Kellan had a nightmare that lasted the entire night.
At first, he was a helpless wild dog, hunted by masked hunters. Then he was wandering among mountains, with boulders tumbling down the cliffs beside him. Soon after, he found himself transformed into a goat, then a deer—captive, watching his companions slaughtered. At the end of the dream, he suddenly felt strong, ready to bare his teeth and take revenge on everything—but then he woke up.
The dawn was breaking. Clouds rolled and stretched, and pale golden sunlight filtered into the forest, sliced by tree trunks and leaves into a scattered mosaic on the ground. The contrast between light and shadow was sharp—the lit areas were so bright they made him squint, while the shadows were eerily dark.
The whole green aspen tree had been burned through, smoke rising high into the sky, visible from afar. But the other hunters still hadn't arrived. Maybe they had already reached the Campstone, Kellan thought, gathering there to regroup and plan the next move against the Blade Demon.
The Campstone was an ancient military ruin at the heart of the Twilight Forest. The Lorne people had built a defensive position around a massive boulder to repel attacks from the Old Empire, which had flying dragons aiding their assault. Legend said the trees around Campstone were scorched by dragon fire and had never grown back.
The demon hunters had agreed to split up for four days to compress the Blade Demon's range, then meet again at Campstone for the second phase of the operation.
But… could they really call their plan a success? Kellan wondered. They had lost Denvar and Julius. Among the survivors were unstable people like Dylan—and then there was him, a rookie hunter.
"We're heading to Campstone." Etienne's eyes opened; his body had been as still as stone all night.
Kellan packed up the camp. Dylan devoured salted beef and drank entire pots of water.
Together, they moved on through the forest. The whole woodland lay on the northeastern border of the Kingdom of Lorne—dark, silent, sparsely inhabited. Eastward lay the ruined Old Empire, a place haunted by darkness and terror, known as the Forbidden Lands. Even demon hunters dared not venture deep there. People barely spoke of it, fearing the cursed horrors that lurked within.
If the Blade Demon escaped into the Forbidden Lands, it would be like a fish slipping back into the sea—nothing could stop it then.
Leaves and bushes swayed in the wind, suspiciously alive. Faint animal cries echoed—almost like the demon mocking them in a low growl.
Everything around could be the Blade Demon's avatar. The thought sent a chill down Kellan's spine.
In truth, demons were born of human fear—but fear was the instinct of life itself, impossible to hide or escape. Kellan forced himself to distinguish between reality and illusion, remaining vigilant.
Etienne seemed indifferent, while Dylan was even less worried—his own appearance was far more terrifying than any demon.
Dylan occasionally left the group to find water. Kellan worried for his safety, but Dylan always returned after a while, arrogant as ever. Kellan regretted ever worrying about someone like him.
The trees gradually thinned.
They spotted a lone demon hunter sitting on a barren grassy slope, having escaped the shadows of the forest and resting under the sunlight.
"Dalton!" Dylan called out, "What are you doing just staring there?"
The hunter, curled up with his knees to his chest, slowly turned his head. His deep green eyes were filled with worry. In his early thirties, his short, rust-red hair was messy, and his thin lips pressed tightly together. Thick stubble covered his chin and upper lip. The look of childish fear on a grown man's face felt oddly out of place.
"You seem lost," Etienne said in a low voice. "What's wrong, Dalton?"
Kellan knew Dalton — a slow-witted demon hunter who mostly chased after mischievous little demons in the countryside, helping villagers with minor troubles in exchange for meager pay. Though he'd been a hunter for some time, he had never faced a real demon before.
Kellan felt a pang of worry. Was he destined to end up like Dalton—unable to fulfill even the basic duty of hunting demons?
"It's terrifying," Dalton muttered, "So terrifying…illusions…"
"You saw the Blade Demon? Where?" Etienne's voice grew more urgent.
"Everywhere… it's hiding in the forest. They're watching me," Dalton's lips trembled. "They're waiting for me, waiting for me to slip up… then they'll swarm and kill me… I have to stay here. I have to stay here…"
Kellan scanned the surroundings. The grassy slope was exposed, with a wide open view and warm sunlight pouring down—a surreal kind of beauty. If it were just a fear of the dark, this would be a fitting place to stay, but what was the point?
"Let's go. We're heading to the Campstone Ruins," Etienne urged. "Move quickly—don't embarrass yourselves in front of the apprentice."
Dalton glanced at Kellan. That statement seemed to strike what little pride he had left.
"It's too dangerous," Dalton said as he stood up. He wore only a leather jerkin, no armor. "Too dangerous… We—we shouldn't go to Campstone."
"Then where? Back home?" Etienne raised his voice.
"Home… home… yes! We should go back," Dalton stammered out his thoughts. "We can't stand against the Blade Demon—it's a true demon… this is its true form, the incarnation of a real demon lord… How could we possibly fight it?"
"Face reality. To fight the Blade Demon, all eight demon hunters of Lorne have gathered—no one has fled. Julius and Denvar even gave their lives fulfilling their duty. Dalton, fulfill yours," Etienne's voice rose, authoritative and commanding.
"I…" Dalton swallowed hard and nodded. "…Fine. I'll go with you. Let's move."
They continued trudging through the forest.
