Just as the first beast died, another latched onto my leg. Its powerful jaw couldn't scratch my armor. I impaled the beast with my sword. I turned to my right, facing the next growler; my sword cleaved the body in half and carried through to the next wolf.

A charging beast knocked me in my back, causing me to slide across the ground. I used the momentum to slay three more charging beasts. At the end of my slide, I set a new anchor, pulling myself away from the back basher, and severed its head. Another charger challenged my flank. My left claymore turned into a spear that I rammed into the beast's belly. I left the spear in the beast and used my claymore with two hands.

My dance became a fluid slaughter. Beasts charged, and I cut, spinning, dodging, and dicing. Blood steamed, turning the air foul.

I repositioned to avoid the growing mound of death and to protect my frozen body; a dome covered my corpse, but I didn't want a repeat of the last life. I was going to survive.

Beasts swarmed my position, creating a circle around me. Dozens charged at a time, which I fought and slayed. While I killed the near threats, the surrounding wolfbears closed the circle. As more charged, the circle grew smaller.

The wolfbears grew bolder by the bloodbath. The dead no longer piled up. They were quickly pulled out of the makeshift arena. I took multiple hits and bites to the body, none of which broke through my protection. My mana took a dip. I wasn't worried. I'd cultivated enough while reflecting on a forgotten time that I could let the wolfbears chew on my frozen body for several hours. They were not strong enough to break my defenses. Still, I didn't want to be a chew toy for the masses.

I took a break from the slaughter and raised four curved ice walls. The four walls formed a circle, creating an arena of about twenty square feet. Between the walls, I left a gap of five feet, wide enough for the beefiest beast to get through and small enough that it was never more than one at a time. The last summoned wall of the four incorporated my ice dome so that I could keep my corpse safe. The ground froze, and fog filled the small space.

A steady stream of beasts entered only to die. I had to make adjustments to my walls so that I could kick out the frozen chunks of flesh. The predators caught on to the game and waited by the smaller opening for a more leisurely meal. Not all could partake in the chilled beef buffet and took their chances with meals on ice. They shouldn't have entered my space. I was a phantom in my mist. I had complete control of my movement and enough strength to quickly kill any challenger.

Slaughter became a three-step process: cut, kill, kick. I killed over a thousand in my arena, and not once did my breathing feel labored or my muscles tired. My claymore was still light and fast in my hands, its edge sharpened by endless refinement.

In this killing field, my movement with anchors became second nature. I didn't have to focus so hard on a distant structure. I could think of where I wanted to be and slid to the spot. The more will I put behind the thought, the faster I slid.

Even my armor became more familiar. I reduced the thickness, allowing more agility, and increased the hardness with a second round of core freezing. The lighter armor had a slick exterior that gleamed with a black pitch, and along with my aura, it radiated freezing temperature. The wolfbears learned I wasn't a pleasant meal to bite. That didn't stop them from trying.

I lacerated the two running at me in half with a backslash. Four frozen blocks hit the ice. My foot nudged them to the exit, and I used the extended step to carry out my next heavy attack.

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As the sun turned away, the steady stream of participants died out. I dismissed the fog to encourage participation, and when that was no longer enough, I destroyed my walls. We were back to open field slaughter.

The beasts I was facing were stronger now. These were the smart ones who stayed away and benefited from the free meals. The lowest rank among them was superior; most were grand. Their enthusiasm lasted only an hour, though none had the power to leave. The night grew darker, and only thirteen beasts remained, all at the epic rank.

At epic rank, the wolfbears transformed. Their manes were distinct from the males, and the females had white tips on their fur. Their faces were narrow and looked less like chunky bears and more wolfish. Their bodies rippled with muscle. They were strong before; now, they were grossly muscled.

I couldn't tell if it was my hunger that thought their grotesque build looked tasty or if I'd been twisted by the dance of death. I'd find out before the end of the night.

The elites circled me with caution. The howling laughter was replaced with a quick chatter that I assumed called out tactics. A wolfbear charged from the side. I could tell it wasn't committed to the attack by the look in its eye—a feint. I gave the bear the attention it wanted, waiting for the right moment. I felt the attack coming from my right, but I kept my eyes on the beast charging straight for me. It darted at the last moment just outside my reach. Another wolfbear was charging behind it. In their clever approach, the larger male hid the smaller female. Instead of one surprise attack, I faced two.

I stepped back, rotating at the waist. It looked like I swung at the wolfbear running away. I strengthened the follow-through motion and cut the head off the bear charging my flank. My momentum carried my blade up high in position for another swing. I stepped out of the way and executed a diagonal slash. The second attacker managed two steps with the help of momentum before falling apart.

The chatter stopped. Ten elite wolfbears looked at me in terror. There was no more laughter or attempts of intimidation. Not a single one dared to growl.

The first whimper was quieter than a whisper. Like an infestation, the lowly cry spreads into the hearts of the remaining beasts. The song of the solo whimper turned into a chorus of fearful howls. Tails tucked, the beasts turned and fled.

I stifled my laugh. I stood as the lone victor in battle. One victory wasn't enough—not this loop. In this loop, I was solving the mystery of the wolfbears.

Three lives ago, I wouldn't have been able to keep up with the elite beasts. Their claws tore into the ground, and each lunge propelled them twenty feet. They would land and lunge again. I forced mana into a direction and stayed on their tail. It didn't matter how fast they ran; I was faster.

Typically, beasts wouldn't lead threats to their home. I figured these elites were no different. Once I got to the forest, I found their track and let them slip away. The new hunt had begun.

Tracking and hunting beasts were skills that I was confident in. While the youth in Kukoa were learning to cultivate, I helped my parents find food in the sparse hunting grounds of the high forests. The high mountains offered little where life flourished on lower mountains and below. We had to get creative, and at a young age, I honed my technique.

My technique continued to grow as I took on scouting roles as a regular and marine. Even as a cartographer, I kept the practice alive. It was in that business that my skill blossomed. I adapted to different environments and learned how to read their secrets. The tales were never prominent: a broken limb on the ground, a hidden path, scratched bark, uprooted plants. Rarely did clever beasts leave behind prints.

Wolfbears, even the elites, weren't among the clever. If I kept my eyes closed, I could follow their trail. They didn't even scatter to throw me off. They stayed as a pack and ran straight, excluding the swerving for trees. I had no fear of the trail growing cold. I did, however, fear my growing hunger and the exposed state I left my body. The hunt could wait another hour or two. It would put the beasts at ease anyway if they were still worried about me chasing.