A full month passed as Han Yu continued deeper into the Harrow Mountains.
During this time, his life became strangely routine.
He rarely had to fight.
Beasts still appeared now and then, but most of them were weak enough that he only killed them when he needed food. With the spices he had brought this time, every meal became something to look forward to.
Grilled meat dusted with salt, crushed herbs, and powdered spices tasted far better than the bland meals he had endured before. When the wind howled outside his shelter and frost crept across the stone, he would sip from his Spirit Cinnamon Whiskey, letting the warm burn spread through his body.
If not for the atmosphere of dread, his life here might have almost felt peaceful.
But the unease never left.
Instead, it grew heavier with every passing day.
Some nights, while meditating, he heard strange sounds.
They sounded like cries.
Sometimes like a woman sobbing.
Sometimes like a man screaming in rage.
