"Are you deaf, Northern Hunter?!" Ito's voice cracked against the stone walls, sharp and desperate.
But Zhen kept moving, his steps tracing the rocks with weightless ease, like a shadow refusing to be touched.
"I can bring your pets back," Ito called again, his tone shifting into bait. "Mono and Dono, wasn't it? They're trapped inside me. Wouldn't it be better if we worked together? Then afterward… we decide who dies as the target."
The wind seemed to hold its breath when Zhen finally stopped.
His piercing gaze locked onto Ito in a silence so heavy it dragged every thought into its pull.
"You talk too much, Eastern Hunter." His voice was quiet, yet it slid through the air like a whisper of death.
Ito felt his skin prickle, but instead of fear pinning him down, it lured him in deeper. His sly grin spread wider. "Then… I'll prove it with blood. Or… let's duel."
He bared his teeth in a grin. "Think of it as if you were hunting me."
His black cloak snapped against the air, underscoring the weight of his taunt, as though it too had chosen sides.
"If you want to live, follow my steps. If you want to die, just say one word."
The words sank into Ito, compelling his head to nod almost against his will. He fell into step behind the Northern Hunter.
I have to stay close to him… even if it's only to steal each movement of his blade.
Yet somewhere deep inside, a different instinct stirred. This wasn't a hunt fought side by side. It was a snare, woven by the most dangerous predator of the North.
•••
Before they could go any farther, the hiss of arrows broke the air, dozens of them raining down like a storm from the heavens.
Zhen snapped his head up, eyes catching the glint of iron above. In a fraction of a heartbeat, he moved. His hand seized Ito's collar, yanking him down and slamming them both behind a massive boulder.
The arrows struck with brutal force, peppering the stone, shards breaking loose under the onslaught.
Ito gasped, his face drained of color. "What the hell?! They're showering us with iron arrows!"
Zhen said nothing. He only lifted his gaze, peering through the narrow gap between stone. His eyes tracked the wind's direction, measuring the flight of every arrow in silence.
The next volley rained down, faster this time. Several shafts struck the stone just inches from Ito's face, forcing him to hold his breath.
"We have to—"
"I said stay quiet." Zhen's low voice cut him off, sharp enough to freeze him in place.
In one swift motion, Zhen drew Jouhen no Kage.
Three arrows that would have pierced through them split midair, shattered into fragments before they even touched the ground.
Ito stared, wide-eyed and unbelieving. The movement was too fast, too precise.
That's it… that's where it is!
High on the cliff above, faint silhouettes emerged—archers, perhaps dozens of them. Each wore dull brown cloaks, their faces hidden behind iron masks.
"Mercenaries," Zhen muttered, his tone flat, almost bored. "Someone wants me dead before I can kill him first. What a pathetic coward."
Ito clenched his teeth. "Damn it… so I'm caught up in your hunt too?"
Zhen's gaze slid toward him, a thin smile curving his lips, though it wasn't a smile at all.
"No. From now on, you're not caught up… you're the bait."
In a heartbeat he surged out from behind the boulder. Arrows screamed to meet him, but his blade spun like a shadow made steel, splintering every shaft in his path.
Ito's eyes widened in disbelief, before the cold realization hit him—he too had become a target.
The storm of arrows kept falling, turning the steep cliff into a battlefield born from nowhere.
Zhen deflected the rain of arrows with practiced precision, yet his eyes flicked briefly toward Ito, who was still half-panicked behind the boulder.
"You have Broukirakh magic, don't you?" Zhen's voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command.
Ito's eyes widened. "You mean… I should use it? Now? That's impossible—"
"Quiet." Zhen cut him off, his tone brooking no argument. "Use it as a shield. I'll handle the rest."
Ito hissed under his breath, ready to protest, but Zhen's gaze pressed down on his chest like a weight. With a sharp motion, he began chanting the ancient incantation.
The next volley struck the barrier of Broukirakh, arrows bouncing away in showers of sparks, some even shattering on impact.
Zhen's lips curved faintly. "Good. Just hold it for a while."
In an instant, he vanished from Ito's side.
No one can climb that fast! What is he—half man, half demon?
Atop the cliff, one of the masked archers barely blinked before his head split open. Zhen materialized among them like a phantom, and blood sprayed as easily as the arrows they had loosed upon the two hunters below.
"You—?!" one archer managed to shout, but the words died with him. Jouhen no Kage danced in Zhen's hands, severing his throat in a blur. Each swing was an execution, each breath of the blade carved through three lives at once.
Down below, Ito's hands trembled as he struggled to keep the Broukirakh shield intact against the relentless barrage. His eyes caught fleeting glimpses of a black blur moving above—too fast for any ordinary sight to follow.
One by one, the screams were cut short. The air thickened with the stench of blood.
And then, only silence remained.
Ito peeked out from behind the boulder. On the cliff's edge, the black cloak whipped in the wind, its owner drenched in blood.
He descended the rocks with quick, agile steps, his movements too smooth for anything less than a body honed by years—perhaps decades—of hardship and relentless training.
Ito's mind spun with speculations, each theory rushing to explain what he was seeing.
The blade in his hand still dripped with dark, red-black liquid.
He studied the figure again, scrutinizing every detail—even the way he licked the corner of his mouth where blood had splattered.
"Well? Did you record his movements?" Zhen's voice was calm, as though he had just snapped a branch, not ended dozens of lives.
Ito's arm dropped. The shield he had been sustaining flickered and vanished. His breathing came ragged, his body suddenly weak after lending strength to the Northern Hunter.
"Good work." Zhen patted his shoulder once, his tone unreadable. "Turns out you're useful after all."
Yet beneath that flat voice was something heavier, a promise cloaked in dread. Ito realized then—this piece on the board he had thought to manipulate was far more terrifying than anything he had imagined.
Unconsciously, Ito swallowed hard. His eyes stared into nothing, as though what had just happened were no more than a man performing some ordinary routine.
"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" Zhen's words were soft, almost a whisper brushing Ito's ear.
Ito's mouth stayed shut, but his body betrayed him—his hands trembled faintly, his breath uneven.
Zhen leaned closer, closing the space until only a hand's span remained. His dark gaze pierced straight into Ito's soul.
"Good. That fear will keep you alive. Because you are not me."
Ito wanted to speak, to fight back, to prove he wasn't just a dog on a leash. But the words caught in his throat, strangled by the Northern Hunter's stare.
At last, Zhen turned, striding away as if Ito were nothing more than a shadow at the roadside. Yet over his shoulder, he added one more line:
"Don't misunderstand, Eastern Hunter. You're not my ally. You're part of my hunt."
Ito stood frozen. Rage boiled inside him, mixed with bitterness—and a sharp, painful admiration that cut deeper than any blade.
[System Warning!!!!!]