"We will et again," he said, voice low and resolute. "At the First Descent Tournant. Don't be late."
Ian did not speak.
Only watched.
And in a breath, the man was gone.
Not vanished. Not teleported.
Erased.
The forest wept around Ian.
The trees moaned, bent and broken. The sky remained fractured above.
And in the silence that followed, Ian remained still.
Judgnt humd in his grip.
He looked toward the horizon, and for the first ti in a long while, narrowed his eyes with sothing akin to anticipation.
———
The wind was still, but the trees were ruined.
Ian stood in the aftermath, the black blade still warm in his grip, humming softly like a wild animal sighing after a al.
He slowly sheathed Judgent, the tal kissing the scabbard with a finality that cut deeper than most swords.
Around him, the forest bore the scars of war—trees cleaved into stumps, the ground torn open, ash and blood mingling like old lovers.
The scent of death clung to air.
He exhaled, slow and sharp, his breath leaving his lips like smoke.
"There are other monsters in this world," he muttered to himself. "And not all of them co from Esgard."
The fight still echoed in his bones, but it wasn't adrenaline humming through his veins—it was awareness.
That red-cloaked man had not just dented his pride. He'd burned sothing into Ian's soul. Not fear. No, Ian knew fear. This was sothing colder.
The realization that true predators still stalked this realm… and so wore smiles.
He opened his interface with a thought, searching, checking.
Nothing.
Torkas' na was no longer there.
No greyed-out summon. No cooldown. No grave marker in his soulbound ledger.
Just… absence.
Ian's jaw tightened. His fingers twitched once.
Torkas, the Splitter, now erased.
Not dead. Not broken. Erased.
"I'll rember you," Ian murmured to the void where his soulbound had once been.
He turned from the scorched glade, his boots crunching over broken roots and shattered bones, and walked toward the tree half-split by a phantom cut.
Beneath its shadow, half-slumped and panting, was the first woman—the one who'd played gratitude before revealing her dagger.
She was still alive. Barely.
Blood soaked her tunic.
Her thigh was split open. Her eyes fluttered but hadn't closed. Ian knelt in front of her, his shadow spilling over her body like death if flesh.
"You can drop the act. I know you're awake." His voice was ice without rcy. "And I have questions."
Her lips parted, dry and cracked. She chuckled once, then winced. "Go to hell. You're a monster."
Ian didn't sigh. He didn't argue.
He just drove his dagger into her knee.
Her scream cracked the silence like lightning. He twisted the blade, grinding bone, pulling a sound from her lungs that was more animal than human.
"I'll answer!" she gasped, thrashing. "Just—just stop—!"
Ian waited.
"Talk."
She coughed blood, then bit it down. Her eyes flicked up at him, hate and pain swirling in equal asure. "You've no idea what you've done."
He tilted his head. The dagger remained in her knee.
"Who was he? The red-cloaked bastard?"
Her jaw clenched, but pain loosened her tongue.
"He's a captain. A squad commander under one of the imperial factions. Not military. Not church. Sothing else." She groaned. "They don't have a na. Just titles. He's called The Cardinal Fang. Each of them answers directly to a noble family in the capital."
Ian narrowed his eyes. "Which family?"
"I don't know which. They never tell us. Just orders. Targets. Objectives." She coughed. "You were marked. Not for death. Not yet. They wanted to… see what would happen if they pushed."
He pulled the dagger an inch deeper. Her scream shook the trees.
"His bloodline?"
"Rare," she panted. "Beyond rare. So think it's not even human. Sothing older, passed down in secrecy through a sealed blood pact in the capital—maybe ancient. The strength of it—whatever it is—is unknown. Everything you saw? That wasn't even him using it barely. No one's ever seen him go all out. They say he's—" she choked, "—he's what cos when the High Houses want finality."
Ian's expression didn't change.
"What's his rank?"
"No one knows," she hissed. "He doesn't show signs. No flares. No core resonance. No affinity leaks. It's like he's empty. But when he moves, it's like the world moves with him. You felt it, didn't you?"
Ian said nothing. He didn't need to.
His silence was answer enough.
The woman's breathing slowed, her eyes trembling.
"You won't kill , right? I gave you what you wanted."
Ian pulled his blade free.
"You were right about one thing," he said coldly, "I am a monster."
And before the last syllable left her lips, his dagger slit her throat.
The sound she made was barely audible—just a wet exhale. Blood pulsed in rhythmic waves before her body slumped into stillness.
Ian stood, wiping the blade on her cloak.
He turned and walked through the field of corpses—humans, mutated demon, and broken weapons—spreading his hand.
Soul Essence gathered.
He accepted the prompt.
The air turned darker, heavy, pulled inward as if the trees themselves held their breath.
One by one, their souls rose.
Pale lights. Twisting wisps. Echoes of the slain. Their fear, anger, and pain drifted upward—and Ian consud them.
Their essence flooded into him.
Each of their human souls made power.
The mutated demon's soul was the last.
Twisted. Monstrous. Delicious.
Ian's eyes pulsed faintly with silver light as the system chid softly in his mind:
> [You have absorbed: 8 Human Souls | 1 Mutated Demon Soul]
[Corruption: 4.5%]
[Soul Essence: 5400]
[New Passive Skill: Predator's Instinct – Reflexes increase relative to threats detected]
[Warning: Corruption level approaching threshold]
He inhaled slowly, letting the rush pass.
Then his voice broke the silence.
"Cardinal Fang...You must be the replacent for Torkas,"
He sighed.
"I guess I'll have to go to the First Descent tournant after all."
The trees seed to shiver at the words.
A new hunt had begun.
Reviews
All reviews (0)