"Rumi?" Zhen snapped his head around, the sly curve of his lips flattening into a sharp line of caution.
Heavy footsteps began to echo from the far end of the corridor, like the steady countdown to an execution.
The hunter already possessed by Mono and Dono rose from the bed. His head hung low, shoulders trembling violently, like a puppet about to be thrown onto the battlefield. "Command your servant, my lord!" His voice was hoarse, no longer entirely his own.
"Servant? More like a hunting partner. That suits you better."
"Pierce through this dimensional glass with the hellfire you stole from the deepest pits. At the very least, buy the Official Blood Hunters enough time to escape!"
"She's finally here!"
A silhouette stepped out, hair dripping wet, robe in tatters that revealed dark leather armor swallowing the light around it. A silver spear spun in her veined grip, its rotating tip glinting like a watchful eye.
"Filthy wretch. Cursed Fugitive. You must die. Take this— the Spear of the Demon's Eye!" Her voice was cold, nearly inaudible, but the spear had already been launched, aimed straight at the Northern Hunter's throat.
Mono growled within his vessel, and the hunter's body lunged forward like a soldier's shield wall. The rotating spear tip halted against his throat, grazing a shallow wound across the elastic flesh.
Zhen retreated several steps, eyes darting fast as he calculated distance and time. He knew if that spearhead slipped past its host, there would be no safe place for him inside this healing dimension.
But from behind came the crash of a door flung wide. Through its crack, something crawled out—thick crimson tentacles dripping like liquid blood, pooling into a boiling mass on the floor. The stench of iron filled the air, laced with the foul reek of something torn from the earth's gut.
Zhen's eyes flicked toward it, narrowing. "You've already started burning this dimension?"
The hunter's body shuddered. "Mono finished his work the moment he possessed me, Master. He wants to sleep again soon, so… so I only tore open part of the main chamber. You must leave now! Even though Mono has already timed his explosions to match your footsteps."
The sirens of the healing dimension wailed louder, as if aware that destruction could no longer be undone.
Zhen's grin widened, a chilling aura spilling from his body. "Good… let's burn it all to the ground."
The creature lifted its mass of tentacled arms and slammed them in every direction. The unbreakable glass fractured all at once, and green liquid gushed from the other wards, mingling with streams of red blood. In seconds, the once-elegant corridor had turned into a grotesque river.
Zhen chuckled, twirling his blade, Jouhen no Kage, in his hand. "Just as I thought. Fake blood."
The flood swelled quickly, rising to his knees, the surface beginning to steam around Zhen's legs.
Then a body was hurled toward him—his vessel staggered to its feet, black blood spurting from its mouth. "It isn't over," it growled.
With lightning speed, Zhen seized the moment. He stepped back, spun through the air, and drove his blade toward Rumi.
Jouhen no Kage spun between his fingers. "I told you already. The execution is always my favorite part."
Bulging eyes glared wildly, as if begging to tear themselves free and claw at someone with that sadistic gaze. Zhen smiled in satisfaction, turning the cursed sword in his left hand. The Healer's blood splattered across the distinct features of the Northern Clan.
"Such filthy tactics… no wonder they're the signature of the North," the vessel's body spoke, its voice carrying the true soul buried inside.
Zhen smirked. "Filth is a matter of perspective."
Ito refused to waste another thought. He poured every drop of focus into channeling his Broukirakh magic flawlessly, tearing open a rift that led into the lower chambers of the healing dimension.
Looks like you'll be chasing your prey first, Northern Hunter!
His lips moved rapidly, chanting the oldest incantations of the Eastern Clan.
Draw that rare soul to follow me…
I have worshipped you for so long, descended from the most loyal of your ancient clans…
I beg you, walk with me in this plan… to unravel that cursed heart…
From the depths below, thousands of black hands stretched upward like roots, clawing to drag everything into their abyss.
Zhen's attention flicked instantly, his body drawn toward the rift to pursue the possessed Hunter—reckless of the lethal danger awaiting him.
Fortunately, his blade was keenly alive, glowing with a dark violet shimmer, warning him that a deadly magic was lurking close by.
"Sono! What is happening to me?" Zhen's voice cracked with sudden unease.
But when he turned back, his gaze sharpened. He saw Sono bracing against the tentacled creature with his echoing shield, releasing waves of scorching vibration that made the rift itself tremble.
