Ash was still on the roof of the carriage, lying flat against the wooden frame as the wheels rolled steadily beneath him.
"Then my next destination…" he murmured to himself, eyes fixed on the horizon, "…has to be somewhere packed with beasts."
Hunting scattered creatures one by one would take too long. Five thousand wasn't a number you reached by wandering.
He needed density. Territory. A place where beasts gathered instead of roaming alone.
His gaze shifted southward, beyond the rolling fields and distant hills.
"There's only one place," he said quietly.
To the south of the empire lay a region most travelers avoided—a stretch of land where settlements thinned, patrol routes shortened, and the wild slowly swallowed the road.
The Beast Zone.
That was what people called it.
A territory where beasts didn't just roam.
They stacked.
Layer over layer of territory claims, nests overlapping, predators competing for ground.
Ash exhaled slowly.
"It's a long way," he muttered.
Then it was decided.
South.
Ash pushed himself up from the roof and dropped down lightly to the side of the carriage. Dust rose around his boots as he walked toward the front.
He tapped the wooden frame near the driver's seat.
"Change of route," he said calmly. "Head south. We're going to the Beast Zone."
The driver stiffened slightly at the name but didn't argue. He gave a short nod and pulled the reins, adjusting the carriage's direction as the horses shifted course.
The sun began to sink, dragging streaks of orange and crimson across the horizon. Shadows stretched long over the road, swallowing the warmth of the day inch by inch.
Ash glanced toward the fading light, then leaned forward slightly.
"Hey, old man. Let's stop here for now. The sun's setting."
The driver nodded without protest. The horses slowed, hooves grinding softly against dirt before the carriage rolled to a stop near a patch of open land just off the road.
The air had already begun to cool.
Ash jumped down first, boots landing lightly on the ground. The driver followed, moving with the quiet efficiency of someone used to travel.
They worked without much talk.
The tent was unpacked and laid out on the flat ground. Poles were assembled, fabric pulled tight, stakes hammered in. The sound of metal striking earth echoed briefly in the growing dusk.
The carriage stood beside them, horses tethered and fed.
By the time the last knot was secured, the sun had dipped below the horizon completely, leaving only a faint glow behind.
Night settled in.
Ash crouched near the small pile of firewood, striking flint until sparks caught and a thin flame began to breathe between the sticks.
He glanced toward the driver.
"Hey, old man. Do you know how to cook?"
The old man didn't even look offended. He was already pulling a small pot from the carriage.
"Of course I do," he replied calmly. "My job is to travel. When you live on the road, you learn a thing or two."
Ash gave a faint nod.
Ash gave a faint nod.
"Alright then. Let me help you."
The old man shifted slightly to make space without arguing.
They worked side by side under the dim glow of the fire.
Zen pulled a small knife from his belt and began cutting the meat into clean, even strips. His movements were steady, precise—no wasted motion. The vegetables followed, sliced quickly and without hesitation, falling into neat piles on the cloth beside him.
The old man handled the pot, adjusting the flame and adding water at the right time. The rhythm between them settled naturally—no orders, no confusion.
Meat hit the heated surface with a low hiss. Vegetables followed. The scent thickened, rich and simple.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The fire crackled. The night deepened. Somewhere beyond the circle of light, insects hummed in the dark.
It wasn't a grand meal.
They served the food onto two simple metal plates and sat near the fire.
The flames flickered between them, throwing restless shadows across the ground. Insects hummed in the distance, their steady rhythm blending with the soft crackling of burning wood.
For a while, they ate in silence.
Zen tilted his head back slightly and looked up at the sky.
It was clear tonight. Endless. Scattered with stars that seemed sharper than they had any right to be. No city lights. No noise. Just darkness and distant light.
"Hey, old man," Zen said after a moment. "Don't you have a family?"
The old man didn't look up from his plate.
"No," he answered simply. "I don't."
Zen chewed slowly, then asked, "Why? Didn't you ever want one?"
A faint pause.
"I wanted one," the old man said. "But I couldn't."
Zen lowered his plate slightly and glanced at him.
"Why?"
The fire cracked loudly between them.
The old man's gaze drifted into the flames.
"Because I lost my love."
Zen didn't ask how.
The question formed, lingered for a second—then faded.
He was curious. Anyone would be. But some lines didn't need crossing.
So he stayed silent.
The old man kept his eyes on the flames for a while longer before speaking again.
"What about you?"
Zen didn't hesitate.
"No. I don't have one," he said. Then after a brief pause, he added, "I didn't even see them."
It was true.
In this world, he had no family. No parents. No childhood memories tied to faces or voices. Just a beginning that started alone.
The fire cracked softly.
Zen looked back up at the sky, at the stars scattered across the darkness.
For a moment, they felt distant in more ways than one.
Suddenly, Zen caught it.
A distant sound.
Faint at first—barely more than a disturbance in the night air. But it didn't belong to insects or wind.
Metal clashing.
A shout.
Then something heavier. Something violent.
