The commotion increased quickly and Lem’s simulated self was able to identify the direction.

South.

He turned around to face the threat.

Lem tried to anticipate what beast was coming.

Whatever it was, it sounded big. He imagined that it was barreling through the forest, breaking branches and uprooting saplings as it went.

Was it a tyrant sloth? A deathbear? A wolf? A metal beast?

He hoped it was not a dust cat. They were typically smaller than other beasts.

If there was one of that size, he could only imagine that it was a goliath of a creature that he had no chance of defeating or outrunning.

The commotion increased. It grew louder and louder.

A deathbear broke into view. Its spiny black fur had a few streaks of gray mixed in.

Leaves fluttered around it, as it ran towards Lem’s simulated self. It was twice his height and much faster than he was, coming closer by the second.

Lem could see the saliva being flung around as it panted, mouth agape.

[You turn and see a juvenile deathbear running towards you.]

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Lem’s simulated self dropped his spear immediately, and instinctively began to move behind a nearby tree. The deathbear was less than a second away, and he knew that only martial arts could save him.

As he took partial cover, he punched outwards, his body smoothly performing the motions of the [Nine Bull Fist].

Lem perceived the harmony overlaying over the movements, and magnifying the force at the end of his knuckles, as the deathbear lunged forward.

Crack!

His fist connected squarely with face of the deathbear, directly beneath the eye.

It felt hard, but it still gave way with a crunch.

A split second later, a massive paw landed heavily on the side of his arm, batting away the blow before it could demolish the deathbear’s skull.

Lem’s simulated self was sent flying backwards, and the deathbear smashed against the tree he had been standing against.

He felt his back collide against something.

Oof!

He was ricocheted directly into the ground in a flurry of motion.

[With no choice but to fight, you set a stance and attack the deathbear with your strongest punch. Your fist connects to its face, as its paw mauls your arm. You are knocked against a tree.]

Lem’s simulated self felt rattled from the impact, and could feel blood clogging his throat.

He coughed, and wiped his mouth, before struggling back onto his feet.

A dozen meters away, he saw the lumbering form of the deathbear. It was reeling and shaking the blood out of its eyes, but unfortunately, it did not appear to have been frightened.

It roared angrily, and fixed its gaze back on Lem’s simulated self.

It squinted and roared again.

The right side of its face had a horrifying dent at the cheek, and it was squirting blood across the forest floor.

Lem felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

His best attack had been neutralized, and the beast’s desire to kill him had only grown stronger.

The chances that his simulated self, and by extension his true body, could survive the encounter were abysmal.