Along the way, Dalton was jumpy, scared of every rustle and whisper.
Kellan suspected Dalton was starting to lose his mind. Long exposure to demons often drove hunters insane or mad—an occupational hazard that was nearly impossible to cure.
What was the root of this fear? Was it because we couldn't defeat something? Or because we didn't understand it?
If there truly was something so terrifying, so alien that we couldn't fight it or comprehend it, should humanity just kneel and admit defeat? Kellan pondered deeply.
"Sigh… sigh…" Dalton kept letting out nervous breaths.
"Fool," Dylan sneered.
"You damned demon-possessed bastard, shut up!" Dalton suddenly spun around and shouted at Dylan.
"…" Dylan narrowed his eyes, and the whole group came to a halt.
"Ah? Hit a nerve, huh? From day one in this group, I knew you were different. You're cruel and rough—you want to take everything. You're not normal," Dalton accused in a halting voice. "Your mind's been tainted by demons."
"Madman," Dylan scoffed, uninterested in arguing about such nonsense.
"I'm going to tell the others. When we reach Campstone, I'll share this discovery with everyone," Dalton said stubbornly, while Dylan's expression shifted unpredictably.
Is it possible that without the Blade Demon's intervention, the group is already falling apart on its own? Kellan wondered. But what exactly was making Dalton so anxious and tense? Had he actually seen the Blade Demon's true form?
For Kellan, even seeing the corrupted cleavers created by the Blade Demon sent powerful waves of mental interference through his mind—he had to rely on his Aphen Flame just to stay lucid. For other hunters without protective charms like his, encountering the Blade Demon's true form would be far worse…
But then again, if Dalton had met the Blade Demon face-to-face, how could he have escaped unscathed with his skill level? Even a seasoned hunter like Julius and his assistant Denvar were easily slain, left hanging upside down on a giant tree.
Or… was Dalton already murdered by the Blade Demon, and the Dalton standing before them was nothing more than a walking illusion?
With Dalton nervously muttering beside him, Kellan's thoughts spiraled. He found Dalton more irritating than Dylan. At least Dylan, despite his greed and threats, had a strong will.
After their argument, by afternoon they finally arrived at the Campstone ruins.
The rumors were false—the forest around Campstone had long since grown dense and green, not wiped out by dragonfire as legend claimed. The Campstone itself was massive, standing upright like a giant egg. Its smooth, rounded silhouette would take many arms to encircle. It was as wide as an entire house, casting a grim shadow at an angle, its sun-facing side thickly coated in moss.
A line of symbols was carved into the stone, visible from a distance, as if gouged out by giant claws. The strokes were sharp and rigid, clearly not human writing.
Around Campstone, two concentric stone walls stood tall, designed to repel charges, along with crude towers built from stacked round stones. The ancient people of Lorne had used these simple fortifications to fend off invasions. Each stone was heavily worn, as if melted by intense heat once, then slowly cooled over time, giving the ruins a ravaged, broken appearance.
On one of the stone towers, a female demon hunter scanned the surroundings. Spotting the approaching group, she waved and called out,
"Etienne! Kellan!" she shouted. "Dylan! Dalton! You've finally arrived."
Great, the others survived and made it to the Campstone ruins. Kellan recognized the woman — a friendly hunter named Jevnie, in her early thirties, highly skilled. She had a close relationship with Master Frederick.
"Jevnie! Thank the gods of Lorne, we've made it," Etienne nodded. "But you can probably guess—the situation's not good."
"Have you seen the others?" Jevnie asked. "Julius? Denvar?"
"That's the bad part—they're dead," Etienne's voice was hoarse. "If only we can kill the Blade Demon, to bring peace to their souls."
"We will," Jevnie said firmly. "That means all the 'living' are here now. Come on inside." She climbed down from the tower. "Master Frederick is waiting for us by Campstone."
Frederick was the most powerful demon hunter in the region, keeper of the Sanctum Key, and a noble. Though his tenure was shorter than Etienne's, his strength and talent were exceptional — the backbone and leader of this hunting team.
Kellan held great respect for him—becoming a master hunter like Frederick was his greatest aspiration.
Always disciplined, always battle-ready, always strong enough to match any terrifying demon, overcoming every obstacle in the world—Kellan longed to be just like Master Frederick. The thought of meeting him soon filled Kellan with eager anticipation.
Jevnie led the way ahead.
"Have you encountered the Blade Demon?" Jevnie sighed. "I haven't. But if I did, I could at least weaken it by half. Then it wouldn't have killed Julius and poor Denvar."
"The Blade Demon is a nightmare," Dalton said, dejected.
"Just here to scare cowards," Dylan mocked Dalton's fear.
Dalton shot Dylan a hateful glare.
Jevnie turned her head at the brief quarrel and caught sight of the cut on Etienne's waist—dark red blood seeping through the linen wrapping.
"You're injured," Jevnie said.
"We have reason to respect the Blade Demon—a formidable opponent," Etienne replied.
"Yes…" Jevnie nodded but didn't press further.
Only Kellan, bringing up the rear, saw the old hunter wrap his cloak tighter around the wound. A pang of sadness stirred within Kellan. Though only seventeen, he vaguely understood the feeling of helplessness.