The hunt had only just begun.
His understanding of the dagger, its rhythm, its killing tempo, its philosophy, had begun to deepen. Every motion now carried intent. Every breath was aligned with the blade.
But then, he heard it.
Multiple footsteps. Dozens!
Bruce looked up, his gaze narrowing. The faint echoes of laughter from the hyena he had slain moments ago still lingered in his memory.
'So that laugh… it wasn't a cry of pain,' he realized coldly. 'It was a call. A signal to the rest of the pack.'
The sound came from every direction now: rapid footfalls, rustling grass, shifting shadows. A normal adventurer would have panicked at the thought of being surrounded. But Bruce only sighed.
His pulse didn't rise. His expression didn't change. Instead, he calmly lifted his wrist.
"Ranking," he said ever so casually.
