Kellan picked up the wooden crossbow, loaded a bolt into the groove, pulled the string tight, and locked it in place. Steeling himself, he stepped toward the shadow lurking in the woods.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, raising the crossbow and aiming at the darkness, his finger resting lightly on the trigger, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Crossbows were weapons forged by the gods themselves—designed for slaying dragons.

  The shadow remained silent, standing still. In a haze, Kellan made out a figure. Another demon hunter? Hopefully not an enemy.

  He heard a low incantation.

  “Flowing Shadow.” The voice was rough and hoarse.

  The figure dissolved before his eyes. Turning his back, Kellan immediately sensed something was wrong. Suddenly, a huge hand clamped around his throat—thick fingers, a strong arm, and with just a little pressure, Kellan found himself struggling to breathe.

  “Ugh...” Kellan quickly dropped the crossbow, drew his dagger from his belt, and stabbed behind him. The hand loosened its grip, and the figure staggered back a few steps.

  “Dylan,” Etienne said lazily, “Your apprentice just forced you to retreat.”

  “Everyone knows you picked up some country mutt—shameless little bastard, looks like he’s been bitten by a dog.” The demon hunter spat curses.

  Kellan slid his dagger back onto his belt and grabbed his crossbow again.

  He recognized the voice. An obnoxious hunter.

  The man was about thirty, already balding at the forehead, broad nose, high cheekbones, gray eyes, and short, messy red hair plastered to his head. He wore a heavy black fur cloak over chainmail, but carried little else. Lightly equipped.

  They called him Dylan. He was known for mastering teleportation magic—a rare skill that placed him among the most powerful demon hunters. Rumor had it Dylan was a lone wolf, notorious for his bad temper and many quirks.

  Worse still, it was said Dylan was once weak, insignificant, and easily overlooked—until one mission when he struck a pact with the demon he was hunting. The demon granted him teleportation spells in exchange for a chance to escape, and with this power, Dylan grew ruthless and dangerous.

  Dylan, the so-called “Possessed,” was a heretic among hunters.

  Now, seeing him in person, the rumors seemed true. He was vicious, cruel, and aggressive. Kellan’s mind flashed back to the huge hand choking him—his disgust simmered. But he couldn’t make a move. Instead, he silently backed toward the burning aspen tree.

  “He’s my apprentice. You owe him respect,” Etienne yawned and opened another bottle of wine.

  “Etienne, you’re just a drunk who sleeps around with whores and forces them to bear your children. I don’t even respect you—let alone this punk.” Dylan strode over to the tree, spotting Julius’s corpse hanging upside down. “...So Julius is dead, huh? Good riddance.”

  The flames burned through the rope tying the corpse’s ankle to the branch. The ugly body dropped with a dull thud onto the ground.

  “What do you mean, ‘Good riddance it was him’?” Kellan’s stomach churned at the cold cruelty behind those words. Weren’t demon hunters supposed to respect and unite with each other?

  “There’s also Julius’s apprentice, Denvar. He didn’t make it either. They must have been ambushed by the Blade Demon,” Etienne said, pulling out the deactivated cursed blade. “The demon forged this from Julius’s spine.”

  “Let me see that,” Dylan demanded, reaching out.

  “Keep it safe, Kellan.” Etienne ignored Dylan and handed the blade to Kellan instead. “Demon hunters might be broke, but we earn our keep. This trophy is our payment. There are reckless warriors in towns and cities who crave weapons this sharp. Try to sell it only to those who understand its value.”

  “This is... Julius’s... bones?” Kellan held the blade carefully. Listening to Etienne’s words, he stared at the curve of the blade. Pale, subtle veins ran along the spine-shaped spine of the sword, as if it was made from living bone.

  “Yeah. But you can’t put it back. Handle it yourself.”

  “How much do you think it’s worth?” Kellan asked.

  “Gold by weight. Enough to keep you fed and clothed for years.” Etienne looked at Julius’s mangled corpse. “Burn his bones and gather the ashes. His soul will thank you.”

  “Assuming he still has a ‘soul’,” Dylan sneered. “Twelve years in this business — how many souls are left that can pay for spells?”

