The Grayfang Ravager lay silent, its bulk sprawled across the moss like a felled mountain. The stench of its ichor coated the clearing, heavy and cloying, making the hunters gag.
Jaeheon stayed kneeling, one hand pressed against his ribs, each breath a lance of pain. He forced himself not to collapse fully—not here, not in front of them. He wouldn't give Minjae that satisfaction.
The glowing panel shimmered before his eyes.
---
[System Notice: Grayfang Ravager defeated.]
[Reward: 150 EXP.]
[Level Up Achieved.]
[Bonus Title: Beastpiercer – Damage against beast-type enemies increased by 10%.]
---
[Status Screen]
Name: Han Jaeheon
Tier: F
Level: 3
Strength: 5 → 7
Agility: 5 → 6
Endurance: 3 → 4
Intelligence: 8
Charm: 1
Luck: 0
Unallocated Stat Points: 4
Skill Points: 1
---
Jaeheon exhaled through clenched teeth. His wounds throbbed, but beneath the pain was something new: strength humming in his muscles, reflexes sharper, senses keener. The world around him seemed to move a fraction slower, every detail more precise.
It was intoxicating.
But he tempered the thrill. One beast down, and he'd nearly broken. He was still fragile. He could not forget that.
A shadow fell over him. Minjae loomed, golden armor splattered with mud, blue eyes blazing with barely concealed fury.
"You dare—" Minjae began, voice shaking. "You dare steal my glory? That kill was mine!"
Hunters murmured uneasily, some glancing between the corpse and Jaeheon. Everyone had seen who struck the final blow.
Jaeheon rose, slowly, his breathing shallow but steady. He met Minjae's eyes with a calm that only sharpened the insult.
"Then claim it," Jaeheon said softly, gesturing to the Ravager's corpse. "If your pride can stomach the truth."
Minjae's jaw clenched. His hand twitched on his hilt. For a heartbeat, Jaeheon thought he might draw his blade—not at the beast, but at him.
The other hunters shifted uneasily. One spoke at last. "Enough. We return to camp. The guild will judge the kill."
The words broke the standoff. Minjae spat into the dirt, turned sharply, and barked for his men to move.
Jaeheon's lips curved faintly as he sheathed his sword. His ribs ached, but the fire in his chest burned hotter than the pain.
---
The march back was a blur of fatigue. Hunters carried the Ravager's horns as proof of the kill, its body too massive to haul. The forest around them seemed darker now, silence pressing in. Jaeheon caught sight of twisted bark, black veins creeping up the trees like infection. His instincts stirred.
Something was wrong with Graywood.
But the others saw only their own shadows.
---
By nightfall, campfires flickered in the gloom, tents clustered in a shallow vale. The air buzzed with subdued voices—hunters exchanging rumors, laughter forced thin by exhaustion.
A guild scribe awaited them at the center, a man in gray robes with a crystal tablet resting in his lap. His eyes were sharp, calculating, as he examined the horns brought forth.
"A Grayfang Ravager," he muttered. "Not expected in this sector. Who claims the kill?"
Minjae stepped forward, chest swelling. "I, Minjae of House Raon, struck the beast first. The glory belongs to me."
A murmur rippled through the hunters, half disbelief, half amusement.
The scribe's brow lifted. "And yet the record stone says otherwise." He lifted a crystal orb, light flaring within. Images shimmered—faint echoes of battle. The vision played in ghostly fragments: Minjae's blade sparking uselessly, Jaeheon driving the spear home.
The camp went silent.
Jaeheon didn't step forward. He didn't need to.
The scribe's gaze lingered on him. "Han Jaeheon," he said at last, inscribing the name with careful strokes. "You will be credited."
Minjae's face turned scarlet, veins bulging at his temple. His fists shook, but he said nothing.
The guild scribe's quill scratched across parchment, slow and deliberate. Each line written carried weight—the kind that could make or break a hunter's standing.
"Han Jaeheon," the scribe repeated, voice carrying just enough for the camp to hear. "Slayer of the Grayfang Ravager. Rank advancement under review."
The words settled like stones.
Hunters shifted uneasily. Some stared, disbelief etched into their faces. Others whispered, quiet and sharp, the way wolves circle a fire.
