Leonhart sat cross-legged within the dimly lit cavern, his sharpened gray claws tracing patterns against the rough stone floor. His lieutenants, Bruk and Drog, along with several other warriors, crouched nearby, their gazes fixed upon him with a mixture of expectation and unease. The discussion of their next steps had been progressing steadily—until a foreign sensation crept over him.
His muscles tensed involuntarily. A slow, insidious hunger unfurled within his core, deeper than the simple need for sustenance. It was primal, gnawing, dark. His throat felt dry, his heartbeat a slow but heavy drum in his chest.
His fingers twitched.
What… is this?
A guttural growl rumbled in his throat before he could suppress it. His vision flickered, the torches around them casting unnatural shadows. A deep, unfamiliar craving stirred in his gut—an instinct not entirely his own. It wasn't just the desire to fight, to conquer. No, this was something else entirely. A need. A thirst.
Drog shifted uncomfortably, his sharp eyes narrowing. "My lord?"
Bruk leaned forward, his expression tense. "Leonhart, what's wrong?"
Leonhart exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "I… am different now."
His own voice sounded foreign to his ears, deeper, laced with something rawer. The evolution had changed more than just his appearance. It had awakened something within him—something monstrous. Something that demands more.
The others glanced at one another, concern thick in the air.
"Do you need food? Water?" Bruk asked, his brow furrowed.
Leonhart shook his head. "No… It's not that." He flexed his claws, the sharp tips catching the faint light. He could feel the mana coursing through him, different from before—denser, heavier, potent in ways he didn't yet understand. "Before we move forward, I need to test my body. My new mana. I must know what I am now."
Drog exhaled, nodding. "Makes sense. You just evolved into a Variant. We don't know what that means yet."
Leonhart turned to his lieutenants. "While I train, you and a group of warriors will go to the lizardmen's territory." His gaze settled on Bruk and Drog. "Gurruk is still too injured to lead, but we cannot delay. Sshorak may be willing to discuss an alliance now that he's seen what the humans are capable of."
Bruk nodded. "Understood. We'll take a small force, move fast."
Drog smirked. "And if they refuse?"
Leonhart's eyes darkened. "Then we make them see reason."
The two warriors grinned, eager for action, but their amusement didn't mask their concern. The way Leonhart carried himself now—the sharpness in his gaze, the slight twitch in his fingers as if barely restraining himself—was unsettling.
Bruk's voice was quiet. "Be careful, my lord."
Leonhart met his gaze and gave a slow nod. "Go. I will be waiting for your report."
As Bruk, Drog, and their chosen warriors departed, Leonhart turned toward the deeper sections of the cavern. The hunger still lingered, coiling beneath his skin. His body demanded to be tested. To fight. To tear. To consume.
He walked deeper into the cave, the narrow corridors pressing in around him. The air grew colder, damp with the scent of earth and minerals. His footsteps echoed as he ventured into the unknown, driven by an impulse he barely understood. He needed to push himself, to feel what this new body was truly capable of.
When he reached a vast, open chamber, he paused. The space was littered with jagged rocks, uneven terrain, and deep pools of water. It would serve as a battleground.
Leonhart took a deep breath, feeling the mana in his core stir. He reached inward, trying to command it—but it lashed back, wild and unrefined. His vision blurred for a moment, and a sharp pain shot through his chest.
Control it.
He gritted his teeth and focused. The power within him surged, but he refused to be consumed by it. He moved, testing his speed, his strength. Every motion felt sharper, faster—yet there was something else. His body craved destruction, his instincts urging him to unleash himself fully.
He clenched his fists. Not yet.
Over the next few days, he trained relentlessly, pushing his new form to its limits. He tested his agility, striking at shadows, dodging imaginary enemies. His claws could slice through stone. His mana, once unstable, was beginning to respond to his will, flowing through his veins like liquid fire.
Yet the hunger remained.
As the days turned to weeks, Leonhart honed his abilities. His control grew sharper, his movements more refined. The beast within him still lingered, but he had learned to balance it—to use its power without succumbing to its madness.
Finally, after half a month, he emerged from the depths of the cave.
His warriors stared at him in silent awe.
Leonhart no longer moved like a goblin, nor even a monster. He moved like something beyond—a force of nature, an unstoppable will. His skin had taken on a darker hue, his muscles lean but powerful. His aura alone made the others tense, their instincts screaming at them to submit.
Bruk and Drog had returned, waiting for him.
Bruk exhaled. "You look… different."
Leonhart simply nodded. "And you have news?"
Drog grinned. "The lizardmen are listening."
Leonhart's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.
"Then it's time."
The end of Chapter 23.