The sun barely climbed past the mist as six figures departed the southern gate of the frontier city. Horses and carts were for merchants—these were warriors, and they moved on foot, their steps steady, their gear secure, and their eyes already scanning the trail ahead.
Aron Telsa walked at the rear, trying his best not to trip over his own boots.
"Alright, kid," Grell called over his shoulder without turning. "Might as well know who's risking their skin beside you."
He pointed a thumb to his left. "That's Duren. Crossbowman. Don't borrow his gear—he'll notice."
A wiry man with long arms and a permanently squinting expression gave Aron a nod.
"Next to him, Maren. Quartermaster and light scout. She's faster than she looks."
Maren, a stocky woman with a backpack half her size, grinned. "I'm also the one who'll find your body if you wander off, so try not to."
"Juna, you've met," Grell continued.
Juna gave Aron a side-eye smirk. "Still think you'll survive two weeks with us?"
"I hope so," Aron muttered.
Grell laughed, then gestured at the two behind. "That's Yoric—our heavy shield, and the quiet one over there's Leif. He won't talk to you unless you're bleeding, so don't take it personal."
The group moved at a relaxed pace for the first stretch of trail. The forest to their right still slumbered, and the broken hills to the left bore signs of old skirmishes—cracked stones, forgotten stakes, and scorched earth from wild mana surges.
As the sun rose higher, conversation sparked naturally.
They talked about old inns and bad tavern food, near-death moments turned into jokes, and absurd rumors of hybrid monsters born from magic runoff. Duren swore he once saw a wolf with antlers and glowing wings. Juna said he was drunk.
Eventually, the talk drifted toward the more serious.
"Ever faced a Ravager?" Yoric asked Aron suddenly.
Aron blinked. "Uh… no. I've read about them."
"Be grateful," Maren muttered. "They scream before they kill. You hear it in your bones."
"We ran into one last spring," Grell said, tone shifting. "Out near the Black Spires. Got one of ours. We dropped it—but only just."
The group quieted briefly, the rhythm of their steps filling the silence.
Then Juna glanced back at Aron again. "So, rookie. With your age and gear, you could've joined the Imperial military. Why not?"
Aron hesitated, then shrugged.
"Too rigid," he said. "Too many rules. Everyone stuck in formations, barking codes and regulations like it makes them invincible."
He paused, then added, "Also, the pay's crap."
The entire group burst out laughing.
"I like him already," Duren said.
"Not the first to say that," Grell added. "Hell, Canis says the same thing—though he won't say why."
Juna looked thoughtful. "It is strange, isn't it? A guy like that sitting at a desk. You ever wonder who he really was before the guild?"
"I've seen him look at maps like they talk back to him," Maren said. "Definitely not just a clerk."
"Maybe he was in the military," Yoric offered. "Maybe he saw too much."
Aron didn't speak.
But he remembered the way Canis had spoken to him that night outside the guild. Calm, firm, but with something behind it—a weight that didn't come from books or scrolls.
Someone who had been through something.
Someone who had chosen to disappear.
---
Back at the guild, the sun had risen past its peak.
Canis sat alone behind the front desk, a mug of tea untouched at his elbow and a stack of requisition forms half-sorted beside him. The quiet inside the hall was unusual. A rare, still moment.
Then the door slammed open.
A figure stumbled through, dragging one leg behind the other, cloak torn, blood seeping through makeshift bandages. His eyes wide with panic, breath heaving.
Canis stood instantly.
"Help," the man gasped. "Southern ridge—ambush—"
But before more could be said, the scene fractured—
—
A branch cracked underfoot.
"Contact, ten o'clock," Duren whispered.
The group froze. Ahead, between the underbrush and the low-hanging mist, three figures emerged—beasts of sinew and claw. Their movements were low and fast, their eyes glowing faintly green.
"Hound-class," Juna muttered, already unsheathing her blades. "Low-level, but fast."
"Stay in formation," Grell ordered. "No split. Telsa—behind the line."
Aron's heart pounded, but his fingers stayed steady on the hilt of the short sword sheathed at his hip. He remembered Canis's voice: Don't reach for your blade unless you have no other choice.
Yoric stepped forward with his shield raised as the first beast lunged.
Steel clashed. Dirt flew.
And the hunt began.
---
Southern Trail
Yoric held the first impact—fangs slammed against his metal shield with a sharp clang. Leaves scattered, and the mist rippled with the sudden movement. Leif, wordless as ever, spun to the side and slashed one hound from the flank, his motion like a wave that knew exactly where to fall.
"Right flank—two more!" Juna called out.
Aron steadied his breathing. His knees wavered slightly, but he stayed behind the line, watching for an opening. A few paces away, Maren drew a throwing knife from her belt and flung it without looking. The blade sank into flesh. One hound yelped and collapsed into the dirt.
"No time to hesitate, Telsa," Grell said, eyes narrowing as the remaining two hounds pulled back, their bodies low and trembling.
Aron nodded, lifting his sword, though still holding back. The echo of Canis's voice—not yet—lingered in his mind like a shadow.
Then one hound turned and vanished into the woods. The other limped, coughing black blood. Duren shot it without a word. Silence fell instantly.
"Sweet start," Juna muttered, wiping her blade. "Still up for a two-week stroll, rookie?"
