Chapter 513: Luton At Grade Two

The forest held its breath.

Luton’s body expanded one final time and then compressed violently inward.

For a split second, its form became perfectly spherical, light condensing toward its core like a collapsing star. The air around it distorted. Leaves lifted from the ground and hovered midair, trembling in an unseen current of power.

Then there was a pulse.

A silent, crushing wave of essence rolled outward.

Damien braced himself instinctively, boots digging into the soil as the shockwave rippled through the clearing. Trees bent away from the epicenter. Loose stones skidded across the ground. The very mana in the atmosphere recoiled before settling again.

When the light faded, Luton floated calmly before him.

Different.

It was larger, yes—but not bloated. Refined. Its once translucent body now shimmered with faint constellations within, star-like motes orbiting a denser central mass. Its surface was smoother, more cohesive. It no longer looked like something that merely consumed.

It looked like something that contained.

Damien exhaled slowly.

“…Grade Two.”

A smile spread across his face.

Not a smirk nor a battle-hardened grin. It was a proud smile.

“Well done,” he said quietly.

Luton wobbled happily, then floated closer, brushing lightly against his shoulder like an oversized, gelatinous cat.

Damien chuckled.

With a Grade Two summon at his side—one that specialized in devouring and storing—his overall combat capability had skyrocketed.

In the hierarchy of this forest, Grade Two entities were apex predators. Few creatures here could challenge that level directly, and fewer still could survive being swallowed whole by something like Luton.

He could, from this point onward, send Luton alone to consume most Grade Two beasts and lesser demons without worry.

The thought settled into his mind comfortably. He felt safe, strong, and dominant.

But Damien didn’t let himself linger in that comfort. He folded his arms and looked out into the forest beyond the clearing.

“This isn’t the end,” he muttered.

If anything, it was a beginning.

Luton might now be one of the most powerful creatures in the Forest of Twin Disasters—but the others weren’t there yet.

Fenrir remained Grade Three. Powerful, yes. Brutal and reliable? Yes as well. But still vulnerable if surrounded by multiple high-tier Grade Three beasts or demons.

Cerbe, too, hovered around that same ceiling. One wrong engagement against coordinated opponents could overwhelm even its hellish flames.

Aquila was Grade Four—agile, deadly in the skies—but still beneath the true apex predators.

Damien’s gaze sharpened.

He had plans.

Aquila would be pushed into Grade Three.

Fenrir would be honed to the absolute peak of Grade Three, its body tempered through relentless combat until advancement became inevitable.

Cerbe would burn through demons until its flames grew dense enough to rival volcanic eruption.

And if opportunity presented itself, they would advance. Just as Luton had.

He still had hunting to do. More essence to gather. More enemies to crush.

But first, he needed rest. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind a heavy exhaustion in his limbs. The past days had been relentless. Hunt after hunt. Battle after battle. Little sleep.

His stomach growled.

Damien glanced down at the scattered corpses from earlier skirmishes still lying at the edge of the clearing.

“…Right.”

He dismissed the lingering combat mindset and shifted into something far simpler.

Practical survival.

Spices were stored safely within Luton’s Universal Space. He had dried herbs, ground peppers, coarse salt, even preserved oil from Galandra. He had learned long ago that morale—even his own—mattered. A good meal could sharpen the mind as much as a victory.

As for meat?

He looked toward the carcass of a recently slain Thundermaw from earlier hunts, partially preserved within Luton’s storage.

High-grade mana beast meat was dense, rich in energy. Tough if poorly prepared—but nourishing beyond measure.

Fire?

He had more than enough essence for that.

What he lacked was water.

Clean water.

Blood-soaked puddles and tainted swamp pools were useless. He needed a lake or a proper stream—one of the waterways that snaked through this forest like silver veins.

Damien stretched once, rolling stiffness from his shoulders.

“Let’s find a river,” he said.

Luton bobbed in agreement.

The forest shifted subtly as night deepened.

Moonlight filtered down in fractured beams, illuminating winding paths and casting long shadows between tree trunks. The air cooled, carrying the faint scent of damp soil and moss.

Damien moved quietly.

He didn’t summon Fenrir or Aquila. Not yet. Tonight wasn’t about domination—it was about recovery.

He adjusted his senses instead.

Listening.

Water had a sound. Even distant streams whispered against stone. Lakes carried a different presence—a subtle humidity in the air, a shift in temperature.

He moved northeast, following a faint downward slope in the terrain.

After nearly twenty minutes of silent travel, he heard it.

A soft, continuous murmur.

Damien slowed.

The sound grew clearer with each step until the trees thinned slightly, revealing a narrow river cutting through the forest floor. Its surface reflected moonlight like liquid glass.

He scanned the perimeter first.

No large predator scents nearby. No immediate mana fluctuations beyond minor aquatic life. Safe enough.

Damien knelt at the riverbank and dipped his fingers into the water.

Cool and clean.

He brought a handful to his lips and tasted it.

Fresh.

“Perfect.” He rose and moved a short distance away from the river’s edge, selecting a small clearing with good visibility. No dense brush nearby. Minimal blind spots.

He waved a hand.

Luton responded instantly, producing a simple metal cooking grate, a small folding knife, and a few wooden stakes.

Damien worked efficiently.

He carved thick slabs of meat from stored Thundermaw and Gale Serpent carcasses, trimming excess sinew and bone. The flesh was dark and marbled faintly with residual mana.

He arranged stones in a circle and extended his palm.

Essence gathered.

A controlled spark ignited at his fingertips before dropping into the center of the stone ring. Flames rose steadily—clean, steady, without smoke. He adjusted the intensity carefully. Too hot and the meat would char on the outside while remaining raw within.

He seasoned the cuts generously, rubbing in spices and crushed herbs.

When the meat hit the grate, it sizzled immediately.

The scent that followed was rich and intoxicating—smoky, savory, faintly metallic from the mana-rich flesh.

Damien sat back on a flat stone and watched the fire.

For the first time in days, he allowed himself to relax fully.

No demon charging.

No beast roaring.

Just the quiet crackle of flame and the steady murmur of the river.

Luton hovered nearby, faint starlight pulsing within it like a satisfied glow.

Damien flipped the meat once, ensuring even roasting. Fat dripped into the flames, causing brief flares before settling again.

His thoughts drifted.

Luton at Grade Two.

Fenrir’s growth, Cerbe’s hunger, Aquila’s ascension.

And beyond that, the other intelligent demons.

If one could absorb and redirect force… what abilities did the others possess?

He would find out.

Soon enough.

For now, Damien removed the first finished cut from the fire and tore into it without ceremony.

Juice ran down his fingers. The flavor was intense—wild, powerful, faintly crackling with residual mana.

Damien exhaled in satisfaction.

“…Not bad.”

He ate slowly but thoroughly, replenishing his body and essence. After finishing, he doused the fire with river water and leaned back against a tree.

The forest continued its quiet vigil around him.

Tomorrow, the hunt would resume.

Tomorrow, he would push the others toward their limits.

But tonight, he allowed himself rest.

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