After half a month in the forest, Colin had changed.
The jungle no longer felt hostile—it felt familiar.
Like a true lone wolf, he had adapted.
His body remained lean, but his muscles had sharpened into clean, defined lines. The fear that once lingered in his eyes had long since faded, replaced by a quiet calm—and something colder, something buried deep beneath the surface.
Ruthlessness.
Through hunting small animals, he had accumulated 32 Kill Points.
Staring at the number on his panel, Colin fell into thought.
A choice stood before him.
Spend everything on raw attributes—
Or invest in something more?
Thirty-two points could buy six attribute boosts, with two left over. If he poured them all into Strength, his power would surge to terrifying heights. Snapping a tree as thick as a bowl might not even be difficult.
But—
"Strength alone makes me predictable," he murmured. "If someone holds a spear, I won't even get close."
What he needed wasn't just power.
He needed a way to use it.
His gaze shifted to the updated exchange list. With his growth, new options had unlocked.
One entry stood out.
[Basic Martial Skill: Wolf Claw Bite] — 25 Kill PointsA close-quarters combat style tailored for the werewolf body, teaching optimal use of claws, movement, and explosive force.
Expensive.
Almost everything he had.
But those words—tailored for the werewolf body—pulled at him.
Right now, his fighting style was crude. Brutal, yes—but unrefined. Against weak enemies, it worked. Against anything stronger… it would fail.
He made his decision.
"Exchange for Wolf Claw Bite."
[Confirmed. 25 Kill Points consumed. Remaining: 7][Martial Skill Inheritance Initiated...]
A torrent of knowledge crashed into his mind.
Not words—
But motion.
A shadowy werewolf figure moved within his consciousness, demonstrating technique after technique. How to anchor the waist. How to drive power through the spine. How to let claws strike like blades, tracing deadly arcs.
Pounce. Twist. Tear. Dive.
Each movement flowed with a savage rhythm, perfectly aligned with his body.
His muscles twitched, eager.
Without hesitation, Colin moved to a clearing.
He began to practice.
At first, it was awkward.
His footing slipped. His balance faltered. A simple lunge nearly sent him sprawling; a spinning strike almost wrenched his waist apart.
But he didn't stop.
Again.
And again.
From morning until dusk, he trained.
Sweat soaked his clothes. His breath grew ragged.
Before him stood a tree thick enough to require two men to encircle. He struck it again and again. At first, only shallow scratches marked the bark—
But gradually—
The marks deepened.
"Ha—!"
With a low growl, he dropped his center of gravity. His leg drove into the ground, his core twisting like a coiled spring. His arm snapped forward—
Five clawed afterimages slicing through the air.
Slash!
Wood chips burst outward.
Five deep gouges—half an inch into the bark.
Colin stared at his hand.
These were no longer ordinary nails.
Under the influence of the system—and his bloodline—they had hardened, sharpened, evolved.
Claws.
And now—
Weapons.
Just as satisfaction began to rise—
A sound cut through the forest.
Heavy breathing.
Rough. Rhythmic.
Followed by the tearing of soil.
Colin's body tensed instantly. He suppressed his presence and slipped behind a nearby tree.
Through the brush—
He saw it.
A black-haired wild boar.
Massive.
Easily over three hundred pounds. Its tusks were long and curved, its bristles stiff like iron needles. It rooted through the earth with brute force, searching for food, radiating raw, untamed power.
Colin's breathing slowed.
This was no rabbit.
No squirrel.
Even experienced hunters avoided such creatures alone.
But in Colin's eyes—
Flame ignited.
Small prey kept him alive.
This—
Would make him stronger.
[Target: Black-Haired Wild Boar][Estimated Reward: 10–20 Kill Points]
The system's prompt echoed softly.
It was enough.
Colin lowered his stance and began circling, silent as a shadow, searching for an opening.
The boar suddenly froze.
Its head snapped up. Small eyes gleamed with alertness. Its snout twitched.
It had sensed him.
Now.
Colin moved.
Low. Fast. Silent.
He shot forward from the boar's flank like a hunting predator.
The boar reacted instantly, roaring as it spun, tusks aimed to gore him.
Colin didn't retreat.
At the moment of impact—
His body dropped.
Sliding across the ground at an unnatural angle.
"Take this!"
Wolf Claw Bite — Stealth Ambush!
He passed beneath the boar and struck upward.
Rip!
Blood sprayed from its exposed belly.
The boar shrieked, pain driving it into a frenzy. It reared up and slammed down, its massive weight crashing toward him.
Colin rolled away just in time.
The ground shook.
Before he could recover, the beast charged again.
This time—
He wasn't fast enough.
A massive impact slammed into his leg. A tusk tore across his calf, ripping flesh open to the bone.
Pain exploded.
He staggered, barely staying upright.
The boar came again.
Relentless.
In that instant—
Colin's eyes hardened.
He didn't retreat.
He met it.
Twisting his body, he lashed out—not at its body—
But its eye.
Squish!
The claw sank in.
The eyeball burst.
Dark fluid sprayed.
The boar went mad.
Blind rage overtook it, charging wildly in every direction.
Colin gritted his teeth, enduring the pain as he moved, circling, waiting.
One chance.
That was all he needed.
Then—
He saw it.
The exposed neck.
He inhaled deeply, gathering every ounce of strength into his arm.
"Die!"
He leapt.
Like a falling meteor, he slammed onto the boar's side.
His fingers drove forward like a blade—
Wolf Claw Bite — Fatal Strike!
Pfft—
His hand plunged deep into flesh.
He felt it—
The pulsing artery.
And then—
He tore.
Blood erupted like a fountain.
The boar convulsed violently, then collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Still.
Dead.
[Black-Haired Wild Boar slain. Kill Points +15]
Colin dropped to the ground, breathing hard.
His leg throbbed, blood soaking through torn flesh.
But he didn't look at it for long.
His gaze shifted—
To the massive carcass before him.
A slow smile spread across his face.
Painful.
Exhausted.
But alive.
He had won.
Not by luck.
Not by chance.
But by claw, by instinct—
By becoming something far more dangerous than before.