Chapter 17: The Royalty of the Mountain-Pounding Bears

A full week of relentless physical and mental torment had passed. Though Long Yin’s face showed signs of exhaustion, a sense of contentment filled his heart. He had consumed enough materials to level half a hill, but in exchange, he’d produced two thousand four-star energy cards. While his spiritual power remained at S-level, Long Yin could clearly sense its expansion.

He hunched his small frame and, as a new day dawned, decided to forgo such frenzied spiritual training. Too much of anything was as bad as too little; Long Yin understood this well enough. The madness of those days was merely to sate his craving for card-making in this life. Now that his mind and body were satisfied, it was time to venture outside. He only had enough food for a year, yet was required to survive here for three. The meaning behind this wilderness survival exercise was all too clear.

Providing for oneself—clothing and food through one’s own hands. After a simple breakfast, Long Yin stepped out of the little wooden cabin and took a deep breath. The jungle truly was immense.

He picked a direction and set off to explore. In truth, it was less exploration and more a matter of simply walking, for the towering trees blocked out the sun, casting deep shade over a forest floor covered in fallen leaves and hardy grasses. Other plants stood little chance of growing here. Looking up, Long Yin could see no treetops at all. As he walked, there was nothing but grass everywhere. His expression darkened—was he really expected to start gnawing on grass once his food ran out after a year? Was this trial meant to be so cruel? Long Yin began to hope for signs of other creatures, even card beasts. Though their meat was notorious as the most difficult to eat in the Federation, it was surely better than chewing on grass.

He walked for more than half the day, eventually slumping onto a rock in despair. Gazing around, he saw only plants—was there nothing living to be found? He pulled out a piece of bread and bit into it as if it were Cassano himself, blaming him: for bringing him to this godforsaken place, for not explaining things clearly, for not leaving a map... By the time the bread was finished, Long Yin had listed every one of Cassano’s faults, feeling as if the man existed solely to torment him.

He took out a bottle of water and gulped it down, wiped his mouth, and stowed the half-empty bottle away. Glancing at his frog-shaped alarm clock, he sighed—it was already well into the morning. No wonder his two feeble legs ached.

After massaging his legs, Long Yin resolved to search for a water source. He wasn’t only thinking of the tasty fish and shrimp that might live in a river; water sources usually attracted small animals and edible wild fruit. Though the odds of running into card beasts would rise, after days of plain rations, his resistance to fresh meat was waning fast.

Visions of lively fish danced in his mind, spurring him on. Driven by instinct, he walked along, dreaming up eighteen different ways to eat fish should he catch one.

At last, heaven rewarded his perseverance. As the sun dipped west, Long Yin finally heard the sound of running water. When he saw the clear stream, he was so excited he dived toward it. This seemed to be a downstream section; the water barely covered his ankles, but it was pristine and cold. The icy stream soothed his tired feet, making him loath to leave. He paced back and forth on the smooth pebbles, savoring the sharp, numbing, tingling sensations. With a sigh of satisfaction, he pulled out a scallion pancake from his storage space and ate it contentedly.

When he finished, he used the cold, clear water to wash himself, then tossed his shoes inside his storage. Vowing to catch a fish before night fell, he set off upstream barefoot on the slippery stones, giving himself three hours to find the source.

Yet reality proved far harsher than his hopes. Even as dusk deepened, he was still wading through a stream barely two meters wide and ankle-deep. His poor little feet had swollen from soaking; with no choice, he left the water and put his shoes and socks back on. Flicking a long blade of grass in the crystal-clear current, he sighed—where the water is too pure, no fish can survive.

Night had fallen. There were no fish, and he couldn’t return to the cabin. With a mournful air, he set up his tent, activated his card device, plugged in an energy card, then a lighting card. Instantly, the interior blazed as bright as day. He laid a thin blanket on the ground, pulled out another to use as a cover, and lay down with a sigh of comfort. The soreness in his muscles remained, but the pain had faded; those seven days had not only strengthened his spiritual power, but also forced his body to adapt to the intense exercise.

Rolling around in the tent clutching his blanket, he listened to the rustling and creaking of trees outside—sounds so clear in the wild. Though the cabin’s soundproofing was no better, inside it he had always felt safe. Unable to sleep, Long Yin set up a small table, arranged his medicine bowl and high-grade herbs, and several special porcelain dishes. Expertly, he began grinding the herbs.

