"What's going on?"

  The Hunt Master was crouched atop the upper boughs of a tree, watching a stampede of creatures race below him, screeching and bellowing in panic as they haphazardly destroyed all in their path. His gaze flicked to the daggers at his loincloth before returning to the trail of destruction wrought by the creatures. The Hunt Master's heart frosted as he watched the proceedings, the chaos as prey and predator fled together. What's causing this panic in the forest's hierarchy?

  He had long since created the divergent trails and disposed of the elafiotéras's organs. Yet, instead of returning, he chose to investigate the forest for any irregularities. Ever since he began tracking the elafiotéras, a gnawing sense of wrongness had plagued him—a feeling that something unnatural was influencing the forest. He had kept this unease to himself, refraining from informing the huntsmen and waiting until the hunt ended. When the unease refused to fade, he set aside his joy over the successful hunt and followed his instincts. Now, he was grateful he had come alone

  CRASH! The Hunt Master flinched as a large animal slammed against his hiding tree, the impact throwing it off its feet and to the ground. Before the unfortunate creature could recover, it was trampled underfoot by the routing animals, its skull crushed and its bones pulverized. In an instant, the previously domineering creature was a mangled mess of blood and skin. The Hunt Master's mouth dried as he watched, his hold on the tree tightening unconsciously. Ancestors, let this tree hold, he prayed, his grip tightening with every strike the trunk endured. After an endless wait, the creatures thinned out before slowly disappearing in their entirety.

  When he was certain the creatures had left and wouldn't circle back, the Hunt Master began climbing down, his gaze flitting around the surrounding woods. As he descended, the metallic scent of blood hit him—stronger and more suffocating than anything he’d known. What is this stench?

  Upon touching the ground, the nauseating fetor hit him like a wave, nearly bowling him over. The ground was strewn with maimed and disfigured bodies, their blood pooling into a crimson river of horror. The Hunt Master stared round in disgust, bile rising. There's no beauty in this death, just senseless desperation and insanity.

  He stepped over a feathered and bloodied cadaver before staring into the forest's depths, a chill running down his spine. Somehow, he could sense a dark presence deep within, something ancient to be left alone and not trifled with.

  The Hunt Master unconsciously lowered his hips and grabbed the hilts of his twin daggers, nearly drawing them in his fear. Barely breathing, he turned and hurriedly began sloshing his way toward the outer edges, escaping the path of the stampede. He briefly glanced back at the blood river, swamped with thoughts. This was a beacon for predators; he needed to escape before anything answered the call. Whatever stayed behind must be more fearsome than the stampede. He sighed in relief as he stepped off the bloodied ground and onto solid ground. The Hunt Master raced through the woods, leaving the destruction behind.

  SKEERT! The Hunt Master had planned to avoid this forest section and return to more familiar territory. However, as he fled, something caught his eye, forcing him to stop abruptly. He crouched, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on a cluster of animal tracks.

  Which creature does this belong to? The Hunt Master scrutinized the tracks, but no creature came to mind. Is it from deeper in? He thought, gaze sharpening. He shook his head. No, that can't be right. They're heading into the depths from the outer forest. He rubbed his chin as his eyes followed the tracks. These aren't the tracks of a single animal; could it have been a group? Perhaps they’re a pack circling back—but no, the tracks are too old, from before the stampede. He lightly touched the tracks, noting the deep imprints. Are they weighted down?

  The Hunt Master stood and turned toward the tracks' origin, unease gnawing at him. Something about his analysis felt off, though he couldn’t pinpoint what. These tracks are confusing. Were they made by one animal or a group? They’re sending me mixed signals.

  He glanced to the north, toward the cave. I can’t go deeper. The forest feels... unsettled. Who knows what I might stumble upon?

  GRRRR! A low, guttural growl rumbled behind him. The Hunt Master froze, his breath catching as he turned. From the shadows of the trees, a beast emerged, its glowing white eyes piercing through the dim light of the forest. It moved slowly, each step deliberate, claws scraping against the earth with a grating sound that sent shivers down the Hunt Master’s spine.

  Skoteinos. His disbelieving gaze darted over its grotesque form—the hulking frame, the patchy black fur, the spiked tail that lashed the air. Then his eyes locked on its wound: a deep, bleeding gash along its side, dark blood oozing steadily and streaking the ground beneath it. The beast favored its uninjured side, each uneven step exuding menace and pain. From the stampede?

  The Hunt Master clenched his twin daggers, their worn grips digging into his calloused palms. He shifted his bare feet into a ready stance, muscles taut beneath his scarred, weathered frame. His thickly braided hair swayed slightly as he scanned for an escape, but every direction seemed a step closer to death.

  The beast’s white eyes narrowed, locking onto him as a guttural snarl erupted from its maw, saliva trailing between its jagged teeth. The Hunt Master’s chest heaved, his breath quickening. How is this possible, a skoteinos? He stepped back, eyes locked on it, blades defensively drawn.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Its tail snapped against a tree, the crack splitting the air as the trunk shattered in two. Splinters rained down, but the Hunt Master remained still, his left dagger in a reverse grip, his right poised forward as the beast prowled.

  The skoteinos and the Hunt Master began circling, their gazes clashing in between trees. Blood dripped from its wound, darkening the ground, but the pain did nothing to dull its savage stare.

