Chapter 11 : The Hunter and the Unwritten.

Ethan kept his hands near the fire, letting the warmth sink into his fingers. Trying to focus.

He had spent his whole life reading Eclipse of the Eternal Empire.

He had memorized every twist, every battle, every moment where history bent under Seran Durell's will.

And now?

Now he was in the story.

And he was the one being hunted.

His mind ran through every possibility. Every way he and Zehris could avoid Seran.

But there was a problem.

A simple, unavoidable problem.

Seran always caught his prey.

Seran didn't track Ethan like a normal soldier.

He didn't follow footprints in the mud or ask for directions.

No.

He predicted Ethan's next move before Ethan even made it.

By the time Ethan and Zehris reached the borderlands, Seran had already closed every escape route.

The bridges? Collapsed.

The merchant roads? Barricaded.

The criminal routes through the slums? Burned to the ground.

There was nowhere left to run.

Which meant only one thing.

Seran had forced him into a battlefield of his choosing.

And Ethan had walked straight into it.

It happened at dusk.

Ethan and Zehris had barely made it into the outskirts of a ruined village when they saw him.

Seran Durell.

Standing alone in the middle of the road.

Waiting.

Ethan froze.

Zehris, for once, said nothing.

Seran tilted his head slightly.

"I was beginning to wonder," he murmured. "How far you would run."

His golden eyes flickered over Zehris.

"Interesting companion you've chosen."

Zehris smirked. "I'm charming like that."

Seran's expression didn't change.

Then—he took a step forward.

And in an instant, Ethan understood why Seran was different.

There was no aura flare.

No magic.

No aggression.

And yet—he was terrifying.

Not because of what he was doing.

But because of what he wasn't doing.

Seran Durell didn't posture like a normal warrior.

He didn't threaten.

He didn't warn.

He simply waited.

As if he already knew how this would end.

Ethan took a slow breath.

"We're leaving," he said. "You can try to stop us. But you won't like how it ends."

Seran smiled.

"Won't I?"

A pause.

Then—he snapped his fingers.

And from the ruins behind them, Retrievers emerged.

Not ten. Not twenty.

But an entire battalion.

Ethan's stomach dropped.

He had thought Seran would come alone.

He had thought Seran would be overconfident.

But he had forgotten one thing.

Seran Durell never fought battles he wasn't certain he could win.

And now?

Now Ethan and Zehris were surrounded.

Ethan's mind raced.

The Retrievers moved into formation behind him, their aura flaring to life—red, blue, gold.

Seran Durell stood in front of him. Calm. Unshaken. Already victorious.

Ethan wasn't naive.

He knew the obvious truth.

There was no winning this fight.

Not through brute force.

Not through aura.

Not through magic.

Which meant—he needed a different answer.

He needed to think like the man he used to be.

Back on Earth, Ethan hadn't been a soldier.

He had been a student. A thinker.

He had studied complex systems, game theory, probability, military strategy.

And now, standing on this battlefield, he realized something.

He had spent too much time playing by the world's rules.

It was time to start breaking them.

Ethan exhaled. His heartbeat slowed.

He let go of fear.

He let go of hesitation.

And he started thinking.

Step 1: Seran wants him alive.

If Seran wanted him dead, Ethan would already be a corpse.

That meant he was valuable—which meant leverage.

Step 2: The Retrievers are trained for battlefield combat.

They're expecting a direct fight.

Which meant they weren't prepared for unpredictable tactics.

Step 3: Zehris is an unknown variable.

Even Seran didn't know what a living Demonblood could really do.

That uncertainty was a weakness Ethan could exploit.

Ethan felt something shift inside him.

The old Ethan—the one who solved impossible problems, who outthought exams, who analyzed systems until they bent to his will—was finally awake.

And suddenly, the situation didn't look impossible.

It looked like a game.

And Ethan was going to win.

Seran took another step forward.

"Any last words, Vale?"

Ethan smiled.

"Yes."

Then—he whispered one word to Zehris.

"Jump."

Zehris vanished.

Not teleportation. Just raw, inhuman speed.

The Retrievers flinched—but before they could react, Ethan moved too.

He grabbed a fallen weapon from the ground and hurled it directly at Seran's face.

Seran barely tilted his head, dodging it effortlessly. But that wasn't the point.

The real point was that Ethan had forced Seran to move.

And that fraction of a second was all Zehris needed.

A blast of silver energy erupted behind the Retrievers.

Not an attack. A distraction.

For the first time, Seran's soldiers hesitated.

And that was the opening Ethan needed.

He turned and ran.

Straight into the treeline.

Straight into the chaos.

Straight into the only real option left.

Seran's golden aura flared.

"After them."

The Retrievers rushed forward—but the battlefield had already changed.

Because now?

Now Ethan was fighting on his own terms.

And for the first time since arriving in this world—he wasn't running blind anymore.

He was outplaying the system.

And he wasn't going to stop.

Ethan ran.

Not aimlessly. Not blindly. Every step was calculated.

The forest was uneven terrain. Roots jutted from the dirt, thick underbrush tangled underfoot.

A knight trained for war would have no problem running here.

But the Retrievers weren't just knights.

They were formation fighters—trained to move as a unit, to strike in coordinated attacks.

Which meant—they weren't trained to chase prey through dense wilderness.

And Ethan was going to use that.

Behind him, the Retrievers closed in.

Zehris moved like a shadow, barely making a sound. His silver eyes flickered toward Ethan, clearly waiting for instructions.

Ethan whispered, "We're not running forever."

Zehris smirked. "Good. I was getting bored."

Ethan's mind worked at blinding speed.

The Retrievers expected a straight chase.

They expected Ethan to run until he was cornered.

Which meant…

They wouldn't expect him to stop.

Ethan suddenly skidded to a halt.

Zehris followed immediately, trusting Ethan's plan without question.

The Retrievers didn't.

They expected forward movement. They were already mid-stride, expecting pursuit.

Which meant—they didn't have time to adjust.

Ethan and Zehris dropped low.

The first wave of Retrievers rushed straight past them, overshooting their own target.

Mistake.

Zehris moved first.

In a blur of silver energy, he spun—catching the nearest Retriever by the throat and slamming him into a tree.

Ethan didn't waste time.

He grabbed the man's sword before it hit the ground.

And now?

Now the chase had turned into an ambush.

The Retrievers hesitated.

For the first time in the entire fight, they weren't in control.

Ethan smiled. Perfect.

He stepped forward, sword loose in his grip, eyes locked on the remaining four hunters.

"Your mistake," he said casually, "was assuming I don't know how you fight."

One of the Tier 3 Retrievers growled. "You're outnumbered."

Ethan tilted his head. "Am I?"

A tense pause.

Then—Zehris grinned.

And suddenly, the forest erupted with silver energy.

Not an attack.

A flood of light—disorienting, overwhelming, erasing all shadows.

The Retrievers staggered, eyes burning from the sudden burst.

Ethan moved.

One step. Two.

He wasn't aiming to kill.

Just to make them fall.

A sword to the knee.

A well-placed kick to the ribs.

A tree branch snapped underfoot—falling straight into the path of the last man's attack.

And in seconds—all four Retrievers were down.

Breathing. Alive. But completely out of the fight.

Ethan exhaled, his heart still pounding.

Then he turned toward Zehris.

"Next step?"

Zehris smiled.

"Now?" he murmured. "Now we make them chase us somewhere worse."

Ethan smirked.

He liked how that sounded.

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