Heavy footsteps moved along the narrow path cutting through the rocky forest, leaves brushing softly as the hunting party advanced in a long formation. Twilight had passed, and the moon began to rise slowly over the treetops, casting light on tense faces illuminated only by magical field lamps and the soft glow of small lanterns.
Flad walked in the third row, his eyes half-closed from fatigue and the creeping boredom settling in. His slim frame—typical of a mousedeer beastman—looked starkly out of place next to the large weapon slung across his back: a double-headed electro-spear still wrapped in protective cloth.
He turned to the left, breaking the silence.
"Are they serious about this? We're really going up against another Penal Plains Tiger?" he muttered in disbelief, his voice muffled by the night mist.
His companion nodded, face half-covered by a leather mask. "Yes. Last time, Lord Trek was very pleased when we captured one. You know how rare they are, right?"
