The Culling Begins

The town of Oakhaven buzzed with excitement. Parents stood outside their homes, some with proud smiles, others with anxious eyes. A few younger siblings ran around, imitating hunters with wooden sticks, while vendors took the opportunity to sell extra bread and dried meats to the departing youths.

Today wasn't just another morning—today was the Hunter Selection.

Becoming a hunter in Oakhaven wasn't just about tracking beasts. It was also about status, privilege, and a future beyond farming. Those who passed would no longer be ordinary townsfolk—they would be hunters. And in a town where most people worked the fields, that meant something.

At this moment, North stood outside Granny Willow's shop, saying his goodbyes.

Granny Willow sighed as she adjusted his coat, making sure it fit properly. "North, don't be reckless. A smart hunter outlives a brave one."

North chuckled. "Got it, Granny. Play it smart, don't die early."

Abbie, standing beside them, folded her arms. "You better come back, you hear me? No stupid heroics, no unnecessary risks!"

North raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Sounds like you think I have a death wish."

Abbie huffed. "I know you, North. You act all cool, but you do dumb things when you think no one's watching."

"That's a serious accusation," North said, pretending to be offended.

Abbie wasn't amused. She stared at him, her usual cheerfulness replaced by genuine concern. "Just… be safe, okay?"

North met her gaze. He could see it—she was worried.

"...Yeah," he said. "I will."

Granny Willow handed him a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "Here. Some dried jerky and bread. Just in case."

North took it, feeling warmth in his chest.

After another round of farewells, he turned and left.

As he walked through town, the weight of the moment settled in.

'This is it,' he thought. 'This is where my path is decided. Either I pass and become a hunter… or I go back to being just another farmer.'

His fists clenched.

"I refuse to lose."

By the time he arrived at the designated meeting spot outside the town, most of the candidates were already there.

Over a hundred young men stood in neat rows, all wearing their best clothing, looking as prepared as they could be. Conversations filled the air—some excited, some nervous and some overly confident.

"I heard last year's selection was brutal. Do you think we'll be fighting actual beasts?"

"Probably just a stamina test. They won't throw us into the wild on the first day… right?"

"I just hope they don't make us fight each other. I don't want to break my nose."

"Pfft. If you're scared, just go home now."

Laughter, nervous chuckles, silent prayers—everyone had their way of dealing with the tension.

At the far end of the crowd, North spotted Jack waving at him.

North weaved through the sea of candidates and reached his friend.

"So, ready to become a legend?" Jack smirked.

 "More like ready to get yelled at and run until my legs fall off." North rolled his eyes.

"Yeah… but hey, what do you think the first test will be?" Jack sighed.

North stroked his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "Maybe we'll have to wrestle a bear."

"Or run a hundred laps around the town without stopping." Jack laughed.

"Maybe they'll just throw us into the woods and see who survives."

Jack gave him a horrified look. "Don't joke about that. I wouldn't put it past them."

They kept guessing ridiculous scenarios, laughing between their nervous breaths. But the truth was, neither of them had any clue what awaited them.

Then—

Silence.

A short, lanky figure appeared before them.

The man's dirty-blond hair was unkempt, his clothes slightly ragged, and his face… well, let's just say if there was an award for 'least impressive first impression,' he'd win.

Some of the youths who didn't recognize him immediately began murmuring

"Who is this guy?"

"Looks like a beggar. Did he get lost?"

"Maybe he's here to bring us breakfast."

A few fools in the back even chuckled openly.

Then—

THWACK!

A blur of movement. A loud impact.

The next thing they knew, one of the loudest boys was on the ground, gasping for air. Standing above him was another man—a large, muscular figure with a thick beard and a terrifying presence.

Egor's fellow hunter, Mercedes.

The atmosphere froze.

Mercede's eyes swept across the crowd, cold and merciless. "Anyone else have something to say?"

Silence.

Mercedes grunted, then stepped back.

The "beggar-looking" man dusted off his clothes and finally spoke.

"My name is Egor."

His voice was calm, steady, yet carried weight.

"Some of you are idiots. That's fine—I was an idiot once, too. But if you're here, then understand this… I am the man standing between you and death."

The crowd remained silent.

Egor took a step forward, his unimpressive frame suddenly exuding a strange pressure.

"Being a hunter isn't just about fighting. It's about survival. You think strength alone will save you? No. Strength will carry you for a time—but knowledge, discipline, and instinct will keep you alive."

He looked at them, his sharp eyes scanning their faces.

"The test ahead won't be easy. You will be pushed. You will suffer. And some of you will break. But those who endure… those who refuse to give up… they will earn the right to call themselves hunters."

A strange energy filled the air.

Some boys clenched their fists, determination burning in their eyes.

Biff, the butcher's son, was among them. He had always been confident in his strength, but now, he realized—he wanted more. He wanted to be the greatest hunter.

Egor, satisfied with the reactions, finally turned his gaze to North.

For a brief moment, their eyes met.

And Egor smirked.

'Interesting. Let's see what you're made of.'

