The fox exhaled sharply, ears twitching in frustration.
"This… this sucks," it muttered under its breath, tail flicking sharply against the stone floor. "This is a huge problem."
It paced a short circle, the faint hum of the spent formation echoing softly in the room. Its eyes flicked to the lizard—calm, blank, wings folded neatly.
"With your current state," it continued, voice low and tense, "you won't be able to fight. Not properly. You'll just… stand there. Unable to dodge. Unable to anticipate an attack. Unable to even **smell its direction**, let alone block it."
It stopped abruptly, head tilting as a thought struck. "…Unless you *can*?"
The fox's gaze sharpened. "…Can you do that? Can you sense an attack coming without divine sense or maybe you can smell it instead?"
The lizard remained still. No response. No blink. Nothing.
The fox's ears drooped slightly. Its tails twitched once, twice. Then it let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking its head.
"…Who am I kidding?" it muttered. "I'm talking to a creature that doesn't even have divine sense."
It exhaled again, slower this time, sinking lightly onto its haunches, staring at the floor. "…Yeah. This is going to be a problem."
Silence fell, heavier now—not from calm, but from realization.
The fox had just confronted the truth: without divine sense, the lizard would be **vulnerable**, helpless in a fight that relied on more than instinct or reflex. And there was no easy fix.
It shook its head slowly, ears flattening fractionally as its eyes darkened with thought.
"Plans…" it muttered, tail twitching sharply, "I had plans. Everything lined up. Everything accounted for. And now…" It paused, jaw tightening. "…this."
It glanced at the lizard, still blank-eyed, wings folded, completely oblivious to the weight of the moment.
"This… situation," the fox continued, voice low and sharp, "it's like a kick in the ass. Just… blindsided me. Completely wrecked the rhythm I had. All the calculations, all the contingencies… gone."
It let out a slow, bitter exhale, claws scraping lightly against the stone. "I knew there would be variables. I expected trouble. But this? This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this."
Its tails twitched restlessly as it sank onto the bed, still staring at the floor. "Every plan I had… every sequence I thought I could execute… now I have to rethink. From scratch."
The fox's eyes narrowed, a spark of quiet determination hidden beneath the frustration. "…A kick in the ass, sure. But that just means I need to work harder. Smarter. Faster."
It let out a slow, measured breath, curling its tails closer. "Damn it… nothing comes easy, does it?"
The room stayed silent, but the faint hum of residual qi carried a subtle tension—expectation, focus, and the weight of recalculation hanging in the air.
The fox's ears tilted forward as it regarded the lizard. Its voice was calm, controlled, but sharp with curiosity.
"You said you'll recover your sight in… 160 days, right?"
The lizard's blank gaze met the fox's. Its reply was simple:
"Yes."
The fox paused, letting the answer settle. Its mind raced—*so confident… yet not considering the variables…* It blinked slowly, then leaned forward slightly.
"Alright," the fox said, tone deliberate. "If that's the case… is there any way to speed it up? Any method to recover faster?"
It studied the lizard carefully, noting the subtle shifts in posture, the blank yet calculating stare. "Because if there is… we can make the process more efficient. No sense just waiting."
The fox's tails twitched once, its mind already spinning through possibilities—spirit stones, Yin and Essence materials, unconventional approaches—but first, it wanted the lizard's perspective.
"Tell me," it added quietly, "is there anything you've noticed that could help shorten that… 160-day wait?"
The lizard answered calmly.
"Yes. It can be reduced. By consumption."
The fox's eyes sharpened immediately.
"…Of what?"
"Yin. Essence. Corpses. Cores."
The fox's ears twitched, puzzled. *Really? That's it?* It thought, then slowly…
A grin formed. Not kind. Not cruel. But **interested**.
"…So," it said softly, "you need to eat."
The lizard did not deny it.
The fox's tails began to sway. "…Good," it said. "That's very good."
It looked toward the door. Toward Rivermarch beyond—a city full of cultivators. Beasts. Demons. Ghosts.
"…Looks like," the fox murmured, eyes glinting, "we'll be very busy these next few days."
The lizard remained still, but something in the air shifted.
Because now, it wasn't just about survival.
It was about **hunting with a purpose**.
The fox's grin lingered, low and slow, a predator already tasting the coming months. Its ears flicked toward the faint sounds of the city beyond the stone walls—chants of cultivators, the distant clash of steel, the hum of unseen qi. Every noise a thread to follow, a potential source.
"…Hunting," it murmured again, tails curling lazily but with unmistakable intent. "Not just for power… but for results."
The lizard's blank gaze remained fixed on the fox. Silent. Calculating. But beneath that stillness, something had shifted. Instinct, survival, hunger—all aligned now with purpose.
The fox tilted its head, eyes narrowing slightly. "…And you," it said, voice low, "will need to keep up."
The lizard didn't respond. It didn't need to. Its presence alone, quiet and controlled, was agreement enough.
The fox let out a soft exhale, then rose from the formation's center, tails sweeping lightly across the floor. Its mind already spinning through strategies—what to take, what to leave, how to plan the first hunt.
"…Let's begin," it said, eyes glinting with cold calculation.
Outside, Rivermarch's night continued, oblivious. But within these walls, a predator and its companion were already planning. Not for survival alone—but for the **refinement of power**, the **accumulation of resources**, and the **swift recovery of what was lost**.
And the game had just begun.