After the ordeal, the hunters exchanged silent glances, each look carrying unspoken words—We're alive.
Their bodies trembled with exhaustion as they panted, gasping for air. Some lowered their heads in sorrow, mourning the fallen. Others felt a pang of pity for those too wounded to continue. And yet, amidst the pain and loss, there was also gratitude—gratitude for survival, for another chance to fight, to live.
For now, they had made it through. But the weight of what they had endured lingered in the air, unshaken and heavy.
Jerome panted heavily, gasping for air, while Shelly was kneeling on the ground, exhausted. His trembling hand reached into his pouch, pulling out a small glass vial filled with a crimson liquid.
"Shelly, take this rejuvenation potion!" Jerome called out as he tossed the vial toward her. "Catch!"
Shelly caught it with slightly unsteady hands. "You… Brother Jerome?" she asked, her voice weak.
"I'm fine," Jerome assured her, forcing a smirk. "I can still move. This potion will revitalize your body and ease your fatigue, but it won't restore your mana."
Without hesitation, Shelly uncorked the vial and drank its contents. A warmth spread through her veins, and though her body still ached, she could feel a portion of her strength returning. She took a deep breath, regaining some composure.
"Anyone who can still stand, take one of these vials," Jerome announced, holding up the remaining seven potions. 
"They won’t fully restore your strength or heal your wounds, but they’ll help your body recover enough to move."Without hesitation, he began distributing the vials, prioritizing those most severely injured
One by one, the hunters approached him, their movements slow and weary.
His hands were steady despite his own exhaustion, ensuring each wounded hunter received their share. The crimson liquid inside the vials shimmered under the dim light, a small glimmer of hope amidst the grim aftermath.
"Just share among yourselves—we only have seven left," he added, his tone both firm and apologetic.
Some hunters took the potion in silence, their eyes filled with gratitude. Others could barely lift their hands, relying on their comrades to help them drink. Though the potion wouldn’t heal their wounds completely, it was enough to keep them standing—to keep them alive.
One of the hunters knelt beside Lok, who was barely conscious. Gently, he lifted Lok’s head and pressed a vial to his lips.
Lok growled in pain as the hunter helped him stand, his body still aching despite the potion's effects. Every movement sent sharp stabs of pain through his muscles, but he gritted his teeth and endured it.
Jerome stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the surviving hunters. His voice was steady, but a heavy weight clung to his words. "How many dead?"
"Four," the hunter replied grimly. "Ten are gravely injured."
Lok stiffened at the words. His face darkened, grief and sorrow carving deep lines into his features. A heavy weight pressed down on his chest as the realization struck him—four dead, ten gravely injured.
His fists clenched, his breathing turned unsteady. As a hunter, it was his duty to protect his comrades. As a leader, it was his responsibility to ensure their survival. But now, standing amidst the wounded and the fallen, he couldn't shake the suffocating feeling that he had failed.
His responsibilities as a leader had not been fulfilled.
Jerome took a deep breath, his chest tightening. Pity, shame, and sorrow flickered across his face, but he swallowed them down.
They had survived—but at a cost.
His fists tightened. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, but there was no time to grieve. They had to move forward.
"Get the fallen bodies and load them onto the cart. Remove the some prey," Jerome ordered, his voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him.
The hunters moved without hesitation. One by one, they grabbed the hunted beasts, dragging them off the cart and tossing them onto the ground. Once it was emptied, they turned their attention to their fallen comrades. With quiet reverence, they lifted the lifeless bodies of their fellow hunters and carefully placed them onto the cart.
Jerome took a step forward. "Lend me your knife," he said.
One of the hunters quickly handed him a blade. Without a word, Jerome strode toward the corpse of the slain beast and plunged the knife into its thick hide.
"Brother Jerome, what are you doing?" Shelly asked, following closely behind him.
"I need to confirm something," he replied, gripping the hilt tightly as he tried to pierce deeper. But the blade barely sank in—its thick skin and hardened bones made it nearly impenetrable.
"Can someone help me open this chest?" Jerome called out.
"Let me," one of the hunters stepped forward, spear in hand.
"Thank you."
"I'll help too," another volunteered, striding toward Jerome. He raised his axe and swung it down onto the beast's chest. At first, the blade barely made a dent, the creature’s ribcage resisting the impact. But after several more strikes, the axe finally bit into the bone. With each forceful hack, cracks formed, and slowly, the chest cavity began to break open. Thick blood spilled onto the ground, staining the dirt beneath them.
"Brother Jerome, what exactly are you trying to confirm?" Shelly asked, standing just behind him. Her face was laced with disgust at the sight of so much blood, but she forced herself to overcome it.
