I spent the next two hours processing some meat of an elite beast and hiding my frozen corpse. The corpse hiding was the least time-consuming of the two tasks. I scaled a tree and created an ice hut in the thick branches. The tiny house turned out much cooler than I planned, which made me a bit jealous of the dead guy and the sweet living conditions I set him up in. That was until I filled the entire house with ice, further freezing the frozen man in a solid cube. A shiver ran down my spine as I thought of the man in ice confined to his prison.

Once the wolfbear drained of blood, I cut off the back straps of meat, started a fire, and roasted the beef. The rich aroma filled my campsite, tempting me to dine early. The lingering delicious scent made me grateful that I made dinner plans several hundred yards away from my ice house. There was no way this wasn't going to attract attention. As the beef roasted, I scavenged for side dishes. It took only a few minutes to wind up with a collection of herbs, wild onions, mushrooms, and berries. The Bloodswoods continued to be a bountiful forest. I cooked up the rest of my dinner and finally ate when the meat was charred outside.

It was delicious. More than that, my mouth watered with every bite. It didn't make sense. The flavors countered the nature of spirit beasts. The stronger they got, the grosser their meat became.

Scholars theorized that it was because they were becoming closer to awakening, so naturally, they wouldn't taste good. Not many people countered that argument for fear of being labeled cannibals and ostracized from all social events, especially ones involving food.

Of course, there were counters to the theory, not so much theoretical as cultivational.

Some devoted cultivators believed they would progress faster if they consumed the entire spirit beast. These people were closely associated with the foulest types of cultivators—vampires.

More myth than legend, no one wanted to believe vampires were real. They were wrong. Vamps existed and were proof consumption led to power. But that was no excuse to devour anything that pulsed with energy.

Another round of shivers crawled down my spine, and I rubbed a rogue itch out of my neck. Thinking of the foul-blood lords was almost enough to ruin my appetite.

I quickly devoured my dinner—sparing the blood fangs no further thoughts, stretched, cleaned up camp, and then got to hunting. I had a full belly, comfort in security, and was only three hours behind my wolfbears. The tracks were still fresh and easy to follow.

I held Snowpiercer in my hand while I hunted. The old habit was a comfort I didn't care to eliminate. It felt so right to track and hunt with the bow in hand. It was like an extension of the body, an extra sense, or a focus that kept the mind narrowed on the signs of the beast, and it kept me balanced as I sprinted through the forest. With a bow in hand, falling or getting lost was hard.

My footsteps fell silent on the forest ground mixed with roots, twigs, dry leaves, and shrubs. Unlike the wolfbears tearing into their path, I left no trace. Water aura projected around me, erasing my scent and reducing my presence. Stalking did not remove me from the picture like invisibility, but it was close.

I tracked the beasts' trail at an incredible pace as if their presence pulled me toward them. We crossed miles of forest, sometimes following game trails but mostly forging new ones. The path looped back several times, and a couple of times, the pack of ten split up. The hesitation that I picked the wrong path was erased when the trails united a few miles later.

I might've been unfair in my earlier assessment of the beasts' cleverness.

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The elite beasts ran at least thirty miles before they slowed their pace. Instead of deep claws tearing through flora and roots, lighter prints placed closer together were left behind. It was near an overgrowth similar to the one that hid the spring where I lost the trail.

I inspected the wall of vines of leaves, looking for a sign of passage. The wall remained intact—completely unscathed. If it were smaller beasts passing through, I'd understand the green wall left undamaged. These weren't small beasts. They weren't even small bears. They were massive, thick animals whose presence couldn't be contained no matter how hard they tried. The ground couldn't support their weight, and trees weren't durable enough to resist scratches when the wolfbears passed. So, it made no sense that their trail ended at the wall, and the wall showed no sign of entrance. Not even the pungy scent of their fur lingered.

The mystery ended when I placed my hand on the wall, and it disappeared. My hand parted the wall to a swirling purple and green energy vortex. The energy radiated a chaotic nature that didn't soothe well in this forest. In fact, I couldn't recall encountering a mana that was so foreign.

All mana elements had varying paths attributed to the primary source—water and ice, fire and smoke, earth and nature. However, all the branched paths connected with their root element. Ice didn't exist without water. This law applied to all branches no matter how far they obscured from their primary energy. The rippling energy before me gave off a hint of a parent element. It was not of this world.

Portals from other worlds were not an obscure idea. Generally, every adventurer knew that Helm was connected to several different worlds. Most of the time, these worlds were not even aware of the connections and it was just spirit beasts wandering by that would walk into a new world. Sometimes an entire city developed between these connected points. Though developed cities were rare occasions.

The majority of nexus points only served to host beasts. Beasts thrived in these in-between realms—dungeons.

Scholars didn't know precisely how dungeons were created. Some argued that lingering tendrils of mana connected worlds and created pathways between them. Others believed dungeons served as the creators' way of seeding conflict into worlds. These were the two larger schools of thought.

The less popular third reason, and the idea I tended to agree with, was that mana just did what it felt like. Mana paved its own path, creating its own nature and residing there until it needed a new home and identity. As much as cultivators tried to confine mana to one element or label it to an identity, that just wasn't the case.

Mana was as wild and free as any chaotic source, and as such, it left a wake of chaos behind.

Dungeons were mysterious, but they weren't uncommon. Many adventures made a living exploring dungeons. Hell, I sold beginner maps of the weaker dungeons to new adventurers. My time in the military and with Lana's party even involved a handful of dungeon runs. Those times were the exception. I didn't like dungeons and generally avoided them. Sure, loot and power were all possible gains. However, the cost of failure proved to be too high.

I pushed my hand deeper into the portal. The energy parted like water as my hand passed through, and a chill ran through my hand and then my arm. I swiped my invisible hand on the other side, checking for dangers lurking on the other side. I hit nothing, which improved my confidence that the other side was a trap by zero.

I stuck my other arm through and felt around, getting the same lackluster result. Next, I pulled my arms out and shoved a leg through. The caution was growing ridiculous. I wasn't scared per se; I just didn't feel like surprises. It was that kind of day. I swiped left and right again with my leg before pulling it out. I held my breath, counted to three, summoned the courage of a coward, and dashed shoulder-first to the other side.

I tripped at once. The momentum of my shoulder charge carried me over the edge and into a pit of bones. My skin crawled in disgust, and I was pretty sure something crawled on me, sending rapid shivers down my spine. Tiny pincers plunged into my skin. I cursed and scrambled to get to my feet. The bones proved unreliable footing or any source of stability, and as I shifted to escape, I sank deeper. Drowning in bones and eaten alive became a fear I didn't know I had.

The deliverer be damned and his cost of courage.