The days blurred into a smear of fear and motion.
Ren didn't stop. Since fleeing the entrance of his former home, rejected by his own kind, he had become a ghost. He traveled at night, his [Dark Vision (Advanced)] turning the forest into a realm of ash and silver. During the day, he buried himself in thickets, beneath the roots of fallen trees, or inside forgotten shallow caves, sleep never truly coming—only a state of exhaustion punctuated by every snapping twig or distant bird call.
His new form, the body of a Half-Goblin Pariah, was both blessing and curse. He was faster, stronger. His long legs let him cover ground at a speed that would have left a normal goblin behind in minutes. He could climb rocks and trees with predatory agility, his muscles responding with a strength that still startled him. He had learned to hunt—not just insects and rats anymore, but rabbits and small deer. His improvised wooden spear, now wielded with lethal force, and his claws had become tools as useful as any blade.
But strength came with a cost. He could no longer hide like before. He was no longer a small, insignificant creature blending into shadows. He was a one-meter-twenty figure, an anomaly of gray-green skin that stood out against the landscape. He was no longer ignored.
He was noticed.
He knew time was running out. News of the catastrophe in the Sulfur Cave—the loss of a legendary item like the [Gauntlet of the Unyielding Guardian]—would have shaken the forums and player communication networks. He was a celebrity now, the worst kind. A bounty was inevitable.
Confirmation came through a player's mistake.
Ren found a camp abandoned in haste. A newbie, probably, who had fled from an Owlbear. And among the remains of the fire pit lay a cracked but still functioning [Aether Tablet]. A basic communication item, used to access community forums and notice boards.
With trembling fingers, Ren activated the device. The interface he knew so well appeared in a bluish glow. He navigated to the bounty section for the Lumina region.
And there it was.
Pinned at the top.
The most popular post of the week.
[BOUNTY: SACRED HUNT FOR THE ABOMINABLE]
Target: A unique mutant creature, provisionally classified as a "Half-Goblin," known as the "Abomination of the Sulfur Caves."
Description: Approximately 1.20m tall, gray-green skin, abnormally high intelligence for a monster. Extremely dangerous. Confirmed responsible for the elimination of the "Silver Claw" party and the theft of a Guardian-class item.
Last Known Location: Seen moving west, toward the Dark Forest.
Reward for Confirmed Elimination: 5,000 Gold Coins and the honorary title of [Purifier].
Posted by: The Order of the Purifying Flame. Justice by Light. Purge by Flame.
Shit.
The word echoed in Ren's human mind.
This wasn't a mercenary guild. This wasn't a normal bounty.
This was the Order of the Purifying Flame.
He knew them. In the game, they were a guild of fanatic role-players. Extremists who believed their purpose was to "cleanse" the world of Asphodel. They hunted players with Necromancer or Demonologist classes—but their deepest hatred was reserved for "unnatural" monsters. Mutations. Anomalies. Anything that deviated from the game's original programming was considered heresy to be burned.
They weren't doing this for gold.
They were on a crusade.
That made them infinitely more dangerous.
They wouldn't stop.
Ren crushed the tablet under his foot.
Five thousand gold coins.
A fortune.
Enough to attract not just the Order, but every bounty hunter and freelance player within a hundred-kilometer radius.
He wasn't being hunted.
He was the prize of a server-wide hunting season.
He needed to move faster. He needed to go somewhere they wouldn't think to look. Somewhere too dangerous for an organized hunt.
The Fetid Swamp.
It was a Level 30–40 zone. Disease-ridden. Full of venomous monsters and treacherous terrain. No sane player would lead a large force there to hunt a Level 4 monster.
It was his only option.
Then one of his long ears twitched.
A sound.
Barely perceptible.
The soft snap of a dry twig—but not made by an animal's hoof.
A boot.
Ren froze.
His eyes swept the dense forest.
Nothing.
But he felt it.
A presence.
The sensation of being watched.
He was no longer Ren, the game specialist.
He was prey.
And his instincts—sharpened by weeks of flight—were screaming danger.
He crouched, his body moving with a fluidity that had already become natural, and began to slip away, using every tree and bush as cover. He moved silently, leaving no trace.
But the feeling didn't fade.
It was behind him.
Following him.
A single pursuer.
A scout.
He's not attacking, Ren analyzed, his gamer mind overriding panic. He's herding me. Watching. Confirming the target before calling the rest of the pack.
Ren couldn't fight. A scout from the Order would be at least Level 25, specialized in tracking and stealth combat. In a direct fight, he'd be slaughtered.
He also couldn't just run.
The scout would follow him to the ends of the world.
He had only one option: break contact and disappear in a way the scout couldn't track.