  “At least more than yours,” Etienne slowly pulled on his clothes. “Probably more than mine too.”

  Kellan tucked the black-and-red blade into his pack. He bowed his head briefly over Julius’s remains before dragging the corpse to the burning aspen tree and throwing it onto the flames.

  The fierce fire scorched flesh and dried muscle, sizzling loudly. The stench of death grew sharper in the heat.

  Kellan’s stomach twisted. He gagged.

  “I never liked Julius,” Dylan murmured, sitting beside the burning tree. “He was useless. His death was the best outcome.”

  “So...” Etienne asked, “Do we keep hunting the Blade Demon, or retreat while we can?”

  Kellan knew this was the crucial question—one that would shape their future.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  All demon hunters in the region had been summoned. Using tracking spells, they located where the Blade Demon had crossed into the mortal world. Before it could wreak havoc, they forced it into the Twilight Forest.

  But it was using this vast woodland to split their forces.

  It seemed less like the hunters were driving it into the forest, and more like it was deliberately setting traps here to kill them one by one.

  Kellan wanted nothing more than to leave—to return to the safety of civilization. But if they did, the Blade Demon would roam free.

  Without demon hunters hunting it, it could pick its targets carefully and corrupt entire villages with a single strike.

  Demons came from another realm. If they stayed in Hell, they could only influence victims through distant psychological manipulation, limited in scope. But when a demon like the Blade Demon appeared in person, its destructive power multiplied a thousandfold.

  Just seeing the demon’s form was enough to shatter a mortal’s will—driving them insane, possessed, turning them into the demon’s thralls. Hunters called this phenomenon corruption by the Fall.

  Keep chasing it, or run while you still can?

  “Are you just another weakling like Julius?” Dylan sneered. “Fine, demon hunters are a mixed lot—can’t expect much from you... But at this point, the Blade Demon can’t escape our grasp.”

  “I appreciate your team spirit. I’ll assume that means you want to keep hunting,” Etienne nodded. “What have you found?”

  “The Blade Demon clashed with other hunters today, left marks of battle, but no winner yet. It’s nearby, like a shadow that never leaves. It’s trying to wear us down... Look at yourselves—just fighting its lesser minions and a single cursed blade, and you’re already this beaten up.”

  “The Blade Demon’s blade ranks high in Hell’s hierarchy—its power is immense. We must risk everything to fight it,” Etienne said firmly. “Look at Julius.”

  The flames devoured Julius’s charred corpse. His face was burnt beyond recognition, skin blackened and curling—a horrifying sight. Kellan stepped back involuntarily.

  “Exactly why we can’t back down. We’ve already lost someone. The plan is moving forward. And yet you’re still talking retreat? I don’t know what’s wrong with your head,” Dylan snapped harshly.

  Kellan grew more annoyed. Some people were just like that—rude and arrogant, yet somehow people still gave them respect.

  “How do I even judge you? We have no guarantee of defeating the Blade Demon in a decisive battle,” Etienne said.

  “Ridiculous. Just Frederick alone could banish the Blade Demon, let alone you and me combined,” Dylan scoffed. “Besides, I’m looking forward to meeting the Blade Demon face to face…”

  Frederick was a name Kellan respected deeply—the leader of the demon hunters in Upper Lorne, a grandmaster, and the steward of the Hunters’ Sanctuary. A living legend; no one doubted his power.

  “Let’s hope so,” Etienne replied, unwilling to elaborate.

  “We must regroup, because fighting alone makes us vulnerable. Why? Because every hunter knows only a handful of spells. Take you, Etienne—if you shared the secret of the Aphen Flame with everyone, our strength would multiply.”

  Dylan fixed his sharp gaze on Etienne.

  “Give me a break. If anyone else asked me to hand over the Aphen Flame incantation, I might consider it. But Dylan? Shut up—you’re not worthy of that spell,” Etienne shot back.

  Suddenly Dylan stood, his broad frame casting a shadow that almost covered the seated Etienne.

