[Hell Hunting System Activated!]
[Target: Sorti Sortex (Sword Monster)]
[Threat Level: X]
[Location: Sul'Har Wastes]
[Reward]:
• 100,000 Goldi
"Damn it! A sword monster?!"
Ito, already exhausted from replaying his failed strategy against the Northern Hunter, decided it was wiser to delay the mission the system had assigned to him.
Since only the target's presence was revealed—and with no real sense of direction, let alone the ability to read a map—instinct was all he had left.
"I'll come up with another plan first."
Strangely, the voice of the Eastern Hunter's system, which should have been far behind him, rang crystal clear inside the ears of the Northern Hunter.
[Hell Hunting System Activated!]
[Target: Sorti Sortex – Sword Monster]
[Threat Level: X]
[Location: Sul'Har Wastes]
[Completion Conditions]:
• Pierce its core with a soul-forged blade.
• Sever both arms so the body cannot regenerate.
[Threat Analysis]:
• Target is immune to ordinary magic attacks.
• Sword Energy can shatter its body.
• Adapts to enemy fighting styles within minutes.
[Failure Prediction: 30%]
[Warning!!!]
[If you fail, your body will shatter into a thousand shards of metal, and your soul will be trapped inside its body!]
[Regional Analysis: Sul'Har Wastes]
[Category: Forbidden Zone – Western Territory]
[Regional Characteristics]:
• Toxic sand – corrodes the body and seeps through low-level energy shields.
• Soul mirages – false visions that lure and ensnare hunters.
• Rift Gates – cracks leading to the Abyss, still active beneath the desert.
[Regional Threat Level: S]
[Warning!!!]
[Only hunters with high-level soul protection are advised to enter this region. Anyone else will be considered fresh ore for the sword monster to forge.]
"Next time, don't talk so damn much," Zhen muttered at the system.
The Northern Hunter turned and deliberately slammed his shoulder into Ito's.
The words stung. Ito clenched his fists, rage flaring, and swung a punch at the empty air.
"I've kept my mouth shut all this time because I was thinking. Who do you think was talking? Your pet?"
He had followed without pause, frustration building with each step. Surely even hunters needed food, water, at least a moment's rest.
"Thinking too much makes you forget to act."
Zhen spun around to face the Eastern Hunter.
Arms folded, his filthy black cloak reeking of dried blood, his face hidden behind a black cloth embroidered with a single crimson stitch at the corner of his left eye—his gaze bore into Ito like an interrogation.
"You."
"Let's work together until the Western Hunt ends."
The Northern Hunter drew his sword and leveled it at the Eastern Hunter.
"I don't even have a sword!" Ito smirked, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"Give me your palm. I'll mark it with this blade. That way—"
Before he could finish, Ito grabbed the sword's edge and dragged it across his own palm. Fresh blood welled up and dripped down the steel. His brows rose as he glanced down, suspicion flashing across his face.
"How do you even know about the blood-sword pact? If either one breaks the vow, the blade will kill them—draining every drop of blood tied to the oath, slowly but without mercy. Are you a demon?"
Zhen ignored the performance, no matter how convincing the Eastern Hunter tried to make it. He pressed the blade against his own palm, letting blood mingle with Ito's.
Two streams of crimson intertwined, etching a vein-like mark along the steel before fading into its smooth surface. The Northern Hunter sheathed his sword again.
"I'm simply matching your nature, Eastern Hunter. So play the demon, if you must."
The sword carried magic within, but Ito knew Zhen couldn't wield it. And now he was silenced by a truth that burned more than any wound.
'So, you've met my twin already,'
'She stole all your Goldi, didn't she?'
"You—"
Ito caught himself, reconsidered, and swallowed the words before they could slip out.
•••
They walked along the cliffs in silence, nothing but the rhythm of their steps filling the void. It wasn't until much later that Ito realized the ground beneath him had shifted into an endless stretch of black sand.
The thought struck him at once: what would happen when night fell, when the sky turned dark and the ground was already pitch-black? Walking the desert then would be like walking into nothingness.
Yet the calm demeanor of the Northern Hunter reassured him. Zhen must have some kind of light. He had to. Ito, drained and hollow, no longer had the strength to conjure any magic. Hunger and thirst had gnawed at both his body and soul, leaving him nearly spent.
Zhen slowed to a halt. His eyes narrowed, scanning the sky as twilight crept across the horizon.
A lone desert starling circled once, then again, before swooping low with quick, sharp wings. Soon after, another flock followed, cutting across the air in the same direction.
"Drinkers," Zhen murmured.
Ito turned, sweat gathered at his temples, stinging like salt as it trickled down. "You mean… there's water?"
Zhen gave no immediate answer. He crouched, pressed his fingers into the black sand, and traced the faintest of trails. Red ants marched in a perfect line, mirroring the birds' path.
Rising, his black cloth rippled softly in the night breeze. He pointed ahead.
"There's water down there," he said, his tone cold yet certain.
To Ito, those words felt like a miracle. His lips curved into a bright, almost foolish smile.
"But we'll have to crawl to reach it," Zhen added, his voice firm.
Ito stared at the black sand, still hot with the memory of the sun. He imagined his palms and knees pressed against it, and a shudder ran through his shoulders.
"Crawl," Zhen's voice carried not just command, but punishment.
"You've got to be kidding. We can just walk faster and—" Ito nearly cursed, but the dark weight of Zhen's stare silenced him.
"Night creatures see better than you think. A human silhouette is nothing but a meal to them. If you want to reach the water, lower yourself."
Darkness swept across the black-sand desert faster than Ito had imagined.
Reluctantly, he dropped to the ground. The wound on his palm stung as it pressed against sand that still held the day's heat. His knees scraped against sharp grains that felt like claws raking his skin.
Zhen was already crawling ahead, leading the way. Yet from the corner of his eye, Ito could feel the Northern Hunter's watchful gaze fixed on him, making sure he followed.
Every meter felt like torture. Ito's vision caught nothing but endless blackness.
Then, with a strange kind of generosity, the Northern Hunter untied the long cloth that usually veiled his face. He fastened it around his ankle, then extended it back to bind Ito's wrist—an unspoken tether in the dark.
Their senses were soon assaulted by the stench of rot, so sharp it slammed into them like a fist. Ito's stomach turned violently.
"You don't smell that? The stench of corpses?!"