Blood of the Beast God

Chapter 05: Blood of the Beast God

Kaelen stopped dead in his tracks. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Right there, glowing faintly in the shadows, was a green treasure chest.

He sucked in a long breath, trying to steady himself. Joy threatened to break across his face, but he forced it down. Calm. Stay calm. One step at a time, he started toward the chest.

Anyone who’s ever played a game knows the golden rule: treasure chests mean loot. Gear. Skills. Coins. All the good stuff.

And this one? To Kaelen, it was like a lamb laid out for slaughter. Helpless. Tempting. Practically begging him to take it.

Gear had always come in colors—white for junk, green for decent, blue for rare, purple for epic. Chests followed the same logic. Green, blue, purple. Simple enough.

Finding one here, though? Even a green? That was insane. His pulse quickened. Then it hit him why nobody had found it before.

Back when this world was just a game, players never bothered to search. They’d either jump straight down to revive or rush off along the chains. Nobody crouched in the grass like he was doing now, waiting and watching. No patience, no discovery.

And the chest was hidden well. Blind spots in the cliffs made it invisible from most angles. Only from this exact patch of weeds could it be spotted.

Not that anyone would’ve cared much, anyway. The Valley of Death had always been written off. No one wasted time here. Even if they stumbled across a chest, they only chased after purple.

Kaelen would’ve done the same. If this were still just a game, he wouldn’t have spared the green chest a second glance. At best, it held a single green item, and once you hit level five, Flame Canyon would spit those out like candy. Blues, too, weren’t exactly hard to get.

But this wasn’t a game anymore. This was real. The easy days of power-leveling and endless drops were gone forever. Equipment was rare—desperately rare. From the memories burned into this body, Kaelen knew how bad it was. Monsters didn’t just drop loot now. Even dungeons like Flame Canyon could leave you empty-handed after a full clear.

Only rare beasts guaranteed equipment, and those were few and far between.

Everything that had once been common was now priceless. Not just gear—skills, too. Back in the game, hitting level 100 meant scrolling through page after page of skills, more than a hundred in total.

Here? Skills were treasures. Aside from the most basic ones you could figure out on your own, everything else needed a skill book.

A single green-quality weapon was something many level fives or sixes would kill for.

And Kaelen? He wasn’t even a full professional yet—just a candidate. That chest was like fire to a moth. If his team were still here, they’d already be at each other’s throats over it.

He crouched lower, crept forward bit by bit, scanning the terrain. The chest sat there innocently, almost too innocently. Silent. Waiting. Like a perfectly frosted cake on a table.

But Kaelen didn’t trust it. He knew better. Chests always had guardians. Always.

This silence wasn’t peace—it was danger. Fifteen meters out, he dropped into the weeds again, hidden by waist-high grass. He parted the stalks and studied the chest.

At first glance, it looked worthless. Old. Dull yellow. Iron bands rusting. The kind of box you might leave in a barn and forget about. But then there was the glow. Green light shimmered and pulsed across its surface, bright, dim, bright again—like stars blinking in the night sky.

Kaelen narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong.

Just a meter in front of the chest, the ground itself seemed off. Warped. Distorted. Almost invisible unless the green light caught it just right. Then the truth showed itself.

A beast.

The Valley of Death was crawling with them. He could remember their shapes in perfect detail, like watching a 3D replay, but the names were lost to him. The wolf he’d fought earlier? Definitely not just a “wild wolf.” That was his name for it, nothing more.

But one creature he remembered perfectly. The level one Fanged Rabbit. Not because it was strong—it wasn’t. But because it could turn invisible.

In the early game, for someone without detection skills, facing something like that was a death sentence.

Back then, death wasn’t a big deal. You’d respawn. Dust yourself off and keep going. But here? There was no respawn. No graveyard. No angel waiting to hand you a second chance.

Dead was dead.

That thought sent a shiver crawling down his spine. The Fanged Rabbit made one thing clear: retreat. A chest wasn’t worth his life. He gave it one last, longing look and backed away.

But leaving wasn’t giving up. He knew what a green chest meant. At least one green item. Maybe two, if luck was with him. That kind of temptation could drive anyone mad. Himself included.

It was just bad timing. His injuries had crippled him. All of his stats were down by two. Agility and intelligence weren’t much of a loss—those weren’t his focus. But strength and stamina? That was another story. At his peak, a level one beast was nothing. Now? Facing an invisible enemy? Too risky.

For now, he’d wait. For now. He’d come back.

The Blood of the Beast God—that was his true target. It could heal his wounds. More than that, it would boost every attribute by two. Four points total. Across the board. Power like that was worth everything.

Once he had it, he’d return stronger than ever. The Fanged Rabbit wouldn’t stand a chance.

His memories told him the path was safe if he kept his head down. No fighting. Just take careful steps. He could reach the blood, claim it, and leave without a scratch.

Time stretched as he pressed on. The place wasn’t far. A full sprint would’ve gotten him there in minutes—but sprinting meant death. He could picture it too easily: a horde of beasts at his heels, tearing him apart.

Better to be slow. Better to live.

Finally, the cliffs opened. A pit stretched before him, bones rising like towers around its edge. A grin tugged at his lips. He had made it.

What should’ve been a short ten-minute jog had turned into over an hour of crawling. But he was here. And not a single fight along the way. In the game, this section forced players into combat to teach them the basics. But this wasn’t the game anymore. He’d slipped through untouched.

He stepped up to the pit and looked down. Bones. A skeleton so massive the word felt laughable. Ten meters high, and it was still only part of the beast’s body. Its sheer size told him everything about what it must have been in life: terror. Pure terror.

The Valley of Death was full of such remains. From them came treasures like the Blood of the Beast God. And the Blood of the Divine.

Kaelen’s gaze locked on the golden liquid running through the hollowed bones like molten light. The grooves carried it perfectly, not a drop spilling. Power radiated from it in waves, filling him with a hunger he could hardly contain.

His eyes burned with greed.

This was it.

The Blood of the Beast God. Healer of wounds. Gift of strength. His prize.