At the break of dawn, a faint blue glow shimmered through the valley. Ethan Brooks dragged the massive corpse of the strange beast, moving upstream along the creek, his muscles taut like a fully drawn bowstring, stretched to their absolute limit.

His hands and feet gripped the jagged rocks of the shore, like an ox plowing the fields with all its might. With every step, he maintained the same posture, exhaling sharply with each movement...

Not only was his posture identical with every step, but if one looked closely, from his shoulders to his waist and down to his feet, the rhythm and entanglement of his bowstring-tight muscles also repeated over and over.

The black-scaled beast was incredibly heavy. Even with a body tempered by demonic blood and the strength of a novice barbarian warrior, Ethan Brooks had to squeeze out every last bit of energy with each step.

Thus, with every step, his body instinctively adjusted its posture.

All his energy and focus permeated every tendon from his shoulders to his waist and down to his legs, ensuring that every drop of his potential was wrung out without reservation.

Even the simplest act of dragging was, for Ethan Brooks, a process of constantly pushing his body to its limits, reaching a subtle unity of body and mind.

By now, he was far beyond the territory of the Blackstone Tribe. A dozen more miles ahead would bring him to the hunting grounds of the Black Python Tribe. The thought of soon meeting the Black Python tribesmen out hunting in the mountains filled Ethan Brooks with a hunter’s joy.

But as soon as he relaxed his mind, slipping out of that subtle state, it felt as if several hundred more pounds had suddenly been added to his shoulders, nearly causing him to stumble.

Ethan Brooks barely managed to steady himself, tying the grass rope around his waist, puzzled as to why a moment’s lapse in focus made the load feel so much heavier, almost dragging him into the water.

Or perhaps he had been so focused earlier that he hadn’t noticed the strain on his shoulders and hips easing?

※※※

At that moment, footsteps sounded ahead in the mountain stream.

After a while, seeing the Black Python tribesmen emerge from the forest, Ethan Brooks finally let out a true sigh of relief.

Ethan Brooks was completely spent. When the Black Python tribesmen untied the ropes from his body with much effort, he collapsed on the riverbank, sprawled out like an old ox, gasping for breath, too exhausted to even wiggle his toes.

“Where have you been all night?” Henry Clark rested his black bow on his thigh, squatting down to look at the battered and bruised Ethan Brooks. “How did you get hurt like this? Did you run into people from the Black Mountain Tribe?”

Ethan Brooks’s shoulders and waist were raw and bloody from the ropes, and his hands and feet were covered in countless cuts from the rocks. He looked like a man made of blood, lying in the grass.

Though pushing his body to the limit was a form of training for him, doing so repeatedly in a single night, nearly to the point of collapse, was more than his body could bear.

He didn’t even have the strength to speak. Thankfully, Henry Clark and the others had found him; otherwise, he might not have had the energy to make it back to the village to report. Looking at Henry Clark’s still boyish, rough-skinned face, he felt an unusual sense of warmth.

He thought to himself: Why is Henry Clark’s face so big?

“Just tired.”

The burly, black-faced man in the lead walked over. Seeing that Ethan Brooks had no knife or arrow wounds, but was still this exhausted, he was genuinely impressed. He patted Ethan Brooks’s shoulder with a calloused hand as big as a fan and said in a gruff voice, “Dragging something this heavy all night by yourself and not dying—consider yourself lucky.”

He took a pitch-black pill from his pocket and stuffed it into Ethan Brooks’s mouth, telling him to swallow it.

The pill tasted bitter and fishy at first, but quickly dissolved into saliva, and as it slid down his throat, a surge of heat spread through his body, making his blood almost boil...

The medicine was far stronger than fish-yang grass.

Ethan Brooks could feel his strength rapidly returning. He secretly marveled at how good the Black Python Pill was, and was surprised at Samuel Clark’s generosity. It seemed the night’s hardship had been worth it.

Henry Clark was also surprised at Uncle Samuel Clark’s generosity. After all, when Grandpa had decided to take in Ethan Brooks, Uncle had strongly opposed it. Even though he no longer insisted on driving Ethan Brooks out of the Black Python Tribe, he still didn’t treat him kindly. Who would have thought he’d be willing to give Ethan Brooks a Black Python Pill for his injuries?

Even a high-ranking barbarian warrior like Uncle Brooks in the village might not get a single Black Python Pill in a month.

The black-scaled beast was so heavy that it took two Black Python tribesmen working together to drag the giant corpse onto the bank.

Henry Clark saw the beast’s half-exposed head above the water, its massive body as big as an ox, and asked Uncle Samuel Clark:

“What is this thing?”

“I can’t say for sure. We’ll have to call your grandpa over...” The black-faced giant Samuel Clark squatted on the riverbank, his huge frame still towering like half an iron tower even while crouched. He stared at the strange beast for a long time, unsure if it was the legendary wild mutant.

Samuel Clark’s face, crisscrossed with deep lines and tattooed with a python-head totem, looked as rugged as a stone ridge washed by a mountain flood. His thick brows, like two heavy brushstrokes, were furrowed together. He turned and gave Ethan Brooks a smile:

“You’re not useless.”

Samuel Clark’s smile was uglier than a cry. Ethan Brooks thought, Do you really need to say whether I’m useless or not?

Still, since Samuel Clark devoted himself to protecting the Black Python Tribe and never had a kind word for anyone, hearing even a rare bit of praise from him made Ethan Brooks feel quite pleased.

Chapter 004: Hit the Jackpot