**Chapter 2: The Wandering Hunters**

  Lucien stepped into the dilapidated rented house, his boots echoing softly on the worn floorboards as he crossed the familiar hallway to his bedroom. Without hesitation, he moved to a shadowed corner of the room, his sharp gaze fixed on the wooden floor. Kneeling, he studied the weathered planks as if they held secrets only he could see. A flicker of doubt passed through his eyes, then vanished. Clenching his fist, he struck the floor with force.

  *Crack!*

  The wood splintered, shards scattering like fragments of forgotten memories. A small, concealed hollow was revealed, just deep enough to hide a secret. Lucien exhaled softly, murmuring to himself, “Lucky it’s still here… I feared it was buried too deep, lost when this house was torn from one world to another.”

  Within the hollow lay a wooden box, its dark brown surface dusted with the passage of time. Lucien carefully pulled it free, his steady hands gripping the heavy relic as if it might dissolve. The box, roughly 130cm long and 25cm wide, was plain, unadorned save for a rusted iron lock. He set it on the bed, his fingers deftly working the clasp, each movement deliberate, as if unlocking a chapter of his past.

  As the lid creaked open, a faint beam of light from the arched window illuminated a sleek sniper rifle, about 125cm long, without a scope. It was a Mosin-Nagant M1891, known to soldiers in icy lands as the “Death Stick.” Lucien’s gaze softened, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Mosin-Nagant M1891… How long has it been, old friend?” he whispered, his voice laced with nostalgia.

  This rifle was a gift, bestowed upon him at eighteen after completing a blood-soaked A-rank assassination mission. It was more than a weapon—a milestone, a testament to his coming of age in a world where life and death danced on a razor’s edge. Memories flooded back, flickering like embers in the dark, warming the cold heart of a killer.

  Lucien bent down, reaching beneath the bed to retrieve two small ammo boxes hidden in the shadows. Each contained 25 stripper clips, five rounds per clip, totaling 250 rounds of 7.62×54mmR ammunition. He muttered, his voice low, “This should be enough… enough to face whatever’s lurking out there.”

  Indeed, from the moment he stepped outside, Lucien had sensed it—a piercing, blood-red gaze tracking his every move, like a flame from the depths of hell. He didn’t need to see it to know it was there. Trained as an assassin from childhood, his senses were honed to a lethal edge, a sixth sense that had kept him alive through countless brushes with death. 'That monster is close,' he thought, his eyes narrowing to icy slits. 'It’s waiting for me to step out, ready to strike.'

  He loaded a clip into the Mosin, the sharp *click* of the bolt sliding into place a satisfying sound. Yet he quickly reined in his excitement, reverting to his cold demeanor. 'How should I deal with this creature? This is another world—I doubt it’s an ordinary beast,' he mused, sinking into thought about the hunter stalking him. At last, he opened his eyes, a cold, razor-sharp glint flashing across his chiseled features.

  From a nearby satchel, he retrieved a rifle strap, swiftly securing it to the metal loops on the stock and barrel. Slinging the Mosin over his shoulder, he meticulously checked himself—two pistols at his hips, a grenade tucked in his coat, and his old friend on his back. He was about to face an unknown beast, yet fear was absent. In its place burned a fierce exhilaration, like a wolf catching the scent of blood.

  Gripping his pistols, Lucien stepped outside, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. Before him stretched a vast, desolate clearing, bordered by a forest of towering trees, their massive trunks like pillars holding up the sky. “Magnificent…” he murmured, awestruck.

  The sky remained a deep azure, the sun blazing alongside four colossal planets, a mythical tableau. But before he could lose himself in the spectacle, a massive shadow burst from the undergrowth. It was fast—faster than any lion or leopard from his old world. Yet Lucien, forged by a shadowy organization, was faster. He dove to the right, *boom!*—the beast slammed into the stone wall of his house, sending wood and debris flying.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  'Damn it,' he cursed silently, but regained his composure in an instant. He turned to face the creature that had attacked him. It was a monstrous, fur-covered beast, the size of a small truck, resembling a wolf but grotesquely oversized, with long, razor-sharp claws. Its blood-red eyes glowed with madness.

  Lucien raised his pistols, unleashing a barrage of bullets into the giant wolf’s head and body. Having missed its prey and crashed into the stone wall, the beast was dazed, struggling to regain its bearings. Over a dozen rounds tore into its flesh, eliciting a roar of agony. The pain snapped it back to awareness, fueling its frenzy. With unbridled rage, it charged at Lucien with terrifying speed.

  As the beast barreled toward him, Lucien didn’t flinch or flee. Instead, he grinned—a cruel, satisfied smile, as if everything was unfolding according to plan. Dropping his pistols, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, spherical object, just large enough to fit in his palm. A grenade. As the wolf opened its jaws, its claws poised to tear him apart, Lucien yanked the pin and hurled the grenade straight into its maw.

