Quint Rauss [5]
"Where are we going, Master?" Quint asked, his sharp eyes fixed on the man sitting beside him.
His master turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. They were seated in the back of a four-wheel-drive vehicle, heading toward an unknown destination.
"You're going camping, boy," the man finally said.
"Camping?" Quint repeated, a flicker of excitement flashing in his eyes. However, just as quickly, he frowned. "But we don't have any camping equipment."
He had seen camping programs on television—people using colorful tents, sleeping bags, and other gear. But they had none of that.
His master curled his lips into a faint smirk. "You don't need them."
He handed Quint a five-inch hunting knife and a large bottle of drinking water.
"You're a tough boy. These should be enough for you to survive."
Quint stared at the two items in his lap, then back at his master. "Am I going alone?" he asked, his voice laced with innocence.
His master simply nodded.
The little boy stepped cautiously into the dense forest, his footsteps barely making a sound against the soft earth.
Not once did he look back at his master, who remained standing at the forest's edge.
"I will meet you at the other end of this forest in five days," his master had instructed before sending him off. "Just go straight east, and you'll get there."
Now, the forest had swallowed him whole.
Sunlight barely filtered through the thick canopy above, casting moving shadows on the forest floor. But as long as he could still see slivers of daylight between the leaves, he knew it wasn't nighttime yet.
In his mind, one image remained vivid—his master's hand pointing east, the only direction he needed to follow.
The deeper he walked, the quieter it became.
Only the soft whisper of the breeze accompanied his steps.
Eventually, Quint slowed down.
His stomach grumbled. His water bottle was nearly empty.
He needed food and, more importantly, water.
However, he was afraid of losing his way.
This was the first time he had ever been in a forest—and he was alone.
After a brief moment of thinking, Quint devised a plan.
Since he only had a knife, he carved a circular mark into the trunk of a nearby tree.
Then, he closed his eyes.
Listening.
He concentrated, blocking out all unnecessary noise, searching for the faintest sound of flowing water.
A minute passed. Then, the corners of his lips lifted slightly.
He heard it.
He opened his eyes and began walking.
Every time he changed direction, he etched an arrow onto a tree, pointing back to where he had come from.
Approximately two hundred steps later, he spotted it.
A clear spring.
A deer was drinking from it.
Quint approached slowly, carefully.
The deer's ears flicked at the faintest sound of his presence, and within seconds, it bolted into the trees.
But Quint hadn't been hunting it.
Without hesitation, he uncapped his bottle, filled it to the brim, and drank directly from the spring. The cool water soothed his throat and filled his empty stomach.
After he had his fill, he followed the carved signs back to his original path.
By then, the sun had completely set.
Darkness enveloped the forest.
But his training had paid off.
Even in near pitch-black conditions, his fingertips could read the signs he had left behind.
Suddenly, he halted.
A noise.
Then another.
Something scraping. A high-pitched shrill. And then—a bone-crunching sound.
His mind processed the sounds.
A small animal—likely a chipmunk or squirrel—was in danger.
The bone-crunching noise could mean only one thing.
Something was crushing its prey alive.
The scraping—a slow, dragging motion.
A reptile.
The pace and rhythm suggested one thing—
A snake.
Quint ran toward the source of the noise.
A sharp hiss greeted him—a warning.
The snake was aware of his presence but reluctant to let go of its meal.
A moment of hesitation—
And then—
A blade flashed through the darkness.
A clean, swift cut.
The snake's head hit the ground, its jaws still wide open in the shape of its last intended bite.
The body twitched, its grip slowly loosening.
The chipmunk, dazed but alive, trembled in the snake's coils.
Quint bent down, gently prying the small creature free.
The chipmunk let out a high-pitched shriek—a mixture of fear and relief.
Quint patted its tiny head before it scurried off into the darkness.
He then turned to the lifeless snake.
It wasn't large, but it would be enough.
Gripping its body, he dragged it along as he made his way back to his starting point.
There, Quint gathered small branches and dry leaves, stacking them into a neat pile.
With a knife and a rock, he sparked a fire.
Soon, the flames caught, warming the cool night air.
While the fire grew, Quint skinned the snake, slicing it into bite-sized pieces.
He sharpened a branch, speared a piece of meat onto it, and held it over the fire.
Slowly, the fat sizzled, the meat cooked, and the scent of roasted snake filled the air.
When it was done, he ate.
The meat was tough, but it was warm and filling.
After finishing his meal, he extinguished the fire and prepared to rest.
Looking up, he found the tree where he had carved his circle mark.
