The sky gradually darkened, and in the rainforest, night fell especially fast.
Owen was running through the woods—he had to find a safe place to treat his wound immediately. Not only would the injury rapidly drain his strength, but it could also attract nocturnal predators.
After some time, Owen found a large tree. It was dense with foliage, but there was some space between it and the surrounding plants, giving it a clear field of view.
He hid beneath the tree, confirmed the area was safe, then took out medicine from his waist pack and began cleaning the wound. Before setting out, he had prepared ample supplies: coagulants, anti-inflammatories, disinfectants—everything necessary.
After a quick sterilization with alcohol, Owen pulled out the MK3 combat knife strapped to his leg, unscrewed the cap at the handle's base, and poured out a hidden sewing kit. He sterilized the needle with a lighter, then, gritting his teeth, began suturing the wound without anesthesia.
The needle and thread pierced in and out beneath the skin. Owen clenched his jaw as beads of sweat the size of peas formed on his forehead. Each time the needle punctured his skin, his body shuddered, but he immediately continued sewing as if nothing had happened.
Stitch by stitch, the torn flesh was forcibly pulled together. As the suturing neared completion, an ugly row of stitches—disgraceful in any surgeon's eyes—took shape before him. After tying a final crude knot, Owen exhaled deeply.
A scar was guaranteed, but he didn't care. All he needed was to stop the bleeding quickly. Every ounce of strength preserved gave him a better chance of finding Monica.
After sprinkling some medicinal powder on the wound, Owen popped an antibiotic into his mouth. After decontaminating the wound, preventing infection was the next priority—and this was all he could do.
Once the treatment was done, he cleaned up the area. Even the blood-stained cloth strips were buried in a hole he dug with his combat knife. Just as he was preparing to leave, a sudden crack of a snapping branch pierced the darkness.
The sound was like thunder in the silence. Owen immediately crouched low, his entire body tensed like a hunting leopard, ready to spring.
Footsteps followed in the distance. Owen slipped behind the tree and listened closely. Sensing that the person wasn't heading straight for him, he bit down on his knife and silently climbed up into the canopy.
Below, a shadowy figure crept out from the underbrush. When he spotted the large tree where Owen was hiding, his eyes lit up—he seemed to think it would make a good resting spot and headed toward it.
The figure carried a machete-style kukri knife. He circled the tree once, saw nothing unusual, and stopped beneath it. He stood right on the spot where Owen had buried the bloodied cloth, but noticed nothing.
A moment later, the man pulled several devices from his backpack and began fiddling with the surrounding bushes. After finishing, he gathered some dry branches and lit a fire under the tree.
Once the fire was burning, he fashioned a simple grill and pulled out a skinned dead snake from his pack, beginning to roast it. Soon, the smell of roasted snake meat wafted through the air—especially intense for Owen, who was perched above in the canopy.
The snake meat sizzled with a mouthwatering aroma, but the man didn't eat it. Instead, he took out something else from his backpack and sprinkled it over the meat.
Owen couldn't make sense of what the man was doing. Something about it all felt… off. Just then, a faint buzzing reached his ears. Hiding among the branches, Owen peeked through a gap where the last rays of sunlight streamed in—and spotted the source of the sound: a black drone hovering directly above him. Without the lighting, it would've been nearly invisible. Its camera was aimed squarely at the man below.
Now Owen was even more confused. Who was this guy with the kukri? Was he filming a documentary too?
Meanwhile, in a makeshift broadcast booth on a hillside, the drone's footage played on the monitor in front of Nick. He was narrating live.
"The 'Imitator' is setting a trap—oh my god, could his target be the Olympic Archer? This guy is slick. Look closely—he just sprinkled something on the food. The last person he killed ate his poisoned cooking. I'm getting excited—could this be the first hunter-versus-hunter showdown of this year's game?"
The host kept riling up the audience, and then the forest scene took a sharp turn.
There was a sudden thunk—and before anyone could react, an arrow had pierced the kukri-wielding man's chest. Owen didn't even see where the arrow had come from. Below, the man's head drooped and his body collapsed lifelessly.
A bow?
Owen's heart clenched. A second later, the archer who had previously chased him and Monica emerged from behind a tree not far away.
Seeing the man who'd caused his separation from Monica, Owen narrowed his eyes—but didn't act rashly. He remained hidden among the branches, quietly observing.
The archer, having taken down the kukri man, stepped out and approached the body.
Owen watched him intently. In the broadcast room, Nick's voice came again:
"Wow, I didn't expect that face-off to end so quickly. The 'Imitator' is a newcomer to the game—clearly still lacking experience. According to our stats, with the Imitator's death, the Olympic Archer now has two ears collected, making him the top hunter so far."
But Owen wasn't convinced it was over so easily. He'd seen the kukri man's elaborate setup earlier—it didn't make sense for him to die like that.
Above, the drone continued to hum faintly as its camera adjusted.
As the archer walked through the bushes, a sudden scream rang out—one of his feet had been caught in a metal hunting trap. He fell to the ground, his leg mangled and bloody under the serrated jaws.
Simultaneously, the seemingly dead kukri man sprang up like a coiled spring. Wielding his curved blade, he charged the archer.
The archer was horrified, but it was already too late. In the next second, the kukri blade severed his head, his terrified expression frozen in place forever.
The headless body spurted blood as the severed head rolled a few times and came to rest with one side facing the drone's camera. On Nick's command, the drone zoomed in for a close-up.
Only then did the kukri man slowly pull a wooden plank from his chest—the arrow had been embedded in it. No wonder that shot hadn't killed him.
He tossed the board aside, then stepped over to the severed head, stomping on it with one foot as he casually sliced off the left ear. Next, he walked over to the archer's body and retrieved a small bottle from his belt—inside was the other ear.
Watching the kukri man place both ears into his own waist bottle, Owen finally understood what it all meant.
The drone had been filming him the whole time, clearly with no concern that he might notice. Owen figured the kukri man must be aware of the drone's presence.
"Switch angles."
Back in the control room, Nick instructed his assistant, who adjusted the drone. As the camera panned, it inadvertently captured Owen hiding in the treetop.
"Ohoho~~~"
Nick gasped like he'd struck gold. "Who would've guessed there's another little guy hiding up there? This deathmatch is full of surprises. Wait, zoom in—wow, it's the kid who got away…"
The drone's sudden focus also drew the kukri man's attention. While he'd known the drone was there, its current behavior was too conspicuous.
He looked up—and spotted Owen in the canopy.
Startled, he stumbled back. But Owen had already reversed his grip on the MK3 and was diving down with a roar, charging straight at the kukri man.
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