The silence that descended upon the Elder's Perch was profound and absolute. Joric's existence, once a beacon of disciplined, fanatical energy, had been utterly extinguished, his last moments a silent flash of azure light. The Sky-Lord's Grasp, the colossal hand of lightning, faded into the grey sky, leaving behind only the scent of ozone and the faint, unsettling hum of residual power.
Ren stood alone on the plateau, the wind whipping at his Raijin armor. He looked at the spot where the Pagoda's Lead Hunter had been, then turned his gaze to the two other locations where the unconscious forms of his squad lay. He felt nothing. No triumph. No remorse. There was only a cold, stark clarity. A predator does not feel sorrow for the prey it kills to survive. It simply acknowledges the necessity of the act.
"It is done," Zephyrion's voice was a low hum of deep satisfaction in his mind. "You have shown them the finality of the storm. A lesson written in ash. Now, there are no witnesses."
Ren walked calmly across the Cinder-Ash field to the two unconscious hunters. He had disabled them with precision, but Zephyrion was right. A wounded enemy is a future threat. Their very existence was now a loose end, a thread that could unravel the new life he was trying to build. With a grim and silent resolve, he dispatched each of them with a single, precise Thunder's Needle to the heart. The act was swift, clean, and brutally efficient. The hunt was over.
He then began the practical, pragmatic work of a soldier securing a battlefield. He systematically stripped the three bodies of their advanced gear. The Null-Edge Blades were masterpieces of Pagoda artifice, their edges shimmering with a faint, light-devouring aura. He took them. He gathered their nutrient pastes, medical supplies, and several high-density Aetheric batteries used to power their equipment. Lastly, he retrieved Joric's Aetheric Resonance Tracker and the small, obsidian talisman that powered the Void-Stalker's Cloak. These were not just spoils of war; they were invaluable pieces of enemy intelligence.
He bundled his grim harvest and made his way back to the hidden cove where the Nautilus waited. As he approached, the submarine's ramp lowered silently. Anya stood there, her arms crossed, her face pale. Her sensors would have registered the three life signs extinguishing one by one, a clinical, undeniable confirmation of the battle's outcome.
Ren walked up the ramp, his new acquisitions slung over his shoulder. He did not offer an explanation. He simply dropped Joric's damaged tracker onto the deck plating, the metallic clatter loud in the sudden silence of the sealed submarine.
Anya looked from the tracker to Ren's face. She saw no turmoil, no regret in his eyes. Only the cold, hard stillness of a man who had made a necessary calculation and seen it through to its conclusion. The boy she had rescued from the peninsula, the enigma she sought to solve, had just crossed a threshold from which there was no return. He was no longer just a target of a secret war; he was now a veteran of it.
"Did you get what you needed?" she asked, her voice quiet, her question deliberately ambiguous.
"I did," Ren replied, his voice equally steady.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, the unspoken truth of what had happened hanging in the air between them. Anya was a scientist, a builder, from a house that valued creation and commerce. She was now allied with a warrior whose path was one of swift, absolute destruction. She saw the ideological chasm that had just opened between them, but she also understood the grim necessity of it.
"The Cinderwood is no longer safe," she said finally, her professionalism a shield against the horror of the situation. She turned to the ship's main console. "The Aetheric residue from your battle will be a beacon for any GAMA or Pagoda patrols in this sector. We need to disappear. Find a new sanctuary where you can consolidate your power."
Ren nodded in agreement. His victory over Joric had been a near thing. The Pagoda hunter's experience and superior rank had almost overwhelmed him. He had won through the sheer, unexpected power of his Raijin arts, but it was a victory on a razor's edge. He needed more than just new skills. He needed raw, undeniable power.
He joined her at the console, placing the obsidian talisman for the Void-Stalker's Cloak beside her. "Analyze this. Understand their stealth technology. Find its flaws."
Then he looked at the star chart. "And I," he said, his voice now filled with a new, cold purpose, "need to get stronger." He looked at the data they had stolen from Melas, at the bestiary of powerful Aether Beasts. "My victory was too close. My rank is too low. I need to reach the peak of the Disciple realm. Before I can hunt for my next Core, before I can truly challenge a Master on equal terms, I must first master myself."
Anya looked from the data on the screen to the hard, determined look in Ren's eyes. The hunt for the Griffin had forged him into a warrior. This last battle had forged him into a killer. She now understood her role in their alliance. She was not his partner, not his rival, not his warden. She was the architect of the forge, and her singular purpose was to help him become the sharpest, most dangerous weapon the world had ever seen.
The Nautilus submerged into the deep ocean, leaving the silent, dead forest behind. The hunt was over. The long, arduous climb to Rank 30 was about to begin.