Yeon Woo walked forward, feeling the night clutching his shoulders with icy claws. With each step, his thoughts grew sharper. Fear, doubt, exhaustion—all of it had burned away in a single instant when he made his decision. He would no longer run. No longer wait for the enemy to come to him. Now, he would be the one to hunt.
He had studied the terrain all night. A ravine on the western edge of the village—deep, overgrown with black grass—was the perfect place for an ambush. A single narrow passage between rocks, just wide enough to let hunters pass one by one, but too tight for them to enter as a group.
Yeon Woo stopped at the edge of the ravine, crouched down, and began methodically preparing his trap.
He recalled everything he knew about the enemy. The First Hunter's hounds—creatures made of living flesh and darkness. They couldn't be killed with ordinary weapons, but fire and sharp blades could wound them. Yeon Woo removed two old knives from his belt, which he had crafted from scrap metal back in the old village. The blades were coated in black resin, harvested from the rotting trees near the northern swamp—resin that ignited with the slightest spark.
He buried the knives in the ground at the passage, covered them with debris, leaving only the tips exposed. The trap was primitive, but deadly enough for anyone charging in blindly.
Next, he gathered dry leaves, branches, and scraps of cloth—anything flammable. He set incendiary traps around the perimeter, carefully camouflaged. One wrong step and fire would consume everything in its path.
Time passed slowly. When the first pale light crept over the horizon, Yeon Woo was already sitting atop the cliff, eyes locked on the distance.
He knew they would come. The Hunters always came. Drawn by the scent of blood, by the magical trail left by anyone who killed their pets. And now that trail led directly to him.
He was ready.
Their approach was silent, like mist rolling in. First, a gray shadow flickered between the trees. Then another. A third. Soon, an entire pack slipped out of the darkness, each one blending seamlessly with the night forest, as if they were part of it.
At the center walked the Hunter. Tall, clad in dull armor, a mask with slits for eyes on his face. Wisps of smoke trailed from beneath his hood, as though his body burned from within.
Yeon Woo didn't move. His heartbeat thudded slow and heavy, like the rhythm of a great war drum.
The first Hound lunged forward. Yeon Woo let it advance, let it fall straight into the trap. As the creature stepped onto the hidden resin, a faint click sounded. Flames burst up an instant later, engulfing it. It screamed—high-pitched and piercing—but the sound was quickly swallowed by the crackle of fire.
Yeon Woo didn't wait.
He sprang downward, sliding along the ravine slope until solid ground met his feet. A short blade gleamed in his hand. The second Hound charged him, and Yeon Woo sidestepped at the last moment, letting the beast fly past. With a swift motion, he sliced through its leg tendon, then spun around and drove the knife into its neck where the skin was thinnest.
The third Hound was more cautious. It circled, growling, waiting for an opening. Yeon Woo gave it none. Scooping up a handful of dirt, he flung it into the creature's eyes, blinding it for a moment—and in that moment, drove his knife deep into its chest. Thick, dark blood sprayed his face.
He looked up.
The Hunter stood ten paces away.
The surviving hounds clustered behind him, their eyes blazing with almost human fury. The Hunter slowly raised his hand, and from his palm emerged a spear of black energy.
Yeon Woo dove aside just as the spear slammed into the ground where he had stood.
Without warning, the Hunter charged. Yeon Woo barely managed to raise his knife, but the blow sent him flying back several steps. Pain crackled in his ribs, and his breath came out in a gasp. He staggered to his feet, teeth clenched.
There would be no second chance.
The Hunter advanced.
Yeon Woo drew his second knife from his belt. He knew he couldn't win in open combat. Pretending to retreat, he led the enemy behind him—toward the final trap.
The spear flickered again, aimed at his gut. Yeon Woo twisted mid-jump, pain slicing through his body, but he kept his footing. The Hunter was getting closer, faster, more aggressive.
Step. Another step.
And there it was—the hidden pit.
Yeon Woo leapt aside at the last moment. The Hunter stepped onto the thin lid, hidden by leaves. The ground gave way beneath him, and he fell into the pit, filled with sharpened stakes coated in swamp-berry venom.
A scream like a beast's roar shook the forest.
Yeon Woo gave him no chance to escape. He lit the pile of cloth and leaves he had left nearby and tossed it into the pit. Flames flared instantly, erupting with a dull whoosh.
He stood there, watching, until the fire consumed everything.
The hounds, left without their master, scattered, vanishing into the woods. Yeon Woo let them go. He knew—they would tell the others. Let them tell. Let them fear.
He dropped to his knees, breathing heavily. Every muscle ached, every bone throbbed with exhaustion, but a strange satisfaction filled him.
He had won.
Without borrowed power.
Without bargains.
Only himself—his mind and will.
But deep down, he knew: this was only the first battle. The true storms were yet to come.
Yeon Woo rose, swaying. In the east, dawn was breaking. Pale, sickly—as if the world itself was wounded. He turned his back on the dying fire and walked away, leaving behind only smoke and the stench of burnt flesh.
A long path lay ahead.
The path of the hunter.
The path of the monster.
And he intended to walk it to the end.
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