Leaving Gale Valley, Han Sen didn't head straight back to Steelhold. The thrill of the Windblade slaughter had been exhilarating, but he'd made a crucial mistake: he hadn't captured a single live one. He needed prey for the crystal.
Fine, he thought, recalibrating. Bronze Tusks. They were plentiful near Steelhold, and sightings of Mutant variants weren't unheard of. If he evolved one, it wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. He detoured towards a known Bronze Tusk grazing ground, searching for a lone target.
Finding a solitary Tusk proved tricky. Spotting a small group of four or five, his newfound confidence flared. Fueled by the memory of his invulnerability against the Mantises, he activated the Golden Carapace armor and charged the herd. Bronze Tusks were Primal-tier, but slow and relatively weak. He carved through the startled beasts with brutal efficiency, focusing on killing all but one.
<< HUNT COMPLETE: PRIMAL-TIER BRONZE TUSK. >>
<< SOUL BEAST: NONE ACQUIRED. >>
<< ... >>
He dispatched another.
<< HUNT COMPLETE: PRIMAL-TIER BRONZE TUSK. >>
<< SOUL BEAST ACQUIRED: BRONZE TUSK >>
<< ... >>
Han Sen froze mid-swing, eyes wide behind his golden visor. Acquired? After slaughtering forty-three Windblades and countless Commons with nothing? And now, just two Bronze Tusks? A choked laugh escaped him. Luck. It's all sheer, dumb luck with Soul Beasts. Relief and elation warred within him. Bronze Tusk Soul Beasts weren't rare, but they weren't bad either.
Focusing inward, he willed it forth. A spectral boar-like creature, roughly two feet long with prominent bronze tusks, materialized. It dissolved into shimmering light, reforming as a heavy, three-foot-long Bronze Tusk Pike in his hands. Cold bronze metal glinted dully, the tusk-shaped spearhead radiating a palpable, brutal menace.
<< SOUL BEAST: BRONZE TUSK >>
<< TYPE: ARMS >>
Han Sen gripped the pike, feeling its solid weight. Mandatory schooling had covered basic polearm techniques, and he'd always had an affinity for weapons. He whirled the spear experimentally, the air humming around the wicked point. It felt powerful, grounded. After a few satisfying minutes, he dismissed it back into the ether. He roughly bound the surviving, dazed Bronze Tusk and hoisted it onto his shoulders.
Finding a secluded spot, he dismissed the conspicuous golden armor. The sudden loss of its empowering presence felt like shedding a second skin. Now just a sweat-streaked teenager hauling a struggling Primal beast, he trudged towards the imposing gates of Steelhold Sanctuary.
As he neared the entrance, a commotion erupted inside. A group of over a dozen riders burst forth, mounted on an array of imposing Soul Beast steeds. At their head, radiating arrogance and power, rode a figure clad in dark steel plate armor, a crimson greatsword slung across his back. His mount was a spectral Triceratops Rex – all muscle, horns, and primal fury. People scattered, casting awed and envious glances. This was Divine Scion, one of Steelhold's three apex predators aiming for Sacred Blood evolution. His real name and origins were a mystery, but his dominance here was absolute.
Han Sen pressed himself against the wall, lowering his burden to let the cavalcade pass. He kept his head down. Divine Scion, however, reined his massive mount to a halt right beside him. The air grew thick with tension.
CRACK!
Without warning, a leather whip, wielded by Divine Scion like the tail of a scorpion, lashed out. It struck Han Sen across the shoulders with brutal force. The impact knocked the bound Bronze Tusk from his grasp and sent him staggering. Fabric tore. A livid, burning welt rose instantly on his skin, an ugly crimson snake.
"Who dares sell Primal-tier goods to you?" Divine Scion's voice was icy venom, dripping with contempt as he stared down from his towering perch.
The reason was infamous. Divine Scion was Qin Xuan's most persistent, powerful suitor. Han Sen, the "Butt King" who had assaulted Qin Xuan, was a permanent stain in Divine Scion's eyes. Han Sen's miserable isolation in Steelhold wasn't just Qin Xuan's decree; Divine Scion had amplified it. He'd personally ordered Han Sen beaten upon learning of the incident and declared open season: anyone caught trading with Han Sen faced Divine Scion's wrath – a death sentence.
"I hunted it myself," Han Sen ground out, meeting Divine Scion's gaze through the slits of his helm. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white, but he remained rooted. Moving meant death. Divine Scion wasn't just personally formidable, nearing his evolution limit; he commanded this group of elites. Even with the Golden Carapace, Han Sen wouldn't get within ten feet before being torn apart. And here, in the Sanctuary? No laws. Might was right. His death would be meaningless. Worse, rumors whispered Divine Scion hailed from an untouchable aristocratic family back in the Alliance. Killing Han Sen anywhere might carry no consequence.
Han Sen wasn't afraid to die. But his death would leave Luo Sulan and little Yan utterly defenseless against a world that had already shown them cruelty.
"Remember," Divine Scion's voice cut through the silence, his gaze sweeping the onlookers like a blade. "If I discover anyone supplied him... both supplier and this trash will suffer. Slowly." The threat hung heavy. With a final, dismissive flick of his reins, Divine Scion urged his Triceratops Rex forward. The entourage followed.
One rider paused. Skyfist, Divine Scion's enforcer and the man who had personally delivered Han Sen's beating months ago. He sneered from atop his shadowy Nightmare Steed. "Stay in your ditch, Butt King. Or next time, the beating won't be a warning." He spurred his mount after his master.
Han Sen watched them thunder away, a glacial fury settling in his chest, colder and deeper than any rage he'd felt before. He silently bent, wincing as the movement pulled at the raw wound on his back, and hefted the Bronze Tusk again. He ignored the pitying, scornful, or simply relieved stares from the bystanders as he walked through the gates.
Power. I need more power. The words burned in his mind, a mantra against the humiliation. Fighting a faction like Divine Scion's required strength far beyond a single set of armor. But the obsidian crystal pulsed against his thigh, a silent promise. This is the key.
Riding at the head of his group, Skyfist glanced at Divine Scion. "Why not just finish him, Scion? He's an eyesore."
Divine Scion's smile was thin beneath his helm. "Qin Xuan is... particular. Stubborn. She hasn't killed him herself. If I do it, it might offend her delicate sense of handling her own affairs. Annoying, but better to let the insult stand. For now."
Skyfist snorted. "She doesn't know what's good for her. Scion gives her the time of day, and she acts like it's a burden. If it weren't for you favoring her..."
"Don't underestimate Qin Xuan," Divine Scion cut in, his voice losing its casual edge. "She's formidable, Skyfist. In the Alliance, or here. Securing her loyalty, or even her alliance, would be a significant advantage on both fronts." His eyes narrowed, looking towards the horizon. "But that's a later problem. Right now, push harder! We need to reach Sunset Slope before Fist Brother's crew. That Sacred Blood creature is ours."