed on the screen, his expression unreadable. He rested his chin on one hand, studying Aamir like a chess master watching a dangerous piece on the board.

Vellarin Hosang, the flamboyant host, couldn’t resist adding commentary. His magically amplified voice boomed through the arena:

"Ladies and gentlemen, what we are witnessing here is no ordinary clash. On one side, Korr the Unbroken—champion of the Hunt for four consecutive years! On the other... a mysterious contender from beyond our lands, the lone beast-kin in this tournament, calling himself the King of Beasts!"

The audience roared at his words, some cheering Korr’s name, others chanting for Aamir.

Back in the Blood Valley, Aamir and Korr locked eyes. The female werewolf shifted her stance, muscles tightening, while the second male began circling slowly, looking for an opening.

Aamir smirked, his voice calm but dripping with challenge.

"Three against one? Don’t disappoint me."

The crowd in the arena erupted again, sensing the first real clash was about to ignite.

Meanwhile...

Not far from Aamir, deep within a ravine choked with blood-mist, Gordan tore through a pack of crimson-scaled hounds. Each swing of his fists sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, his hardened blood armor gleaming in the dim moonlight. He fought like a siege engine given life, crushing skulls and breaking spines without pause.

Syran was the opposite—a phantom in motion. High above, he leapt from rock to rock, melting into shadows and reappearing behind his prey. One beast’s head rolled silently into the grass before its body realized it was dead. Calm, precise, untouchable—Syran’s movements left no wasted effort.

Across the valley, Fenric Bloodfang hunted with grim focus. His claws, longer than daggers, ripped through a hulking blood-bear, crimson splattering across his fur. He didn’t stop to rest, his gaze already fixed on the distant treeline where more prey waited. Every motion was deliberate—measured dominance, the mark of a predator who had nothing to prove but everything to maintain.

Ralkor the Ironhide waded through swamp waters, the moonlight glinting off his thick, silver-flecked hide. A monstrous blood-serpent lunged at him, fangs flashing—only for its jaws to shatter against his ironlike skin. His counterattack was brutal, tearing the serpent in half with sheer force.

Vexa Moonscar moved like liquid death. Her silver hair trailed behind her as she danced between enemies, claws slicing in arcs of red. She didn’t just kill—she carved patterns into her prey, leaving her mark as both a warrior and an artist of violence.

Serik Draevin, another vampire competitor, stayed away from the chaos, crouched in the shadow of an ancient tree. He watched other fighters clash with beasts, his eyes calculating. Every movement was strategic—he would only strike when it benefited him the most.

Brak Stonehide, in contrast, was a whirlwind of destruction. His massive frame smashed through everything in his path, rocks and trees alike falling under his assault. Beasts that might have slowed others down were pulverized in seconds.

Valissa Korven fought like a crimson tempest. Her twin blades flashed, each strike flowing into the next in a seamless rhythm. Her style was elegant but merciless, cutting down everything that dared to stand in her way.

All across the Blood Valley, blood spilled, the roars of beasts mingling with the snarls of predators—both man and monster. Yet even here, whispers traveled: Aamir has already drawn the attention of Korr the Unbroken.