Mystic Calling：Stone of Glory-Chapter 925: The Night That Wasn’t Safe

Ethan was quiet for a moment.

Then finally, he nodded.

"All right. Just one night."

Relief flooded the hunters' faces. Some even chuckled quietly, tension bleeding from their shoulders.

Before long, they led Ethan and the girls through a narrow path in the woods, winding into a secluded village.

It wasn't the kind of place that had seen progress, let alone luxury.

The houses were built from rough-hewn timber, lashed together with vines and animal hide. Perimeter defenses were basic at best—just wooden spikes and watchposts.

But the people themselves—

Every smiling face was open, unguarded. The warmth wasn't faked. These weren't practiced gestures of diplomacy—they were just honestly happy to see strangers for once.

In the center of the camp, a tall bonfire roared, burning high against the twilight sky.

The air overflowed with the rich, sizzling aroma of roasting meat, layered over the earthy scent of dry wood crackling in the flames. Every breath Ethan took made his stomach twist in longing.

Then an elderly woman emerged from the crowd, hustling over with surprising speed, balancing a wide wooden platter with both hands.

On it rested a whole roasted lamb leg—fresh off the flame.

Its skin glistened in the firelight, fat still bubbling along the edges.

The scent hit like a punch to the face.

"The tribe hasn't had guests in a long time," the old woman said, her voice respectful, tinged with pride. "You're the first we've welcomed since opening our borders. This leg—our first finished roast—belongs to you."

Idra and Auri's eyes sparkled.

They both took an unconscious step forward, eyes locked on the meat, as their stomachs loudly betrayed them.

Grrrrgle.

Their hands reached out—

—only to freeze mid-air.

"Wait."

Ethan's voice wasn't loud, but there was an edge of calm command that froze them instantly.

Both girls turned to look at him, confused and a little sheepish.

Ethan didn't explain.

He took the lamb leg from the woman with a nod of thanks, tore off a thick, fragrant hunk with his bare hands, and bit in hard.

The exterior had just the right char, while the inside was juicy, tender, cooked all the way through. Hot fat dripped into his throat, and the seasoning was shockingly balanced for something this rustic.

He chewed slowly, carefully.

No numbing agents in the seasoning. No strange energy hidden in the meat. No side effects from the smell, taste, or texture.

Only after he was completely sure did he hand the rest of the lamb leg to the girls.

"Now you can eat."

Idra and Auri let out tiny cheers and dropped into a crouch beside the fire, hugging the meat like a priceless treasure.

But Ethan didn't relax.

This was still an unfamiliar world.

Until he confirmed this place's true nature, they weren't safe—not really.

From the surface, sure, these villagers seemed honest and friendly. But sometimes that was exactly how danger looked—dressed in warmth and simplicity.

And under the firelight… he noticed something.

The men around the bonfire were mostly shirtless, talking and laughing in choppy bursts as they ate and stoked the coals.

None of them were huge. No exaggerated muscles. No visible magical marks.

But their physiques were dense. Compact. Like natural armor had fused to their bones. Every motion, even a casual stretch or turn, carried the weight of deadly potential.

Ethan quietly activated his system's scan.

Just a quick sweep.

The next second—

His breath caught ever so slightly.

Tier 31 and above.

And not just one.

All of them.

Every single man sitting beside that fire could crush a Tier 30 opponent without blinking.

Which meant—

If this tribe went hostile… even if he, Idra, and Auri went all-out together—

There was no way they'd survive.

This wasn't some isolated village.

It was a tribe soaked for generations in some ancient, primal force.

Still, the night continued.

The bonfire blazed on.

Laughter, music, and fire-roasted meat wove into something almost normal. Almost peaceful. For a flicker of time, it could've passed for an untouched refuge—one of the last in the world.

After the meal, the villagers cheerfully led them to a small hut on the edge of the village.

Modest. Crude.

But clean. Quiet.

Not long after Ethan settled on the edge of the bedding platform, thinking through contingencies—

RRRRRnnnngggghhh…

A strange, guttural howl echoed from deep within the jungle.

Not loud. Muffled, even.

But it carried something wrong.

The entire camp froze.

Voices dropped. Conversations died mid-sentence.

Then, almost in perfect sync, every single villager stood up.

Their bodies tense. Eyes sharp. Faces all turned toward the jungle.

Ethan's brow tightened as he moved toward the tent entrance—only to pause when the flap was suddenly thrown open from the outside.

A tribal warrior burst in, face flushed, voice low and urgent.

"The Gemward Tribe is here."

"They're monsters—no morality, no rules."

"You're guests here. Whatever happens, stay inside. Don't come out."

He didn't wait for a response—didn't even glance around to confirm if he was heard.

The man turned and sprinted toward the edge of camp.

Ethan stood still, unmoving.

His jaw clenched.

Stay inside? Not a damn chance.

In a world like this, where power moved in tiers and rules were written in blood, staying blind and passive was the fastest way to die. Not knowing what was going on out there was the real risk.

He exchanged a wordless glance with Idra and Auri before throwing the flap aside.

They stepped together into the night.

And walked straight into chaos.

The outer ring of the village had exploded into full-on combat.

Two tribes—locked in direct, brutal conflict.

Dust flew. Bright flashes of energy collided with fists and steel. The scent of blood and burned earth was unmistakable.

Boom!

Crack!!

Each clash shook the ground. Splinters and sparks lit the darkness as warriors crashed into each other with bone-breaking force.

Ethan's eyes swept across the mayhem—and in seconds, he saw it.

The imbalance.

The Gemward Tribe was winning.

Badly.

They were faster. Stronger. More coordinated. And that wasn't the worst of it.

Each of them had a strange gemstone embedded somewhere in their forehead.

The gems glowed faintly in the dark. Not with magic, not exactly. The energy pouring from them wasn't natural—it pulsed like a parasite, alive.

Power flowed from the stones straight into their bodies, wild and relentless.

This... wasn't mana.

And it sure as hell wasn't tech.

It was something else entirely.

Something foreign.

Forced into them.

Ethan's fists clenched. His teeth ground together.

No more time to wait.

He stepped forward—and then launched.

A blur exploded across the field as he darted toward the nearest Gemward warrior.

BOOM!

His fist connected cleanly with the man's chest, the impact loud as a thunderclap.

The enemy warrior's body shot backwards, flipping through the air and crashing into the dirt more than thirty feet away. He didn't get up.

The battlefield froze.

For an instant, every pair of eyes locked onto Ethan—Stoneclaw warriors and Gemward invaders alike.

And then—

From the Gemward side, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward. He moved with confidence, not haste. Wielding a rough, dark wooden staff etched top to bottom with intricate carvings that shimmered in the firelight.

Not decoration.

A conduit.

The man stopped a few paces away, his gaze sweeping over Ethan.

"You're not from the Stoneclaw Tribe," he said coldly, eyes narrowing to slits.

"Outsider… why are you interfering in our fight?"