It was large, with a low-hanging branch—just wide enough to sleep on.
He climbed.
Settling onto the branch, he let his weary body relax.
Seconds later—he was asleep.
--
A high-pitched shrill forced Quint's eyes open.
As expected—it was the chipmunk.
The same chipmunk he had saved last night.
It bounced on his chest, shrieking excitedly.
"Morning," Quint murmured, rubbing his eyes.
The moment he stirred, the chipmunk scampered down the tree. A few seconds later, it was on the ground, still shrieking—as if demanding his attention.
Quint looked down.
His eyes widened slightly.
The chipmunk stood in the center of a small pile of berries, nuts, and other foraged food.
"Whoa…" A glimmer of surprise flickered in his eyes.
Without hesitation, he jumped down from the tree.
The chipmunk let out a startled squeak at the sudden movement.
"For me?" Quint asked, picking up a berry.
As if it understood him, the chipmunk shrilled again.
Quint smiled. "Thank you."
Then, without wasting time, he popped the berry into his mouth and sat cross-legged to eat.
Breakfast was surprisingly festive—a handful of berries, nuts, seeds… and insects.
Though he didn't eat the insects, he studied them carefully.
Since they were collected by the chipmunk, it meant they were safe to eat. He might need them in the future.
For now, the berries and nuts were more than enough.
As he finished, he reached down and patted the chipmunk's head.
"Thank you," he repeated.
The little creature let out a happy shriek before darting back into the woods.
Quint headed to the spring to wash his face and refill his bottle before continuing his journey.
His small feet moved swiftly, navigating the dense forest with ease.
Soon, he noticed something different.
The sky was gone.
The thick canopy of leaves completely blocked out the sunlight, shrouding the forest in darkness.
Though some light still filtered through, it was now barely enough to see a few feet ahead.
Quint didn't panic.
He had walked straight east this entire time. Even without the sun to guide him, he was certain he was on the right path.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't slow down.
Even as his surroundings turned to shadows and silhouettes, Quint did not flinch.
Eventually, exhaustion crept in.
Only then did Quint allow himself to stop and rest.
Like the day before, he marked a nearby tree before setting out to find water.
This time, he wasn't as lucky.
The spring was farther than expected.
Still, he found one.
As he crouched down to fill his bottle, his mind was already making a decision—
Should he hunt, or forage for fungi and fruits?
That's when he heard it.
Footsteps.
Not from a single animal.
From many.
His instincts flared.
He quickly analyzed the weight and rhythm of the steps.
At least three… no, four.
Then—another set of steps.
More.
More.
There was only one predator in these woods that hunted in packs.
Wolves.
Quint stood up immediately.
No.
There weren't just four.
He heard others approaching from his left and right.
Surrounded.
No time.
Quint's body moved before his mind could process it.
He turned and sprinted to the nearest tree.
Jumped.
Started climbing.
But—
They were faster.
As soon as he moved, they moved.
They leaped, snapping at his heels.
He was almost out of reach when—
A sharp tug.
One of the wolves bit down on his drinking bottle.
The metal crumpled under its powerful jaws.
Then—it yanked.
The sudden pull jerked Quint backward.
His grip slipped.
He fell.
The moment he hit the ground, the bottle's strap tightened around his neck.
Quint gasped, clawing at it.
The wolf was still pulling, tightening the noose.
His knife.
Quint reached for it—slashed.
The strap snapped, and he was free.
But he had no time to breathe.
The pack was already on him.
Fangs lunged toward his throat.
Quint reacted instantly.
He swung his knife, slashing at the closest wolf.
The blade cut deep into its neck.
The wolf yelped and staggered back—
But another took its place.
One aimed for his neck.
Another lunged for his hand—his knife hand.
Quint punched the first one in the snout, then jerked his arm back before the second could bite.
But before he could slash again—
A third wolf attacked from his blind spot.
Fangs sank into his wrist.
Pain.
Quint screamed.
He swung violently, shaking the wolf off—
But with that, he lost his grip.
His knife flew from his hand.
It landed a few feet away.
Too far.
Quint's breath came shallow and fast.
He was weaponless.
And he was outnumbered.
Even with his strength at third level, he was being overwhelmed.
All of his defense techniques were useless against eight wolves attacking at once.
The only thing he could do now—
Attack to survive.
His fists. His feet. His elbows. His knees.
Every part of his body became a weapon.
He punched. He kicked. He fought.
Every time one or two wolves retreated, another took its place.
There was no end.
Quint gritted his teeth.
For the first time since entering this forest…
He knew he was in serious trouble.