Chapter 24 – The Serpent's Den
The forest was never truly silent—but this morning, it felt as if it were holding its breath.
Hao Tian moved through the undergrowth with deliberate care, every step placed after a brief pause, every movement measured. The canopy above filtered the early light into long, broken strands, painting the ground in shifting patches of shadow and gold. Somewhere far away, a bird cried out, but even that sound felt distant and fleeting, quickly swallowed by the thick greenery.
He had woken before dawn.
Not because he was restless—but because he had already decided.
The night before, after setting up a simple, concealed camp and spending hours reviewing the terrain in his mind, he had chosen his target. Of the six dangerous areas he had identified during the day, one set of tracks stood out: long, winding impressions in the soil, accompanied by subtle scorched patches on dry leaves and faint traces of heat-cracked bark.
A serpent.
Not an ordinary one.
A Crimson Flame Serpent.
Now, as he moved closer to the area, those signs became clearer.
The ground sloped gently downward, and the trees began to thin. Rocks protruded from the soil in jagged formations, their surfaces darkened as if they had been baked repeatedly by intense heat. Even the air here felt different—dry, warm, and faintly stinging to breathe.
Hao Tian slowed even further.
He crouched and examined the ground.
The tracks were fresh.
Very fresh.
Large. Heavy. Each impression sank deep into the earth, and the pattern of movement suggested a creature that had passed through not long ago—perhaps in the early hours of the night.
And more importantly…
The tracks were leading back.
Back toward a shallow, rocky depression between two broken hills.
A den.
Hao Tian's hand tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword.
He did not rush forward.
Instead, he circled.
Carefully.
Slowly.
He took nearly half an hour to approach the area from downwind, keeping to higher ground, using rocks and thick shrubs as cover. Several times, he stopped completely, holding his breath and listening.
Nothing.
No movement.
No breathing.
No low, rumbling presence.
That, in itself, was suspicious.
He crawled the last stretch, keeping his body low, until he could finally see into the depression.
And there it was.
The Crimson Flame Serpent.
It lay coiled in a loose spiral within the shallow crater-like hollow, its massive body stretching nearly twelve meters in length. Its scales were a deep, dark crimson, like cooled lava, with faint, glowing lines running between them like veins of dying embers. Even at rest, the creature radiated a subtle heat that warped the air above its body.
Its head rested on a flat stone, its jaws slightly open, revealing rows of curved fangs.
It was breathing.
Slow.
Heavy.
Steady.
And its belly was… distended.
Hao Tian's eyes narrowed.
It had eaten recently.
A lot.
Which meant only one thing.
It would be slow.
And more importantly—
It would be asleep.
He did not move for a long time.
He simply observed.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
The serpent did not stir.
Finally, Hao Tian slowly exhaled.
Luck.
Real, tangible luck.
But he did not let it make him careless.
The memory of the bear was still fresh.
The pain. The near-death. The realization that brute strength and cultivation alone were not enough.
This time…
He would not fight.
He would execute.
He slowly drew his sword, inch by inch, until the blade was fully free of the sheath. The metal did not ring. He had learned to control even that.
He studied the serpent's body.
Thick scales.
Dense muscles.
Powerful bones.
Trying to pierce through the head or skull would be risky.
But there—
Between the head and the main body.
The neck.
A necessary point of flexibility.
A place where the scales overlapped more loosely.
A place where even a creature like this could not afford too much protection.
Hao Tian shifted his grip.
Lowered his stance.
And began to move.
Step.
Pause.
Breath held.
Another step.
The heat grew stronger.
The smell of scorched earth and sulfur thickened.
He was close now.
Close enough to see the slow expansion of its chest.
Close enough to hear the faint, low hiss of air passing through its lungs.
Ten steps.
Five.
Three.
Now.
He exploded into motion.
All restraint vanished.
His body surged forward in a single, decisive burst, every muscle contracting in perfect coordination. The sword in his hand became a straight, silver line aimed directly at the serpent's neck.
He did not shout.
He did not hesitate.
He stabbed.
The blade pierced between the scales.
Deep.
Deeper.
He felt resistance—then a sudden, wet release.
The serpent's body jerked.
A violent, explosive convulsion.
A deafening, ear-piercing screech tore from its throat, shaking the rocks and sending birds screaming into the sky.
Hao Tian did not stay.
The instant the blade went in, he released it and leapt backward.
As far as he could.
As fast as he could.
The serpent's body went mad.
Even as life fled from it, its massive form thrashed in blind, dying fury. The tail smashed into rocks, shattering stone. The coils snapped and unwound, crushing shrubs and tearing up the ground.
Then—
The head snapped around.
The fangs lunged.
Not at him.
But at the tree behind him.