  *Gulp!* The sound of the beast swallowing echoed. It didn’t stop, forcing Lucien to roll aside to avoid its charge. But it was too fast—its claws raked his right arm, blood spraying as the deep gash bit into muscle. Suppressing the pain, Lucien collapsed to the ground, ignoring the beast as it turned, jaws gaping to finish him. But just as it lunged, a flicker of unease passed through its crimson eyes.

  *Boom!*

  The wolf’s belly swelled, then exploded. Guts, liver, lungs, and blood sprayed in all directions, some splattering onto Lucien, coating his face and body in crimson. The scene was horrific: the house in ruins, a pool of blood and entrails ten meters away, and a lone wolf’s head, its eyes frozen in terror. Lucien gazed at the carnage without emotion, only a faint disgust at the reek of blood. “Hmph… Good thing I kept a grenade for ambushes,” he sighed, inwardly praising his foresight.

  Standing, he scanned his surroundings. No malice, no watchful eyes. He approached the wolf’s severed head, picking it up for a closer look. “Looks like a wolf, but mutated,” he muttered. “Probably edible.” Indeed, hunger gnawed at him.

  Ignoring the blood on his body, Lucien scoured the clearing, gathering scattered chunks of meat. He collected dry branches, lit a fire with his lighter, and began roasting the meat. Smoke rose, carrying the tantalizing aroma of grilled flesh, enough to make anyone’s mouth water. Skewering a large piece on a stick, Lucien took a bite. “Tough,” he grimaced. Though chewy as rubber, his hunger drove him on. As the wolf meat touched his tongue, a surprising sweetness spread, electrifying his senses. 'This… is better than I expected,' he thought, a glint of delight in his eyes.

  ---

  Meanwhile, deep in the forest, a group of five—two women, three men—raced through the trees, their steps so swift they barely touched the ground. A sharp female voice rang out, “Zim, use your power to block this path! Those things fear your light!”

  Zim replied, his voice steady but strained, “Got it, Annie, but I can only hold them for a bit. We need a hiding spot!” Zim, a young man with golden hair and deep blue eyes, had a youthful face tinged with resolve. Clad in a black cleric’s robe adorned with intricate religious symbols, he resembled a sorcerer. Standing in the middle of the wide forest path, he faced the horrors pursuing them. Before him was a chilling sight: thousands of dark wraiths and demons, clawing and tearing at each other in a frenzied chase for prey. They clung to the path, yet strangely avoided the forest, as if wary of an unseen force.

  Accustomed to such terrors, Zim wasted no time. He chanted a string of ancient, arcane words. A radiant magic circle blazed beneath his feet, expanding outward, growing larger until it spanned the path. From it rose a blinding wall of light. As the wraiths touched the barrier, they burned and dissolved, their agonized screams echoing through the forest. Exhausted, Zim’s face paled, sweat dripping, but he held his ground.

  Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, catching Zim as he faltered. “Kai, let’s go! Hurry, this wall will only last five minutes,” Zim gasped. Kai, cold and emotionless, merely nodded. With disheveled black hair and dead, lifeless eyes, he wore an assassin’s cap and a sleek black outfit, perfect for stealth and slaughter. Despite his slight frame, Kai hoisted Zim onto his shoulder and moved with uncanny speed, barely touching the ground. They swiftly rejoined the group.

  “Hey, Annie, has Audrey got a plan yet?” A burly young man spoke up. He carried a massive shield on his back, his short brown hair framing a face of unyielding determination. His muscular frame exuded strength. This was Thomas.

  Annie, who had commanded Zim, responded clearly for all to hear. Her longa, flowing black hair framed a strikingly beautiful, pale face, her strength evident in her refined adventurer’s attire, accented by a mystical Nightveil Cape. A rapier with enigmatic engravings hung at her hip. “Audrey says there’s smoke rising in the forest. We can take a chance and investigate. Thomas, Zim, Kai—be ready.”

  Thomas was taken aback. He knew this forest—the Void, or “The Despairing Blackwood”—was the most perilous of all. Glancing at their leader, Audrey, he couldn’t help but think, 'I’d rather be at sea.' Audrey, a stunning woman with white hair and crimson eyes, carried the air of a noble embarking on reckless ventures. Her pirate-inspired attire, adorned with exquisite patterns and jewelry, was both regal and daring. At her side hung a black cutlass, emanating an aura of arcane mystery.

  Audrey’s gaze fixed on the sky, where a plume of black smoke curled upward. Without a word, her expression icy, she veered into the forest. The group followed in silence, unquestioning. For them, the captain’s orders and will were absolute.