As he strained with all his strength to wrench his neck around, ready to strike with his blade, his eyes froze on a pale face slick with sweat.
The grip that had dragged him from behind was not that of a Mimic Monster, nor a Sinner.
"You…"
The Eastern Hunter was gasping, his breath ragged and uneven, as if he had just sprinted through a thousand death traps. His eyes still carried the shadow of the battle he had witnessed.
"I saw it myself, from behind the tall grass. That mimic… it took on the form of a terrifying man. It tore the hunters' skin apart, then reached inside to feast on their hearts. What struck me most was that the fight was purely physical…"
Zhen said nothing, his gaze steady, as if it were a moon's reflection resting upon calm water.
Seeing no reaction from the Northern Hunter, Ito pressed on with the words he had left unsaid.
"So I didn't want to gamble any longer. I turned back to find you, and—"
His eyes swept once more over the bloodied cloak, the stained garments, the sword dripping crimson, needing to confirm what he was seeing.
"When I saw you drenched in blood, I thought you were the Mimic, so I chose to strike first. Because earlier, I passed through the remains of an entire squad of Official Blood Hunters, slaughtered beyond recognition. But something felt wrong. Only four pairs of legs remained. A squad usually has five. That drove me mad!"
Zhen did not answer immediately. He let the Eastern Hunter spin his own scenarios, feeding his imagination.
The silence only deepened the gulf between them, making Ito's words echo heavier in the space they shared.
"Four pairs of legs? Then maybe one of them survived," Zhen murmured, so softly it was more to himself than anyone else. "Perhaps hiding… or watching."
At that, the Eastern Hunter's eyes darted nervously across the shadows around them.
"Don't tell me… you suspect that lone survivor too?"
Zhen lifted his face, his gaze sharp as a freshly honed blade. "Not suspect. I was certain from the beginning."
His voice dropped colder, each word pressing tighter against Ito's chest.
"Mimics are never satisfied with flesh alone. They crave identity… memory… even the soul. If only four corpses remained in that field, it means one body was claimed. And that person now walks with a face that no longer belongs to them."
Ito blinked, trying to steady his racing heart by clearing his thoughts.
"But… why are you drenched in blood like this?" His voice faltered, questions rising unbidden in his mind.
Zhen did not answer right away. He drew a long breath, wiping his blade with the hem of his cloak. His movements were calm, yet deliberately slow, as though buying time to weave a narrative.
"I was ambushed by a pack of Sinners," he said flatly, but with weight in each word, as if forcing Ito to believe them.
He paused, then raised his eyes to the Eastern Hunter.
"The fight was short, but they came at me like starving dogs. Claws and teeth tearing from every side, forcing me to use my full strength. Look at this… most of this blood belongs to them." Zhen tapped the dark stain clinging to his sleeve.
But Ito's unease only grew.
And yet his body carries no wounds.
"Then… why didn't I hear the sounds of that battle?" he asked, softer this time.
A thin smile tugged at Zhen's lips, though it resembled a shadow's cut more than relief.
"Because I made sure they died before they could scream. In a place like this, a single cry could draw dozens of monsters. If you had heard the fight just now… it would mean I failed."
The air pressed heavy around Ito, making each breath harder to draw. Zhen's explanation made sense—too much sense—and he no longer knew whether to feel relieved… or more afraid.
I'll believe him for now. My body's already drained from that fight.
His grip tightened around his weapon. "Yes. It all… makes sense."
Zhen raised his head, his black eyes glinting through the tall grass swayed by the wind. He stepped closer, until his voice fell directly into Ito's ear.
"I only told you what you need to know, Ito." His tone was deep, firm, every syllable polished with deliberate care.
Ito fell silent, unable to shrug off the weight of those words. They were not mere logic. They carried something else—something closer to a warning.
"You doubt me," Zhen continued, this time speaking straight into the core of that suspicion. "That's only natural. But ask yourself… in a place like this, who would you rather trust? Me, standing here after cutting down what tried to devour us, or—"
"Of course I'll trust you," Ito murmured, his voice thin. "But don't mistake it. I trust you not because I'm fully convinced… but because I have no other choice."
Zhen arched a brow, as if he had expected nothing less. "That's enough, Ito. Complete trust isn't needed on ground like this. What matters is that we keep moving."
The words sank deep, making Ito realize he did, in fact, need the Northern Hunter's help.
Zhen allowed himself a faint smile, one that never revealed whether he spoke the truth… or twisted it to his will.
Their steps carried them once more through the path of tall grass. Ito followed behind, closing his eyes now and then, drawing a long breath and letting it out slowly. He knew he could never match the way the Northern Hunter fought.
"So then, what's your plan now?" Ito asked, trying to steer his mind away from the unease clawing at him.
"Hunting," Zhen replied curtly.
Before Ito could answer, a sharp crack of branches echoed from the denser patch of grass. Ten meters ahead, the stalks swayed—not from the touch of wind, but as though something moved within them.
Ito swallowed hard, his voice catching. "That… that's not just my imagination, is it?"
The sound of heavy, dragging footsteps followed.
And then, from the grass, figures emerged—cloaked in the torn, bloodied garb of Official Blood Hunters. Their faces hidden by shadow, their eyes hollow, they stepped out one by one.
At last four of them stood side by side, their gaze burning with vengeful fire.
"T-Those are… the Official Blood Hunters I passed earlier. They've come back??"
"No," Zhen whispered, his voice low and certain. "They're no longer themselves."