Kyra glances back at Alix, one eyebrow raised. "A king, huh?"

Alix's expression doesn't change. He doesn't deny it—nor does he confirm it. "You have good eyes, Verrin."

Verrin smiles faintly. "Just experience."

Bragg snorts, clapping his massive hand on Verrin's shoulder. "Careful, you'll make him blush."

Kyra smirks. "I doubt he even knows how."

The group laughs lightly, the tension from the battle dissolving into the mist.

Mave looks out toward the horizon where the forest stretches endlessly into fog. His voice turns quieter. "You know… if only we could leave this continent."

Bragg glances at him. "Huh?"

Mave shrugs, his tone half wistful, half teasing. "I heard the lower continents are free lands—less controlled by the top forces. If we could get there, a Tier Six group like us could build a kingdom. I heard that's enough power to rule."

Toren chuckles. "Build a kingdom, he says. You'd probably drink yours dry in a week."

Kyra grins. "And tax the ale first."

Even Verrin smiles softly. "Still, the thought isn't foolish. Tier Six power is respected anywhere."

Bragg crosses his arms, gaze drifting toward Alix again. "Yeah… if only. A man could start fresh, carve out a throne with his own hands."

Alix's eyes remain fixed on the horizon, his voice quiet but steady. "Power alone doesn't make a kingdom. It's the will to shape it that does."

The group falls silent for a moment. The mist swirls around them, faint traces of light filtering through the canopy.

Then Bragg lets out a low chuckle. "Heh. Spoken like a real king."

----

Somewhere deep within the heart of the Silent Grove, where light barely reaches and the air itself hums with pressure, a colossal shape lies coiled beneath the roots of an ancient, petrified tree. The ground there is cracked, yet alive—breathing with faint pulses of emerald light that spread outward like veins.

The sleeping beast exhales, and the entire grove seems to tremble. The mist thickens, as if afraid to drift too close.

Then—its eyes open.

Twin slits of gold slice through the darkness. The surrounding mana surges in response, a low, rumbling hum echoing through the forest like distant thunder. All at once, dozens of nearby beasts—wolves of wind, serpents of shadow, and horned felines cloaked in mist—freeze where they stand. Even the high-level tier sixes bow their heads instinctively, trembling beneath that gaze.

The creature rises slowly, its movement both graceful and terrifying.

The creature rises slowly, its massive form unfolding from the earth like a living mountain. Bark and soil fall from its body as it stretches, revealing scales that shimmer between obsidian black and dark jade. Each scale glows faintly at the edges, veins of green light pulsing through them.

Two horns curve backward from its skull, ridged with faint runic lines, glowing faintly with embedded mana. Its wings—vast and tattered like shadows woven with stormlight—unfurl with a low groan, scattering debris across the cavern. They aren't quite draconic, nor purely beastlike—each membrane ripples like condensed energy, not flesh.

Its head resembles that of a western dragon, yet sharper and leaner, the muzzle more predatory. A faint crest of spines runs down its back, each spine edged with metallic sheen. When it exhales, faint arcs of lightning and smoke drift from its nostrils, filling the air with a scent of burnt ozone.

This is the Beast King of Silent Grove.

A creature born of wind and earth, carrying a fragment of dragon blood—a reminder of an ancient lineage that once ruled the skies.

The ground around it hums as its aura spreads outward.

Every lesser beast in the region feels it.

Ten tier 6 monsters bow their heads, trembling. Some whimper, their instincts screaming submission. A few high-level Tier 6s—the apex predators of the grove—lift their heads in defiance at first, but even they soon lower their gazes, forced down by the sheer weight of its presence.

Three peak Tier 6 beasts stand at the edge of its den—a massive thunder ape, a six-legged obsidian feline, and a dark serpent that coils around a fallen tree. They do not move, but their eyes are sharp with fear and respect.

The Beast King's voice echoes—not as sound, but as intent, vibrating through the mana itself.

"I can feel it again…that presence."

The voice rolls through the forest like a whisper carried on a storm—deep, resonant, ancient, and intelligent. The air itself ripples with the weight of its intent, trees creaking as mana shudders through their roots.

Its eyes narrow, a flicker of irritation gleaming within them. "That same intruder's scent… the same will that dared to stir chaos in my territory earlier."

It raises its head fully now, horns scraping faintly against the ceiling of stone and roots. With every breath, the mist shifts—drawn toward it like prey to a predator. The faint golden light within its chest brightens, outlining the faint symbol etched upon its scales, a spiral sigil shaped like a dragon's eye.

All around, the forest responds. Beasts tremble, shadows bend, wind currents halt. The grove itself seems to listen.

A deep growl rumbles from the Beast King's throat, low and commanding.

—Seek.

The word isn't spoken aloud; it reverberates through the minds of every beast under its rule. The weaker ones collapse instantly, overwhelmed by the sheer will transmitted through mana.

The high-level tier sixes—the wolves of gale and the serpents of dusk—rise, eyes glowing faint green and silver. They understand the command instinctively.

The three peak tier sixes remain still, heads lowered, waiting for further instruction.

But the command never comes.

The Beast King's eyes flicker once more—then dim, their molten glow fading into a dull, ember-like shimmer. The air stills. The green light pulsing through its scales slows, then steadies into silence.

The great creature exhales, a deep rumble echoing through the earth. The sound rolls outward like distant thunder before fading into the mist.

The peak-tier beasts lift their heads slightly, waiting—unsure. But no new intent follows.

Instead, the Beast King lowers its head again, curling its colossal body back beneath the petrified roots. Its wings fold in, talons sinking into the soft moss and cracked stone. The grove itself seems to breathe easier as the pressure recedes.

And then, with a long, heavy breath, the creature slips back into slumber.

The forest stills once more. The only sound left is the quiet hum of the mist, winding through ancient trees.

----

Back near the outer edge of the Silent Grove, the Iron group continues their cautious advance.

Kyra moves at the front, her movements fluid and precise. Every few steps, she crouches—listening, testing the air, tracing faint mana trails on the bark of ancient trees. Thanks to her instincts, they've avoided half a dozen roaming packs already.

Bragg, ever the anchor of the group, adjusts the heavy pack on his shoulder and sighs. "I'll say this again—remind me to never doubt your nose, Kyra."

Kyra glances back with a grin. "It's not my nose. It's the way the wind moves here. The beasts carry their scent differently—like the forest itself warns you, if you listen close enough."

"Still sounds like magic to me," Toren mutters, keeping his sword half-drawn as his eyes scan the fog.

Verrin hums quietly, looking amused. "Observation is a kind of magic too, in a way. Most just don't realize it."

Bragg waves a hand dismissively. "Bah. Call it what you want. I'll stick to my fists."

Alix walks at the rear, silent, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the canopy. His senses spread wider than the others could possibly imagine—every heartbeat, every flicker of mana around them mapped effortlessly in his mind.

The beasts still move in the distance, but they're scattered—restless, yet hesitant.

Almost as if… something had stirred them.

After another few minutes, Bragg halts and pulls a folded piece of parchment from a reinforced pouch. The edges are worn, water-stained, but still legible. He crouches, spreading it across a patch of moss-covered ground.

"Alright," he says, rubbing his chin. "According to this, the Beast King's lair should be about… here." He taps a spot deep in the map's center, marked by a jagged circle of ink.

Kyra leans closer. "That's in the heart of the grove. You sure this map's still right?"

Bragg lets out a wry grin. "Not even close. This thing's nearly a year old. The guy who sold it to me claimed he pulled it off a Tier Six explorer's corpse."

Mave snorts. "That's comforting."

Toren crosses his arms. "So basically, we're wandering blind."