A man who was supposed to be useless—an F-tier baron's son, the mockery of noble halls—had slain a beast that half the party barely survived.
The scribe set aside his tablet, eyes lifting to Jaeheon. They were dark and unreadable, measuring him the way a jeweler examines a stone. "For the record, describe your engagement. Exact detail. Every strike matters."
Jaeheon's ribs ached with each breath, but he stood tall. He recounted the fight with clipped precision: Minjae's initial clash, his own strikes at the tendons, the moment he seized the spear, the throw that ended it.
The scribe wrote it all. Not a flicker of disbelief crossed his face, though a faint curl of interest tugged at his mouth when Jaeheon spoke of exploiting the beast's weakness.
When he finished, silence stretched.
Then Minjae stepped forward, fury strangled into civility. "He exaggerates. I weakened the Ravager first. Without my strikes, it would not have fallen."
The scribe did not look at him. "The record stone speaks. Hunters saw. Your words will be noted, Minjae of House Raon, but the credit is not yours."
Minjae's composure cracked. His teeth bared, fists trembling. For a moment, the camp braced for his outburst.
But then he spun on his heel, cloak snapping behind him, and stormed toward his tent.
Only when he was gone did the tension ease. Hunters muttered in low voices, some casting glances at Jaeheon—not mocking, not pitying. Something else. Something sharper.
Respect, perhaps. Or fear.
---
Jaeheon sat alone later, the firelight painting his face in shifting gold and shadow. His body begged for rest, but the system's panel glowed insistently before him.
---
[Status Screen]
Unallocated Stat Points: 4
Skill Points: 1
[Available Skills]
Iron Will (Passive): Resistance to exhaustion and mental strain.
Blade Echo (Active): A strike that doubles the momentum of the previous swing. Stamina cost: High.
Hunter's Instinct (Passive): Slight increase in reaction speed when facing beast-type enemies.
---
He considered carefully. Every choice mattered. He could not waste a single point.
Strength tempted him. Power enough to cut deeper, to end fights faster. But strength without control was wasted.
Agility called next—the ability to move where others couldn't, to evade where prideful fools like Minjae would fall.
In the end, he split them: two into strength, two into agility. Balance, not vanity.
Then the skill.
His thumb hovered over Blade Echo, but he dismissed it. Too flashy. Too costly. Iron Will was safe, but survival was not enough.
Hunter's Instinct. Subtle. Practical. Silent.
He chose it.
And in an instant, his senses sharpened. The crackle of the fire grew louder, the shuffle of footsteps clearer, even the faint rustle in the treeline beyond camp carried weight.
Something moved out there.
He froze, gaze narrowing.
The system did not warn him. The hunters by the fire heard nothing. But Jaeheon felt it—a presence brushing against the edges of his awareness, heavy and cold, like eyes pressing into his skull.
The forest was watching.
---
He rose, hand brushing the hilt at his side. His ribs screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain, stepping toward the edge of camp.
Beyond the fire's reach, the forest loomed, trees black against a sliver of moonlight. He scanned the shadows, every breath slow and measured.
There. A mark on the bark of a twisted pine—deep, jagged lines carved in a symbol he didn't know. The wood beneath oozed black sap that steamed as it touched the air.
Corruption.
He touched it lightly with his blade. The steel hissed, flecked with sizzling residue.
"Demon work," he whispered.
Behind him, a voice spoke. "You saw it too."
Jaeheon turned sharply. It was the guild scribe, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. His gray robes blended with the night, eyes gleaming in the half-light.
"Graywood is shifting," the scribe said quietly, almost reverently. "Creatures of higher tier wander where they should not. Signs of corruption spread. Few notice. Fewer survive long enough to speak of it."
He stepped closer, gaze never leaving the mark. "But you noticed. Your senses are… sharper than most."
The scribe's eyes slid to Jaeheon, unreadable. "Careful, young hunter. Some truths are dangerous to know too soon."
Before Jaeheon could speak, the man turned, vanishing back into camp without another word.
Jaeheon stood alone, the mark seared into his mind, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down.
The forest was not just hunting ground. It was a battlefield.
And something in it wanted him dead.