The enormous, ferocious head had been sliced in half by something, charred black all over. Its pitch-black scales emitted a cold, sharp gleam, yet showed not the slightest sign of damage. The two intact, razor-sharp long fangs were even more intimidating—just a glance from afar made it clear this was a savage, exotic beast found only in the deepest parts of Mangfang Ridge.

Such an abnormally powerful wild beast, one that even high-ranking barbarian warriors would avoid at all costs, would never die easily to an ordinary mountain flood or torrential rain.

Ethan Brooks saw the beast’s head charred black and thought it might have been struck dead by lightning deep in the mountains.

When Ethan Brooks was brought to this world by the giant demon, he had witnessed countless exotic beasts and fierce birds in the depths of Mangfang Ridge being instantly reduced to dust by the might of thunder and lightning. Ever since, he had always held a deep respect for lightning.

So, seeing this black-scaled beast’s formidable body felled by lightning was not surprising.

If the black-scaled beast were alive, Ethan Brooks thought, even stuffing himself between its teeth wouldn’t be enough. But now that it was long dead and stiff, he was thrilled at the sight.

The higher the grade of a wild beast, the more its flesh and blood served as a powerful tonic for barbarian warriors, and its skin, fangs, tendons, and bones were all rare treasures.

Ethan Brooks walked over and tapped the fangs lightly with his short spear, producing a metallic clang. Each piece of the black scales was the size of a palm, and touching them felt as cold as metal—stripped off, they would make a set of top-quality armor.

This made Ethan Brooks even more delighted: this was no ordinary creature!

Just this one beast was worth a thousand, ten thousand ordinary animals!

However, Ethan Brooks looked at the massive black-scaled beast and felt troubled.

He grabbed its front hoof and tried to hoist it onto his shoulder, but the beast didn’t budge an inch on the grassland. Using every ounce of strength he had, he managed to drag it only about ten meters.

Heaven help him—how was he supposed to drag this black-scaled beast back?

The banks of Wild Horse Creek were already outside the hunting grounds of the Black Python Tribe, and the Black Mountain Tribe, who lived in clans on the north bank, were definitely not to be trifled with.

Now that the torrential rain had just passed, the waters of Wild Horse Creek were surging and flooding the banks. But it was obvious, even without thinking, that the Black Mountain Tribe would soon find a way to cross the creek and come to the south bank to search for treasures washed out from the depths of Mangfang Ridge by the flood.

The many wild tribes surviving in the Western Wilderness have always had a love-hate relationship with torrential rains and mountain floods.

After pondering for a moment, Ethan Brooks stuffed the roe deer into his medicine basket and slung it over his back, then took out a rope to tie up the black-scaled beast’s four hooves, pushed it into the water, and began dragging it upstream toward the mountain pass.

Ethan Brooks planned to drag the giant beast past the mountain pass and hide it in that secluded stone ravine, then return to bring some tribesmen from the Black Python Tribe to quietly carry it away.

※※※

The floodwaters rushing down the mountain had not yet subsided. The rope bit deeply into Ethan Brooks’s shoulders, and with every step, it seemed as if his thin, frail shoulders might snap at any moment.

The black-scaled beast was far heavier than water; it sank as soon as it entered, but at least the water’s buoyancy made it possible for Ethan Brooks to drag it along.

The beast’s four hooves were tied with ropes as thick as a thumb, now stretched taut like bowstrings, yet not snapped by the flood.

The ropes were woven from black bell grass, a product of Mangfang Ridge, renowned for its incredible toughness—ropes as thick as a finger were as strong as steel cables.

Ethan Brooks had been in this world for three years, and little surprised him anymore.

He could now lift five or six hundred jin with ease; he could carry two or three hundred jin and run up and down the mountains for half a day without tiring.

On Earth, he would be considered a monster, but compared to the mid-level barbarian warriors of the Black Python Tribe who had awakened their barbarian souls, he was still just a “frail and weak” youth.

Ethan Brooks hunched his body like a shrimp, hands and feet gripping the ground, clutching at rocks—every step seemed to squeeze out the last drop of his strength.

His heart pounded like a giant drum, almost leaping out of his chest.

He gritted his teeth and inched forward, step by step.

By the time he crossed the stone ridge where the floodwaters poured down from the mountain pass, Ethan Brooks was so exhausted that his mouth was full of the taste of blood. Not only was all his strength drained, but it felt as if his internal organs had been shredded to pieces.

Ethan Brooks dragged the black-scaled beast to the bank, wedged it into a crevice in the rocks to keep the flood from washing it away, spat out a mouthful of bright red blood.

Struggling, he fished out a chunk of beast meat from his medicine basket and swallowed it whole, barely chewing.

Ethan Brooks wasn’t worried that pushing his body so hard would leave any lasting damage.

Ever since that drop of demon blood seeped into his body, he needed this kind of near-collapse, extreme exertion to unlock greater potential.

This was the only way he had discovered in three years to develop his body’s potential.

In situations like this, as long as he had enough food and medicine afterward, not only would his body not suffer from overexertion, but his strength would noticeably increase, and he would become even sturdier.

It was as if his body had been tempered by that drop of demon blood, or rather, was being tempered through this process of pushing his limits.

This was somewhat similar to how the Black Python Tribe trained their barbarian warriors and refined their bloodlines.

After swallowing that six or seven jin chunk of beast meat whole, it took quite a while before Ethan Brooks felt any recovery. He thought to himself, I really didn’t expect that just dragging the beast’s carcass three or four hundred meters into the mountains would push my body to such extremes.