Hunter Promotion

Pain jolted Valik awake. Three hours before dawn. For years now sap seeped from open wounds on his bad leg. Beast king curse. Reminder of the foolish boy that thought he could go up against a king. This time the sap had crystallized overnight. Cracked like glass as he shifted. He rolled to his side. Gripped the bedpost. Pulled himself upright. Only practiced movements. The first step always hurt worst. He took it anyway. Always did.

Lamplight flickered under his door. Some hunters never slept before a big hunt. Their voices carried through the thin walls. Drinking songs. Strategy debates. Magic maps rustling.

He strapped the wooden brace tight against his thigh. Pulled on loose training pants over it. The sap had stained them green in patches. He'd need new ones soon.

The training yard stood empty. Torches cast dancing shadows on frost-coated dummies. Valik drew his short ax. Close quarters were all he had left now. He lunged. Pain shot through his leg. Again.

Tried to clear his thoughts. The girl he'd failed to save years ago. Signs pointed to Warren. It was happening all over again.

The blade whistled. His leg trembled. Again.

He should've stopped the boy when he was younger, weaker. Now he was a monster far more dangerous than the fox kin they would hunt today.

Sweat or sap trickled down his calf. Again.

Guilt wouldn't be silenced today. Not even by pain. He swung. In his mind, Warren's head fell. His old disciple. His greatest shame.

Twenty minutes. That's all he managed now. Used to train for hours in Silver City. He wiped blade blade. Hang the ax. Limped toward the guild hall's warmth.

---

The guild hall throbbed with pre-hunt life. Fiddle music battled with drunken voices near the hearth. Magic cards slapped against tables. Little soldiers made of smoke magic fought each time a card fell. Red against blue. Blue against red. Coins clinked. The air reeked of spilled ale and desperation.

Valik limped past the regulars. Old Thom dozed in his corner chair, empty sleeve pinned up. Terra studied magic hunting-maps one-handed. Her scarred face reflected lamplight. They weren't hunters anymore. They'd given up the hunt years ago. Still came every night. Still lived every hunt through younger blood.

That could have been him. Should have been. After the leg. He refused to let it be.

The ranking board dominated the far wall. Wooden tablets gleamed with fresh-carved names. Warren's sat at the top, his "A-rank" title etched in silver. Below that, fifty tablets fought for space. Most marked "Rankless" despite their position. You needed acknowledgement from Silver City to be officially ranked. For now, the Rankless settled for their ranks in the local guild. Valik was ranked second in guild rankings. And next to his name, "Rankless". A lifetime ago it used to say "S-rank".

"Uncle Val!" Tarn waved from his post by the door. "Come settle a bet?"

He nodded as he passed. "Depends on the stakes."

"That new guy, Bran. Think he'll make top twenty after the dragon taming?"

More hunters drifted over. They always did. "He's at rank twenty-eight now," someone called out. "Those wolves of his rack up kills."

"Dragons would put him top ten easy," another added. His breath still carried whiskey's burn.

By the practice posts, Jonas worked through his forms. Each strike precise. Measured. Warren watched from the shadows, arms crossed. His eyes never left Jonas's blade.

"Your guard drops after the third strike," Warren called out. Pushed off from the wall. "City judges notice things like that."

Jonas's knuckles whitened on his blade. " What makes you think am trying to impress Silver City ."

"Aren't you?" Warren moved closer. Adjusted Jonas's grip with practiced ease. "I know Silver City sent you a promotion letter. That sort of thing gets around in a small town."

Jonas tried the adjusted position. Strike was perfect. Damn Warren for being so good.

Warren watched. Like he was already judging the next strike. Jonas found himself putting more into it. Couldn't give Warren the satisfaction of another lesson.

Warren nodded." The promotion letter. It came with a challenge, didn't it?"

Jonas kept striking. Spoke through dripping sweat. "So what of it?"

Warren grabbed his arm. Got closer but his voice was louder now. Deliberate. " Silver City demands perfection. Your current mentor..." His eyes found Valik across the room. "Well. Let's say he has different priorities now."

The card players stilled. Terra's hands hovered over her map. The terrain that had lifted off from the page sunk back in. Even Old Thom opened his good eye.

"I'm forming a new hunting party after the fox raid." Warren released Jonas's arm. "Three spots open. Better pay. Better hunting grounds. Room for ambitious young blood. Led by hunter with a true rank. Who knows, maybe I help you with your promotion too."

"Jonas is doing fine where he is." Valik kept his voice level. Each step toward them released the scent of pine sap.

