The disposal grounds lay beyond a shallow ridge north of Greythorn, far enough that the smell rarely reached the town unless the wind shifted.
It was not a place hunters lingered.
Broken armor, chipped weapons, cracked beast bones, and unusable hides lay piled in uneven mounds. Workers wearing cloth masks sorted what little could be salvaged before the rest was burned or buried.
When Kendo approached, one of the overseers looked surprised.
"You volunteering?" the man asked.
"Yes."
"Guild send you?"
"No."
The overseer shrugged. "Fine. Separate bone from hide. Anything intact goes to the third pile."
Kendo tied a cloth over his nose and stepped into the field of discarded remains.
The E-tier boar lay on its side, massive even in death. Its hide bore deep gashes from Garrick's blade. The wound beneath its jaw was clean.
Kendo knelt beside it.
He ran his fingers along the edge of the puncture.
The cut was precise. No tearing. No bending.
Whatever metal Garrick wielded had pierced through layered density without losing shape.
Kendo studied the surrounding hide. Even in death, it felt rigid as ironwood.
He carefully cut a small section free using his own knife.
The blade resisted.
He adjusted his angle and applied steady pressure until the strip separated.
Even removed from the body, the hide retained firmness.
He placed it into a sack.
Hours passed.
Most workers left before nightfall, but Kendo remained.
He moved from carcass to carcass, selecting fragments others overlooked. A rib from a mid-tier wolf. A plate from a scaled lizard. A cracked horn.
Each piece told him something about resistance.
About failure.
As the sky darkened, he reached the far end of the grounds where older remains had been dumped in shallow trenches.
The earth here was unstable, softened by decay and rain.
He stepped carefully, testing each patch before shifting his weight.
A cart had recently unloaded heavier remains at this edge. The soil bore deep grooves from its wheels.
Kendo moved toward a partially buried mass of bone.
It was larger than the boar.
Much larger.
The skull alone was nearly the size of a wagon wheel.
He crouched, brushing dirt aside.
The bone felt different.
Colder.
Not brittle like the others.
He traced along a ridge and felt a faint vibration beneath his fingertips.
He froze.
The sensation disappeared.
He pressed again.
Nothing.
Perhaps exhaustion was playing tricks on him.
He shifted his footing to get a better angle.
The ground gave way.
The collapse happened without warning.
Earth crumbled beneath his boots and he plunged downward as soil and debris followed.
He tried to grab at the trench wall, but loose dirt slipped through his fingers.
Darkness swallowed him.
He braced for impact.
And then—
He did not hit rock.
He landed against something hard, curved, and smooth.
Bone.