  Kellan quickly raised his crossbow and aimed at Dylan. The moment Dylan prepared to teleport, Kellan wouldn’t hesitate to fire.

  “You already ready to kill me, little apprentice?” Dylan turned sharply to lock eyes with Kellan. “I’ll kill you before you even get a shot off.”

  Was Kellan faster with the crossbow, or was Dylan quicker with his spell? The question raced through Kellan’s mind.

  “Go ahead and try,” he said, heart pounding but unflinching. The longer he stayed in the Duskwood, the bolder he became. This harsh place was forging his courage bit by bit.

  “That act might scare strangers or cowards, but you’ve known us too long for that. Sit down,” Etienne snapped.

  “I’ll kill you both the moment I get a chance,” Dylan said slowly. “But not now. After we hunt the demon, we settle the score.”

  Though Dylan had a terrible reputation, he was well known. Many in the Kingdom of Lorne had heard of him. He mixed with nobles, assassins, and mercenaries, most willing to give him some respect. Among local demon hunters, maybe Frederick was the strongest, Etienne the most experienced—but the hardest to deal with? That was Dylan.

  Facing the Blade Demon inside the Duskwood was deadly enough. Leaving the forest meant risking Dylan’s betrayal. Kellan thought of the challenges ahead and felt his nerves tighten.

  They were all hunters risking everything against demons—so why was there such bitter hostility between them? Kellan couldn’t make sense of it.

  Some things were obvious, even to an apprentice: hunters fought endlessly over spells.

  The best, strongest hunters mastered five or six curses, even inventing new ones. Hunters who lost spells over time were weaker, so they constantly competed for reliable magic to strengthen their demon-fighting edge.

  Etienne knew many spells but had only taught Kellan the Aphen Flame. The old hunter said it was the most powerful curse in the world—enough to face any challenge. The rest? There was time to teach those.

  But... would there really be time? Kellan wondered darkly. Could they even survive the forest?

  Etienne seemed far less worried. He pulled food from his pack and devoured it in large bites.

  “Rest well. Travel at dawn,” he instructed his apprentice. “Every ounce of energy counts. Every night’s rest is vital. Never let exhaustion or worry build up—otherwise, you’ll show weakness.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kellan took out cheese, jerky, and wine.

  The Kingdom of Lorne was vast—bordered by ocean to the west, mountains and inland lands to the east, a world unto itself. The cheese was a local specialty: hard and brittle on the outside, soft and sweet inside with a rich, almost overpowering creaminess.

  The jerky was heavily salted pork, too salty to eat alone—best with wine. The glass bottle was two-thirds full of cloudy cider, sharp on the throat at first, then mellow with sweetness and fruity notes. Kellan sipped slowly.

  After eating, he turned to look at Julius’s burning remains. The fire’s heat twisted the corpse’s stench into something unbearable. But Julius had died in battle—an honorable loss. Kellan’s expression was conflicted.

  As the flames died down, Julius’s body was not completely consumed—half the corpse remained, blackened bones and heaps of ash. Around his neck, among the ashes and shattered bone, lay a necklace with rare gems glowing in the firelight.

  Such large gems! Was this Julius’s inheritance? Should he take it, or bury it with Julius’s ashes?

  Kellan stepped forward, preparing to gather the ashes and the necklace.

  He heard the spell spoken, sharp and quick, and a shadow flickered across the ground. Dylan appeared beside the corpse, reaching out to snatch the necklace.

  Kellan’s jaw clenched tight. Without hesitation, he shot his hand forward and grabbed the necklace first.

  He looked up, heart sinking. Dylan’s eyes burned with fury, a predator’s glare fixed on him.

  “Give it to me.”

  Kellan’s lips pressed into a thin line. Inside, his mind battled fiercely—but he stood his ground.

  “No.”

  Dylan’s face twisted into a mocking sneer, as if Kellan’s defiance was laughable arrogance.

  “You don’t seriously want to fight me over this, do you?”

  His grip tightened violently. Kellan felt the necklace strain, as if it might snap, inching slowly toward Dylan’s hand.

  Should I let go? Kellan’s mind raced.