The First Hunt
The First Hunt
___
The second night in Forsaken Blood Valley was even colder than the first.
Jiang Yun did not sleep.
He sat beneath the jagged overhang of a cliff, his back pressed against the stone, watching the valley through the shifting red mist.
This place did not allow rest.
He had no fire, no shelter beyond this meager hiding spot. The wind was sharp, whispering against his skin, but the cold was not the real danger.
The real danger was out there, somewhere in the mist, moving unseen.
The Forsaken Blood Valley was not simply a test—it was a graveyard.
He gripped the rusted sword he had taken from the dead scavenger, its dull edge reflecting the faint light of the rising moon. The blade was weak, but he had no Qi to temper its strength.
No technique.
Only instinct.
Only survival.
He would have preferred the axe. The weight. The familiarity. The certainty of a single strike.
But his axe was clumsy against cultivators.
And Jiang Yun was beginning to realize—this valley was not only filled with beasts.
It was filled with men.
The scent of blood lingered in the air, thick and metallic.
Not fresh. Not old.
Just… everywhere.
Jiang Yun had already come across bodies. Some freshly slain, others long decayed. Some had their throats cut cleanly, but others—others had been ripped apart.
By what, he did not know.
Nor did he intend to find out.
He had to keep moving.
His food supply was nearly gone, and his body was still weak. The first fight had left him with a deep cut along his shoulder, the wound stiff in the cold. If he didn't find medicine soon, infection would kill him before any scavenger or beast could.
His footfalls were light, careful. He kept to the edges of the jagged cliffs, using the terrain to hide his presence.
Then—
A sound.
Soft, distant.
But unmistakable.
Footsteps.
Jiang Yun froze.
The mist curled around him as he pressed his back against the cliffside. He slowed his breathing, listening.
The footsteps were not hurried.
Not like prey fleeing.
They were measured.
Deliberate.
Like a predator tracking something.
A figure emerged from the mist.
A man, taller than Jiang Yun, dressed in dark gray robes that had once belonged to a proper sect disciple. Now they were torn and stained, loose around his thin frame.
Jiang Yun recognized the look in his eyes immediately.
A scavenger.
This one was different from the first.
He did not move like a desperate man.
He moved like a hunter.
Jiang Yun's grip on his sword tightened.
The man had a spear strapped to his back, but he had not drawn it. His hands were empty.
Too relaxed.
Too confident.
Jiang Yun remained silent.
The man tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "You're new."
Jiang Yun did not answer.
The man took another step closer, smiling faintly. "I can tell."
Jiang Yun said nothing.
The man let out a low chuckle. "The new ones always last the longest. You haven't starved yet, and you haven't grown desperate. That means you still believe you'll survive."
His gaze flicked toward the rusted sword in Jiang Yun's grip.
"That means you still think you can fight."
Jiang Yun remained still.
The man sighed, shaking his head. "I used to think that too."
Then he moved.
Fast.
His hand flashed toward his spear, drawing it in a blur of motion.
Jiang Yun had been waiting.
The moment the man reached for his weapon, Jiang Yun attacked.
He did not hesitate.
Hesitation meant death.
Jiang Yun lunged forward, closing the distance before the man could fully draw his spear. His sword slashed outward—
A clean strike—
But the man was faster.
He twisted his body just in time, and the sword grazed his arm, slicing through cloth and flesh but failing to disable him.
The man did not falter.
Instead, his other hand lashed out—fast, ruthless.
Jiang Yun felt the impact before he saw it.
A fist slammed into his ribs, sending pain exploding through his side.
Jiang Yun staggered, but he did not let go of his sword.
The man grinned. "Not bad."
Jiang Yun did not respond.
Instead, he dropped his sword.
The man's grin faltered.
A mistake—
Jiang Yun grabbed the man's wrist with both hands.
And snapped it.
A sickening crack.
The man screamed.
The spear fell to the ground.
Jiang Yun did not waste the opening.
He grabbed the fallen dagger from the man's belt—
And drove it into his throat.
The man choked, eyes wide with shock. His body slumped against Jiang Yun's, heavy, twitching.
Then, still.
Jiang Yun exhaled.
He pulled the dagger free.
The man's body hit the ground.
He stared down at the corpse.
His hands were coated in blood, his breathing slow and controlled.
It was getting easier.
He wiped the blade on the dead man's robe and knelt beside him.
There was no hesitation.
No remorse.
Only survival.
Jiang Yun searched the body.
1 Steel-Tipped Spear (Better reach, requires more control.)1 Dagger (Short, but sharp and quick.)3 Spirit Stones (Useless to him now, but valuable.)1 Healing Ointment (Rare. Possibly looted from another cultivator.)
Jiang Yun took everything.
He slung the spear over his back, tucked the dagger into his belt, and pocketed the spirit stones.
Then he took the small jar of healing ointment.
It was half-full. The herbs inside were strong, pungent.
Jiang Yun opened it, dipping his fingers into the cool paste. He spread it over the cut on his shoulder, ignoring the sting.
It wasn't much.
But it would keep him alive.
Jiang Yun closed the jar and stood.
The wind whispered through the valley, stirring the red mist.
The sun had barely risen.
And he had already taken another life.
But it wasn't murder.
It was survival.
Jiang Yun turned away from the corpse and walked forward, his steps light, his grip firm.
He wasn't the hunted anymore.
Now—he was hunting.
___
Did You Know?
In Forsaken Blood Valley, the red mist isn't just an eerie backdrop—it's infused with the lingering resentment of those who died within. Some say the mist itself remembers every battle, every betrayal, and every desperate struggle for survival. Those who breathe it in too long may begin to hear whispers… or worse, see the shadows of the fallen moving just beyond their sight.