Even though Boar introduced himself humbly, Markos didn't dare to take the words at face value.
If anything, the namelessness only added to the mysterious aura surrounding him.
In the wild, the most dangerous creatures weren't the ones who roared loudest or claimed lofty titles—they were the ones who didn't need to.
Markos's proud jaw dipped ever so slightly, not in submission, but in respectful acknowledgment.
There was no mistaking it.
This being was at Stage 2.
The sheer pressure radiating from him was like a coiled spring—restrained, but potent enough to flatten the forest if unleashed.
Markos's eyes flashed, his instincts warning him of the inevitable.
Meanwhile, Ramson… was far less convinced.
Where Markos saw danger, Ramson saw cold, cruel and blatant insult.
His feline eyes narrowed with contempt, cold and cutting. In his village, boars were nothing more than food—hunted, slaughtered, and roasted over a spit. To him, they were prey. Worthless.
