The wind had not softened.
It roared through the mountain pass like an ancient beast mourning its fallen kin. Snow drifted sideways in thin sheets, brushing against rock and armor, erasing the marks of battle grain by grain.
For twenty minutes, Kel had remained seated upon the massive corpse of the Crimson Wolf leader.
Not in arrogance.
Not in triumph.
But in recovery.
His breathing had gradually stabilized. The trembling in his fingers faded. Within him, the dual aura cores rotated steadily once more, slower now, conserving rather than expending.
Reina stood watch a few paces away, sword planted lightly into the snow beside her. Her silver cloak snapped sharply with each gust of wind, fur lining along her collar dusted white with frost. She did not complain of the cold.
Her gaze remained outward.
Alert.
Even with the pack dispersed, remnants could linger. Intelligence such as that did not vanish completely without instinct urging caution.
Kel finally exhaled and rose.
The movement was fluid despite lingering fatigue.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped down from the wolf's carcass. The beast was immense up close—its silver fur thick and coarse, stained dark where blood had soaked into the fibers. Its crimson eyes, once burning with savage cunning, now stared vacantly at the pale sky.
Kel looked down at it without emotion.
"A leader among hunters," he murmured quietly.
"Then we will not waste it," Reina replied.
Kel removed his gloves slowly, revealing fingers pale against the cold. From within his coat, he retrieved a short-bladed harvesting knife—narrow, curved slightly at the tip, its edge honed to surgical precision. The steel reflected the white glare of snow with muted sharpness.
He knelt beside the wolf's neck.
The first cut was clean.
Precise.
The blade slid beneath the fur, separating hide from muscle in long, deliberate strokes. Steam rose faintly from exposed flesh as cold air met warm remains.
Reina watched silently.
Kel did not rush.
Every motion carried efficiency born not of desperation—but discipline.
He worked methodically from the neck down, peeling the massive silver pelt free in wide sections, careful not to damage the fur's integrity. The thickness alone was remarkable; it would fetch high value in northern markets where winters claimed lives mercilessly.
The wind tugged at loose strands as he folded the hide inward carefully, preventing snow contamination.
Next—
He began extracting the meat.
Not for immediate consumption, but for preservation and sale.
Crimson Wolf flesh was known to contain faint mana traces. Tough, but rich. Hunters often sought it for strengthening broths and martial diets.
Kel cut through muscle groups with practiced precision, separating large slabs from bone. Blood pooled briefly before freezing against the snow in dark, brittle patches.
Reina stepped forward to assist.
She knelt opposite him, holding sections steady as he sliced cleanly along natural seams of sinew.
Neither spoke unnecessarily.
The rhythm of blade against flesh filled the silence.
After meat collection came the eyes.
Kel paused briefly before removing them.
The crimson orbs, though lifeless, retained a faint internal glow.
He inserted the knife tip carefully, extracting each intact sphere without rupture. Alchemists prized such components for illusion-based concoctions and night-vision elixirs.
Reina placed them carefully into a small insulated pouch.
Then—
The chest cavity.
Kel drove the blade through rib gaps with steady pressure, cracking bone slightly to widen access. Warmth escaped in fading waves as he reached inward.
His fingers closed around something firm.
The heart core.
Unlike a normal organ, it pulsed faintly even in death—condensed mana crystallized within living flesh.
He withdrew it slowly.
A dark crimson core the size of his fist, veins of black threading through its surface like fractures in glass.
The air seemed to vibrate faintly around it.
Reina's eyes sharpened.
"That alone will draw attention in the Main City."
Kel nodded.
"It should."
He wrapped the core carefully in treated cloth and sealed it within a reinforced container.
Then—
He looked at the skeleton.
Most hunters would stop there.
But Kel did not.
He began stripping flesh from bone with careful efficiency, separating joints and preserving long femurs, spinal sections, and rib arcs.
Crimson Wolf bones were dense—reinforced by mana exposure. Weapon crafters often ground them into composite materials or shaped them into enchanted frameworks.
Even the teeth were extracted.
One by one.
Reina collected them into leather pouches.
The process took time.
Wind continued its endless cry through the pass, snow layering lightly over sections they had already cleaned.
When at last only unusable fragments remained—shattered marrow, sinew scraps, fragments too damaged to sell—Kel stood.
He surveyed the battlefield.
Bloodstains had begun fading beneath snowfall.
The white mountain reclaimed its silence.
Kel sheathed the harvesting knife.
"Help me."
Together, they dug into the snow and loosened frozen earth beneath using blade and boot. It was slow work; the ground was hardened by winter's grip.
Yet eventually—
A shallow pit formed.
They gathered the remains—what little was left—and placed them inside.
Kel did not perform a ritual.
He did not whisper apology.
But he covered the remains carefully, layering snow and soil until the ground appeared undisturbed.
A hunter respected strength—even in prey.
When he finished, he brushed snow from his hands and straightened.
The wind eased briefly.
Only their horses and the distant mountains bore witness.
Kel turned slightly toward Reina.
"How much," he asked calmly, "would the meat and bones alone sell for?"
Reina considered, folding her arms lightly against the cold.
"The meat—given its quality and size—perhaps thirty to forty gold in bulk. More if sold discreetly to martial guilds."
She glanced at the collected bones.
"The bones… that depends on the buyer. But for a leader specimen of this size—at least eighty gold. Possibly more if an artisan recognizes the density."
Kel calculated briefly.
"So in total… near three hundred gold."
"Yes."
A faint silence followed.
Snow continued falling in soft spirals around them.
Kel looked once more at the buried spot.
"Then the hunt was not wasteful."
Reina's expression shifted faintly—somewhere between admiration and quiet understanding.
"You never waste anything."
Kel adjusted his coat, securing collected materials within spatial storage.
"Waste invites weakness."
The mountains ahead remained vast and silent.
Yet something had shifted.
The path toward the Main City would not be simple.
Crimson Wolves did not gather in such numbers without cause.
Kel mounted his horse once more.
His posture was steady again.
Exhaustion had not vanished—but it was controlled.
Reina followed suit.
As they began riding forward once more, snow swirling around hooves and cloaks alike, Reina spoke softly.
"Three hundred gold from a single battle."
Kel did not look back.
"Yes."
"And what will you do with it?"
A faint, unreadable smile touched his lips.
"Invest."
The wind swallowed the word.
The mountain pass opened gradually into broader terrain beyond.
Behind them, beneath frozen soil, the remains of a fallen alpha rested.
Ahead—
The Northeast awaited.
Cold.
Watchful.
And increasingly aware—
That something far more dangerous than a Crimson pack now walked its roads.