The jaws sank in.
The bark didn't just crack.
It melted.
A sizzling, violent hiss filled the air as venom flooded into the trunk. The wood blackened instantly, smoking, the leaves above shriveling and turning to ash in seconds.
Hao Tian's scalp went cold.
If that had been him…
He did not finish the thought.
He stayed still.
Watching.
Waiting.
Slowly…
The convulsions weakened.
The massive body twitched.
Then stilled.
The serpent was dead.
Truly dead.
Hao Tian waited a full ten minutes before approaching.
Then another ten.
Only when he was absolutely sure did he step forward.
He retrieved his sword.
Then got to work.
The harvesting took time.
He carefully extracted:
The fangs
The venom sac
The pseudo-core
And several valuable sections of scale and muscle
After that, he searched the den.
And found something even better.
A cluster of five herbs.
Their leaves were deep crimson, with dark, vein-like patterns running through them. A faint, bitter-sweet scent filled the air around them.
Crimson Blood Vein Herbs.
High-level, Rank 1 mortal herbs.
Dual element: Fire and Poison.
Dangerous.
And extremely valuable.
He carefully stored everything.
Then stood up.
And looked at the forest.
This was only the beginning.
......
Hao Tian adjusted the strap of his pack and tested the weight of his sword. The morning light barely pierced the thick canopy, yet it was enough to see the broken tracks leading deeper into the forest. His eyes traced the path carefully. Among the six dens he had marked yesterday, one track stood out. Heavy, deep hoof-like impressions interspersed with scratches that suggested claws—and the earth around them was pressed so firmly into the soil that it was obvious the creature carrying them was massive, powerful, and attuned to the element of earth.
He followed quietly, every step calculated. The terrain shifted subtly, rising in small hills and shallow valleys. Roots crisscrossed his path, but he barely disturbed a leaf as he advanced. From his previous encounters, he knew the forest had layers—layers of creatures, danger, and territory. Today, he would tread among the middle layers, the hunting grounds of dangerous but not monstrous beasts.
After nearly an hour, he glimpsed movement up ahead. A rustle in the undergrowth, followed by a deep, resonating grunt. Hao Tian froze. Peering carefully through the ferns, he saw them: two creatures locked in combat.
The first was a massive boar-like creature, its hide thick, rough, and mottled with the dark mineral tones of stone. Its enormous tusks gleamed faintly in the muted sunlight, and its massive hooves churned the earth with every charge. This was the Stonehide Boar, attuned to earth, and its defense was formidable, as one would expect from a beast using the earth's Qi to fortify its body.
The second was a sleek, black-furred panther, its eyes gleaming like obsidian in the dim light. The creature's muscles moved with fluid precision, and every sinew tensed as it dodged, swiped, and lunged. The Night Veil Panther, a shadow-affinity beast, specialized in agility, ambush, and rapid strikes.
Hao Tian's eyes narrowed. He crouched lower, seeking cover behind a moss-covered rock. The two predators were roughly evenly matched in terms of raw strength versus mobility, but each had clear advantages and weaknesses. The Boar was a tank—strong, heavily armored, slow. The Panther was fast, agile, precise—but physically less durable.
He observed them for several minutes. The Stonehide Boar charged forward, ramming a tree to intimidate the Panther, whose shadowy movements allowed it to barely dodge the blow. With a twist of its body, the Panther leapt onto the Boar's back, claws scraping against the tough hide. The Boar rolled, shaking violently, and the Panther barely held on.
Hao Tian analyzed carefully, noting the fighting patterns. The Boar favored direct, punishing strikes, using its mass to dominate territory. The Panther used indirect attacks, exploiting openings, relying on agility rather than force. He crouched silently, ensuring the terrain between him and the fight could be used to his advantage. Every fallen log, every uneven mound, every tree could become cover or a platform for escape if needed.
He could feel the tension rising in the forest. Smaller creatures, normally skittish, avoided the immediate area entirely. Birds did not chirp, and even insects seemed to hold still. The clash of two apex predators had created a small zone of silence around them.
Hao Tian's mind raced. His plan was not to interfere—yet. Observation first, action second. He could use their fight to his advantage. If either creature became exhausted or injured, he could potentially harvest its remains or resources without a direct confrontation. But if he misstepped…
He kept moving slowly along the periphery, maintaining cover. His eyes scanned every leaf, every root. The Boar's stomps sent vibrations through the soil. Hao Tian crouched lower, letting the vibrations inform him of its position when sightlines were blocked.
Suddenly, the Boar charged in a wide arc, aiming to crush the Panther against a boulder. The Panther leapt, barely clearing the impact, and landed silently behind it, swiping with claws. The Boar spun and swung its tusks, tearing into the ground instead of the Panther. Dust rose, and a sharp, metallic-sounding crack echoed through the trees.