He needed to use the environment.
His mind rifled through his encyclopedic knowledge of the Dark Forest.
Glimmer Moss.
He changed direction, deliberately running toward a small clearing he knew was nearby. The terrain there was damp, near a narrow stream, and the rocks were covered in bluish moss that emitted a faint, pulsing glow.
He stepped into the clearing, making sure he was visible.
He faked a stumble, falling and gasping, acting like an exhausted, desperate prey.
He stayed in the center.
Waiting.
The attack came like a whisper.
An arrow—silent—cut through the air and buried itself in the ground inches from his head.
Not a normal arrow.
A faint magical glow surrounded its tip.
A [Tracking Arrow].
Now!
Ren dropped flat the instant the arrow struck.
The magic detonated.
A pulse of tracking energy burst outward—
—and hit the Glimmer Moss.
The reaction was immediate.
The entire clearing exploded into blinding light. A flash of blue and white so intense it felt like the sun had been born and died in the same second.
An old trick.
Players used it to blind Stone Golems drawn to magic.
A scream came from the trees.
Pain. Shock.
Ren turned.
An elf, clad in dark leather engraved with a silver flame, stumbled out of cover, hands clutching his eyes.
"Argh! My eyes! What kind of sorcery—?!"
Ren didn't hesitate.
This was his only moment.
He moved—not like a monster, but like a missile.
He crossed the twenty meters between them in seconds.
The elf—Silas, Ren labeled him instantly—was a professional. Even blinded, his instincts took over. He drew twin daggers, spinning in a defensive arc.
"Stay back, abomination!"
Ren wasn't aiming for the blades.
He ducked beneath them and slammed into the elf's chest, knocking him down.
The fight turned primal.
Not skills.
Not levels.
Teeth and claws.
Silas was stronger.
He punched Ren in the face, throwing him aside.
Ren tasted his own blood.
But he was more desperate.
As Silas tried to rise, Ren drove his claws into the elf's leg, tearing through leather and flesh.
Silas screamed—pain and fury mixed.
He kicked Ren away.
But the damage was done.
He was limping.
Ren stood, adrenaline screaming through his veins.
The elf stared at him, eyes still watering, rage battling disbelief.
"A monster… using tactics?"
"We learn," Ren growled.
The word came out more like an animal's sound than speech.
He attacked again.
This time, Silas was ready.
He parried Ren's spear with one dagger and thrust with the other.
But Ren wasn't trying to hit him.
He let the spear drop.
Grabbed the elf's armed arm with both hands.
Dragged him down.
They hit the ground together.
Ren opened his mouth—
—and bit into the elf's shoulder with the force of a bear trap.
Bone cracked.
Silas howled—high, raw agony—
—and dropped the dagger.
It was ugly.
Desperate.
The worst thing Ren had ever done.
And it worked.
He rolled away, grabbing the fallen dagger.
The elf tried to crawl, eyes wide with terror and realization.
He wasn't fighting a "monster" anymore.
He was fighting something that refused to die.
Ren stood over him.
The elven dagger—light, deadly—in his hand.
Time stretched.
Their eyes met.
In them, Ren didn't see a player.
He saw fear.
Real fear.
I am the monster.
The thought hit him.
He brought the dagger down.
Silas's body shimmered—
—and dissolved into particles of light.
Respawn.
But he left behind his bow, his quiver, and a small leather pouch.
Ren stood there, breathing hard, body trembling.
He had done it.
He had killed a player.
Not by trick. Not by accident.
Face to face.
Victory tasted like ash.
He picked up the items.
The bow was high quality—far beyond anything he could craft.
But the pouch mattered more.
Inside: a few healing potions.
And a small leather journal.
He opened it.
Silas's notes.
Details about the Order. Member lists. Praise for their leader—the "High Justicar Valerius."
And a map.
A regional map.
His cave circled in red.
An arrow pointing west.
"Target moving toward swamp. Intelligent. Avoiding roads. Send Vanguard to intercept at the edges."
They knew.
They knew where he was going.
They were ahead of him.
The scout hadn't just been tracking.
He'd been confirming Ren's escape route—
so the main force could set an ambush.
A cold chill ran down Ren's spine.
Colder than any fear he had ever felt.
He hadn't won.
He had triggered the trap.
Then a new notification appeared in his vision.
Not blue.
Not system-colored.
Deep red.
Ominous.
Like fresh blood.
[You have been marked by the 'Mark of Vengeance' (Rank: 3)]
[Description: Upon the death of a sworn member of the Order of the Purifying Flame, their killer is mystically marked. Your position is periodically revealed to all members of rank 'Justicar' within the Order.]
[Time until next reveal: 09:59]