The first light of dawn crested over the forest canopy, casting long shadows that danced with the morning mist. Orion stood at the forest's edge, the weight of his new sword a familiar presence at his side. He had spent countless nights yearning for the feel of a hilt in his grip, the quiet confidence that came with an extension of his own will made manifest in steel. Now, it sang a silent song of readiness, a resonance with his past that fueled his steps as he ventured into the thickening wilds.
With each silent stride, he felt the blade's presence, an old friend that whispered of battles past and victories yet to come. It was a comfort and a reminder of who he once was—a warrior from a time when strength was not so rare, and the cultivated walked the lands with the confidence of their power. His own cultivation, a slow and meticulous process honed over the months, had brought him strength that now surpassed the average guardsman of Frostbridge. Yet, as he ventured deeper into the woods, his heart weighed heavy with the knowledge that this strength was a mere shadow of the past.
The deer, once the apex of his challenges, seemed to regard him with new eyes. There was an acknowledgment there, a shared understanding that the hunter had evolved. But deer were not the quarry he sought this day. The sword at his side hungered for a worthier test, and Orion would oblige.
As he tracked a particularly large boar, a beast with tusks like scythes and a hide that spoke of battles with forces unseen, Orion couldn’t help but reflect on the stark contrast between this era and his own. In his day, the cultivators were many, their strength a bulwark against the darkness of the wilds. They would have met such a beast with a force that matched its ferocity. Now, the thought of the city’s guards facing such a creature filled him with a cold dread.
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He found the beast at a clearing, its snout rooting through the underbrush, its massive form a testament to the forest's savage alchemy. Orion's approach was a dance of shadow and silence, each step measured, each breath a calculated risk. When he finally stood before the beast, the forest held its breath.
The clash was monumental. The boar charged with the fury of the wilds, its tusks seeking the warmth of life. Orion met it with the cold precision of his blade, the steel singing as it found the seams in the beast's armor. It was a battle of speed against strength, finesse against ferocity.
In the end, the sword's kiss was as lethal as it was graceful. The boar fell, its breaths coming in ragged gasps that faded with the morning fog. Orion stood over the creature, his respect for his fallen foe as clear in his eyes as the sorrow of the kill.
The return to Frostbridge was a procession of introspection. The boar's body was a heavy load, not just in weight but in implication. The forest was changing; the cultivated beasts were growing too bold, too numerous. It was only a matter of time before the city would feel the weight of the wild's gaze.
Orion remembered a time when the energy of the world coursed through the veins of many, when children were taught to feel the pulse of the earth and to draw upon it to strengthen their bodies and sharpen their minds. The beasts were kept at bay not just by walls and weapons, but by the very presence of the cultivated.
As he laid the boar at the feet of the marketplace's merchant, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe, Orion felt a hollow victory. The coin she offered was a bounty, but it was blood money for a battle he wished was shared by more than just his weary arms. While he felt happy being one step closer to his goal of unlocking the information of the library, Orion also feared what might come of the city.