"Cough—cough—!"
The harsh sound split the silence of the wilderness. Dust rose in the chill morning air as a tracker stumbled forward, clutching his chest. His ragged breaths echoed among the scattered boulders.
"Boss," he rasped, pointing ahead through the haze, "the scent—it's coming from up there. Just beyond that pile of rocks."
Bloodbeard squinted at the direction he indicated. His crimson beard, once vibrant, had dulled to a weary gray after days of relentless pursuit. He tugged at it absently, the coarse hair rasping beneath his calloused fingers.
"Send a few men to search," he ordered, voice rough as gravel. Then, after a brief pause, he added coldly, "Yezha, you take point."
Yezha stiffened. His eyes flicked toward the rocks—then toward the corpses half-buried in the sand behind them, the ones who had "questioned" orders earlier in the hunt. He swallowed hard. "Yes, Boss."
He signaled to a few others and began the climb.