Aron gave a quiet laugh. But his hand was still trembling.
---
Meanwhile, at the Guild—
Canis knelt over the half conscious man, fingers deftly loosening bindings and checking his pulse.
"What is happening?"Canis asking carefully
The man trembling and talking "It's talking"
He stood, staring at the door left ajar. The wind carried the scent of wet earth and dried blood.
Then, he moved.
His steps were quick but measured. He passed through the rear hallway, unlocked a narrow drawer, and pulled out an old leather belt—along with something wrapped in a long, black cloth. He unwrapped it just enough to see the contents: a sword, its hilt carved with faded markings.
A weapon he hadn't touched in years.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then gripped it like someone coming to terms with a part of themselves long buried.
---
Southern Road
They were checking a small cut on Leif's arm when Grell raised a hand.
"Quiet."
Everyone froze.
There was something in the air. Not a sound—but a pressure. Like the sky had sunk just a little lower, brushing against their skin with something heavy and unseen.
"Mana…?" Maren whispered.
Duren raised his crossbow.
Then, the ground ahead burst open.
A large, twisted figure emerged from the brush—its eyes burning red, its lower jaw split like insect mandibles.
"Ravager," Yoric breathed.
But not like in the books. This one was bigger. More muscular. And it moved like something that knew it was hunting prey.
"V-formation!" Grell shouted.
"ARON! RUN!"
But Aron didn't move. His eyes locked onto the creature.
Not out of fear.
But because he knew. In that instant—he knew.
This wasn't random.
That thing… was looking for them.
---
Eastern Perimeter, Imperial Outpost
The wind howled across the southern ridge.
But it wasn't natural wind.
It came fast—too fast—and left the small outpost in chaos.
Papers flew. A table flipped. A banner tore free from its post, spiraling into the air like a startled bird.
Two guards barely had time to brace before it passed—a blur in human shape, faster than any horse, trailing dust and pressure in its wake.
"Wh-what was that?" one of them gasped.
The younger of the two, eyes wide, turned to the officer on duty. "Sir! Permission to report—something just blasted through the checkpoint! It looked like… a person? But—no one's that fast."
The officer frowned. "A person…?"
"Or a ghost," the guard muttered, still pale. "A very fast one."
---
Southern Trail
Canis ran.
Not like a man running for his life—but like something ancient remembering how to move again.
His cloak streamed behind him, his steps barely touching the dirt. Trees blurred past. Hills folded under his path like they remembered him.
He did not ride.
He didn't need to.
No horse could match the speed of someone who had once outrun death itself.
His hand remained tight on the hilt of the blade at his side. The one he had sworn never to use again. The one tied to memories he had buried.
But that monster, it's different.
It was not the first time Canis had a speaking monster in his mind.
Once, long ago, he had faced a beast who did not roar—but reasoned. A creature that didn't kill out of hunger, but with ideology.
They had vanished after the war.
Or so he had believed.
Now, they were back.
And the team was close. Too close. They had no idea what they were truly facing.
He surged forward, faster still.
---
Southern Road – Ravager Engagement
The creature said no more.
Its voice, deep and guttural, had fallen into silence—but the tension it left behind remained like poison in the air.
Then it moved.
Fast.
Too fast for them.
It lunged forward with crushing force, claws raking across Yoric's shield and sending him skidding backward a full meter. Sparks danced where metal met bone. The Ravager didn't stop. Its next step shattered the dirt beneath it as it swung at Leif, who barely dodged, blade slicing across the creature's shoulder—but it barely flinched.
"Fall back! Split formation!" Grell shouted.
Maren pulled Aron back by the collar just as the beast's tail whipped through the space they had occupied. It smashed into a tree, splintering the trunk in half.
Juna darted in, her twin blades flashing like arcs of light. She scored a hit across its leg, but even then, the Ravager's hide was tougher than iron. It turned and slammed its arm down—Juna rolled, but clipped her shoulder on a rock and hissed.
"IT'S NOT JUST STRONG, IT'S THINKING!" she barked. "It's watching us!"
They had fought Ravagers before. But not like this.
This one dodged.
This one predicted.
This one waited.
"Keep moving!" Grell yelled. "Don't give it a fixed target!"
But that was exactly what it wanted.
In a blur, the Ravager turned toward Duren—who had just loaded a bolt and raised his crossbow. His finger tightened on the trigger—
Too late.
The Ravager lunged.
Its arm swept low, claws slicing through Duren's side before he could fully react. Blood sprayed in a terrible arc. The crossbow clattered from his hands.
"DUREN!" Maren screamed, running toward him.
The beast didn't finish him off—it didn't need to. Duren hit the ground hard, gasping, blood pooling beneath him.
"Retreat! Pull him back!" Grell ordered, voice cracked with urgency.
Leif and Yoric moved, covering with shields as Juna threw herself at the Ravager again to distract it. Her blades rang against its skin, drawing sparks more than blood.
Aron stood frozen for a moment. Not with fear—but with something else.
Rage.
Duren had joked with him.
Laughed with him.
Accepted him.
And now—
Aron's grip tightened on his sword.
Not yet.
But soon.
And the Ravager hadn't even begun to tire.
{Chapter 3 end}