Chapter 16 – Boar

Ren Tai groaned as he leaned back against the stone wall of the cave, body heavy with the weight of exertion and revelation. The high of his breakthrough had left his limbs shaky and his core drained. Though the memory of Thalasar had granted him deep insight, it had also exacted a heavy toll — mentally, physically, and spiritually.

He hadn't truly rested since then. The memory hadn't been a passive glimpse — it was like walking another man's path, shouldering his burdens, bleeding with his pain. Even now, the phantom echoes of Thalasar's roars haunted the back of his mind.

Still seated, Ren Tai slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This time, there was no resistance from within. No cracking walls of doubt or raging storms of insecurity. Only stillness — the kind that settled at the bottom of a deep lake.

When his eyes opened again, he felt clear.

His mind was sharp, renewed like steel tempered in fire and ice. Thoughts came more easily, layered with instinct. Ideas unfurled without effort. But before any grand plans could take root —

GRROWWL.

His stomach made its presence violently known, the echo bouncing off the cave walls like a beast's growl.

Ren Tai blinked.

"…Right. Food."

He pushed himself to his feet, stretching the tightness from his shoulders and back. As much as he wanted to plan his next step in cultivation, hunger came first — and this time, he wouldn't ignore it. Although he qi helped with hunger, you couldn't go too long without food. And it mostly showed at higher realms of cultivation.

Exiting the cave, he gave the surrounding formations a careful inspection. These protective barriers had held firm through the night. There were faint claw marks along the outermost array, signs of a curious beast perhaps, but nothing had broken through. Satisfied, he tapped a few nodes and refreshed the energy lines before turning toward the forest.

The air was cool beneath the canopy, shadows long and still from the morning mist. With practiced ease, Ren Tai leapt into the trees. His movements were soundless — a whisper of motion. He covered short distances with a tap of his toes on branches, each landing perfectly balanced. The wind barely stirred in his wake.

He hunted with the patience of a ghost.

There were beasts in his spatial ring — dozens, perfectly preserved from past battles. But the thought of eating their meat made his nose wrinkle. It was tough, stringy, and carried the scent of old blood. Worse, he hadn't even processed them yet. Carrying unprepared corpses into a city would be reckless. He had no idea how common spatial rings were — flashing one publicly might make him a target.

That wasn't the only reason, though.

He realized — somewhat amused — that he cared about taste now.

Before the breakthrough, he would have eaten anything that could fill his belly. Texture, flavor, even smell — irrelevant. He saw food as fuel, nothing more. But now... his senses were sharper. His instincts louder. And his preferences?

More human.

"What I need," he murmured, eyes scanning the brush below, "is boar."

Thick, fatty meat. Crisped skin over fire. Something that tasted like effort.

He smiled slightly — a rare expression, almost unnoticed even by himself — and moved deeper into the forest, vanishing into the green.

It took some time, but Ren Tai eventually caught the scent of something promising — rich, earthy, and distinct. He crouched low along a mossy branch, sharp eyes tracking the movement below.

A boar.

But not just any. This one was thickly muscled, its tusks like jagged knives, its hide sleek and unmarred. A peak 2-star beast. Rare. And coveted. Both predators and cultivators hunted them relentlessly, for nothing their meat. Tender, rich, and naturally seasoned by the beast's omnivore diet, it was considered a delicacy.

Ren Tai moved quickly, cleanly. The kill was silent — a single strike to the heart from above. No suffering. No wasted motion. The boar didn't even have time to squeal.

He didn't immediately store it away. Instead, he dragged it to a small clearing not far from the cave, where sunlight filtered through the trees in golden shafts. Setting up a small, smokeless flame array, he began preparing the meat.

He didn't have salt. Or proper spices.

But he did have herbs.

Ren Tai sliced through the boar's hide with steady hands, steam rising from the fresh wound. He carved the choicest cut from the flank and laid it across the heated stones, the fat hissing immediately in protest. As the fire licked the air, he took a moment to kneel and crush the herbs he'd foraged.

"This one cools the blood. That one sharpens the breath," he murmured to himself. It was something an old hermit had once told him — back when he'd begged for scraps in exchange for splitting firewood. The man had died that same winter, buried under snow and silence.

He sprinkled the crushed mix over the flesh, rubbing it in with a focused grace, like painting runes. The air filled with a savory, spiced aroma that curled around his senses. His stomach twisted again, but he ignored it — letting the moment linger.

The skin was crisped just right. As the fat hissed and the smell grew stronger, Ren Tai's mind drifted—faint memories of an old woman's stew surfaced. He couldn't remember her face, only the way the scent clung to her tattered robes and the warm broth that soothed his bruised ribs after a beating.

"That was a long time ago," he muttered, shaking the memory loose.

For the first time in a long while, Ren Tai took a moment not to cultivate or fight or run — but simply to eat. And enjoy.