"Is he?" Warren's concern seemed genuine. "How many hunters do you see passing their promotion task in Willow Town anymore? How many since you became hunting master? Since Liana became guild master"

The question hung in the air. Truth was, none did. Except Warren. Even Terra had lost her hand attempting a promotion task. Murmurs of approval filled the silence.

"Valik's taught me everything I know," Jonas said.

Warren nodded. "And he was the best. Once." He met Valik's eyes. No malice there. Just facts. "But the world's changing. Goblin attacks. Beasts hunting us together. We all love uncle Valik. We all love Liana. But love will not keep our town safe. Love will not fill the empty guild treasury."

The hall had grown quiet.

"Perhaps..." Warren's smile didn't reach his eyes. "A demonstration is in order. Show these rookies the difference between A-rank technique and..." He glanced at Valik's leg. "Alternative methods."

"Two hours." Valik's voice cut through the murmurs. "Training yard."

Coins appeared before the words fully landed. Hunters lived for moments like this. Terra set her bet down. Old Thom straightened in his chair.

"If I win?" Warren's concern twisted the knife deeper.

"Hunt Master position is yours"

Jonas tried to stop Valik. Too late.

"Two hours." Valik turned toward the door. He had preparations to make.

---

The training yard stood empty. Frost coated the practice dummies. Torchlight cast dancing shadows across packed earth. Perfect ground for setting triggers. Soft enough to bury ground mines. Hard enough to hold weight without showing footprints.

Valik tested his first tripline. Fishing cord. Nearly invisible in torchlight. He anchored one end to a loose practice sword propped against the weapon rack. The other disappeared beneath scattered straw. Step on it wrong, the sword falls. Natural distraction. Makes you look the wrong way at the wrong time. Just enough for an opening. Some traps were mental.

The pain forced him to work slowly. Deliberately. Some hunters rushed their traps. Amateur mistake. Precision mattered more than speed.

He scattered sand in careful patterns. Light coating here. Heavier patch there. Looked random. Wasn't. Step in the thick patch, your boot slips slightly on the thin patch next door. Throws your balance. Makes you compensate. Guides you right where he wanted you.

Two smoke bombs nestled in shallow holes. Old festival poppers wrapped in oiled cloth. Enough spark to create confusion. Not enough to cause harm. Proper hunt tools used magic. Would blind you for hours. These just bought seconds. All he'd need.

The third trap took longest. Three interlocked triplines. Like a spider's web. Touch one, they all trigger. Send a practice shield tumbling. Right as your foot finds that slick patch of sand. Right as the smoke blooms.

Valik tested each line. Added straw here. Adjusted tension there. The yard slowly transformed. Still looked random. Still looked empty. But now it flowed. Every space guided movement. Every step offered choices. All of them bad.

His leg burned. Sap dripped faster now. The curse always knew when he worked. Like it approved of the trap-maker's art. Or maybe it just enjoyed the pain.

Behind him, the guild hall buzzed with excitement. Bets placed. Sides chosen. Through the windows, he glimpsed Terra collecting coin. Old Thom telling stories of Valik's glory days. Jonas standing alone by the practice posts, confusion etched on his young face.

There was a time Warren had that same look. A time he too turned to Valik for advice. He had taught Warren to watch for triplines. To spot trigger points. To read the ground before each step. But he hadn't taught him everything. Couldn't risk it. Not after what happened with the merchant's daughter.

One last check. One last adjustment. The yard waited. Ready to guide his prey through a dance only Valik knew the steps to.

Dawn approached. And with it, a reckoning years in the making.

---

Steel whispered against leather. Warren drew first. Always did. Valik's ax felt heavy tonight. Like his doubts.

Torchlight caught their blades. Two dozen hunters ringed the yard. Coins changed hands in the shadows. Terra's lone hand kept collecting.

"Your rules, old man." Warren's voice carried. "Since you set the stage."

Valik shifted his bad leg. Let Warren see the weakness. "First yield."

Warren lunged. Testing. Probing. His blade sang through empty air as Valik sidestepped.

"Remember when I taught you that feint?" Pain shot through Valik's leg. He countered anyway. "All those years ago?"

Steel met steel. Sparked in the darkness. Warren's smile never reached his eyes. "All I remember is you running to Silver City. Abandoned us. Abandoned me."

They circled. Each step measured. Warren's boot brushed the first tripline. Didn't trigger it. Of course not. Valik had taught him too well. "I remember you coming back defeated. Only fitting that you can't run anymore."

"I didn't run." Valik pressed forward. Forced Warren toward the sand patch. "I left because of what you did."

"One mistake." Warren's blade blurred. Drew first blood across Valik's cheek. "I was young."

"So was she, Warren." Valik's ax deflected a killing stroke. This wasn't a spar anymore. "I should have killed you there and then. When I realised what you were."

