A Predator's Instinct
The sequence of hunting movements was as fluid as if it had been practiced dozens, even hundreds of times. And so, his second life in this other world began in earnest.
'Something is off.'
His unintended independence and his very first hunt. He had no idea how many days had passed since then. At a rough estimate, perhaps a month? Even with a margin of error, it couldn't be off by more than a few days. While a month could be considered long or short depending on how one looked at it, it was undeniably too brief a time for a hatchling—once too small to even coil around its own egg—to grow over three meters long.
'Or is it? Considering the size of that snake...'
Jekyeong recalled the colossal serpent that must have been his biological parent in this life. Considering its sheer scale—a creature for which the word "monster" was the only fitting description—his own abnormal growth rate actually made a strange sort of sense.
'Am I going to get that big too?'
If so, his bottomless appetite was entirely understandable. Just how much would he have to eat to reach such a size? It baffled the imagination. Though Jekyeong had encountered all manner of creatures while wandering this vast forest—or perhaps mountain range—he had yet to see another monster that defied common sense the way his parent had. Given that physical scale was practically everything in the natural order, his parent must have been an apex predator in these parts. Which meant Jekyeong himself was the seed of an apex predator.
'But growing that large isn't necessarily a good thing.'
As he had witnessed firsthand, superhuman beings existed in this world. His parent, a beast capable of wrapping around and crushing a small building, had been dragged away by a mere pair of humans. Though he hadn't seen the actual abduction, the circumstantial evidence made it almost certain. If such superhumans existed among mankind, then similar extraordinary entities might exist among beasts as well. This meant the ecological hierarchy here might not be determined solely by physical size, unlike his previous world. In that case, a massive body could be a liability rather than an asset. It would only make him an easier target for those who hunted giant prey.
This unfamiliar world was brimming with the unknown. Unsatisfying as his current state might be, Jekyeong had no intention of throwing away his hard-won second life. That was precisely why he had made such an effort to distance himself from the cave. Those beings who looked human but were entirely inhuman—"aliens," by his standards—had instilled in him a profound sense of dread and vigilance.
Though he occasionally succumbed to instinct—mostly hunger—Jekyeong constantly strove to think and reason. This was one of his absolute advantages. His competitors were, at their core, beasts, and beasts rarely engaged in anything resembling thought. Perhaps not all of them, but the creatures he had encountered so far were fundamentally slaves to their instincts. They ate when hungry and slept when tired. They possessed a rudimentary sense of caution, but it was basic at best.
Crack! The beast's neck snapped, and its body went limp. It looked vaguely like a lizard, but with a shorter torso, long legs, and triple-jointed limbs. It was incredibly agile, possessing an astounding leaping ability. Had he not lured it with the red grass it favored to catch it off guard, hunting it would never have been this easy.
'Should this be enough?'
Jekyeong took the creature in his jaws and slithered toward his temporary nest. Located high up in a thick tree, it had originally belonged to a family of small birds. Two days ago, Jekyeong had evicted them to claim it as his own. Its height kept it out of reach of ground-bound predators, while the dense canopy of branches and leaves overhead shielded him from birds of prey. The only potential threats were low-flying birds, but they were no match for his size and rarely dared to provoke him.
'This is only a temporary fix, though.'
It was a decent nest, but he couldn't use it for long. His body was growing larger by the day, and with that growth came a natural increase in weight. A branch that held firm yesterday would sway today and crack tomorrow. Though slightly exaggerated, this very issue had forced Jekyeong to relocate his nest multiple times already. The tree he currently occupied was the largest in the immediate area. Once even this giant could no longer support him, he would have to move far away. And based on his experience so far, that moment would arrive sooner rather than later.
'Can I hold out here for at least another two days?'
Halfway up the trunk was a moderately sized hollow, likely carved out by some other beast as a den. Jekyeong used it to store his leftovers and untouched prey. It was a stockpile meant for days when his hunts failed or fell short, but despite the decent quantity, it always felt insufficient to his eyes. His daily intake was expanding at an alarming rate.
'Should I start targeting larger prey?'
Until now, Jekyeong had adhered to a single, golden rule: safety first. Even if an opportunity presented itself, he would never take it if there was even a slight risk of injury. He targeted only easy prey that could be taken without a scratch. While this was a common survival instinct for most beasts, Jekyeong took his caution to an extreme. Thanks to this, he had managed to survive and grow without a single mishap. Now, however, that method seemed to have reached its limit. The creatures he could hunt safely were all small game, and they were no longer enough to satisfy his hunger. If he tried to subsist solely on them, he would have to catch at least ten a day. His hunting skills had reached near-perfection, but even so, success was never guaranteed. Hunting required luck as much as skill. No matter how skilled he was, if he couldn't find any prey, he would be left twiddling his thumbs—though, of course, he no longer had thumbs to twiddle.
'No choice then.'
Tearing into the meat of the beast he had caught yesterday, Jekyeong made up his mind. Starting tomorrow, he would set his sights on larger game.
'It's a shame I don't have venom. Am I really just a python?'
