Clash!

Boom!

"Marcus! Take care of the dingo approaching!" one of the veterans shouted as he clashed with one of the beasts that had ambushed them mid-crossing.

The attack came from below, from crevices in the canyon walls where the creatures had been lying in wait. They'd learned to use the bridges as hunting grounds.

Dingoes swarmed up from the depths, their lean, hardy bodies perfectly adapted for speed and agility. Most displayed sandy-yellow to red-ginger coats, though a few were marked with black or white patterns. Their brown, almond-shaped eyes locked onto targets with focus, and their pricked ears swivelled constantly, tracking sounds.

Dignoes were medium-sized canines, but dangerous in packs and terrain like this, where mobility was restricted.

Thankfully, the Lieutenant's experience had prevented a disaster. He'd ordered the horses kept on solid ground with one veteran holding them, refusing to risk the mounts on the makeshift bridge until they'd confirmed it was safe.

That foresight had just saved their transportation and possibly the bridge.

Moon moved without hesitation as a dingo lunged at him from the left, its jaws snapping for his throat. He sidestepped smoothly, his staff coming around in a controlled arc that caught the creature across its ribcage.

The beast yelped, stumbling, but recovered quickly. It was weak, level thirteen according to the status that flashed across Moon's vision.

Still, it was aggressive, coordinated, and fighting on familiar terrain.

Moon didn't give it a second chance. Fire erupted from his palm, a concentrated blast that engulfed the dingo's head and chest. The creature's yelp cut off abruptly as it collapsed, smoke rising from charred fur.

[You have killed a level 13 Dingo.] [You have gained 10 Lives.]

Moon processed the notification even as he engaged the next target. Ten lives. Not the five-lives minimum he'd been getting from creatures below level ten, but still significantly reduced compared to the hundreds he'd gained from beasts closer to his own level.

The pattern was becoming clear. Creatures at level ten and below provided the absolute minimum of five lives. Those above level ten provided reduced returns based on the level difference, but not as drastically. The closer the beast was to his own level, the greater the reward. The further below, the steeper the discount.

At that point, Moon had come to a working conclusion: as he fought beasts closer to his level, the more lives he'd gain and the less the penalty would apply.

Another dingo came at him, this one level fourteen. Moon dispatched it with an earth spike through the throat, following up with fire to ensure the kill.

[You have killed a level 14 Dingo.]

[You have gained 15 Lives.]

Fifteen lives, which was slightly better.

Around him, the veterans fought relentlessly. Marcus crushed a dingo's skull with his armoured fist. Alyssa's arrows found eyes and throats with deadly accuracy. The Lieutenant moved through the chaos like water, his sword finding vital points with minimal wasted motion.

The ambush was over in less than two minutes.

Eight dingoes lay dead on the bridge and surrounding rock. No casualties on their side, though one veteran had taken a bite to the arm that would need treatment.

"Damn scavengers, they've been getting bolder," Marcus muttered, wiping blood from his knuckles. The Lieutenant surveyed the scene with a calm expression.

He looked at Moon. "Good reaction time. No hesitation."

Moon simply nodded.

They resumed crossing, this time with weapons drawn and senses heightened, the brief violence serving as a reminder that the sanctuary showed no mercy to carelessness.

Even on a simple bridge crossing.

Only after arriving on the other side of the crossing did the Lieutenant signal for the veteran to start making his way across with the horses. The animals followed obediently without fail, their training clear in how calmly they navigated the swaying bridge despite the lingering scent of blood.

Then they continued on their way.

Moon had already passed through various zones during the journey. The death penalty had risen steadily as they ventured deeper into more dangerous territory. It now sat at twenty-five lives per death, which wasn't insignificant.

But compared to his current total of over four thousand lives, it was nothing. He could die a hundred times over without real concern.

Not that he planned to test that theory.

They arrived at the checkpoint halfway through the journey without much trouble. They'd faced a few beasts along the way but nothing that forced them to dismount.

The veterans handled threats efficiently from horseback, their experience showing in how little effort they wasted on minor encounters.

The checkpoint itself was a cleared area surrounded by natural rock formations that provided decent cover. Evidence of previous camps littered the space—fire pits, worn patches of ground where tents had been erected, even some basic supplies stored in a weatherproof container wedged between rocks.

The Lieutenant surveyed the area with satisfaction. "The night is getting dark. Let's set up the tents, light the campfire, and get some good food."

The veterans responded with enthusiasm.

"WFinally!" Marcus pumped his fist. "I've been thinking about that dried venison all day."

"You're always thinking about food," Alyssa said, rolling her eyes as she dismounted. "But I won't complain. I was also looking forward to it."

"I call first watch!" another veteran announced. "But only if someone saves me the good portions."

The Lieutenant smiled at his team's energy, clearly pleased with their morale. "Marcus, Alyssa, handle the tents. Joren, you and Chen gather firewood. Moon, you can help with the food supplies."

The group dispersed to their tasks, the atmosphere shifting from vigilance to camaraderie. These were people who'd fought together, trusted each other, and knew how to make the best of hard conditions.

Moon followed the veteran he was assigned to help, to where supplies were stored, watching as the man pulled out preserved meats, dried vegetables, and even some spices.

"We take our meals seriously," the Veteran said, noticing Moon's expression. "Morale matters as much as strength on long expeditions. A good meal keeps people sharp, at least that's what the lieutenant always says."

Moon nodded, appreciating the wisdom in that approach.

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