SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 211: The Things That Shouldn’t Bleed

The shadows stretched long and soft as the afternoon leaned into evening, the sky turning a mellow amber through the canopy overhead. I lay under the lean-to, my body curled halfway in a bed of blankets that still smelled faintly of ocean salt and iodine. The pain in my ribs had dulled to a slow, grinding throb. Not enough to keep me fully still, not enough to let me forget.

So I watched.

It had become my new occupation. Observing. Noticing things I hadn’t needed to before. With my System on cooldown and all my jobs locked away behind blinking red notices, I didn’t have instinct or deduction or observation to fall back on. Just eyes. Just ears. Just me.

The others worked in measured harmony, each unconsciously filling the gaps left by my absence. Camille was sprawled out on the sand beside a few piles of vines, her fingers moving with elegant confidence as she wove the early frame of what she triumphantly dubbed "Version 0.1 of a resort-grade jungle hammock." Her tone was light, but her hands were callused. Steady. Precise.

Alexis crouched a few paces away on a flat, sun-warmed rock, angling a signal mirror she’d polished with a ration cloth. She was trying different elevations, testing how far a single glint of sunlight could travel. The reflection danced along the treeline occasionally, like a small god flickering in and out of existence.

Evelyn sat nearby, sharpening a length of wood into a staff that looked like a walking stick. She wasn’t rushing. Each stroke of the blade was deliberate, measured—an act of preparation, not aggression. Her blindfold fluttered slightly in the breeze, but her posture was alert. Every so often, she’d tilt her head, as if listening not for one sound, but for its absence.

Sienna knelt by the firepit, sorting through what they’d gathered earlier: sliced roots, some wild herbs, and tropical fruit with skins that looked like pocked armor. She hummed softly as she worked, voice low and melodic, occasionally muttering things like "Too sour" or "This might work better boiled."

And me?

I just breathed.

Watched.

Listened.

And began to notice.

The birds had gone quiet.

Not fully, not yet. But certain calls had stopped. The rhythmic trills that had been echoing through the trees all day were suddenly absent, like someone had pressed mute on the soundtrack. The rustling in the brush was off too. A pattern shift. Subtle.

It could be nothing.

But that was the kind of nothing that used to trigger skill alerts. Observation or Instinct. The kind of nothing that was usually flagged long before I could dwell on it.

Now, I had to catch it the old-fashioned way. Through paranoia.

I said nothing though. Not yet. After all, without my skills, I was no different from a paranoid man.

"Okay, behold!" Camille’s voice cut through the lull like a trumpet. She held up the partially finished hammock like a trophy. "Exhibit A: the miracle of jungle engineering. Mostly vine. Slightly hope."

Sienna chuckled from the firepit. "Looks more like Exhibit A in a jungle crime scene."

"Oh ye of little faith," Camille grinned. "This is going to cradle someone in style. I’m thinking Evelyn, first test?"

"I prefer the ground," Evelyn said flatly, not pausing in her sharpening.

"Your loss."

I pushed myself up.

The sand shifted beneath my feet as I stood slowly, each breath a cautionary negotiation with my ribs. Alexis glanced at me from her post with a practiced sideways eye.

"Don’t," she warned.

"Just a few steps."

She didn’t stop me, but she didn’t look convinced either.

I made it ten paces.

Then my legs buckled.

Camille and Sienna were there in an instant, grabbing my arms before I could hit the ground again. It wasn’t playful like earlier. No jokes. Just arms under mine, faces tight with worry.

"Rey," Sienna said softly. "You need to rest."

Alexis stood and walked toward us, already pulling a small device from her belt pouch. Not digital. Not powered. Just a makeshift stethoscope from the emergency first aid kit that she pressed lightly against my chest. Her mouth thinned.

"You’re pushing too hard."

"Isn’t physiotherapy recommended?" I muttered, trying to make light of it.

"Only after you heal initially," Evelyn interjected, approaching now with her walking stick slung across her shoulders. "Your wounds haven’t closed properly. If you keep straining them, you’ll be scarring your body. It’ll stop trying to repair itself."

"Really now? My body will stop trying to heal itself?’"

"Was the phrase ’scarring your body’ not enough?"

They eased me down again, Camille helping prop me up against a tree.

I clenched my jaw, not at them, but at myself. At this body. At this weakness.

I looked past them, into the darkening treeline.

The forest was still.

Too still.

And I felt the first ripple of fear start to rise.

"Something’s wrong," I said quietly, my voice barely carrying over the gentle rustle of palm leaves overhead.

Alexis looked up from the tarp she’d been adjusting. "What?"

"Just listen."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. A few seconds passed. Then her face shifted.

"There’s no birdsong," she murmured.

I nodded once, already pushing myself upright. My body disagreed with the decision immediately. Pain flared through my legs and ribs, sharp and immediate. My vision blurred, and the horizon tilted as my balance faltered.

The world swam, slow and treacherous. I nearly fell back against the driftwood post, but Alexis caught my arm before I could. Her grip was firm, steady.

"Reynard," she warned, her voice low.

