The next moment, Michael felt it again.
A gaze.
"Hmm?"
Immediately, both earrings on his ears flared with a bright light once more.
He didn't need to think twice.
"Shit! This fucking bastard!"
Roar!!!!
Roar!!!!
Roar!!!!
Once again, several loud roars echoed through the forest, shaking the treetops.
There was no mistaking it—the monster had tried to attack him mentally again.
Some might say it was foolish after the first failed attempt.
Others might argue it wasn't.
After all, how was it supposed to know Michael had two pairs of high-grade mental defenses?
The creature's fear spiked.
It immediately withdrew its thoughts, recoiling from Michael's mind like a burned animal retreating from fire.
Something Michael didn't know was that the monster recognized him.
How could it not?
He had nearly been its first meal upon waking from a long, ancient slumber.
Unfortunately for the beast, not only had it failed to consume him, but it had also been swarmed and wounded by strange, relentless ants that appeared immune to its influence.
So yes—Michael had been right.
The monster did have its eyes on him.
But it wasn't just because of his strength, skill, or threat.
It was personal.
Just as Michael was about to react to the sudden psychic assault and retreat, several massive black tentacles erupted from a giant mass of red flesh, hurling toward him like spears.
A wolf's howl echoed in the distance, followed by several thunderous roars of equal might.
The ground shook from the noise, but Michael had no time to focus on what was happening below.
Gale, his undead griffin, reacted instantly—wings flaring wide as it dodged the ining tendrils and soared higher into the sky.
Michael held on tight, barely maintaining balance as another tentacle missed him by inches.
He didn't even understand how they were able to reach this high. But in a magical world, mon sense wasn't always mon—or worse, what was considered "mon sense" depended entirely on who you asked.
Luckily, there was a limit to their reach.
After a few evasive maneuvers, Gale climbed high enough to be safely out of range.
But Michael had no intention of simply retreating.
"Gale!"
His undead mount responded instantly, spinning mid-air and unleashing a volley of wind blades toward the writhing tentacles below.
Several were sliced clean through, black ichor spilling from the wounds like tar.
Only then did Michael issue a silent mand and veer away from the battlefield.
Gale flapped its massive wings and carried him to a distant clearing far from the chaos.
Landing softly, Michael jumped down and turned back, his gaze fixed on the direction they'd just escaped from. His expression was tight—concerned.
But beneath that worry, his heart beat with something else.
Excitement.
Though the monstrous abomination radiated an aura of strength, and its abilities had nearly caught him off guard, the pressure it exuded didn't seem stronger than what Prince or Gale emitted.
That meant one of two things.
Either it was a lower-level creature than his undead, or it was higher-leveled—but its racial rank wasn't extraordinary.
Unlike Prince and Gale, who were both one-star Extraordinary-ranked beings.
Either way… it wasn't as overwhelming as he remembered.
What once haunted his thoughts and caused fear now didn't seem so terrifying.
This difference—this shift—meant everything to Michael.
He had suspected this for a while, but seeing it for himself now gave him real confidence.
Of course, that didn't mean he was going to rush back and confront the thing alone. Far from it. He still wasn't foolish.
He had other mental defense equipment beyond the Siren's Echo Earrings, but if the best among them could be forced to trigger, then relying on them wasn't something he was willing to bet his life on.
He wasn't going to cower away though.
More notifications flickered across his interface, flooding his vision.
[Your undead 'Prince' has slain…]
[You have gained....]
[Your undead 'Prince' has slain…]
[You have gained....]
Michael's eyes lit up.
"Even if I can't take that monster head-on, no one said I can't hunt the others."
He grinned. His voice low and thrilled.
These were all experience packs walking around.
And with most of them being far above his level, he could practically feel the multipliers stacking up.
A suspicion had already formed in his heart—and now, with every kill notification, it grew stronger.
"Maybe… I might actually be able to...….," he whispered, pulse racing.
With a wave of his hand, he summoned more of his undead forces.
Lucky. Beginning. Lily. And a random Goliath.
A solid team.
With a broad, excited smile, he turned to Gale.
"Go stir up our experience pack…..I mean the boss a bit. Make sure it doesn't get too fortable."
The griffin screeched and took off toward the battlefield once more.
Michael turned to the rest of his undead.
"Let's go and take some leaks, guys."
**********
Michael let the three Goliaths rush ahead and stood alone at the edge of the clearing. He didn't move. Not yet.
Moments passed. The sensation of being watched slowly bled away from his body, like a shadow receding with the dawn. He narrowed his eyes.
The monster had withdrawn.
Or more accurately—it could no longer afford to focus on him.
The moment the gaze was lifted, Michael dashed toward the battlefield.
In a blur, Michael arrived at the location.
The forest was anything but quiet.
Chaos rang through the woods—roars, screeches, cracking limbs, and the sharp hum of magic slicing through the air.
He didn't need to see it to know the battle had escalated. The pressure in the air was thick, heavy with death and mana.
But he didn't jump in right away.
Instead, he remained cloaked in the shadows, crouched on a thick branch.
Lily and Beginning had joined the fray in their giant forms—towering titans that moved like demigods among mortals.
They swept through the battlefield like adults swatting away unruly pets. Every swing of their limbs shattered trees and crushed monsters beneath them.
The third Goliath was no different, its massive arms tearing through enemies with ruthless efficiency.
In the midst of the chaos, Lucky—just like Prince—was a blur of violence. It flashed left and right, a whirlwind of claws, fangs, and writhing vines.
Overhead, Gale unleashed storm after storm, destructive hails of wind raining down like divine punishment.
Against an attack like this, it was no wonder why the corrupted monster could not focus on Michael.
It had to defend itself.
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