The October wind passing through the middle reaches of the Magical Beast Mountain Range carried a distinct chill. At dawn, just as the first gray-white light struggled through the heavy clouds and fell outside Loa's temporary camp, he finished his morning training.
Having completed a set of basic sword forms, he sheathed the Thousand-Forged Longsword. He flexed his fingers, slightly stiff from the cold, and his white breath condensed in the frigid air before quickly dispersing. Turning back into the camp, he briskly scattered the dry moss spread across the ground, erasing the traces of his stay, then carefully buried the campfire's embers with soil, restoring the site to its original state.
With everything tidied up, he shouldered his pack.
His gaze turned northwest, toward the direction marked on the map that led deeper into the mountains—Blackstone Canyon. The journey ahead required him to cross the danger-ridden middle reaches completely, bringing him extremely close to the edge of the Magical Beast Mountain Range's core region, which was inhabited by Level Seven and Level Eight Magical Beasts.
Drawing a deep breath of cold air tinged with the smell of decomposing leaves, Loa set off, his figure silently disappearing into the dark forest shrouded in morning mist.
The days spent crossing the middle reaches tested his nerves and endurance to their limits. He followed the most cautious principle: avoid whatever he could. Relying on Listening to the Wind's keen perception of air currents and energy fluctuations, along with wilderness instincts honed through countless brushes with death, he moved like a ghost through forest shadows, along sheltered ridges, and even at the edges of beast trails, minimizing his chances of encountering powerful magical beasts.
But the vastness and dangers of the Magical Beast Mountain Range far exceeded imagination, and there were always times