Warren's control slipped. Just for a moment. His next strike carried real hate. "More of your self righteous judgement. All you did was abandoned me. "

"Is that what you said to those two girls in your party?" Valik had to know. "Did you kill them boy?"

The first trap triggered. Shield clattered. Warren spun away from the noise. Right into the sand patch. His boot slipped. Just slightly.

Not enough.

Warren recovered. Laughed. "Getting slow, old man." His blade wove patterns in torchlight. "But you taught me everything about traps."

"Not everything." Valik retreated. Drew Warren toward the smoke bombs. "I won't let you get away with it this time. When I find out, I will put you down like the sickly dog you are."

Steel scraped steel. Closer now. Personal. Warren's voice dropped to a whisper. " I only do what is necessary to survive. It was a mistake."

"How many, Warren?" Valik's leg screamed. The curse knew. Knew something was wrong here. "How many mistakes?"

The second trap triggered. Smoke bloomed. Warren stepped through it like a ghost. His blade found Valik's ribs. Drew blood.

"You could have been there." Warren's eyes held real pain now. "Could have taught me control."

"Control?" Valik stumbled. The leg finally betraying him. "You don't teach a rabid animal control. You kill it. To protect everyone else"

Warren's mask shattered. Pure rage replaced it. His attacks turned vicious. Precise. Each one meant to kill.

The third trap waited. But Warren had learned too well. Had watched too carefully. His boot avoided the triplines. His blade slipped past Valik's guard.

Cold steel pressed against Valik's throat. Warren's eyes burned in the darkness. "I learned other lessons after you left."

"That's enough."

Liana's voice cracked like a whip. She stood at the yard's edge. Silver City's seal gleamed in her hand. A promotion letter.

"Unless you want to explain to silver city why their former golden boy has failed his promotion task?" She met Valik's eyes. Lifted the letter in his direction. "Congratulations Valik. You're going to be a True Ranked hunter again."

Warren's blade wavered. Dropped. He stepped back. Smiled that empty smile. "Just a friendly spar."

Blood trickled down Valik's ribs. The curse throbbed with each heartbeat. Warning him. Always warning him.

Warren cleaned his blade. "Good luck with the promotion." He turned to leave. Paused. "Ancient history should stay buried, old man. Remember that tomorrow."

Hunters dispersed. Coins collected. Wounds would be tended. Stories would grow.

But Valik sat in his ruined web of traps. The curse burned cold against his leg. He made sure to hide the pain from Liana, standing over him. Arms folded.

"Oh , don't look at me like that. I thought I could force a confession from the boy."

She slapped his shoulder . He pretended to wince from the pain. Felt the real pain in his ribs.

"Be careful Valik. I don't want to lose you too."

He nodded. She sat next to him in silence. The hunt would have real consequences. For all of them.

---

Valik's fingers trembled as he worked the crystallized sap loose. Dawn painted the stables grey. The smell of fresh hay mixed with horse sweat. Leather creaked as hunters readied their mounts.

Black chunks of sap dropped into his tin cup. Should have been green. Always had been green. Until Bran arrived.

Twenty feet away, Bran checked his wolves. The beasts towered over the horses. Mace's scarred flanks rippled with muscle. Meera's red coat caught torchlight. The horses shifted. Rolled their eyes at the predators among them.

Hana perched on Meera's broad back. The girl's legs barely spanned the wolf's ribs. She worked a piece of string between her fingers. Made shapes. The wolf watched each movement. As though she understood.

"Mace knows the tunnels now." Bran's voice carried. Low. Steady. "He'll find any bodies Warren's men hid."

The sap in Valik's cup darkened. Nearly black now. Like ink. Like the Beast King's blood that cursed him.

His promotion letter crinkled in his pocket. He pulled it out. Unfolded it with sticky fingers. The silver seal of the city caught the dawn light.

REDEMPTION COMMISSION the header read. Then below:

*Intelligence confirms fledgling Beast King emergence. Unlike previous encounters. Young. Untested. Possibly hidden among fox-kin settlement in your region. Capture target alive. Full rank restoration upon success. Position in Silver City awaiting your return.*

*-High Marshal Durant*

The sap darkened further. Valik's leg burned. The curse always knew. Always warned him when Beast Kings were near.

He watched Bran mount up. Watched how the wolves moved at his silent commands. Saw how the beasts' eyes tracked his every gesture.

The pieces clicked. A half-formed theory crystallized like sap in winter.

Valik folded the letter. Tucked it away. He had a choice to make. Chase redemption. Or protect the man who'd brought life back to their dying guild.

The curse throbbed. Choosing for him. Warning him.

The hunt would answer his questions. One way or another.

He hoped he was wrong.