"I want to see if this beast has a core," Jerome replied, his gaze fixed on the exposed insides of the creature.
"A core?" Shelly echoed, confusion evident in her voice.
"Yes. High-tier beasts possess a core—it's the source of their strength and their very foundation. These cores can be exchanged for higher-grade potions, weapons, or defensive robes," Jerome explained.
Shelly’s eyes widened slightly. If this beast had a core, it could be a valuable find—perhaps even a game-changer for both of them.
After several forceful hacks, something finally emerged from the beast’s chest—a translucent sphere, slick with blood. It was about the size of an infant’s hand, pulsing faintly under the dim light.
"Is this the core?" Shelly asked, bewildered, her eyes locked onto the strange object.
"Get it. Retrieve that translucent ball," Jerome ordered firmly.
One of the hunters carefully worked his knife around the core, taking great care as he slowly pried it free from the beast’s body. Blood dripped from his hands as he finally pulled it out.
Jerome took the core from him, turning it over in his hands. He scrutinized it closely, his eyes narrowing as he observed every detail. At first, his lips curled into a slight smile, but within seconds, his expression darkened into a deep frown.
"How is it? Is this the kind of core you were talking about?" Shelly asked. This was her first time seeing the core of a high-tier beast, and she couldn’t read Jerome’s reaction.
Her grip tightened as she watched Jerome examine the translucent, bloodstained sphere. The smell of iron filled the air, thick and suffocating, but she refused to look away.
Jerome remained silent for a moment, his brows furrowed in deep thought. Then, with a sigh, he finally spoke. "I needed to see if this beast had a core… and now that we’ve found it, I need to determine its quality."
Shelly swallowed hard, pushing past her unease. "And? What do you see?"
Jerome’s expression remained unreadable, but something in his eyes hinted at disappointment.
"It's a semi-core," Jerome explained, his voice laced with disappointment. "This core is only beginning to form into a true core. That means the beast was likely just a low-level Enchanted Beast. A fully developed core only emerges from high-tier Enchanted Beasts."
Shelly frowned, still unfamiliar with the value of such things. "Is there any worth in a core like this?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Of course, there is," Jerome replied. "If this were a high-tier core, many tamers and casters wouldn’t hesitate to trade valuable items for it. A core like this can be fed to beasts, helping them evolve into Enchanted Beasts. And if a pet is already a high-tier Enchanted Beast, there's even a chance it could evolve into a Magical Beast."
He let out a sigh, rolling the semi-core between his fingers. "But unfortunately, this is only a semi-core. Its value isn't nearly as high as a fully formed one."
"Can we still trade it for something?" Shelly asked.
Jerome nodded. "Yes, you can still exchange it at the academy for some herbs or other minor resources. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."
"What a pity," Shelly muttered, shaking her head.
Before they could dwell on it any longer, a series of shrill squawks echoed from above. The hunters instinctively looked up and spotted large birds circling in the sky, their dark forms casting ominous shadows on the bloodstained ground. Their cries were piercing, a dreadful sound that sent a shiver down the spines of those who heard it.
"Jerome, the carrion birds are here!" one of the hunters called out, his voice laced with urgency. "We need to leave before other beasts catch the scent of blood and come after us!"
Jerome nodded, wasting no time. He reached into his pouch and placed the semi-core inside. The moment it touched the opening, the pouch seemed to swallow it on its own, as if the fabric itself absorbed the item.
One of the hunters let out a low whistle. "I envy you, Brother Jerome. Master gave you a spatial pouch. You can store anything in there without a problem."
Shelly crossed her arms and huffed. "If I had a pouch like that, I wouldn’t have to struggle carrying all the clothes I buy!"
Jerome chuckled at her complaint. "Shelly, all you think about is clothes. Besides, this is just a low-grade spatial pouch—it only has a two-meter-wide and two-meter-high storage area. I’m still limited in what I can carry."
"Even so!" Shelly shot back, pouting. "It’s still better than stuffing everything into a regular bag."
Jerome shook his head, amused. Even in moments like this, Shelly never changed. But they had no time to waste
Without wasting any time, the hunters hurriedly packed their belongings. With grim determination, they grabbed the handles of the cart, dragging it forward. Inside, their fallen comrades lay still, their lifeless forms a silent reminder of the price they had paid.
The weight was heavy—not just the cart itself, but the burden of loss that pressed on their hearts. Yet, there was no time to grieve. The carrion birds above screeched impatiently, and the scent of blood would soon attract more dangerous predators.
"Move quickly," Jerome urged, his voice firm. "We need to leave before the real threats arrive."
With weary bodies and aching hearts, the hunters pressed forward, their only goal now—to return home alive.