Return of the Youngest Son with SSS-Rank Talent

Seeing the traces on the beach, Kael's expression hardened slightly. He approached the extinguished bonfire and, with a slight gesture, touched the embers.

"It's still warm..." he muttered to himself, a cold gleam crossing his eyes.

That meant that everything had happened recently. The person or group that had been there could not have left more than a day or two ago.

However, upon closer examination, he dismissed the idea of a group. The evidence pointed to a single individual who had been surprised during the night and attacked by the swarm of snakes, forcing him to abandon the camp abruptly.

Kael speculated that, during the attack, the victim had probably been bitten. The traces of blood, fresh and scattered on the sand, led into the thick jungle, indicating his escape.

However, a series of questions began to surface in his mind.

Could they be demonic humans? Or practitioners of the Demon Way? There was also the possibility that they belonged to another race: elves, dwarves... or even demonic wolves.

But there was one question more important than all the others: What was their rank?

Kael knew that, to move freely around the world and survive in the wild, rank 7 was the minimum requirement for survival. That alone meant he couldn't follow them lightly; such recklessness could lead him straight into a trap.

At that moment, the advantage was on their side... they already knew he existed, while he knew nothing about them.

"What do we do now? Do we follow him or take another route?" asked Michel, stopping beside him and staring at the trail of blood that disappeared into the undergrowth.

Kael, immersed in a chain of thoughts that formed and discarded themselves quickly, replied after a moment:

"Let's follow him. He's probably in bad shape after being bitten by one of those snakes."

A smile appeared on Michel's lips.

"I was getting bored... I needed a little excitement."

Kael didn't respond. He just looked at him silently, thinking that, for this trip, "calm" was the best possible outcome: fewer deaths, fewer unnecessary setbacks.

Without another word, they entered the jungle, thus beginning the hunt for the man who had been bitten by snakes.

The sun shone brightly on the jungle, its golden rays filtering through the thick canopy, piercing the leaves with warm flashes that cast shifting patterns of light and shadow on the damp ground.

On nearby tree trunks, several purple lizards with golden eyes glided silently and nimbly. Their bodies shimmered slightly in the sunlight, and their alert, vibrant eyes darted rapidly as their thin tongues shot out at irregular intervals, capturing invisible particles with instinctive precision.

Sliding between the bushes and twisted vines, Kael and Michel moved quickly and stealthily. Every movement was measured, every breath controlled. They followed a trail of dried blood left by someone who hadn't had the time or intelligence to cover it up completely.

For Kael, with his experience, that trail was as obvious as a shining arrow in the middle of the night. Even so, he didn't rush. He didn't start running. Doing so would have been stupid. It would have been reckless, like those idiots who think they're the protagonists of some great heroic story.

Because, unlike those dreamers with a chosen one complex, Kael knew a basic truth: acting without knowing the strength of the enemy was not bravery, it was suicide.

What if the other was rank 6... or even 5?

They wouldn't be hunting prey. They would be walking straight into the predator's mouth, like lambs dressed as wolves. A silent and quick death.

Kael was not chosen by heaven. He did not have a lucky star guiding his steps. His life was not written in gold ink, nor were his mistakes rewarded by fate.

He had only one thing: lucidity.

And with it, he walked the fine line between opportunity and death.

They continued advancing until they reached a clearer area of the jungle, but they did not leave because they saw that the blood trails disappeared when they arrived at that spot.

However, before they could take a single step, a firm and threatening voice boomed in the distance.

"Come out. I know you've been following me."

Kael and Michel didn't move. They remained motionless, blending into the jungle, as if those words weren't meant for them.

The voice echoed again, more confident.

"Heh... you're pretty good. But I already know you're there. Thanks to my spatial observation magic, I have peripheral vision."

Even so, they didn't move a muscle. They weren't stupid enough to walk to their deaths. Kael, straining his ears, noticed a barely perceptible change in the voice: exhaustion.

So she's faking it.

All they had to do was wait. The poison would do its work.

Besides, Kael had detected something else: the other party had no means of healing the bite or expelling the poison that was already coursing through his veins.

The other party, receiving no response, began to grow frustrated. The poison in her body was spreading faster and faster; time was running out, and she had not yet been able to apply any kind of cure.

When she finally got ready to do so, she sensed her pursuers rapidly approaching. Her luck, at that moment, could not have been worse.

She had no choice but to make a desperate move.

With determination, she circulated her mana essence toward the magic diagram, transforming that energy into pure magic. The formula for a 3rd Circle spell came to mind, and she began to recite it in a whisper.

Shortly thereafter, a magical circle of a deep purple hue appeared beside her, from which a dense, dark mass emerged.

"[Corrosive Bomb]," she said.

The dark mass shot toward Kael and Michel.

When it struck one of the branches...

Boom!

It burst like a bubble, releasing a thick, dark purple mist that spread violently. Everything it touched began to corrode at an alarming rate, leaving behind a dead, lifeless landscape, as if death itself had claimed it.

But the mist did not dissipate. Instead, it spread rapidly, devouring everything within a one-kilometer radius.

A satisfied smile appeared on the lips of a certain person.

Just then...

Swoosh!

A figure shot out of the thick jungle at such a high speed that she barely had time to react to dodge the coin sword that almost decapitated her.

Finally, Elen managed to make out one of her targets: a young man with attractive features and silver hair that seemed to absorb the light.

She wasted no time. She placed both hands on the ground and began to murmur a spell.

"[Quicksand]" she said.

The ground beneath Michel's feet lost stability and began to undulate as if it were alive. Before he could react, a figure made of sand emerged and threw a punch directly at him.

Bam!

The impact reverberated throughout the area as Michel managed to cover himself with his arms. His body was thrown several meters before attacks from multiple directions forced him to keep moving. With his arms numb, he dodged the sand men's attacks, using the shadows of his own body to slip between them.

Elen didn't waste a second, casting several offensive spells. She knew her opponent was in the same rank as her... maybe even a level above.

She watched her move nimbly between her creations until, with quick movements of her hands, she conjured another technique.

"[Mud Pool]."

The ground within a ten-meter radius turned into thick mud.

Michel frowned. His body was covered with a dark aura that took the form of several black crows fluttering around him. With a leap, he propelled himself toward Elen and, several meters away, brandished his sword. A dark slash came off the blade, followed by the sinister flight of the crows.

Elen reacted immediately.

"[Stone Wall]."

Boom!

The crash shook the area as the slash hit the wall, raising a thick cloud of dust.

"[Breeze]," Elen murmured.

The gray curtain dissipated, revealing Michel once again, with a smile on his lips, and the men of sand reduced to lifeless piles around him.

"You're quite skilled for someone so young," Elen commented with a smile. Her free hand, hidden behind her back, played with a ring that sparkled brightly.

Michel remained silent. His smile faded, and he lowered his weapon calmly, as if his work was already done.

Elen frowned, confused by her sudden surrender... until she felt it.

A sharp pain shot through her chest, followed by a wet crack. Her lungs filled with blood before her eyes could lower: a hand was sticking out of her torso. The fingers were clenching something that was still beating: her own heart.

"Hahahaha! Right!" Elen's voice echoed as she looked at the organ. "There were two... How could I forget something so important? My congratulations... such skilled young men..."

Elen coughed, spitting out a stream of dark blood. Her vision blurred, her lips split to her ears, revealing a black tongue with a twisted tattoo.

"See you in hell..." she whispered, before the world exploded into flames.

BOOOOM.