Kevin held the bloodstained scale up to the weak light filtering through the fog, his mind a whirlwind of calculations. A creature of that size… its heart, its bone marrow, the core muscles powering those wings—those would undoubtedly be high-grade materials, possibly even B-grade or higher. The potential for potions was staggering: flight, enhanced regeneration, terrifying offensive power. But the craving triggered by mere traces of blood was a crucial data point. It suggested the creature's true "essence" wasn't evenly distributed. The blood was potent, but not the source of its power. That was likely concentrated elsewhere.
"Begel," Kevin said, his voice cutting through the somber atmosphere. "This creature… it's new. It's not in any of the reserve's catalogs or threat assessments, is it?"
Begel shook his head, his expression grave. "No. Nothing of this description. White Tree's analysis suggests a theropod body plan with draconic characteristics, but the size and implied aggression are off the charts for this region. It's an anomaly. Possibly a mutation, or…" He trailed off, not wanting to voice the more disturbing possibility: that it was an invasive species, purposefully introduced or escaped from somewhere else.
Menchi, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up, her voice tight. "A monster that size, with that kind of power… it's an apex predator that just established itself at the top of the food chain. And it's hungry. It didn't just kill these men; it made a statement. This is its territory now."
Buhara's gentle rumble held a new, grim note. "It will not stop. A creature that aggressive, having tasted human prey, will likely begin to see the research base itself as part of its hunting grounds. Or worse, it may start ranging beyond the reserve borders."
The implication was clear. This was no longer just a conservation issue or a mysterious tragedy. It was an imminent, catastrophic threat. The private team's foolish incursion had potentially unleashed a disaster.
Begel's radio crackled to life. The base reported all clear, but the tension in the operator's voice was palpable. He looked at the group, his decision made. "White Tree, secure the scene as best you can for the Association forensics team. Document everything. The rest of you," his gaze swept over Kevin, Menchi, and Buhara, "are coming back with me now. We're locking the base down and issuing a continent-wide Hunter Alert. This thing needs to be classified, tracked, and if it's as aggressive as it seems, eliminated."
As they turned to follow Begel back to the vehicles, Kevin pocketed the bloodstained scale and soil. The craving was a faint whisper, a clue. His potion-maker's instincts warred with the stark reality of the situation. The material was incredibly tempting, a key to potentially immense power. But the creature it came from was a waking nightmare, a force of nature that treated armed humans like ragdolls.
The ride back was silent, the earlier camaraderie gone. Menchi stared out at the passing swamp, her thoughts unreadable. Buhara sat like a monument to solemnity. Kevin closed his eyes, not to rest, but to focus. In his mind's eye, he wasn't seeing the shredded bodies. He was seeing the problem from all angles: as a threat to be neutralized, as a biological mystery to be solved, and as a source of unparalleled materials. The Hunter Exam suddenly felt like a distant, simplistic puzzle. The real test, it seemed, had already begun, here in the mist-shrouded wetlands, and it was a test of survival, ethics, and ambition all at once. He knew, with a cold certainty, that his path would inevitably lead him back here, to confront the winged shadow. The only question was how, and when, and what he would choose to make of it.
A heavy silence settled over the group as Begel's jeep bounced back towards the relative safety of the research lodge. The swamp's oppressive atmosphere seemed to cling to them, the scent of blood and decay replaced by the sterile tang of adrenaline and dread.
Menchi broke the quiet, her voice uncharacteristically small. "We… we were just there. Picking strawberries. If we'd taken a different path, or been slower…" She didn't finish the thought, staring at her hands as if they might be stained.
"The creature was focused," Buhara rumbled, his analytical mind working to impose order on the chaos. "It targeted a specific, armed group. It was not a random patrol. We were fortunate in our timing, not our stealth."
Kevin listened, but his focus was inward. The calculus of risk and reward was clear, but a deeper, more instinctual warning was sounding. Begel was right; the scene was off. The sheer overkill, the lack of consumption—it wasn't just predation. It was a message, or a territorial purge executed with chilling efficiency. A creature that intelligent and that powerful changed everything. It wasn't just a beast to be hunted; it was a rival apex intelligence.
"Begel," Kevin said, his voice firm. "The Hunter Association alert. It needs to specify that this isn't a standard hostile wildlife incident. The target demonstrates strategic targeting and extreme, wasteful violence. Recommend they send a team with at least one experienced Beast Hunter and a specialist in abnormal Nen phenomena. This feels… deliberate."
Begel shot him a sharp glance from the driver's seat, then gave a slow, approving nod. "You're thinking like a Hunter, not just a victim or an opportunist. I'll phrase it exactly like that." He paused, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "And Kevin? Whatever that craving of yours is telling you about its 'essence'… ignore it for now. That's bait on a hook meant for bigger, dumber fish than you. You saw what it did to the hook."
The warning was stark. Kevin knew Begel was right. The monster's blood might whisper of power, but the slaughter site screamed of a trap—or at least, a domain where the rules were written in claws and gore.
Back at the lodge, the mood was one of controlled lockdown. Blinds were drawn, perimeter sensors were set to their most sensitive, and the few non-essential personnel were being prepared for evacuation. Menchi and Buhara immediately began packing their culinary lab, their Gourmet Hunter expedition unequivocally terminated.
Kevin retreated to his temporary quarters. He placed the bloodstained scale and the clump of earth on his worktable. The faint, C-grade craving pulsed from them, a siren song of potential. He then placed next to them the single, perfect Ichigo-Gamera strawberry from his trade with Menchi. Its vibrant red seemed to mock the dull brown of the blood-soiled earth.
Two harvests from the same swamp. One spoke of life's delicate, symbiotic wonders, of sweetness born from stone and mud. The other spoke only of death and terrifying, unexplored power.
He wouldn't chase the monster. Not now. Not with his current strength. Bisky's training had hammered home the importance of knowing one's limits. Mori's lessons had been about surviving against overwhelming odds, not seeking them out foolishly.
But he wouldn't forget. He labeled the samples carefully and sealed them away. The strawberry was a promise of what the world could offer. The scale and blood were a promise of what it could take away. The Hunter Exam was his immediate gate. But beyond it, he now had a longer-term objective, a far more dangerous recipe to consider. He would grow stronger. He would learn more. And one day, when the balance of risk and reward wasn't so lethally skewed, he would return. Not for vengeance, but for understanding. And, perhaps, for a harvest worthy of a true Hunter.
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