The Hunter Selection had begun.

…

Egor didn't waste time. As soon as his speech ended, he turned and strode forward, away from the town and away from the deep wood forest.

Mercedes, the massive man with a thick beard, followed closely behind him. His broad shoulders and heavy footfalls made him look like a walking mountain. Without a word, the candidates began trailing after them, their boots crunching against the dry earth.

North exchanged a glance with Jack.

"I thought they'd throw us into the forest and tell us to survive. This feels more like a march to war." Jack smirked.

North sighed. "Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling."

The journey was long. Longer than North had expected. At first, he kept track of time, but eventually, even the sun's movement in the sky felt slow.

They walked for what seemed like forever, until the town disappeared behind them. Even the looming trees of the deep wood were no longer in sight. Instead, they found themselves in an open, barren landscape.

The air was hot. The ground dry and cracked.

Far in the distance, North could see towering mountain ranges, their peaks stretching into the sky like the jagged teeth of a beast. The wind carried dust and heat, making every breath feel dry in his throat.

"This place…" Jack muttered. "It's like we walked into another world."

Finally, Egor came to a halt.

The candidates gathered before him, standing in a loose formation.

Egor turned to face them, his sharp eyes scanning their faces.

"This place," he said, his voice carrying even in the dry wind, "is called Death Valley."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

'Fitting name,' North thought grimly.

Egor let the name sink in before continuing.

"This is where your hunter selection will take place. Or, as I prefer to call it… the Culling."

Silence.

Even the strongest among them, boys like Biff, seemed to tense at those words.

"The Culling…" North muttered under his breath. The name alone carried weight.

Egor crossed his arms. "The selection is simple. All you have to do… is run."

Some boys exhaled in relief.

But North had a bad feeling.

Egor smirked. "From here—this barren basin—you will run all the way to Keystone Pass. The distance?" He let the question hang for a moment. Then, he said it.

"135 miles."

Silence.

Then—

"WHAT?!"

Shocked voices erupted from the candidates.

Even North felt his stomach drop.

135 miles? In one day?

He glanced at Jack, who looked just as pale.

Some of the tougher boys—Biff and his group—remained composed. But North could see it in their eyes. Even they were shaken.

Egor ignored the outbursts. "From here to Keystone Pass, you will ascend over 13,000 feet. You will face exhaustion. Pain. And if you fall behind, you will be left behind. There will be no second chances."

The words settled over them like a heavy weight.

North clenched his fists. He had known the selection would be tough. But this… this wasn't just tough. It was insane.

His heart pounded.

'Even if I sprinted all day, I wouldn't make it… How the hell do they expect us to survive this?'

For the first time since arriving in Ascalon, North felt a genuine sense of despair.

He glanced around. Some boys had already lost their spirit. Shoulders sagged. Faces turned pale. A few even looked like they wanted to turn back.

Egor's eyes swept over them, reading their reactions. He nodded slightly, as if he had expected this.

"Before we begin," he said, "each of you will be given two things."

Mercedes stepped forward, carrying a large sack. From within, he pulled out simple gourd water jugs and began handing them out.

North took his, feeling its weight. It wasn't much. Barely enough to last through the day.

Then, Mercedes handed him something else.

It was a small, delicate object—no larger than a silver coin. Two thin, carved bone discs, hinged together. The top disc had markings inscribed into it, and in the center was a tiny, needle-like piece of polished darkwood. The bottom disc had concentric circles marked with strange constellations.

North held it up and inspected it.

Egor spoke.

"This is a pocket dial. A timepiece. To use it, unfold the dial and align the gnomon with the sun. The shadow will land on one of the constellations, telling you the time."

North was fascinated. It was simple, yet precise. Kind of like a bootleg version of a watch from earth.

Egor continued. "These are not cheap. Each one is handcrafted and losing it will cost you." He scanned the crowd, his gaze sharp. "So take care of it."

The candidates held their pocket dials carefully, understanding their value.

Egor let a moment pass before his tone turned serious again.

"The Culling begins soon." His gaze darkened. "I won't lie to you. Some of you will fail. Some of you will collapse. And some of you… won't make it back."

The air turned heavy.

North swallowed. 'They wouldn't actually let people die… right?'

Then again—this was Ascalon.

The weak were left behind.

Egor smirked. "But for those of you who endure—those of you who make it to Keystone Pass—you will no longer be boys. You will be hunters."

The weight of those words settled in.

A silent determination spread through the group.

Some boys clenched their fists. Others took deep breaths. Even North, despite his doubts, felt something stir inside him.

Egor turned, walking toward a nearby rock. He hopped on top of it and raised a hand.

"Take your positions."

The candidates spread out, forming a loose starting line.

North and Jack exchanged a glance.

"Think we'll make it?" Jack muttered.

North exhaled. "I don't know."

Jack smirked. "Then let's find out."

The wind howled through Death Valley. The mountains loomed in the distance. The air was dry and hot.

Egor raised his hand higher.

Then—

He dropped it.

"GO!"

And just like that—

The Culling began.