The Real Hunt Begins

Arthur awoke before dawn, his body sore but no longer on the brink of collapse. Three days of relentless training had honed his movements, sharpened his reflexes, and tempered his endurance. Lyra's methods were brutal, but undeniably effective. He was stronger, faster, and—most importantly—more prepared to face the dangers of this world. His body, once lean and wiry, now carried traces of hardened muscle, and his movements held the confidence of someone who had begun to understand the art of battle.

Yet, despite all his improvements, he knew one thing for certain: he still wasn't strong enough.

Lyra stood nearby, arms crossed, watching as Arthur stretched. "Good, you're up. I was starting to think you'd sleep the whole day away."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "After the beating you gave me yesterday, I think I deserved it."

She smirked. "No argument there. But we've got work to do."

He stood, dusting off his clothes. "What's the plan?"

Lyra's expression turned serious. "It's time for a real hunt. You've trained enough, but now we need to see how you handle yourself in a live situation."

Arthur's stomach twisted with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "What are we hunting?"

"A Bloodfang Boar."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Sounds... manageable?"

Lyra scoffed. "Oh, sure, if you like dealing with a three-hundred-pound slab of muscle with tusks sharp enough to gut you in a single charge."

Arthur swallowed hard. "Fantastic."

She tossed him a short sword, its edge sharpened to perfection. "Come on, newbie. Time to see if you've actually learned anything."

The forest was eerily quiet as they moved through the underbrush. Arthur's senses were sharper now, his perception attuned to the faintest rustling of leaves and distant animal calls. Every step was deliberate, every movement controlled. He was no longer blundering through the woods like a lost city boy. The past few days had taught him the importance of patience and silence. The forest had rules, and those who ignored them often paid the price.

After an hour of tracking, Lyra signaled for him to stop. She pointed ahead to a clearing where a massive, dark-red boar was rooting around the forest floor. It was larger than Arthur had expected, its hide thick and scarred from past battles. Its tusks gleamed under the sunlight, wickedly curved and sharp enough to slice through flesh with ease.

Arthur exhaled slowly. "Alright. What's the strategy?"

Lyra crouched beside him, voice low. "You need to take it down before it builds too much momentum. Boars like this are all about brute force. If it charges, you're dead. Your best bet is to go for the legs, weaken it, and then finish it off before it gets a chance to retaliate."

Arthur nodded, gripping his sword tighter. "Got it."

"Good. Now go."

He hesitated only for a second before stepping forward, his movements slow and deliberate. The boar continued sniffing at the ground, oblivious to his presence. He inched closer, each footfall silent. Closer… closer…

Then, his foot snapped a twig.

The boar's head jerked up, beady red eyes locking onto him. Arthur barely had time to react before it let out a furious snort and charged.

"Shit—"

Arthur threw himself to the side just in time, the beast's tusks missing him by inches. He hit the ground hard, rolling back to his feet as the boar wheeled around, preparing for another charge.

Lyra's voice rang out from the trees. "MOVE!"

Arthur didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted to the side, dodging another reckless charge. The ground shook beneath the beast's weight as it barreled past, narrowly missing a tree. Arthur saw his opening.

He lunged, slashing at its back leg.

The blade bit deep, and the boar let out an ear-splitting squeal. It stumbled but didn't fall. Instead, it turned on him with renewed fury, its rage outweighing its pain. Arthur barely had time to dodge as it lunged again, swiping with a tusk.

He twisted his body, avoiding the attack, but pain flared in his arm as the boar's tusk grazed him, tearing through his sleeve and drawing blood.

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Alright, you oversized pig. Let's finish this."

He focused, waiting for the boar's next move. It stomped the ground, nostrils flaring, muscles coiling for another charge.

Then it charged.

Arthur held his ground until the last possible moment—then leapt to the side, bringing his sword down as the beast passed.

The blade sliced through its other back leg, severing tendons.

The boar collapsed with a pained squeal, its body skidding through the dirt. It struggled, trying to rise, but its ruined legs wouldn't hold. Arthur didn't hesitate. He ran forward and drove his sword into its neck, piercing deep.

The boar shuddered once—then went still.

Silence filled the clearing.

Arthur exhaled, stepping back, his heart pounding. His hands were shaking, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He looked up to see Lyra leaning against a tree, arms crossed, an approving smirk on her face.

"Not bad," she said.

Arthur let out a breathless laugh. "I'll take that as high praise."

She walked over and nudged the boar's corpse with her boot. "You handled yourself well. You adapted, used its own strength against it. That's how you survive out here."

Arthur looked down at his arm, where blood seeped from the shallow wound. "Could've done without the part where it nearly skewered me."

Lyra chuckled. "Consider it a lesson. Next time, don't get hit."

Arthur sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Next time?"

Lyra grinned. "Oh, newbie. We're just getting started."

Arthur groaned. "Of course we are."

Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't deny it—he was getting stronger.

And soon, he wouldn't just be surviving. He'd be thriving.