Meanwhile, Selena moved with the grace and speed of a wildcat in deep forest, darting silently between low branches and massive boulders. Her gleaming steel sword flashed, striking panicked adult Graysows with precise, efficient slashes—a mesmerizing dance of death. She didn't kill outright, instead wounding strategically: a swift cut to a hind leg to slow them, the blade sparking like a lethal bolt in the gloom; a deep gash to a shoulder to disorient and bleed them, crimson blood spraying onto their thick, gray hides. With cunning, she herded them toward the deep pit traps Raizen and the hunters had meticulously prepared, her breaths quickening but her dual-toned eyes—icy blue and fiery red—unwavering, a warrior forged from frost and flame, driven by purpose and victory.
Another adult Graysow, its ember-red eyes blazing with rage and pain, roared savagely and charged her, its iron hooves gouging deep furrows in the ashen earth. But as its front legs hit the camouflaged layer of dry leaves, the ground collapsed, dragging its massive bulk into a three-meter pit lined with sharpened oak spikes. Its agonized bellow echoed through the forest, mingling with the splintering of wood and swirling dust, signaling another small victory in the fierce battle. Selena spun instantly, her crimson eye flaring like a deadly challenge to the remaining beasts.
After nearly an hour of relentless, nerve-wracking combat, the sparse forest's air finally settled. Only the labored breaths of surviving hunters and the faint groans of those lightly wounded by Graysow claws or tusks in the chaotic fray remained.
Raizen stood tall amid the small battlefield they'd carved, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His sharp gaze surveyed their haul: twenty-five adult Graysows lay strewn among sparse trees, their muscular, hulking forms now lifeless heaps. Their crimson blood soaked a wide swath of ashen ground, forming dark, glistening pools under the fading light of the late afternoon. The sharp, metallic scent of blood mingled with the forest's damp mold and dry resin, a wild, unfamiliar aroma Raizen had never known in Saigon's neon glow—the smell of survival wrested from death's jaws, of victory earned through sweat, courage, and cunning.
"Check the traps now!" Raizen ordered, his voice hoarse from shouting commands but steady with the calm authority of a leader forged in the Eternal Seed camp, where he'd faced foes far deadlier and more numerous.
The Aerith villagers in the trap group, though exhausted, rushed to the marked pits, their trembling hands steadied by hope and joy at the sight below. Five Graysow calves were fully ensnared, squealing in panicked, high-pitched cries amid sharp wooden stakes and camouflaged leaves. Their weak, pitiful sounds contrasted sharply with the adults' ferocious roars, like infants lost in Noxvaria's nightmare. Smaller, with sparse gray fur and fear-filled red eyes, they seemed more terrified than savage. Raizen felt a rare pang of pity—not for their frailty, but because they, like him and the struggling Aerith, were victims of this cruel, unforgiving deadland.
As Noxvaria's final rays painted the gray sky a vivid orange streaked with blood-red, the victorious hunters returned to the Aerith outpost, their shoulders heavy with spoils and faces alight with triumph. Dead adult Graysows were dragged back using sturdy vine-root ropes Selena had sourced, leaving long, winding trails in the ash like paths of victory etched into the outpost's earth. The five captured calves, legs and snouts bound, were carefully placed in makeshift but robust wooden cages Kael had designed and guided the villagers to build from the forest's toughest timber, reinforced with smooth river pebbles and layered hide cords to ensure the healthy young couldn't break free.
The Aerith villagers, who'd initially watched the hunt from afar with wary, doubtful eyes, now poured from their rickety tents, cheering and shouting in overwhelming joy and gratitude. Laughter and excited cries rang out, the first in countless months of hunger, disease, and constant fear. The outpost's oppressive, mournful silence, a curse that had clung like damp ash, shattered under this surge of hope and vitality. An elderly woman, her white hair matted, clutched her gaunt grandchild, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks as she saw the fresh Graysow meat—a promise not just of full bellies, but of light piercing their dark despair.
By blazing campfires hastily lit in the outpost's small square, the rich aroma of roasting Graysow overwhelmed Noxvaria's familiar stench of ash and death. The flames danced, their warm golden glow illuminating joyful faces, hands once trembling with hunger now grasping sizzling, golden meat with unspoken gratitude. Villagers tore into the food that night, passing glossy, fatty portions with laughter and whispered thanks, a sacred ritual of life reborn in a deadland.