"I’m fine," I said through gritted teeth, waving her off with the same hand I was using to balance myself. It wasn’t true. Every part of me felt hollowed out and shaky, like a puppet whose strings were unraveling. But I forced my feet to stay planted.

"Keep everyone behind the fire," I said. "Now."

She didn’t argue.

I turned toward the treeline, my legs heavy and unresponsive. Every step felt like I was wading through water. My fingers curled instinctively, expecting the weight of a weapon that wasn’t there.

That’s when I saw it.

Something emerged from the shadows between the trees. It moved low and slow, dragging one leg behind the other with a rhythm that was both predatory and broken. A leopard—large, sleek even in its gauntness—limped out of the underbrush.

Its fur was streaked with mud and blood. Large clumps of its coat were missing, and a deep, glistening gash tore across its left flank, oozing red with each labored step. Its ribs stood out like blades beneath its skin. The beast was starving, exhausted, but its eyes—its eyes still burned with the fire of something feral and desperate.

Camille’s voice caught in her throat. "Oh my God."

I raised my hand slightly. "Don’t move," I said, sharper this time. "Nobody move."

The leopard’s head swiveled. Its eyes locked onto us. It didn’t growl—not at first—but when it did, it sounded wrong. A broken, wheezing rasp that rattled in its throat. Painful. Hollow.

It lowered its head and crouched low.

A predator in its final act.

"Alexis," I said without turning. "I need a knife. Now."

She didn’t hesitate. A moment later, something small and metallic spun through the air and landed near my hand. I reached out. My fingers were slow to close around the handle, my grip weak. I nearly dropped it before tightening my hold.

"Everyone behind me," I barked, staggering forward.

The leopard exploded into motion.

There was no warning, no hesitation. Just raw instinct—theirs and mine.

It charged, claws tearing up the sand, eyes wide with something between hunger and madness. I moved sideways, not gracefully but enough. My footing slipped, and the world tilted again, but I twisted my body just in time to avoid the full impact.

The animal barreled past me, skidding as it turned, its breathing wet and labored.

Camille acted first. She grabbed a burning stick from the firepit and flung it with both hands. The flame caught the leopard’s shoulder and burst into sparks. It screamed—a hideous, broken noise—and recoiled.

That gave me an opening.

I lunged.

The blade met its flesh just above the ribs. Not deep. Not clean. But it slowed the beast. It turned toward me again, jaws snapping. Its weight collided with my shoulder and I stumbled backward, feet dragging in the sand.

Its claws grazed across my chest. I heard the sound of fabric tearing, the faint, wet whisper of skin barely opening. But the adrenaline masked the pain. I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs, knife still in my hand but no longer aimed.

"Reynard!" Sienna screamed.

Then Alexis was there.

She came in fast, a blur of motion and fury, driving her own blade down toward the leopard’s throat. It missed the artery, but landed with enough force to make the animal whip its head away from me.

Camille came next. No hesitation. She tackled the leopard’s side, using a broken, jagged branch like a spear, screaming something wordless as she jammed it into the creature’s back.

The animal twisted violently. Camille was thrown to the side with a grunt, landing hard near the fire.

Evelyn moved last.

She didn’t run.

She didn’t shout.

She stepped forward calmly, a long shard of driftwood in both hands. As the leopard reared back, snarling and staggering, she stepped in close and thrust the sharpened tip into its chest with both arms. Her face was blank. Surgical. As if she were closing a file.

The leopard collapsed.

For a long second, no one moved.

Only the sound of our breathing—ragged, uneven—cut through the thick silence.

The body twitched once. Then again. Then stilled.

I lay on the ground, gasping, chest burning. I pressed one hand against the scratches across my ribs. Not deep, thankfully. Not lethal. Just a slight increase of pain to add to the ever-growing list.

"Everyone okay?" I asked hoarsely. freewebnøvel.coɱ

Camille nodded, brushing hair from her face with trembling fingers. Evelyn was already wiping her hands on a rag. Sienna moved toward me quickly, checking the cuts along my chest. Alexis dropped to one knee, her hand pressed against my shoulder to keep me steady.

The fire cracked again, soft and steady. The breeze returned. But it wasn’t calm. Not anymore.

I pulled myself up slowly, every inch of movement dragging pain behind it like a weight. I staggered toward the leopard’s corpse, forcing my hands to stay steady. I crouched—barely—and examined the gash across its flank.

Something was wrong.

The wound was too clean.

Too deliberate.

These weren’t bite marks. And they weren’t claw swipes either.

They were straight.

Angled.

Ripped in harsh, mechanical lines.

I turned the body with effort. More lacerations followed, deeper and more jagged. Crisscrossing across the belly, the ribs, the haunches.

Like a net.

Like a grid.

Barbed wire.

"These wounds..." I murmured.

Alexis crouched beside me. "What?"

"They’re not natural. Not animal."

Camille stepped forward. "What are you saying?"

I looked up at the trees.

"There’s something in the forest," I said slowly. "Something man-made, maybe even dangerous."

Evelyn’s voice was quiet. "You think it escaped from somewhere?"

I nodded once.

"I think there’s a shelter on the island."

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