Hao Tian allowed himself a subtle nod. His analysis was holding true. The Panther's agility was keeping it alive, but the Boar's raw strength was forcing it into constant evasion.
The Boar, sensing the persistent pressure, lowered its head and swung its tusks in a wide, deliberate arc, aiming to intercept the Panther mid-leap. The Panther twisted in the air, but a tusk grazed its flank. The panther yowled, spinning away, leaving faint scratch marks along the Boar's hide.
Hao Tian's breath was steady. He made mental notes: the Panther's strength was primarily in precise, repeated strikes; the Boar's defense relied on mass, durability, and earth-enhanced resistance. He estimated that if either sustained a major hit, it would be significantly weakened—but both were still formidable at their current state.
Minutes stretched, yet he remained hidden, moving slowly, observing, calculating. When the Panther leapt for a third time, aiming for the Boar's eyes, the Boar countered with a violent turn, smashing the Panther to the ground. The impact left the Panther struggling to roll clear. It scrambled up, hissing, but the Boar had gained a slight advantage—a temporary opening that Hao Tian would have noticed only with precise observation.
He crouched behind a low ridge and carefully assessed the situation. He had a decision to make:
Either he could wait, allowing one to exhaust the other, and take what remained of the defeated creature for materials and herbs. Or he could risk intervening directly, potentially gaining more resources but also putting himself in immediate danger.
Hao Tian's instincts leaned toward caution. The Panther was agile, capable of ambushes, and its shadow affinity made its movements unpredictable. The Boar's raw strength was not a threat if avoided, but a single strike could easily crush him.
He decided: observation first. Learning first. Intervene later.
The fight continued. The Boar's tusks smashed into the Panther repeatedly, leaving shallow gashes. The Panther darted around, attempting to target the Boar's legs, trying to destabilize it. The Boar charged, creating small tremors in the ground. Each step shook leaves loose from the branches.
Hao Tian noted the subtleties: the Panther's movements were becoming slightly sluggish—the Boar's repeated forceful attacks were gradually sapping its stamina. Conversely, the Boar, though still strong, was beginning to breathe heavier, each stomp slower, less precise.
He calculated further. Both creatures were capable of dealing significant damage. One misstep, and the balance could shift catastrophically. If he intervened too early, either creature could turn on him. Yet, the forest would reward a patient observer—the victor would leave behind usable resources without further risk.
Hao Tian shifted slightly, staying just low enough to remain undetected, but close enough to see every twitch of muscle, every tightening of sinew, every glance of claw. His mind methodically cataloged possibilities:
Boar's charge patterns
Panther's dodge arcs
Timing of exhaustion
Distance for safe approach for either outcome
And then he noticed it: a minor slip from the Panther—a slight miscalculation while dodging a tusk. It rolled too far, leaving its flank exposed for the briefest moment. The Boar lunged, tusks aimed, crushing the Panther's side. A high-pitched screech. Blood streaked across its sleek black coat.
Hao Tian allowed himself a breath. The outcome was becoming clear. One more well-timed blow from either, and the loser would be finished.
He also noticed something else. Tracks in the soil, subtle and overlooked: small scratches, the way smaller animals had avoided this area. There were more dens nearby than he had estimated. His previous reconnaissance had given him six key locations, but observing these two in combat revealed a hidden hierarchy of territory—the stronger the predator, the larger the zones of influence, the more prey was driven away from its territory.
The fight slowed. Both creatures were heavily fatigued. The Boar's movements were more deliberate; its body had slight marks of abrasion. The Panther's breathing was ragged, muscles trembling, but its eyes still burned with predatory intent.
Hao Tian adjusted his stance. He was ready now. If one faltered completely, he could approach and harvest without engaging. He also took mental note: should he ever confront either directly, he would have to account for elemental affinities—earth reinforcing the Boar's defense, shadow making the Panther elusive, but neither capable of using Qi or techniques yet.
The forest remained eerily silent around them. No smaller beasts dared approach. Even birds had vanished from the trees nearby. The energy of the two apex predators created a subtle tension that seemed to warp the air itself.
Hao Tian stayed still, breathing low, observing every twitch, every step. Every decision he made from this point onward could mean either a rich harvest of resources and herbs, or a dangerous, potentially fatal misstep.
And as he crouched, the first slivers of understanding dawned on him—this forest, the tracks, the dens, the patterns of avoidance—it was a complex, living system. Every predator had territory, every prey had instinct, and he, a human, needed both observation and strategy to navigate it safely.
He tightened his grip on his sword, and waited.
The outcome of this duel, and his first real tactical test in the deeper forest, was about to reveal itself...