James gritted his teeth, pushing forward despite the ache in his muscles and the raw sting of his wounds. The rocky slope was treacherous, demanding every ounce of his strength and focus. His fingers dug into loose earth, gripping the stone for balance as he hoisted himself higher.
The forest behind him had grown unnaturally quiet—a warning more than a relief.
Then, a sound—low, guttural, predatory.
James froze.
Ahead, where the passage narrowed between craggy rocks, a pair of glowing eyes flickered in the darkness.
A beast.
Shadows shifted, revealing the creature's form—a night stalker, its sleek body coiled and ready to strike, muscles rippling beneath its dark fur. Fangs gleamed as it sniffed the air, catching the scent of blood—his blood.
James felt the weight of reality settle in.
This world didn't allow weakness.
Survival wasn't just about skill—it was about strength, endurance, and the ability to face death without hesitation.Those who weren't strong enough—they didn't last.
And tonight, he was dangerously close to that threshold.
He exhaled slowly, calculating his next move. Fleeing was impossible—the beast was poised to chase. Fighting? His bow was useless at this range, and his injuries slowed him.
Which left only one option—outthink it.
James reached for a small vial tucked inside his pouch—one of the few resources he had left. It was meant to mask a hunter's scent, disguising presence from tracking beasts.
A risk—but his only chance.
With careful hands, he smashed the vial against the rocks, releasing the bitter, herbal mist into the air. The night stalker snorted, ears twitching at the unfamiliar scent, its movements hesitating for just a second—just enough for James to make his move.
He lunged forward, scrambling up the last ridge, ignoring the pain in his limbs as he propelled himself over the ledge.
The beast let out a sharp growl, but the mist confused its senses, buying him the time he needed.
James didn't stop—not until he was clear of the ravine, the night stalker left behind in the depths below.
Only then did he collapse against the nearest tree, breath ragged, heart pounding.
He had survived. Barely.
But the lesson was seared into him—this world only let the strong carve their place within it.
---
James steadied himself, forcing his aching muscles to move despite the exhaustion weighing him down. The ravine had nearly cost him his life, and now—wounded, drained, and carrying something far more valuable than mere proof—he needed to survive the night.
Shelter. That was his priority.
Scanning the terrain, he spotted a hollowed-out tree, its roots sprawling wide like skeletal fingers gripping the earth. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would shield him from the worst of the wind and keep him hidden from wandering predators.
He staggered toward it, biting back the pain in his limbs as he slid into the narrow space beneath the roots, feeling the damp earth press against his back. It was cramped, cold, uncomfortable—but safe.For now.
The forest hummed as the night deepened. Distant calls echoed—beasts stirring, unseen but never far. James kept still, pulling his cloak tighter around himself, pressing against the wooden barrier like it could shield him from the reality beyond.
He had survived this far, but tonight wasn't the end—it was only the beginning.
Tomorrow, he would decide his next move.
But for now, he would wait.
And listen.
And make sure he lived to see tomorrow's Sun.
---
James remained still beneath the twisted roots of the hollowed-out tree, his breath steady, his senses sharp despite the exhaustion weighing on him. The wind whispered through the forest, carrying distant howls and the rustling of unseen creatures—but none came close.
The raiders had been wrong about one thing. Tonight wasn't going to kill him.
Hours dragged on, each moment stretching with aching tension, but eventually, his body forced him into brief moments of rest. A shallow, uneasy sleep—not peaceful, but necessary.
When dawn crept in, spilling pale light through the dense canopy above, James stirred. His wounds ached, stiff but manageable.He exhaled slowly, pulling himself from his hiding place.
It was time to move.
---
James tightened the strap on his pouch, ensuring the monster cores remained secured, then forced himself into motion. His body ached from the injuries and exhaustion, but he couldn't afford to delay—the truth needed to be told.
The journey back to town was slower than he wanted, each step reminding him of the near-death escape. His wounds burned, his breath was measured, but determination pushed him forward.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the town, dawn had fully broken, the streets stirring with early risers—merchants setting up stalls, workers preparing for the day. To them, it was just another morning. But James knew things weren't normal.
He passed familiar alleys, rounding toward the towering walls of the Mission Hall, where hunters received their assignments, tracked their kills, and reported dangerous discoveries. This time, he wasn't here for a mission—he was here to unravel one.
As he approached the entrance, a sharp-eyed attendant spotted him, brows furrowing at his ragged appearance.
"James?" They stepped forward, gaze flickering to the dried blood on his sleeve. "What happened to you?"
James exhaled. "I have something you need to see."
---
James knew better than to walk into the Mission Hall and blurt out what he had uncovered. Not everyone could be trusted. If the stolen monster cores showed signs of the mayor's involvement, then corruption could run deeper than just a few rogue raiders. What if someone inside the Hall was part of it?
He kept his posture measured, breathing slow as he nodded at the attendant who had noticed him. "Just a tough mission," he muttered, steering his gaze away from their concern. "Need to talk to someone about something I found."
The attendant gestured toward the back rooms. "You're lucky. The Hall's quieter today. You can report to one of the senior officers directly."
James fought the urge to tense. Which officer? If he chose wrong, he could end up revealing too much to the wrong person.
His mind raced—who could be trusted?There were a few experienced hunters known for their unwavering integrity, those who had spoken against past questionable dealings. If any of them were present, they would be his best bet.
Casually, he glanced around the hall, scanning the faces of those in authority.
There—Commander Rhen was reviewing mission slips near the ledgers. A veteran hunter, strict but fair. He had clashed with town officials before over unethical trade practices. If anyone would take this seriously, it would be him.
James approached cautiously, keeping his voice low and measured.
"Commander," he said. "I have something that needs discretion. Something involving stolen goods."
Rhen's sharp eyes flicked toward James—studying, assessing. The weight of the words wasn't lost on him.
"Follow me," Rhen said simply, leading James toward one of the private briefing chambers.
---