Chapter 40: Bears on the Prowl

Chapter 40: Chapter 40: Bears on the Prowl

The winter sunlight slanted through the treetops, squeezing a long beam of light through the gaps in the tent. It fell on Lorin’s face, waking him from his dreams.

He had to admit, this tent bought at a hefty price was incredibly comfortable. Supported by its sturdy frame, the thick canvas provided excellent insulation, allowing him to sleep soundly.

"Catch... catch... come on, just catch fire..."

Lorin crawled out of the tent to see the shorty squatting in front of a pile of twigs. He was poking at it so hard his flint was on the verge of snapping, yet the firewood only smoked, refusing to ignite.

Lorin yawned, his eyes heavy with sleep. Stretching his neck, he walked over and used Burning Hand to ignite the damp firewood before speaking. "Pack up first. Let’s go back and check where we found the Silver Leaf Grass. You might have actually stumbled upon the right spot."

He had wanted to tell Pip last night that Silver Leaf Grass was not a cold-resistant plant. If it could grow there, it meant there had to be an underground heat source. However, the forest was too dangerous at night, so he suppressed his curiosity until now.

The two soaked a couple of hard biscuits in hot water for breakfast. Afterward, they rolled the tent back up and strapped it to Lorin’s backpack.

"This thing is a pain to pack up," Pip muttered.

Once everything was ready, Lorin returned to the crevice they had found yesterday, carefully examining the ground under the morning sun. Sweeping aside the dead leaves, he traced the fissure’s path. It extended from the base of a tree, winding its way through a patch of moss toward the north.

"Could Fire Oil Grass be growing underneath here? Mr. Tom said it likes hot places, and it’s definitely hot down there." Pip picked at the crevice.

"Do you think we can squeeze through this crack?"

"Uh... probably not?"

Lorin grabbed a handful of dirt. Unlike the rock-hard frozen ground they had traversed earlier, he could scrape up loose soil here with a bit of effort. "Let’s follow this direction," he said. "Geothermal heat likely warped the frozen ground. There might be a larger fissure or a cave entrance further ahead."

"Oh," Pip replied, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

They continued following the fissure. The crack gradually widened, eventually becoming large enough in some places to fit a fist inside.

"Hey... is this that... whatchamacallit grass?" Pip suddenly stopped, crouching next to a patch of weeds to sniff them.

Lorin walked over and saw clusters of low-lying weeds growing along the edge of the crevice. They were grayish-green, blending in so perfectly with the surrounding dead leaves that they were nearly invisible at a glance. He plucked a leaf and rubbed it between his fingertips. A sharp, bitter scent instantly diffused into the air.

"Hemostatic Grass. Let’s harvest it."

Lorin pulled his Medicinal Herb Gathering Knife from his waist, carefully cutting the plants and stuffing them into his Oilcloth Bag. His movements were much more practiced now. After harvesting, he swept some nearby dirt over the exposed roots to conceal them.

"Nine stalks... five copper each... that’s forty-five copper... which equals three silver and nine copper..." the shorty muttered, struggling to count on his fingers.

"Stop counting and let’s go. There’s probably more ahead."

The mere thought of free money lying around waiting to be picked up left Lorin feeling completely reinvigorated.

They walked a bit further. The fissure became intermittent on the surface—sometimes appearing as a narrow trench, other times vanishing completely. The two could only keep their heads down and push forward, occasionally kicking the dirt to ensure they hadn’t strayed off path based on the soil’s softness.

"I smell it!" Pip shouted excitedly.

Lorin sniffed the air. There was indeed a faint scent wafting through the forest, smelling somewhat like lamp oil mixed with pine resin.

"This way."

It didn’t take long for the terrain to open up. Clusters of low shrubs and weeds appeared around them. Some even bore traces of vibrant green, standing out starkly against the grayish-white backdrop of the winter woods.

Lorin bypassed a half-buried stone. The fissure came to an end just ahead, the ground sinking into a shallow pit. Around the edges of the pit were several bare plant stems, their tops sheared off in jagged, uneven cuts.

Pip ran over quickly, lowered his head to take a sniff, and groaned in disappointment. "It’s Fire Oil Grass, but someone beat us to it. We have terrible luck."

"It wasn’t necessarily picked. The edges are too rough; it looks like it was gnawed off by something." Frowning, Lorin bent down and squeezed the roots, noting the fresh sap still seeping from the broken ends. He then checked the ground around the pit. There were several wide indentations in the dirt, trailing all the way into the bushes behind it.

He slowly drew Rusted Throat and took a few silent steps back. "Careful!" he whispered. "Whatever did this probably hasn’t gone far. We need to back away slowly."

"What kind of thing would eat this? Such bizarre tastes," the shorty muttered. He unslung the Warhammer from his back and scanned their surroundings.

They had barely taken a few steps back when the sound of heavy breathing echoed from behind the shrubs. Slowly, a massive head rose above the foliage. It was a grayish-brown bear of terrifying proportions, its fur streaked with Flame-like patterns that made it look incredibly ferocious.

ROAR—

The bear let out a low growl, its nose twitching as it snorted a plume of white steam in their direction. It quickly spotted the two uninvited guests. Its amber eyes locked onto them before it unhurriedly pushed through the bushes and stepped out into the open.

THUMP THUMP THUMP...

Lorin could hear his own heartbeat. He felt like he had been locked onto by an apex predator, goosebumps erupting all over his body. Whether in his past life or his current one, he had never seen such a behemoth in person—it was a completely different feeling from staring at a lifeless carcass. However, given the winter temperatures in the Northern Territory, shouldn’t bears be hibernating? Did Magical Beasts operate differently from regular Beasts?

"Should we... run?" the shorty asked hesitantly.

"Hold on." Lorin’s mind raced. An ordinary brown bear could run at speeds up to 50 kilometers per hour, but compared to the creature standing before them, a brown bear was as cute as a baby cub. Whether it was himself, whose agility was only two points higher than an average human, or Pip with his stubby legs, it was absolutely impossible to outrun this creature.

Playing dead was even more useless. Lorin had seen videos online in his past life of people encountering bears in the wild and trying to play dead to escape, only to be eaten alive. He would rather fight to the death than act like a sitting duck, and he was sure the shorty felt the same way.

If this creature was merely large, they weren’t necessarily guaranteed to lose in a life-or-death struggle. Furthermore, bears were highly intelligent Beasts; it might not want to risk its life fighting two opponents capable of posing a threat.

"Don’t show fear. Stand tall and back away slowly," Lorin said, his resolve hardening. "If it attacks, we fight for our lives."