Extreme Resilience

They had explored a lot of the forest by now.

Not all of it, of course. But enough to form a rhythm. They moved carefully—slow in their approach, never chasing danger. They didn't rush, didn't pick unnecessary fights. Together, they'd singled out intermediate-tier beasts, stalking them through underbrush or trapping them near cliffs, picking them off one by one. It was dirty, exhausting work—but it was working.

Winston didn't bother going after stronger enemies alone. He left those for him and Noah to handle together. Instead, he stuck to what he could handle: the basic-tier beasts. They were manageable, especially now that he'd gotten used to Blue Fang's weight and the rhythm of how these monsters fought.

Oddly, none of the basic-tier creatures ever attacked in groups. They always came alone, predictable and isolated. It made things easier. Too easy, even.

The rats, though?

Gone.

Not a single one had shown up since the nightmarish ambush outside their cave. It was like they had just… disappeared. Winston had started to believe it was a one-time thing. Maybe the system had thrown him into a tutorial trap, and now he was past that stage. Or maybe—

"They're on vacation," he'd said casually to Noah three days ago while carving roasted meat from a Muddrag leg. "Chilling by some toxic lake, sipping acid like cocktails."

Noah had only grunted in response.

Less than a week had passed when they headed back to the stream—their regular hunting ground. It was supposed to be just another simple Muddrag run.

Same route. Same goal.

Winston was relaxed, even humming something under his breath as they neared the water's edge. His guard was still up, but not in the way it had been days ago. This place had become routine.

That was the problem.

Because that morning, the stream was silent. No Muddrags. No buzz of insects. Just the faint, sour scent of something off.

They slowed. Noah's ears went stiff. Winston reached for his sword.

And then the forest answered.

Three dark, hunched shapes slipped from the surrounding trees, fur matted and slick with mud. Their bodies were low to the ground, but powerful, like compressed muscle wrapped in old carpet. Green acid dripped from their fangs, hissing softly as it hit the soil.

Mutant rats.

> 📜 PENDRAGON SYSTEM – Combat Alert

Species: Mutant Rat

Tier: Intermediate

Ability: Acid Spray

Passive: Resilience

They weren't just similar. They were the same kind that had attacked Winston outside the cave. The same speed. Same smell. Same dead eyes. Maybe they were even the same exact three.

Winston's stomach sank. "Shit."

He glanced at Noah. The wolf's growl was already deep in his throat, his stance low and ready.

Winston knew this fight was going to be different.

Even if Noah could hold off two of the rats—who were roughly equal to him in tier and speed—that still left one for Winston. One rat. Intermediate tier. Alone, it would be a challenge. With acid spray and resilience thrown into the mix?

It would be a nightmare.

Maybe he could hold it off. But winning?

That was another question entirely.

Noah lunged first. The moment one rat twitched, he slammed into it with raw force, knocking it back before the fight even officially began.

The second rat hissed and sprayed acid toward Noah's side, but he was already in motion—dodging the splash and slicing back with his Iron Claw, a sharp slash that left a bloody gouge across the first rat's chest.

But it wasn't deep. The beast screeched but didn't slow down.

Winston barely had time to process before the third rat locked eyes with him and fired.

Acid.

Winston jumped to the right, rolling under a low branch and landing in a crouch. The liquid struck a tree trunk behind him with a sharp hiss, sizzling as it ate into the bark.

He didn't wait.

"Alright, bastard. Come on," he muttered, trying to lure the rat away from Noah.

Noah was already dealing with two opponents, keeping them separated with sharp movements and fast footwork. He danced between acid sprays and claw swipes, countering wherever he could, but Winston could see it—it was wearing him down.

Winston couldn't afford to stall.

He activated the sword.

> ⚡ Voltstrike – Active

Electricity crackled up Blue Fang's blade. The rat reacted too slow—Winston darted forward and struck the side of its neck. The impact jolted the beast, freezing it mid-motion. Muscles stiffened.

He used the opening to leap and strike again, aiming for the same spot.

But the blade barely cut in. The hide was thick. Too thick.

Blue Fang was a higher-tier weapon than this beast, but strength still mattered. And Winston had sunk his stats into agility, not power. The result?

Shallow wounds. Painful, but not fatal.

The rat shook off the paralysis and swiped with its claws. Winston jumped back just in time, but the motion threw off his stance, and he landed hard on one knee.

"Damn it," he hissed, pushing himself back up.

On the other side of the clearing, Noah was now bleeding from one leg but still standing firm. He had driven the two rats into a tight space, keeping them from flanking him, but the constant acid splashes made every step dangerous. His fur was slightly scorched, patches burned where he hadn't dodged fast enough.

They were holding on.

But that's all it was—holding on.

Not winning. Not yet.

Then something shifted.

Winston found himself backing up, almost without realizing it, and Noah did the same. They regrouped, instinctively pulling toward the center of the clearing.

Back-to-back.

The three rats, now visibly wounded and limping, growled and paced in a rough semicircle. Their eyes burned with hatred.

They were still alive.

Badly hurt. Bleeding from multiple places. But still moving.

Still ready.

Still resilient.

And now they were coordinating again—mouths opening wide.

Winston's heart dropped.

"All three are about to spray."

He could already see it: a deadly triangle of acid converging on their position. If they stood still, they'd be hit from every direction.

Noah growled low.

Winston didn't need a plan. There was only one move.

"Run," he muttered.

They launched forward at the same time.

The acid came a second too late—blasting the ground behind them in sizzling green arcs. Winston didn't look back. He just charged toward his rat, blade up, dodging sideways to avoid another incoming splash.

Noah did the same—colliding into his target like a cannonball, ignoring the sting of acid in favor of raw, vicious momentum.

Steel met flesh. Claws met bone.

And the world disappeared into noise.