He stilled, tilting his head slightly.
There.
Battle.
Not far.
Zen set his plate down beside the fire without another word.
"Wait here," he said calmly. "I'll check ahead. Sounds like a fight."
Before the old man could respond, Zen was already moving.
He ran toward the sound, boots barely touching the ground, shadows bending subtly around him. The closer he got, the clearer it became—steel cutting air, someone grunting in pain, something shrieking.
He slowed as the trees thickened.
Then, with a light step, he leapt upward and caught a branch, pulling himself silently into the canopy.
From there, he saw them.
Four people.
Two beasts.
The creatures were insect-like—larger than any grasshopper should ever be. Each stood upright on two powerful hind legs, their bodies lean and segmented. Their forelimbs curved forward like blades—long, sharpened, shaped exactly like scythes.
Scythe Beasts.
Named for their arms alone.
They were combat-type monsters—known for explosive bursts of speed and frightening cutting power. One sudden dash was enough to split armor. One clean strike could take a limb.
And they were fast.
Damn fast.
Below, one of the beasts vanished in a blur—and reappeared beside one of the four fighters.
The swordsman barely managed to bring his blade up in time.
Steel met chitin with a violent clang.
The impact forced him back a full step, boots carving into dirt as sparks scattered between them.
The beast was D-Rank.
But defeating it required at least C-Rank capability.
Not because of raw strength.
Because of speed.
Their agility alone rivaled C-Rank fighters. Sudden acceleration. Instant directional shifts. No warning before the dash.
They were damn quick on their feet.
Too quick for an unprepared opponent.
The Scythe Beast twisted its torso mid-motion, one bladed forelimb sliding along the swordsman's guard before snapping upward in a second strike.
No hesitation.
No pause between attacks.
The second beast launched itself forward.
One moment it was there—
The next, it zigzagged across the ground in a violent blur.
Steel met blade.
Another swordsman intercepted it just in time, his weapon crashing against the creature's scythe-arm. The impact rang through the trees.
They exchanged blows in rapid succession.
Strike.
Block.
Slash.
Parry.
The beast moved like it was skipping through space—angles unnatural, direction shifting without warning. Each step carved the dirt beneath it.
The swordsman was already losing ground.
Both of them were.
Their breathing grew heavier. Footwork slowed by fractions. Guards rising just a little too late.
A single missed timing—
And the beast's blade slipped through.
It carved across flesh.
Blood sprayed into the night.
The man staggered, teeth gritted, trying to hold formation—but exhaustion was creeping in. Every exchange drained more from them than it did from the monsters.
They couldn't afford even one mistake.
One mishap—
And it would be death.
Zen watched from the canopy, completely still.
Two swordsmen.
A girl behind them.
An old man shielding her with trembling arms — not a fighter, just someone trying to stand where he shouldn't have to.
The formation was clear.
The guards weren't trying to win.
They were buying time.
"Miss! Run!" one of them shouted, voice already fraying at the edges. "We'll hold them!"
The girl shook her head violently. "No—!"
"Go!" the other guard roared, glancing back at the old man. "Take her and—"
That glance cost him everything.
He looked away.
Just for a second.
Against a Scythe Beast—
A second was eternity.
The creature vanished.
Not a dash. Not a step.
Gone.
A distortion in the air—
Then a thick, wet sound split the night.
The scythe-arm passed through his neck so cleanly it almost looked effortless.
For half a heartbeat, the swordsman remained standing.
Eyes still open.
Body upright.
Then his head slid free.
It struck the ground with a dull thud and rolled through dirt and grass, leaving a dark smear behind.
Blood erupted from the severed neck in a violent arc, spraying hot against the night air.
The body swayed—
—and collapsed.
The girl's scream tore through the clearing.
"No!"
But the beast was already moving again.
It didn't admire its kill.
It didn't pause.
Its body twisted mid-air, segmented torso flexing as both scythe-arms angled forward.
It launched straight toward the girl and the old man.
Fast.
Silent.
The beast lunged toward the girl—
—and Zen moved.
He stepped off the branch.
For a fraction of a second, he hung in the air.
"It's finally my turn…" he muttered under his breath.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I always wondered what it'd feel like… to step in like this."
The wind rushed past him as he dropped.
"A knight in shining armor."
Then he fell.
He hit the ground between the girl and the beast like a descending blade.
The impact cracked the earth beneath his boots. Dirt and stone burst outward in a sharp ring.
The Scythe Beast was already mid-lunge.
Too late to stop.
Zen raised his sword.
Shadow flowed across the blade in a smooth, tightening layer, darkening the steel until it swallowed the firelight.
The scythe-arm crashed down.
Steel met chitin.
The collision thundered through the clearing.
Shock rippled across the ground.
Zen didn't move.
Didn't bend.
Didn't retreat.
He held the strike effortlessly, boots rooted in fractured soil, shadow-coated blade locking the beast in place.
For the first time that night—
The monster had been stopped.