Raizen sat quietly in a shadowed corner, holding a large skewer of roasted meat but not eating. His gaze observed the celebrating crowd with a leader's calm detachment, knowing today's victory was merely a first step on a treacherous path. He watched Seiryu carefully splinting a man's broken arm, injured shielding against a raging Graysow, using straight wood and clean bandages from her precious first-aid kit.
"Bear the pain," she told the man, her voice warm yet professional. Her deft hands secured the splint, her dark eyes softening briefly as he nodded through his pain. "Your bone will heal in a few weeks if you rest completely and don't overexert," she added, then turned to tend others, her scalpel a silent reminder that this peace was fleeting.
Kael, meanwhile, focused on reinforcing the wooden cages holding the Graysow calves. His hands, still trembling from battle fatigue, glistened with sweat, but his pale blue eyes shone with resolve and fascination. Using the hardest oak Selena had gathered, he strengthened joints with smooth river pebbles, each cut and knot meticulous, like a scientist perfecting a world-changing experiment. "They need to be secure," he muttered, his hoarse voice firm. He wielded a freshly sharpened metal shard to bore holes in the wood. "We can't let them escape and wreck the village—I won't let failure repeat, not here, not after what Valen Kabe did." He paused, his gaze falling on the Asvaria fragment tucked in his coat, its whispers of guilt inescapable, but he shook it off, resuming with fierce focus.
A young woman, eyes red with emotion, approached Raizen cautiously, her hands trembling as she bowed deeply in the firelight. "Thank you so much…" she said, her voice choked, barely a whisper, as if fearing her gratitude might dissolve in Noxvaria's cold night wind. "My husband… he'd have died in the forest today without you and the white-haired woman." She glanced at Selena, sitting alone by another fire, methodically cleaning her bloodied sword with slow, practiced motions. Selena's dual eyes remained cold, but a rare glint of satisfaction flickered as she saw the villagers eating heartily, a warrior finding fleeting purpose in her endless fight.
Raizen offered a rare, genuine smile, setting his skewer on the ashen ground, his eyes softening briefly at her heartfelt thanks, momentarily easing the burdens he carried. "No need to thank me," he said, his voice low but sincere, a silent vow to all the Aerith present. "We must rely on each other to survive this harsh place—I didn't do this alone, and I promise none of you will starve or fall to whatever lurks out there."
Before he could say more, Kaelric's tall, somber figure emerged from the shadows, his silhouette looming under the flickering firelight like a giant specter. He stood, arms crossed, his aged eyes stern and guarded, a man who'd never learned to fully trust. "You did well today, outsider," he said, his voice low and devoid of warmth, more an observation than praise, like one who'd seen too many fragile victories crumble into disaster to easily embrace hope. "But Graysows are just common predators. What truly lurks deep in that dead forest is far worse. Shadowfangs are a present threat, but not the only one. Ancient, dark things dwell in the shadows, things even I dare not name, capable of rendering today's small triumph meaningless in a single night. You," he locked eyes with Raizen, "are you truly ready to face them?"
Raizen stood, meeting Kaelric's gaze without flinching, his eyes like a blade forged in fire, cold and unyielding. "I know," he replied, his voice steady as iron, each word a defiant challenge to Noxvaria's depths. "This is just the beginning—a necessary step to keep us alive today. But I won't stop here. I'll prove it, Kaelric—not with empty words, but with actions. Shadowfangs, or whatever else hides in that forest, I'll face them all, and I'll make Noxvaria a place that fears us."
Kaelric stood silent, his eyes searching Raizen's for something deeper—true hope, hidden weakness, or the raw truth behind his bold words. Finally, without another word, he turned, his solitary figure fading into the outpost's shadows among the sagging tents, leaving Raizen with his thoughts and burdens.
Raizen climbed a small rise, overlooking the outpost and the vast dead forest beyond. The cold night wind carried eerie howls from the forest's depths, a reminder that today's victory was a fragile light in an endless, perilous dark. He clenched his fists, his gaze burning with unshakable resolve, staring into the black woods where hazy mountains loomed like slumbering giants awaiting their moment.
Suddenly, a deep, muffled sound echoed from far within the forest—not the wind's wail through stone, nor the growl of nocturnal beasts, but a low, resonant roar, powerful and menacing. It was a final warning from the forest's soul, signaling that the true, far crueler trials still awaited. The fight for survival had only begun to reveal its most terrifying facets.