Zhen chose not to look again.
The battle behind him had become the siren of ruin. He knew well that a single misstep would mean it was over—he would be buried with this collapsing dimension.
Time to hunt! The thought rang sharp in Zhen's mind.
Zhen surged forward like a shadow unbound by gravity, his blade dancing without pause. Every strange creature that dared to block his path was cut down, even the black hands clawing to drag him below fell in pieces at his feet.
"SONO! Hurry!" His voice was a growl, more command than plea.
Inside his chest, something slithered into his veins, tracing thin lines through his blood. Zhen understood immediately—Sono had returned.
For reasons he couldn't explain, the Northern Hunter felt a flicker of relief, though the rift was far from behind him.
"Damn it!"
The first explosion thundered, shaking the healing dimension as it began to crumble.
His body shot forward like an arrow loosed with no intent to stop.
Another blast rang out behind him.
Without realizing it, his fingertips brushed against a streak of blue light. At the exact moment he crossed the threshold of the exit, the final detonation silenced all other sound.
The healing dimension collapsed entirely, swallowed by emptiness.
The blue rift spat him out, hurling Zhen against a massive rock with a jagged surface. He rolled several times before coming to a stop at the edge of a cliff.
Zhen lay sprawled, his vision still blurred. The salty wind from the sea filled his lungs. He blinked hard, trying to focus, to see if he was still within the Western Clan's territory.
There was no mistake.
"Sono…" his voice rasped. "Where are you?"
From within his body, Sono answered softly, "Master… but Mono and Dono are still bound to the Eastern Hunter. And the healing dimension has collapsed, Master."
Zhen closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to think, to piece it all together. Losing two familiars was no small matter, but what mattered more now was—
The sound of footsteps on the cliff above made him turn. A tall figure stood proudly as if to challenge him, moss-green robes billowing like a banner of war.
"At last, we meet," the voice was light, yet carried an undertone of gravity. "I didn't expect you to wield Broukirakh magic within you. Too bad it's useless here. In this land, it counts for nothing."
The man's lips curled into a sly smile that Zhen could not mistake. "Unfortunately for you, I've mastered every kind of sorcery. Which means the Western Territory is nothing to me."
Their eyes locked, wary and unflinching, compressing the air between them—a sign the hunt was far from over, and only growing more dangerous.
He bound my two familiars on purpose. My magic is gone, and the Western Hunt is still long ahead. I may know every piece of its design, but damn it, my sorcery—
The Eastern Hunter raised both hands, revealing three bracelets: the Class Seals of the Official Blood Hunters.
Zhen's eyes narrowed on the gleaming bands, memory rising like a blade drawn. Soul Binder. Mystic Weaver. Nightshade Archer.
He killed two Hunters before stepping into the Healing Dimension. And now he's after me! But that scent of blood—so rich, so sharp—it means his soul number has already lined itself up as my prey.
The Eastern Hunter caught every rumble of the Northern Hunter's thoughts. With his magic stripped away, Zhen could no longer read the plans of others with certainty. But his sense of smell was still as sharp as a rabid hound's.
"So that's how it is… your two familiars will remain asleep within my soul until you leave the Western Territory. And since you're their 'Master,' the tether of their souls is still bound to yours. The problem is… I can't sever that bond."
Zhen stepped closer, inhaling the moss-green hem of his robe. The act made Ito conceal his unease, wary that the Northern Hunter might sniff out the lie he had spun so hastily to bargain for advantage.
I am a master of sorcery, but weak with the blade. The Northern Hunter excels at both—his sorcery is sharp, but his swordsmanship is terrifying. I must take this skill for myself! I'll hunt alongside him, steal his tricks, his mad tactics… and make them mine.
Ito's satisfied smile did not escape Zhen's notice.
"I have no objection."
Zhen turned away, leaping down the sheer cliff with his usual, fluid grace. Refusing to be outdone, Ito sprang after him, vaulting over jagged rocks, deliberately chasing.
He's my prey.
He'll keep pursuing me. Because he is the hound fated to be hunted—never the hound who hunts.
A strange weight began to press on Ito's chest, though he shoved it aside.
"Wait! At least slow down, cheetah. I have a rather tempting offer. Aren't you curious to hear it?"