The village burned.
Fires spread like starving beasts, devouring homes and reducing them to nothing but ash and cinders. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning wood, the metallic tang of blood, and the suffocating weight of smoke. Screams of the helpless, the desperate cries of mothers searching for their children, and the laughter of men who had long abandoned their humanity filled the night.
Roadie and his crew tore through the settlement like a pack of rabid wolves, taking whatever they wanted—gold, food, lives. It was just another nameless village in Castle Grave .
And in the middle of that chaos, Zander found himself fighting for his life.
He hadn't expected resistance. Most villagers either ran or begged. But this girl this blonde-haired, wild-eyed girl was different. She stood her ground, gripping a rusted longsword with shaking hands, her green eyes filled with hate and defiance.
"You… bastard!" she spat, swinging the blade at him with everything she had.
Zander barely had time to react. He stumbled back, the sword missing his throat by mere inches. His heart pounded against his ribs as the girl lunged again, her attacks fueled by rage, grief… desperation. She wasn't just fighting, she was trying to kill him.
And the worst part?
Zander was scared.
His hands trembled as he raised his own blade, but she was faster, more relentless. Each strike forced him to retreat further, his breath coming in short gasps. His mind screamed at him to fight back, but something held him in place.
Was it hesitation? Guilt?
He didn't know.
Then—
"Oi, what the hell are you doing, Zander?"
A voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Ron.
Zander turned just as Ron, his companion, stepped into the scene, his broadsword resting casually on his shoulder. The girl's eyes widened in recognition the moment she saw him. Her grip on the sword faltered, lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
She knew him.
But Ron? He didn't hesitate.
With a single, brutal swing, he cut her down.
Her body shuddered, a gasp escaping her lips before she crumpled to the blood-soaked dirt.
Zander just stared.
He watched as the light in her eyes flickered, as her trembling fingers reached for something—perhaps her fallen sword, perhaps something more. But before she could grasp it, her body stilled.
The firelight cast deep shadows on Ron's face as he turned away, as if what he had done meant nothing. He grabbed Zander's arm and yanked him to his feet.
"Come on. We're done here."
Zander swallowed hard, his throat dry as ash.
The girl's blood soaked into the dirt, dark and warm. The air was thick with smoke and iron, a bitter scent of loss.
But in the shadowed corner of his mouth, a smirk curled.
It was faint. Almost hidden.
Yet it was there.
And then—
"Can't believe you got chased by a girl," Ron snorted, a smirk pulling at his lips as they walked away.
Zander blinked. "Yeah… just don't tell the others," he muttered, forcing a chuckle. "They'll tease me till my grave."
Ron barked out a laugh. "No promises, mate."
The night pressed in around them. The fires roared on.
And somewhere, in the ruins of what once was a home, a blonde-haired girl lay lifeless, her story ending in silence.
The bandits gathered around the dying embers of their campfires, the flickering light casting twisted shadows on their scarred faces. Some were patching up wounds, others counting their stolen loot, and a few simply sat in silence, exhausted from the night's bloodshed.
Roadie stood at the center, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, searching for one person.
Zander was missing.
His jaw tightened. "Where the hell is he?" he muttered, his voice low but carrying enough authority to make the others look up.
"I haven't seen him," one of the men grunted.
"Me neither," another added, shaking his head.
Roadie's expression darkened for a brief moment, his fingers twitching near the hilt of his dagger. Something felt off. Zander wasn't the type to disappear in the middle of a raid.
Then, just as quickly as the tension rose, it vanished.
Because there he was.
Zander emerged from the darkness, walking alongside Ron, his clothes dusted with ash, his boots caked in blood and dirt. There was something different in the way he moved more tense, more shaken but he was here, and that was all that mattered.
Roadie exhaled slowly, letting a smirk creep across his face. He spread his arms wide and addressed the gathered men.
"That's it, boys. We're at the end of our chain raid," he announced, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Tonight , we take out Zed Ravenhart, and then?"
He spread his arms wider, his grin widening.
"We're done."
Some men cheered, others simply nodded, too tired to celebrate just yet. But then Roadie's gaze drifted back to Zander, his smirk taking on a sharper edge.
"And after that?" He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "We all go our separate ways… the way we like."
Zander stood still, staring up at Roadie with admiration in his eyes.
The way the man carried himself, the confidence in his voice, the sheer dominance he held over this ragtag group of killers, it was everything Zander had ever wanted for himself.
And tonight, if they succeeded in taking down Zed Ravenhart…
Maybe he would finally earn it.
Inside the grand yet dimly lit chamber of the Ravenhart Estate, Zed stood by the tall window, his sharp blue eyes gazing out at the distant horizon. The moonlight bathed his face in a cold glow, but his expression was even colder.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he whispered to himself,
"So this is how you plan to get me, Roadie? And that fool boy… They have no idea who they're dealing with."
His fingers tapped lightly against the glass, a steady rhythm of controlled anticipation.
Behind him, sitting stiffly in a velvet chair, Larry could barely hide the tremble in his hands. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his heart pounding so hard he swore Zed could hear it.
Zed turned, his gaze falling upon Larry like a predator sizing up its prey. His voice, calm yet laced with something unsettling, cut through the silence.
"Good work, Larry. Don't worry when all of this is over, I'll spare you and your father."
The words should have been reassuring, yet they sent a fresh wave of fear through Larry's already shaking body.
Without hesitation, he fell to his knees, his voice cracking as he stammered, "T-Thank you, my lord! Thank you!"
His wide, terror-stricken eyes flickered upward, searching for any sign of mercy in Zed's face. But there was none.
Just a quiet, calculating stare.
And in that moment, Larry knew, Zed wasn't promising mercy.
He was deciding whether he was worth keeping alive at all.
A dark forest, silent and eerie, stretches endlessly beneath the pale glow of the moon. The trees stand tall, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, casting shadows that dance with the wind. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood, fresh and heavy.
The ground, once covered in dry leaves and moss, is now soaked in scarlet rivers that snake through the earth, pooling into the crevices between the roots. Following the flowing blood, the scene unfolds a gruesome sight.
A pile of wolf-like beasts, their bodies mangled and torn, lay lifeless. Their fur, once sleek and dark, is now drenched in crimson, their empty eyes wide with frozen terror. These were no ordinary wolves. Their claws were as sharp as daggers, their fangs meant to rip through flesh, yet they had fallen not as hunters, but as prey.
And at the peak of the carnage, a lone figure stood.
Bathed in moonlight, his body covered in blood that was not his own, the boy exuded an aura of silent menace. His breath was steady, unfazed by the slaughter around him. Upon his face, the chilling red Asura skull mask gleamed under the silver light, its hollow eye sockets mirroring the emptiness in his gaze.
His black hair, streaked with dried blood, clung to his forehead. His posture was relaxed, almost indifferent, as if the slaughter beneath him was nothing more than routine.
Tilting his head slightly, his blue eyes cold and piercing, hidden behind the mask turned upward, meeting the luminous full moon that hung in the ink-black sky.
A whisper, so soft that even the wind barely carried it, left his lips.
"So then… it is tonight ."
The forest, the blood, the corpses, none of it mattered anymore.
Because , the real hunt was about to begin.