The lizard slid through the grass, body low and silent.
Then—
It **expanded**.
Bones shifted with soft, controlled pressure. Scales flowed, muscles tightening as it returned to its **normal size**, claws sinking slightly into the damp earth. The world of scent widened instantly—fear, greed, killing intent—all layered and overlapping, sharp and unmistakable.
Inside its mind, calm and precise, it spoke:
*Count them.*
"How many are they, and what are their cultivations?"
No emotion.
No urgency.
Just data.
The reply came instantly.
{System}
**[Scan complete.]**
**[Hostile entities detected.]**
**[Total: 13 cultivators.]**
**[Fourth Layer: 6.]**
**[Third Layer: 7.]**
**[Fifth Layer: 1.]**
The lizard did not react.
No surprise.
No tension.
Just… processing.
Its claws pressed into the soil.
Then—
It moved.
Behind them, the fox's voice echoed through the forest—loud, challenging—its spear radiating pressure that drew every eye, every sense, toward it.
Perfect.
The lizard slowed.
Just for a moment.
Hidden in the grass, invisibility wrapped tight around its body, it let the information settle.
*…There are many.*
The scents layered over one another—sweat, metal, blood heat, impatience. Too many. Too many breaths cutting through the night air.
Blind.
It considered that fact again—not with fear, but with experience.
*Can I fight like this?*
The thought was not fear. It was measurement.
Inside its mind, it spoke again.
*What's my level now.*
The answer came immediately.
{System}
**[Foundation Establishment — Fourth Layer.]**
The lizard paused.
Fourth.
Its claws pressed into the soil. The ground answered faintly. Qi moved smoother than before. Muscles held more strength, more responsiveness.
*…So that's why.*
It had already known.
It *had* felt it earlier.
The resistance when shaping earth had been lower. The strain when moving qi had eased. Its body had adjusted without announcement.
*I am stronger.*
No satisfaction followed the thought.
Just confirmation.
Thirteen enemies.
Six at the fourth layer.
Seven weaker.
One stronger.
*Blind does not mean helpless.*
Smell replaced sight.
Sound replaced distance.
Qi disturbance replaced movement.
The lizard stayed low.
Still.
The forest continued breathing around it.
*…Killing all of them is not possible.*
The thought formed slowly, deliberately. No panic. No rush.
Thirteen opponents.
Blind.
Limited endurance.
Even now.
Even stronger.
*If I fight all of them… I will fail.*
That conclusion settled without resistance.
The lizard did not reject it.
It adjusted.
*They are here for the same thing.*
Greed carried the same scent across all of them—desire layered with impatience, a shared purpose binding different factions together.
*That means…*
It paused, sorting the information.
*They are not united.*
Different breaths.
Different heart rhythms.
Different levels of caution.
*There will be conflict.*
Not later.
*Soon.*
The lizard angled its head slightly, isolating voices, footsteps, the subtle shifts in qi as positions overlapped too closely.
*They do not work with each other.*
Good.
The lizard did not move.
Did not attack.
It waited.
Crouching lower in the grass, invisibility wrapped around it like a second skin.
*…Just a push.*
A small kick. A spark. Something to start the fire. Nothing more—just enough.
It raised its head slightly, scenting the positions around them. The fox ahead—calm, standing poised, spear ready.
The cultivators were spread around them. Some wore masks—smooth, expressionless, hiding identity and intent. Others looked ordinary, casual, trying to blend in, though their qi betrayed them easily.
*…They think they are careful.*
Footsteps. Breaths. Shifts in weight. Faint pulses of qi. All layered together. The lizard isolated them. Measured them.
*…They are surrounded. They do not know it yet.*
Its mind worked through options—paths of least resistance, points of weakness, how a single disturbance could ripple outward through the group.
*…Just a push. That's all that's needed.*
Its claws flexed slightly. Tail twitched once.
Silence.
Observation.
Planning.
The hunt was ready.
All it needed now was a spark.
---
The fox stood at the center of the clearing, spear hovering above the ground, tails swaying with an almost lazy rhythm.
Surrounded.
It could feel them now—the distinct pressures pressing inward from the trees. Different rhythms. Different confidence levels. None close enough to strike yet.
Good.
The fox let out a slow breath.
Then it laughed.
Not loud.
Not wild.
Just enough to carry.
"So this is it?" the fox said, voice calm, almost bored. "So many of you… and not one brave enough to step forward?"
A ripple moved through the forest.
Qi shifted. Stances tightened. Someone's breath caught.
The fox took one deliberate step forward, the spear tip dragging lightly across the dirt with a faint *scrape*.
"Let me guess," it continued casually. "You followed me for the auction item. Or the stones. Or because you thought a fox walking alone was easy prey."
Its ears twitched.
"…You were right about one thing."
The fox lifted the spear and planted it into the ground with a dull *thud*.
"I am alone."
A pause.
Then—its tails flared.
"But you're not."
The pressure spiked.
The fox's qi surged outward—**uneven on purpose**, jagged and provocative, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath. Leaves exploded outward as the force rippled through the clearing.
A cultivator on the left snarled.
Another shifted back instinctively.
The fox smiled.
"You see," it went on, eyes sweeping the darkness, "if you wanted to kill me cleanly, you should've done it together."
Its gaze lingered deliberately on one shadow.
"But you didn't," it said softly. "Because you don't trust each other."
That did it.
A masked cultivator hissed, "Shut up—"
Another snapped back, "It's stalling!"
The fox tilted its head.
"Oh?" it said lightly. "Then why haven't you struck?"
Silence.
Thick.
Tense.
The fox leaned slightly on the spear, posture relaxed, almost careless.
"Because you're all thinking the same thing," it said calmly. "Who moves first dies first."
Someone shifted.
A branch cracked.
The fox's smile sharpened.
"And that," it said quietly, "is exactly why this ends badly for you."
---
A shape moved.
Not from the edges.
From **behind** the ring.
Branches parted, leaves crunching under deliberate steps as a figure emerged into the moonlight.
He was tall—taller than the others—and his silhouette was wrong in a way that made the forest itself seem to recoil. Fur covered his neck and jaw, coarse and grey-brown, blending into flesh that had been reshaped too many times by cultivation and mutation.
When he stepped fully into the clearing, the illusion fell away.
A **rat's head** sat atop a humanoid body.
Whiskers twitched.
A pink nose flared.
Black eyes gleamed with wet, calculating hunger.
Fifth Layer.
The pressure of his qi rolled outward—heavy, confident, **dominant**—forcing several of the weaker cultivators to unconsciously shift their footing.
He grinned, sharp incisors bared.
"Well now," the rat-man said, voice oily and amused, "you've got quite the mouth for someone standing alone."
The fox didn't move.
Didn't tighten its grip.
Didn't shift its stance.
It simply looked at him.
"…Ah," the fox said calmly. "There you are."
The rat's whiskers twitched again.
"You knew?" he asked.
The fox shrugged slightly. "You're the only one here who smells like rot *and* ambition. Hard to miss."
A few of the surrounding cultivators stiffened.
The rat-man laughed, shoulders rolling as if stretching.
"Good nose," he said. "Then you already know how this ends."