"Have they turned into the living dead?" Ito hurriedly yanked at the black cloak, fleeing as fast as he could.
"It seems so. Now, get your hand off my cloak. I can run faster than you, there's no need to drag me along."
His hand pulled the Northern Hunter forward with a speed faster than any lightning. The Eastern Hunter ran as if something hunted them in return, tearing across the silent sea of tall grass.
Then he grinned, glancing at the cursed hunter beside him, who looked as though he was swallowing his will.
"You want to see my magic, don't you? Then open those black eyes wide and watch carefully as I dig through the earth!" His finger pointed toward the far side of the grassland, where hundreds of grotesque rodents were already waiting.
Zhen raised his brows at the sight of the swarm. They bore claws like shovels, tongues that stretched out and slithered, two enormous teeth jutting from their mouths, and bodies sheathed in sharp spines that served as armor for these vile little beasts.
Strangely, a revelation flickered in the Northern Hunter's mind.
So this is the reason behind the intelligence of my three companions. Sono, Dono, Mono... at last I've chosen the right hunter, one with the heart of a demon. The Eastern Hunter is the first piece of the puzzle you've uncovered.
Zhen's silence brought Ito no small satisfaction.
"You're stunned, aren't you? You never saw this coming."
Zhen merely tilted his head, his dark gaze sweeping across the swarm of rodents. He nodded once, then smiled in quiet approval.
"You were born gifted, Eastern Hunter."
The acknowledgment swelled Ito's pride, feeding his ego and making him all the more eager to prove himself, to display the sorcery that had slowly begun to unfold.
"This isn't over, Northern Hunter. Watch closely, and see what my magic can do."
Ito flicked his hand as if scattering green dust over the horde of vermin. The sound of claws raking against the earth rose into the air, sharp and shrill.
The rodent fiends dug with terrifying speed. Their long tongues coiled around clumps of damp soil, lifting and hurling them aside. Their spined bodies tore through the grass with ease.
The ground gradually sank, hollowing deeper and deeper until a yawning black tunnel opened wide. The air grew thick with the stench of wet earth laced with the iron tang of blood.
"Behold how forbidden magic bends their souls to my will," Ito's voice rose, brimming with pride.
Zhen gazed into the tunnel, his black eyes seeming to pierce the winding dark. His lips curved faintly, caught between a smile and a sneer.
"You command them well," he said softly, "but you seem to forget—Shapeshifter Monsters are cunning, and treacherous."
Ito froze for a heartbeat.
"What could possibly outmatch my treacherous magic? The Eastern clans are famed across the cosmos for our sorcery. You wouldn't know a thing about that!"
Strangely, he hurried to snuff out the lives of the rodents before they could finish burrowing the tunnel. Ito felt something off in his mind lately, as if he were aware, yet drifting in confusion.
"I forgot one more thing. Those stones are the eyes of the Shapeshifter Monster." His body slipped into the tunnel and sank into the gaping hollow.
His hand did not forget to seize the Eastern Hunter's ankle—he would not allow his gifted companion to be torn apart by the fangs of the Monsters that had been watching them from the very beginning.
Yet the Northern Hunter realized too late something fatal.
The voices of the two men echoed, curses and threats hurled back and forth.
"Damn it! Your rodents dug us a death ride! This isn't a tunnel—it's a grave! Damn you!"
It was like a steep slide without end, carved straight through the earth.
"You're the damned fool! Idiot! This is a trap for rodents and sinful men alike, and you dragged me into it! Bastard! This is why one must enter the Academy! Ahh, damn it!"
At once Ito clawed at the Northern Hunter's cloak. He had been caught in a blood-snaring root trap, its tendrils clinging to his leg.
"Shut your mouth, fool! Even your own trap betrays you. Such are the twisted games of Academy men. Open your eyes! Look at that root!"
Ito called on his sorcery, trying to unravel the threads of root-hairs clutching his ankle tight, but dangling upside down scattered his focus.
"Now, watch this."
The sword leapt from its sheath, guided by its master's firm grip. It hacked through the bloodthirsty roots, shredding them like the meat Ito so loved. The Northern Hunter struck at the root's eye—its blood-core—and the glint of steel carved mercilessly.
A flood of blood severed the snare on Ito's leg, yet it also swept both hunters away, crashing them into the torrent of fresh gore loosed by the demon blade.
The last thing Ito remembered was the gleaming blade chasing after its master's body—and two blazing orbs of fire blazing at his sides—before darkness claimed his sight.
[Final Warning!!!]
[System's Cruel Punishment!]
[To the Northern Hunter and Eastern Hunter.]
[Zhen and Ito, you vile men will be punished without mercy. You have violated the Code of the Infernal Hunting System!]
[System tracking severed!]
[You will now enter the Life of the Deep Lands!]
[All your Goldi has been consumed!]
[Pass through this Hell, so that perhaps you may glimpse Heaven afterward.]
Though unconscious, the Northern Hunter's hearing still lingered, sharp as ever.
•••
Embers glowed, casting a crimson sheen beneath the great furnace. A colossal cauldron boiled furiously, its bubbling steam shaping the shadows of shackled men, their voices strained with suffocating moans.
The Market of the Deep Lands swelled with giants, their bodies towering ten, even twenty meters tall. That night, the place roared with noise and restlessness.
They gathered at the Market's heart, anxious and expectant, waiting for the sacred outpouring from the roots of the Kirise tree.
Once every one thousand and one years, on the night of the crimson lunar eclipse in the Deep Lands, the roots of Kirise were said to spew blessings and deliver a gift from the heavens.
The giants rejoiced, offering their pleas to the roots, hoping they would send them a sorcerer.
For centuries unbroken, for one thousand and one years, the giants and their descendants revered the Kirise roots. They prepared human dolls as tribute, honoring the roots as their forefathers had done, from age to age.
For the Butou, as these giants were called, had grown weary of their own form. Their hearts longed to shed their hulking frames and live as men.
Thousands of Butou stared in awe as blood began to surge from the Kirise roots. They lifted their hands, cheering wildly as the sacred blood poured heavier, darker than ever before.
Too joyous to notice the omen hidden in its thickness, they drowned themselves in the ecstasy of the moment.
Then, silence. The Butou froze, and their shouts withered.
For out of the Kirise's bleeding roots, two bodies were hurled, crashing onto the ground with a sickening weight.
Two humans, drenched head to toe in the fresh blood of the roots.
And at once the Market thundered again—not in dread, but in rapture.
"Wizards… human wizards…"