The Psychopathic Beast Emperor-Chapter 55: Sel’s Dilemma

The forest was silent except for the faint breathing of a youth crouching vigilantly on a branch of a huge tree.

To his left was a grassland in the distance, about a kilometer away. Moonlight washed over it, revealing rolling terrain and the faint movement of distant beasts drifting like shadows through tall grass.

To his right was the vast crystal forest, teeming with treants and poison ivies.

The youth rested his forearms on his knees, his gaze shifting between the two regions without hurry.

"Should I move to another region, or stay here? It’s been 13 days so far. I don’t know how much time has passed in the sect," he pondered, his eyes glowing slightly. Time inside the trial felt wrong. Days blurred together, nights came too fast or too slow, and there was no real way to tell how much time had passed beyond these lands. Outside, the sect might have seen only two hours or more, but he couldn’t assume. All he knew was that it wasn’t three days yet in the sect.

A subtle pressure radiated from him, not visible to the naked eye, but heavy. His awareness expanded like a careful hand brushing the world. Every shift of the air, every rustle of leaves, every vibration along the tree trunk fed into his senses. Within a radius of over eight meters, nothing moved without him knowing. An insect crawled along the bark. A bird settled deeper into the canopy.

There was nothing hostile yet.

Staying meant safety through familiarity. He knew the patterns here. After staying more than a week here, he was familiar with most things here.

Moving meant a new opportunity, but the grasslands were more open.

He exhaled slowly, his muscles coiled but relaxed.

"Can’t stagnate," he said to himself.

The trial did not reward. It said to survive, but there were hidden rewards. That he was sure of.

His fingers tightened briefly against the bark as he shifted his weight, eys fixing on the not so distant grassland once more. Somewhere out there, something strong was moving.

And sooner or later, he would have to meet it.

...

Sel didn’t rush.

He shifted along the branch, then lowered himself down the trunk with practiced ease, his palms and feet finding familiar holds with sound. When his boots finally touched the ground, he paused and listened. The forest didn’t react in any way.

Perfect.

He moved out of the tree line and into the open, looking around vigilantly.

The grasslands felt different the moment he crossed the boundary. The air was wider here and less cluttered. It carried scents farther and clearer.

Dry grass brushed against his knees as he advanced, his bow already in his hand, his quiver resting against his back.

His steps were light and measured as he moved.

Then the ground suddenly trembled. Sel froze.

A deep, slow exhale rolled across the plain, followed by a low rumble that vibrated in his chest rather than his ears. The grass ahead parted as something massive came into view.

A buffalo-like beast emerged, its body enormous and dense, muscles layered beneath thick hide, the color of dark soil. Its horns curved forward and inward like paired crescents, their edges polished smooth by countless impacts. Its eyes were unsettling, too aware, carrying a focused stillness that did not belong to a simple beast.

This was no ordinary grazer.

Circle of Mind.

The Plains Sentinel Buffalo.

The beast lifted its head fully and locked eyes with him.

Sel felt it immediately. Not pressure, not killing intent, but awareness. The creature was thinking. Measuring. The way a seasoned warrior sizes up another before a duel.

"So that’s how it is," Sel murmured.

His hand moved without hesitation. An arrow slid from the quiver, string drawn back in one smooth motion. He exhaled, aligned his sight, and released.

The arrow flew true.

The buffalo shifted its head a fraction of an instant before impact. The arrow struck its shoulder instead of its eye, biting deep but not deep enough. The beast grunted, more annoyed than hurt, and stamped the ground.

The charge came instantly.

The earth shook as the Plains Sentinel Buffalo surged forward, its speed shocking for something of its size. Sel did not retreat in a straight line. He pivoted sharply, sprinting at an angle as another arrow was already nocked.

He loosened while moving.

The arrow struck the beast’s foreleg, slicing into muscle. The buffalo stumbled for half a step, then corrected itself, rage finally flashing through its eyes. It lowered its head, horns aimed directly at Sel, and accelerated.

Too fast.

Sel veered hard, rolling across the grass as the horns tore through the space where he had been. Dirt exploded upward as the beast skidded past him, its momentum carrying it several meters before it dug its hooves in and turned. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Sel was already on his feet.

Another arrow flew, then another.

One struck the beast’s flank. Another lodged near the base of its neck. Blood began to seep through its hide, dark and thick, but the buffalo did not slow. If anything, its movements became sharper, more deliberate. It was learning. Tracking his patterns.

"Smart," Sel muttered, teeth clenched.

The buffalo snorted, then feinted.

Instead of charging straight, it lunged halfway, forcing Sel to react, then abruptly changed direction. Sel’s arrow went wide, slicing through empty air. The beast closed the distance brutally fast.

Sel dropped his bow and dove aside as a horn scraped across his side, tearing cloth and skin. Pain flared, hot and immediate, but he rolled with it, coming up behind the beast as it thundered past.

He grabbed his bow mid-roll and snapped it up, drawing an arrow at point-blank range.

The buffalo twisted its neck impossibly fast.

The horn caught Sel square in the chest.

The impact flung him backward like a broken doll. He slammed into the ground, air exploding from his lungs. The world blurred as he rolled, coughing, chest screaming in protest.

The beast turned slowly, hooves sinking into the earth as it approached. Not rushing now. Confident. It had tasted his weakness.

Sel forced himself up onto one knee.

His fingers trembled as he reached for another arrow. His ribs protested with every breath. He could feel warmth spreading beneath his clothes where the horn had struck.

"Think," he whispered.

The buffalo lowered its head again and charged.

Sel did not move.

At the last possible second, he rolled forward instead of sideways, sliding beneath the beast’s neck as it thundered over him. He came up behind it, already drawing his final arrow, every ounce of strength focused into that single motion.

He aimed not for muscle.

He aimed for the gap.

The arrow sank deep at the base of the skull, right where the spine met the head.

The Plains Sentinel Buffalo let out a strangled bellow. Its charge faltered, legs locking mid-stride. It stumbled forward, hooves digging trenches into the earth, then collapsed in a massive, bone-shaking crash.

The ground went still.

Sel remained where he was, bow still raised, breathing hard, waiting.

The beast did not rise.

After a long moment, Sel lowered the bow and exhaled slowly. His arms shook as the tension drained from them. He walked closer, careful, alert, and placed a hand against the beast’s neck.

No movement.

Dead.

He sat down heavily in the grass beside it, head tilting back as he stared at the sky.

"That," he said quietly, "was too close."

Blood soaked into the grass beneath him, but he ignored it for now. He retrieved his bow, checked the string, then began the slow work of survival.