When one is absorbed in a task, the world outside ceases to exist. Focused, calm, Long Yin produced blank cards and began a new round of card-making. One after another, four-star energy cards were tossed into his storage; he had no desire to experience waking from card exhaustion again. The tent was quiet, save for the soft scrape of pen on card. He lost track of how many cards he made—he only remembered grinding herbs three times, exhausting his spiritual power twice, and finally, drifting off to sleep in a daze during training.

At dawn, Long Yin was awakened by a sensation of damp warmth. Opening his eyes, he found himself face-to-face with two large, dewy eyes blinking down at him. Blinking back, he suddenly felt a pink tongue lick his face. Stunned, he realized—was this a Mountain-Pounding Bear? But the clumsy, wobbling creature before him was only a miniature version of the legendary beast, whose adult form stood three meters tall and a meter wide, built like a fortress. Pushing away the furry head nuzzling into him, Long Yin spotted the gaping hole in his tent and sucked in a breath. One could never underestimate any card beast; their destructive power was always beyond imagination. The Mountain-Pounding Bear was the only eighth-tier card beast known to be friendly toward humans, never attacking unless provoked. It might even help if one was in need. But if one tried to seal it, one would face a paw capable of shattering mountains with a single blow.

Again, Long Yin pushed away the little bear’s persistent head and growled, “Please, you’re an eighth-tier Mountain-Pounding Bear! Don’t act like a puppy, you idiot—show some dignity as a card beast, would you?”

“Awrooo~” The little bear rolled onto its back, waving its crescent-moon belly at Long Yin and calling out cheerfully.

Staring at the crescent on the bear’s belly, Long Yin poked its head in a daze. “Impressive—a royal Mountain-Pounding Bear!” Yet it didn’t change the fact that it behaved like a puppy begging for attention. Standing up, Long Yin walked to the nearby stream to wash the sticky feeling from his face.

“Awrooo~” The little royal bear followed, its body wobbling with each step. Long Yin frowned. Last night he’d noticed not even the smallest animal had appeared nearby—let alone a card beast. Yet here was a royal Mountain-Pounding Bear cub, not even a month old, in his tent. The situation struck him as exceedingly strange.

“Hey, little guy, how did you get here?” Long Yin wasn’t worried; Mountain-Pounding Bears never harmed humans.

The little bear stumbled along, and Long Yin couldn’t resist flipping it over. Watching it roll and then get up again was amusing. He flipped it several times, but the bear never got angry or called for help—just got up time and again, radiating a spirit of tireless effort and perseverance that made Long Yin blush. Perhaps he was regressing with age.

“How did you get here, really?” The bear was intelligent—eighth-tier card beasts always were—but after a string of “awroos,” Long Yin understood not a word. The language barrier was real. Some eighth-tier beasts could take human form, but not Mountain-Pounding Bears, not even the royal line. However, many could learn human speech and communicate with people; speaking like a human was common after some training. Clearly, this cub had yet to be exposed to human language.

Grabbing the cub by the scruff, Long Yin tossed it into the river and began to bathe it. At first, the cub struggled, but a glare from Long Yin made it behave. It meekly let him scrub and knead, only giving occasional soft whimpers.

He took out a new bar of soap and worked it into a lather on the cub. When he’d finished, the little bear gazed up at him with mournful eyes, as if accusing him of scrubbing away its royal aura. Strangely, Long Yin understood. He remembered—scent was a beast’s calling card. Not that he’d admit it. He patted the bear’s head. “Royalty comes from the heart, understand? Little one, try to learn that!”

He dried the bear and set it on his shoulder. The cub wiggled, then settled comfortably, its weight negligible to Long Yin. He handed it a tough piece of jerky to chew, packed his things, and tossed the ruined tent away. Taking a large flatbread for himself, he continued what he’d failed to finish yesterday.

They walked upstream—one man, one beast, each gnawing on their food, an oddly harmonious and comical sight. Long Yin couldn’t figure out how it had happened, but somehow he’d ended up with a royal eighth-tier beast as a pet. It all seemed so natural.

Once he taught the little bear human language, he would find out how it had ended up here. He named it Little Pounder, though he’d considered “Little Bear.” But that would strip the eighth-tier beast of all its majesty. After some thought, he decided Little Pounder would do. In truth, Long Yin had a knack for naming things—one that left others at a loss for words.