Snap! Crack!
The sound of breaking branches echoed through the forest. The figure hidden among the trees narrowed her eyes, planted her feet, and leapt backward with graceful precision as the bowstring twanged again.
Samael beat his wings, scattering the arrows before him. His divine perception spread outward, ready to trace the sound and pinpoint the attacker's location. But just as he locked onto the source, the icy silver gleam flashing from the tail of another arrow made his pupils contract sharply.
Another one!
The ancient serpent instantly released Circe, swinging both dragon claws in opposite directions to catch two arrows that came within inches of piercing his chest.
The three arrows had been fired in a perfect line—one following another, each masking the previous shot from view. The first fell, the second struck, and each carried greater force than the last. The second and third even bore Magecraft blessings.
There was no divine power on those arrows—only mastery honed by experience and raw skill.
What incredible marksmanship!
Samael marveled, but a flicker of confusion followed. He darted through gaps between the trees, accelerating sharply and diving in a surprise assault, closing the distance before the archer could react. His claws reached forward, ready to seize the attacker—
—but the instant his eyes took in her features—green hair, green eyes, and the familiar cat ears and tail—Samael froze. His movements stalled for a split second.
Whoosh!
At the same time, the quick-reacting female hunter rolled to the side, half-crouching behind a tree. Without hesitation, she drew and fired again.
A chill instinct surged through Samael. His beastly reflexes took over, forcing him to twist away—but a sharp sting in the membrane of his right wing told him too late he'd been hit.
Her? Of all people to run into—what are the odds?
Still, this little scratch was nothing serious.
Samael muttered inwardly, reaching to pull the arrow free. But when he caught sight of the glowing runes flickering along the shaft, the faint smirk on his face froze.
Ah, damn it.
Boom!
The surrounding ether ignited, bursting into a shower of blinding sparks. The wyvern plummeted, crashing through the dense canopy as branches snapped and splintered one after another.
Troublesome... but finally settled.
The archer watched the scattered droplets of blood fall through the air, glimmering faintly with a golden sheen. Her dark brows furrowed slightly.
A Divine Descendant?
Could this be another favored child of some god?
No matter. Letting a dangerous Magical Beast run rampant is negligence enough. Since they won't take responsibility, it falls to us hunters to handle it.
The huntress steadied her breath, slung her longbow across her back, and moved swiftly. Using the uneven branches as footholds, she leapt through the forest like an elf, descending lightly before sprinting ahead.
When she spotted the sharp-eared girl standing up and glancing around in confusion, she let out a small sigh of relief and slowed her pace, approaching gently.
"The Magical Beast that took you has been dealt with. Are you alright?"
Circe froze, processing the words. Realization dawned, and she glanced in terror toward the forest's depths, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
Poor thing—how terrified she looks. That creature must have been truly vile.
The huntress looked at the petite girl before her—no taller than 147 centimeters—clutching her staff with a death grip, her face pale as paper. A flicker of pity softened the hunter's eyes, and her disdain for the fallen wyvern deepened further.
"Oh no! Oh no! Teacher Samael, I—I didn't mean to!
Ugh! This has nothing to do with me!"
Circe's face twisted in panic and despair as she snapped back to her senses. She hastily grabbed her staff, spread her eagle wings, and flapped hard toward the crash site.
The female hunter froze mid-motion, her hand suspended in the air. Watching the small figure vanish into the distance, her expression suddenly shifted as realization struck. She stomped her foot and sprinted after her.
Wait—did she just say... Teacher? Could there be some kind of misunderstanding?
Though Circe had taken off first, the green-haired, cat-eared huntress darted through the forest with the agility of a feline. Her swift movements through the trees brought her to the "scene of the incident" even before the winged Feast Witch arrived.
At the center of a crater lined with radial cracks lay a half-naked, black-haired man. An arrow protruded from his shoulder blade, and his face was twisted in pain as he lay unconscious in the pit.
"Quick! Help him!"
The huntress caught her breath, then rushed toward the wounded man, gesturing for Circe to come and assist.
Under the hunter's commanding presence, Circe instinctively obeyed, jogging over to Samael's side. She helped lift him up while preparing to cast a healing spell.
But the so-called "healing" was little more than show—tiny motes of light, no larger than fireflies, drifted down onto the wound and fizzled out without effect.
Circe's face stiffened, her small features scrunching into frustration as she shook her head.
"It'll be fine. Let me handle this."
The huntress patted Circe's shoulder reassuringly, then pulled a bundle of herbs from her pack, sprinkling the hemostatic powder gently over the ugly wound.
Yet, as she reached for the bandages, her hands froze midair. Her expression wavered with hesitation—an instinctive resistance.
Truthfully, she had always despised men. The thought of touching one made her skin crawl.
But when she turned her head, she saw the young girl behind her clutching her tin staff, clearly lost and flustered. With a faint grimace, the huntress steeled her resolve, pulled out a clean roll of linen, and began carefully dressing the wound.
What she didn't notice was Circe's gaze flicking repeatedly toward the supposedly unconscious man, her expression oddly conflicted.
Just moments ago, the flow of divine power within her had been abruptly severed—silently, deliberately.
And that brief sting on her arm, like a scorpion's bite... she couldn't have imagined it.
That snake was awake—very much awake.
I knew it. Someone like him wouldn't go down to a few arrows. This whole "wounded and helpless" act? Completely fake.
And worse, he had refused her healing—pinching her arm as a warning not to expose him.
Circe sighed inwardly, glancing at the huntress bent over Samael's body, tending to his wounds despite her discomfort. Her colorful eyes shimmered as she muttered softly to herself.
"They say gods can be pretty petty... Maybe he wants the woman who shot him to make up for it herself? But to go this far for such a small grudge... isn't that overkill?"
She shook her head. "Forget it. The will of the gods isn't for mortals to question. For my own sake, I'd better stay out of it."
With her mind made up, Circe crouched obediently nearby, acting like a quiet, clueless child.
After about fifteen minutes, the huntress wiped the sweat from her brow and finally exhaled in relief.
As for the "victim's family" sitting beside her... well, she was remarkably calm.
Regaining her composure, the huntress glanced around. There was no village ahead, no city behind—only wilderness. With the wounded man still unconscious beside her, guilt crept into her expression.
"He's too injured to move. We'll have to camp here for the night and wait for his wounds to heal before deciding our next move."
A faint mental ripple passed through Circe's mind as she forced a stiff nod and a polite smile.
Her calm demeanor reassured the huntress, who sighed in relief and began scanning the surroundings.
"He's a demigod. The scent of his blood might attract Magical Beasts. We should find a safe, sheltered spot downwind to make camp."
Circe naturally followed her lead. The huntress moved with practiced precision—clearly someone well-versed in wilderness survival.
Of course, the task of carrying the wounded man fell to the "culprit" herself.
What began as a rescue had ended with her accidentally shooting down her own teacher—and now she had to bear the burden of responsibility.
Unlucky didn't even begin to cover it. Though she had come on this trial by divine oracle, the Calydonian Hunt was clearly not off to a good start.
The huntress sighed softly, forcing herself to set aside her aversion to men. She slung the unconscious Samael onto her back and, with Circe following close behind, began searching for a suitable campsite.
As they walked, guilt gnawed at her. Finally, the forest elf spoke quietly.
"I'm sorry about today. It was a misunderstanding. I'll take responsibility for healing your teacher's wounds. Once you're both safe, I'll leave."
"Mhm..."
"Oh, and—I'm Atalanta. A follower of Artemis, goddess of the hunt."
Circe caught a faint twitch in the eyelids of the figure slumped across Atalanta's back.