  Suddenly, the skoteino charged, the ground trembling under its immense weight. The Hunt Master held his ground, waiting until the last moment before sidestepping with a fluid motion, his blade slicing deep into its side as it thundered past. The beast unleashed an earth-shaking roar, wildly swinging in its fury. The Hunt Master rolled away, his head marginally avoiding the beast's claws. Springing to his feet, he dropped into a low stance, ready to spring in any direction. Its swings are weak and slow. His sharp eyes traced the bleeding wounds marring its hide. Still, I need to be careful. The Hunt Master pointed his toes outward, poised to pivot quickly. I can do this, he resolved, his breath steady. As long as I keep moving, and utilize my flexibility and agility, I can stall until it bleeds out, or escape if the opportunity presents itself.

  Their eyes connected, the air drawn and tense as they stared each other down. Suddenly, it paused and turned around, briefly peering between the trees before turning back to the Hunt Master. With a final, spiteful growl, the skoteino turned and stalked back into the forest, its malice palpable.

  The Hunt Master kept a wary eye on it, his grip on his weapons firm, refusing to relax until the creature's bloodlust fully faded. Is it leaving? he wondered, brows furrowing as he lowered his daggers. Something about this felt off. Even with that injury, it still held the advantage. So why retreat?

  The trail of blood leading into the forest caught his attention. He squatted beside it, his eyes tracking its path despite his mind's focus on the skoteino. What could have harmed it so severely?

  His eyes widened as a realization struck, and he shot to his feet. Was it truly injured during the stampede? His hand moved to his chin as he mulled over the beast's wound. That was my assumption... but wasn’t the cut too clean for an animal's claws or teeth?

  His gaze swept the clearing, finally landing on the scattered tracks. In fact... it looks more like the slice... of a blade.

  Within the forest, a man sat in the shadows of a sturdy tree, a canopy of branches swaying gently overhead. His figure and clothing were concealed beneath a hooded cloak, yet the outline of his lean build was visible against it. Even at rest, he exuded an air of grace and nobility, his blonde hair framing a serene expression. He crossed one leg over the other and clasped his hands behind his head, listening intently to the murmurs of the woods.

  CRACK! His eyes twitched as his arms lowered, fingers inching toward the scabbard at his side.

  "Knight Müller."

  His hand stilled, and his lids opened, revealing deep-blue eyes. His lips curved up as he gazed at the figure before him. "Squire Charles."

  Squire Charles was a stern-faced man in his middle years. He wore a billowing white robe, with a scarf held by a black band draped over his head. A brown strap ran diagonally down his shoulder, securing a sword sheathed behind his back.

  Noticing Müller's gaze, Charles lowered his head and shut his eyes, silently waiting.

  Knight Müller rested his hands on his knee, his gaze sweeping over Charles before he spoke. "Glad to see you're still alive," he drawled. "And looking no worse for wear."

  Charles remained motionless, his face unreadable.

  Müller folded his hands and tilted his head. "Where are the other Squires?" he asked, studying him. "Or were you the only survivor?"

  "No, sir. Everyone survived without major injuries."

  "That's a relief," Müller said flatly. He grunted as he got to his feet, brushing off his cloak. "Where are they, then? Did you run into any trouble?"

  Charles bowed his head. "No, Knight Müller. I instructed them to recover the equipment and supplies we lost. Was that the wrong decision?"

  Müller pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "No, you did the right thing," he said, stepping forward, his cloak glinting silver in the faint light. "Though I don’t have much hope. Seeing those beasts, do you think anything they tramble over will be salvageable?"

  Charles remained silent, his head still bowed.

  Müller frowned. "I told you to stop that. Raise your head."

  "Yes, sir." Charles lifted his head immediately.

  Müller studied him for a moment before exhaling a long-suffering sigh. He stepped onto a gnarled, exposed root and turned toward the outer forest. For a moment, all was still. Then, he pursed his lips and whistled a strange tune into the woods.

  Suddenly, a braying cry shattered the air, and a creature emerged from the shadows between the trees. It loomed tall on two elongated front legs that hoisted its massive frame high, while four shorter, muscular hind legs anchored it firmly to the earth. Its short brown fur bristled with ridges that caught the dappled light, making its skin appear rippled with each movement. Three eyes gleamed on its head—two set parallel, with a third perched higher in a triangular arrangement. Slowly, it advanced toward Müller, its gait uneven and unsteady.

  Müller frowned as the creature lumbered closer, his eyes narrowing. The deeper we go, the rougher the ground and undergrowth become. He strode forward and seized its reins with a firm grip. If I go any farther, I'll have to leave it behind.

  Charles gave a curt nod. "You found it, sir?" he asked, his tone emotionless.

  "More like it found me," Müller replied, offering a rueful smile as he patted its side. "Anyway, the good news is it still has the water pouch and some smaller supplies." He turned to the Squire. "Go back and round up the men; tell them to abandon their search."

  "Only me?" Charles asked instantly, noticing the omission.

  "Yes," Knight Müller replied. "I'll move ahead and clear the path for the rest of you. I'll leave more markings on the trees for you to follow—which is how I assume you found me?"

  Charles gave a curt nod.

  "Good," Müller said, turning around. He placed his hands on his hips and stared toward the forest's depths. "I'll leave you with the ridgewalker," he continued, patting its brown fur. "Make sure to keep it safe; we'll need it to carry our supplies—and any beast remains we return with."

  Charles's eyes twitched, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he bowed.

  Müller pulled up his hood and turned to face Squire Charles. "Be quick. Take too long, and I can't guarantee your safety."

  With that, he surged forward, disappearing into the darkness moments later.