As the blood Sun rose above the tree-tops, painting the canopy a golden orange, its rays triggered the red tsunami to return once more. But unlike the previous day, the legionaries fanned out and dispersed shortly after entering nature's domain.

The teams were divided into thirteen even groups and one six-man squad. After a brief speech from Cyrus about their aim: levels and skills, the Centuria disbanded. It was time to hunt. Spears and swords at the ready, the soldiers hunted their next prey.

The Decanus lead his six-man squad towards the east, maintaining a large distance from the destroyed village. No boots were switched or tracks made. Their eventual discovery was a certainty but one didn't want to be associated with the murder of their brethren on first contact.

As thoughts danced across Cyrus's mental ballroom, his eyes scanned the green vegetation for movement. His pilum raised in his right hand, his sword grasped by his left, alert for any bushel rustling. Or tell-tail signs of a forest's minion, tracks.

The men behind him copied his movements, each with minor differences from Cyrus's template. Their footsteps were silent but sure. Eyes never stopped in their lookout.

High above their heads, upon the heaven of green and sunshine, supported by the brown, wooden pillars that stretched into the dirt, birds sang at their ease. Music and melodies drifted into their ears like voluntary musicians, freely sharing their music with the world. Alas, a rare site within Rome. The tune soothed their hearts, relaxing their muscles ever-so-slightly.

Cyrus smiled contently, "This is life," he mumbled.

Yet the group didn't lose their alertness and didn't fall prey to the haunting, sweet songs from the sky. Every fibre of their being was ready, prepared for the slightest movement around them.

The birds stopped. Their wings opened and flapped as they ascended from the green rooftop.

The background, white noise of chirping insects ground to a halt.

Cyrus yelled, "Circle!"

A flurry motion met his words.

The men quickly slipped their swords into their sheaths, transitioning the vacant slot to a Scutum.

The bushes bowed back and forth towards the five men as if praising them for their bravery. Or perhaps cheering for blood...

The faint taps of the beast's paws upon the earth echoed through the silence.

The men drew their pilums back, muscles taut.

Through the foliage, a jet-black, streamlined body emerged.

The bushes stilled in their encouragement, happy to sit back on their laurels and enjoy the show to come.

Javelins hissed through the air, their crude warheads aimed at the slender black beast.

They gracefully pierced through the air and drove the killing edge into the ground.

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The two sides faced off against each other. The panther hissed and snarled. The emotion was malignant. The men rebutted with their own yells and taunts.

Neither side backed down. Yet the legionaries nor the ferocious cat engaged first.

The beast returned to circling the shield's perimeter. Eyes trained and focused upon the panther. The beast returned its stares.

Its haunches tensed. Its body eased back. Like a coiling snake, it struck forward.

Leaping gracefully over the edge of the red shields, its claws descending towards the previously unprotected faces.

But the soldiers were ready. In sync with the cat's movement, the shields guarding the other side launched upwards from their position and over their heads.

Clunk. Ripppppppp.

The white, hooked claws dug deep trenches into the red leather, revealing the pale wood beneath. Wood splinters and dust flew through the air.

An enraged, irritated roar as the denizen of nature realised its precarious situation. Its muscles tensed in preparation for another jump.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

It didn't make it.

Three grey, thin rectangular pillars struck through the crevices, driving into its unarmoured underbelly. Blood spewed from the punctures, splattering onto the shields and through the gaps, dripping onto the men's faces. The soldiers persevered, ripping their gladiuses out before relocating and inserting them back in. Over and over, they repeated the action.

After approximately eight or so stabs, the beast stopped in its death throes and fell onto the ground. It wasn't a fight but an execution.

[[Level 19 Panther] has died! You have gained 1,000 XP!]]

[You have gained the title [Levels Matter Not]!]

[ You have gained 3 levels in [ Advanced Formation Fighting]!]

[[Advanced Formation Fighting] has upgraded to [Journeyman Formation Fighting level 1]!]

[ You have gained 5 levels in [Advanced Weapon Proficiency]!]

[[Advanced Weapon Proficiency] has upgraded to [Journeyman Weapon Proficiency level 1]!]

[You have gained 4 levels in [Advanced Shield Proficiency level 6]!]

[You have gained 5 levels in [Advanced Sword Proficiency level 13]

[[Advanced Sword Proficiency] has upgraded to [Journeyman Sword Proficiency level 3]!]

[You have levelled up! You are now level 5!]

[Please choose a starting class!]

[...]

Cyrus dismissed the stack of notifications, pumping his fist into the air, a grin on his face. The satisfaction and joy were infectious, the men around him cheered and applauded, patting him on the back.

He rolled and flexed his arms, "It is good to be back in the fray."

The Decanus glanced at the corpse briefly before trailing to his men's faces. No signs of fatigue or dissatisfaction.

"Are you legionaries hungry?"

An assortment of head shakes and "No imperator," rang out.

Cyrus nodded at the responses and moved over to the corpse. He crouched over the still-warm body. His fingers stroked the black fur. "This would make a fine pelt," the roman mumbled.

He snagged one of the limp limbs and brought it close to his face, examining the white claws. His other hand gently pressed against the tip. A small drop of blood welled from the wound.

"What a wonderful find..."

Letting go of the paw, Cyrus grabbed the dead beast's front shoulders and pulled it up.

His eyes stared into the panther's unblinking, yellow pupils. No guilt or any other emotion of weakness. He clicked his tongue, "Interesting..."

After a quick inspection of the head and finding it untouched, Cyrus let go of the corpse. "This will make a fine helmet for a signifer."

He whistled at his men. Instinctively, three men wandered into the vegetation, returning with a massive, horizontal wooden branch.

The panther was tied to it with grass, vines and other thin materials to form two massive bonds. One for the front paws and the other for the back.

With the preparations done, two men positioned themselves at the head and feet of the beast and lifted the pole, placing the rough wood over their chain-mail-protected shoulders.

Another whistle.

The group retraced their steps back towards the dungeon.