Crag’s teaching style was brutal and direct.

  "The wind sounds wrong. The Blade Mink is about to move."

  "Deep heel prints? It's full; you can fight it. Deep claw prints? It's starving; run."

  Kane was like a dry sponge thrown into water, frantically absorbing these survival laws paid for in blood.

  The duo's cooperation was nothing short of seamless.

  Crag took charge of frontal suppression, standing like an immovable wall of stone.

  Kane became the ultimate phantom, utilizing his speed to find fleeting openings and deliver the killing blow.

  But soon, a new problem arose.

  After they joined forces to slay a shell-covered Armored Lizard the size of a millstone, Kane held his breath and stared fixedly at the carcass. The seal on his palm remained unresponsive.

  No Essence Orb.

  In another hunt, the target was a lone Screeching Vulture. Kane even stabbed it a dozen extra times just to "increase the drop rate."

  The seal remained dead silent.

  Five consecutive times, the mutated beasts dying by his hand provided zero return.

  "Useless! All of them are goddamn useless!"

  Kane kicked away the severed limb of a Sand-Scorpion, cursing under his breath, his eyes bloodshot.

  The continuous streak of empty-handed returns caused the long-suppressed anxiety in his heart to boil over.

  He desperately needed power. This feeling of handing his fate over to the ethereal whims of "luck" made him more uneasy than facing death itself.

  "Little one, if your heart is too restless, the trap won't set firm." Crag squatted nearby, crunching on a rusted iron plate. He glanced up at him.

  "By the time you finish setting your trap, the prey will have died of old age."

  Kane leaned against the stone wall, his sharp-tongued instinct taking over. "If nothing drops soon, I’m heading into the canyon depths. I don't have time to scavenge trash here with you."

  Crag didn't get angry. He swallowed the last piece of scrap metal and stood up, his expression more serious than ever before.

  "No need to go."

  "A big one has come looking for us."

  The moment he spoke, the gravel on the ground began to dance violently.

  That tiny tremor amplified within seconds, turning into a muffled, thunderous roar rising from deep underground!

  Shasha—!

  Less than three meters in front of Crag, the level sand suddenly caved in, a massive quicksand vortex forming instantly!

  A creature over five meters long, covered in thick, earthy-yellow plating—a Dune Worm—burst through the sand!

  Its circular mouth, lined with rings of razor teeth, snapped open, unleashing a wave of rotting stench!

  "Roar!"

  The Dune Worm charged like an out-of-control subway train, lunging at Crag.

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  Crag let out a roar of his own. The muscles in his petrified arms bulged as he charged forward instead of retreating. He crossed his arms, forcefully jamming them into the worm’s terrifying maw!

  "Little one! Below the neck! Third segment, plate gap!"

  Crag’s voice was raspy under the immense pressure, his legs driven hip-deep into the sand by the terrifying momentum.

  The anxiety in Kane’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by the absolute calm of a hunter.

  [ Kinetic Boost ], activate!

  His body left a blur on the sand, moving faster than ever before!

  He didn't charge head-on. Instead, he accurately stepped off a protruding rock, using the leverage to vault high into the air.

  As the Dune Worm twisted its body, he spotted it—the grayish-white nerve node, no larger than a fingernail, that Crag had mentioned.

  There!

  "Die!"

  Kane poured every ounce of strength into his right arm. With the absolute resolve to kill, he drove his dagger downward from mid-air!

  Puchi!

  The sensation was like piercing a leather bag filled with hot oil.

  The Dune Worm let out a piercing screech, its entire body curling violently.

  A fountain of dark red, foul-smelling blood shot into the sky, drenching Kane from head to toe.

  In the moment he was flung away, a glimpse of something caught the corner of his eye.

  It was an Essence Orb, so dense it was almost a murky forest green, slowly emerging from the Dune Worm’s limp carcass!

  It's here!

  Kane slammed heavily into the sand. He didn't even register the pain as he scrambled to his feet, pretending to check his wounds while slamming his hand onto the orb!

  A scalding torrent of heat surged through the seal in his palm!

  He gritted his teeth, half-expecting a world-ending offensive power or an indestructible defense.

  However, the sensation flooding his body this time was neither sharp nor explosive.

  It was a heavy, thick "permeation" that carried the scent of raw earth.

  He could almost "hear" the friction of the sand grains and "smell" the silence deep within the soil.

  The ground beneath him was no longer a solid plane; it felt like a heavy expanse of water he could "merge" into—the earth was inviting him to dive.

  The look of wild joy on Kane’s face froze.

  It was like opening a long-awaited, expensive weapon crate only to find a folding entrenching shovel lying inside.

  Phase Burrow?

  Go into the dirt and act like an earthworm?

  For an assassin like him who pursued ultimate lethality, a skill that could only be used for "doggy paddling" and hiding was a massive insult!

  "That’s it?"

  Kane looked at his hands. The crushing sense of disappointment made his chest tighten; he felt like killing something.

  He had gone through all that trouble, nearly getting flattened into a meat pie by the worm, just to get a hole-digging skill meant for running away?

  Just as Kane was sinking into deep self-doubt, Crag, who was butchering the worm's carcass, let out a grunt of surprise.

  "Little one, look."

  From the worm’s stomach, which was half-eroded by acid, Crag pulled out a black metal armband.

  On the armband, an iron hand clutching a lightning bolt shimmered with an eerie red light in the setting sun.

  Instantly, Crag’s honest face lost all expression, turning as cold as the frostiest stone in the canyon.

  He gripped the armband so hard his knuckles ground together with an audible creak. A killing intent so thick it was almost tangible seeped out from beneath every inch of his obsidian skin.

  "Iron Hand Gang... it’s them."

  Crag’s voice was low, sounding like he was suppressing an erupting volcano.

  "They killed my brother. Stole our tribe’s Tinder Crystal. I’ve looked for them for a month. To think... they were eaten by this beast."

  Kane took the armband, his heart skipping a beat.

  The Iron Hand Gang...

  He was about to ask more when a sudden, persistent mechanical hum drifted through the distant wind.

  Crag snapped his head up as well, his grey-stone eyes staring fixedly toward the canyon entrance.

  A second later, the humming amplified into a roar!

  Three desert motorcycles, modified beyond recognition, kicked up plumes of yellow dust as they charged toward them at a frantic speed!

  Atop the bikes, raiders brandishing electromagnetic spears let out beastly howls.

  "Dammit, they just won't die."

  Kane spat out a mouthful of sand and gripped his dagger in a reverse hold, his gaze turning vicious.

  He looked at the soft sand beneath his feet, then at the rapidly approaching pursuers.

  Perhaps...

  This "doggy paddle" skill could have an unexpected use.

  "Crag! If you want revenge, stay alive first!"

  Kane let out a roar, grabbed Crag—who was still lost in his hatred—and turned to bolt!

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