Since striking out on his own, Jekyeong had been assessing his own capabilities—what he could and couldn't do, and what weapons he had at his disposal. In the process, he realized his only real asset was his large, sturdy body. He was a serpent, but he was not venomous.
'Or perhaps the snakes of this world simply don't carry venom.'
Jekyeong admonished himself once more. He had to forget the knowledge of his past life. He couldn't afford to fall into the trap of preconceptions. Over the past month, his past-life knowledge had occasionally been useful, but it had also proven to be a double-edged sword. After a few close calls, Jekyeong had tried to discard those old memories. Yet, he hadn't fully succeeded, and those lingering assumptions still occasionally led him into trouble. After starting his solitary life, Jekyeong didn't just scramble to survive. Though he was practically a newborn in human terms, having hatched only a short while ago, he was already capable of hunting various small animals. Jekyeong suspected this was due to his lineage. His parent was clearly no ordinary snake, so he, too, was bound to be extraordinary. Well, to be honest, he simply wanted to believe that. Fortunately, his hopeful assumption proved correct. Though he lacked venom to instantly dispatch his prey, he possessed an incredibly powerful bite capable of crushing their neck bones. For most creatures, a single bite was all it took. Furthermore, despite his rapidly expanding size, his movements remained as swift and agile as a bird's. This, too, was a formidable weapon in his arsenal.
And now.
Crack! Jekyeong looked down at the beast, which had died with its bones shattered after barely putting up a struggle. It was large enough that his body could barely wrap around it once. Yet, with a single squeeze of his muscles, the creature had gone completely limp.
'Maybe I had it all wrong.'
Until now, Jekyeong had believed his bite force was his greatest asset. But looking at this, the power of his constriction was far beyond his expectations. He had always felt an abundance of strength coursing through his body, but he hadn't realized it was to this extent. As of now, once he managed to wrap himself around a target, the fight was effectively over.
'The problem is that it's not a weapon I can use whenever I want.'
While the sheer power of constriction was undeniable, it was a difficult technique to execute. What kind of slow-witted beast would stand still and let itself be coiled? Unless he initiated the attack with a surprise bite to the neck, it was hard to pull off effectively.
'It's hard to use, but... well, a weapon is still a weapon.'
If it was hard to use, he simply had to practice until he mastered it. Every weapon was a lifeline, and none could be neglected. Thus, whenever Jekyeong spotted a suitable target, he made an effort to hone his hunting techniques. Instead of instantly snapping their necks with a bite, he practiced swiftly coiling around them to crush their bones. Of course, he only attempted this when he was reasonably certain of success. The outcome of a hunt was directly tied to his survival, so he could never afford to be reckless.
It was a risky endeavor, but it yielded results. At the very least, his lunging speed had noticeably improved. This was true even as his body grew larger through his rigorous daily routine. His length, which had felt like over three meters before, was now approaching four meters. Perhaps even more. Yet, Jekyeong could not bring himself to be entirely pleased with this explosive, almost violent growth rate. While gaining size and strength was undoubtedly positive, the corresponding surge in his food consumption was a major problem. Though this wilderness—be it a mountain or a forest—teemed with beasts, finding a suitable target was no simple task. He had to search for prey while remaining constantly vigilant against dangerous predators that could leap out from anywhere. Because he could never let his guard down, even a single hunt left him thoroughly exhausted.
One day, amidst his endless cycle of hunting for survival, Jekyeong finally decided to hunt a boar-like beast that had been a thorn in his side for some time. The creature had been a constant nuisance, frequently sniffing around and following the scent of blood whenever Jekyeong made a kill. Moreover, Jekyeong had reached a point where nothing less than a beast of that size could truly satisfy his hunger. It was, in a sense, an inevitable choice. Of course, he also possessed the confidence to pull it off. Had he not been sure of his success, he would never have attempted it, no matter how difficult satisfying his appetite had become.
Luring the beast would be simple enough. Jekyeong had a rough idea of its territory, and he figured a few pieces of bloody meat would be more than enough. His strategy of using bait to draw prey in and striking when they let their guard down had been successful most of the time. The reason it was "most" and not "all" was because of a select few creatures that possessed exceptionally sharp instincts and caution. However, Jekyeong was certain this boar-like beast did not belong to that rare category. That greedy creature was the type to plunge headfirst into anything edible without a single thought.
Spotting an armadillo-like creature digging in the dirt, Jekyeong caught it and tore open its soft underbelly. The metallic scent of blood immediately began to drift through the air.
Sniff, sniff! Sure enough, it didn't take long for the woolly, boar-like beast to show itself. True to Jekyeong's expectations, it immediately buried its snout into the free meal. It was an absurdly perfect opening.
'Arrogant swine.'
How could a creature that had supposedly survived the brutal competition of the wild be so utterly brainless? While its natural stupidity played the largest part, its past experiences were likely a close second. Had this beast ever fallen into a trap before? Born with a robust body and immense strength, most other beasts probably fled at the mere sight of it. Far from encountering traps, it was highly unlikely that any creature had ever dared to challenge it in earnest.