chapter 30 “The Hunt”

Then he left the Bounty Hall.

The cold morning air sliced across his face, sharp as steel. Behind him, the hall pulsed with noise—the scrape of chairs, the clinking of cups, voices thick with exhaustion and tension. Out here, the city was waking, stretching its limbs with the slow groan of wood and stone.

Lu Yan moved north.

The streets narrowed, twisting like veins through the city's underbelly. He passed beggars curled in doorways, a man sharpening a knife on the edge of a barrel, a woman with dark eyes watching from beneath her hood. He ignored them all. His path was set.

He needed directions.

He stopped at a roadside vendor, where an old man sat behind a steaming pot of congee. The scent of ginger and soy clashed with the rancid stench of the alley behind him. The man barely looked up, stirring the pot with slow, deliberate movements.

Lu Yan's voice was calm, but firm. "The northern outskirts."

The old local man tapped his ladle against the pot's rim, considering. Then, without looking up—

"East until the temple ruins, then follow the river. Watch out for the beasts sometimes "

Lu Yan nodded, and thanked the old man.

Then, he walked.

The city thinned as he moved north. The buildings grew sparse, the roads rougher. The air shifted. Less smoke, more earth. A different kind of silence settled in, the kind that carried weight. That held warning.

Something was waiting out there.

He pulled his cloak tighter against the wind.

And he kept moving.

The deeper he moved into the city's northern outskirts, the thinner the streets became. The towering stone structures of Blackvine shrank into crooked wooden buildings, their rooftops sagging under years of neglect. The scent of the market faded, replaced by damp earth and the acrid bite of old fires.

A group of children huddled near a crumbling shrine, their faces streaked with dirt. They eyed him warily, their whispers barely carrying through the cold morning air. One of them clutched a makeshift wooden sword, its surface worn smooth from countless battles fought in the alleys.

Further down, a pair of men crouched by a half-collapsed wall, rolling dice over a faded scrap of cloth. One of them glanced up as Lu Yan passed, his expression flickering between curiosity and caution before returning to the game.

Lu Yan's boots pressed into the damp ground, the path beneath him uneven, scattered with broken stones and discarded scraps of fabric. He stepped over a rusted horseshoe, half-buried in the mud.

The road sloped downward, leading him into a stretch of land where the city's grip loosened. Weeds clawed through the cracks in the path. The wooden posts marking old boundaries stood leaning, their paint peeled, their carvings long faded.

The river was ahead.

A slow-moving body of water, dark and sluggish, cutting through the land like a scar. Mist clung to its surface, curling in tendrils as the early sun tried—and failed—to burn it away. The temple ruins stood beyond it, jagged remains of stone swallowed by creeping ivy and gnarled roots.

Lu Yan stepped onto the wooden bridge, its planks worn smooth from years of wind and rain. The structure groaned under his weight, a sound like old bones shifting.

He kept his pace steady, listening.

The world here was different. The city's hum had faded, replaced by something deeper. The weight of forgotten things. The air was heavy, thick with something unseen. The kind of silence that wasn't truly silence—but a waiting, a held breath.

Halfway across the bridge, he stopped.

A ripple.

Not from the water.

From the trees beyond the ruins.

Something was there.

Watching.

His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword. Not drawing—just feeling the weight of it.

Another ripple. A shift in the mist.

Lu Yan exhaled slowly, his grip steady.

Then, from the far side of the bridge—

A sound.

Not the call of a bird. Not the rustle of leaves.

Something else.

A deep, low growl, barely more than a vibration in the air.

Not close. Not yet.

But waiting.

Lu Yan's gaze sharpened. His pulse remained steady. He stepped forward, his footfall soft against the wood.

Whatever was out there—

It had noticed him.

And it was not alone.

He stepped off the bridge, into the ruins' shadow. The mist curled around his ankles.