The Real Hunt Begins Pt.2

Arthur stood over the carcass of the Bloodfang Boar, his breath still ragged from the fight. His muscles ached, his arm stung from the gash, but the thrill of victory pumped through his veins like wildfire. Every battle, every struggle—it was all sharpening him, molding him into something more than the helpless man who had first arrived in this world.

Lyra clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him from his thoughts. "You did well, but don't get cocky. One good fight doesn't mean you're invincible."

Arthur smirked, rolling his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Let me enjoy the win for five seconds before you throw me at another death machine."

She chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. I'll give you a whole ten seconds next time."

Arthur let out a tired laugh and wiped the sweat from his brow. Despite the exhaustion, he felt a rush of satisfaction. He was progressing—growing stronger, both in body and mind. The weight of survival still hung over him, but now he faced it with steel in his hands and fire in his heart.

After skinning and salvaging what they could from the boar, Lyra led Arthur deeper into the forest. The towering trees loomed overhead, their canopies blotting out most of the sunlight. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant cries of unknown creatures.

Arthur adjusted his grip on his sword, his senses alert. "Where are we headed now?"

Lyra didn't slow her pace. "You've fought, you've trained, but you need to learn how to track prey before it finds you first. There's a pack of Shadowfangs roaming this area—smarter than your average beast and a lot deadlier. If we don't deal with them now, they'll become a problem later."

Arthur frowned. "Shadowfangs? You mean those wolf-like creatures you mentioned before?"

"Exactly," Lyra confirmed. "Fast, coordinated, and patient. They won't charge in like that boar. They'll test you, force mistakes, and rip you apart when you slip up."

Arthur exhaled slowly. "Great. So, what's the plan?"

Lyra knelt and pointed at the ground. Arthur followed her gaze, noting the subtle disturbances in the dirt—paw prints, spaced apart in a calculated pattern. The marks were fresh.

"They're close," she murmured. "We need to get the drop on them before they realize we're hunting them."

Arthur tightened his grip on his weapon. "Lead the way."

They moved carefully through the underbrush, every step measured. Arthur's heart pounded in his chest as his eyes scanned the shifting shadows between the trees. The eerie silence pressed in around them.

Then, a low growl broke the quiet.

Arthur barely had time to react before a blur of darkness lunged from the foliage. He sidestepped just in time as snapping jaws missed his throat by inches. The creature hit the ground and pivoted with terrifying agility, its crimson eyes locking onto him.

A Shadowfang.

Before he could recover, another burst from the trees, flanking him. A third emerged to his right. His breath hitched—he was surrounded.

"Arthur, move!" Lyra shouted, already engaging a fourth beast with a swift slash of her dagger.

Arthur ducked as the first Shadowfang leapt again, its claws swiping for his face. He barely managed to parry with his sword, the impact sending vibrations up his arm. He twisted, kicking out to create space, but the second wolf lunged low, aiming for his legs.

He jumped back, narrowly avoiding the snapping fangs. His mind raced—there were too many, too fast. He needed to take control of the fight before they overwhelmed him.

Arthur lunged forward, slashing at the nearest Shadowfang. The blade carved through its flank, and it let out a pained snarl, but it didn't fall. Instead, it circled back, more cautious now.

"Don't overcommit!" Lyra warned, fending off her own opponent. "Keep moving, keep adapting!"

Arthur gritted his teeth. He needed to be smarter, faster. He watched the pack, noting their movements. The way they prowled, the way they feinted attacks, testing him. They were working together, waiting for him to slip.

He wouldn't give them the chance.

As the second Shadowfang lunged again, Arthur didn't retreat—he stepped into its attack. The sudden move caught it off guard, and before it could adjust, he drove his sword through its throat. The beast let out a gurgled snarl before collapsing.

One down.

The other two didn't hesitate. They darted in, more aggressive now. Arthur barely managed to block one's claws before the other lunged low again. He twisted, using the momentum to drive his elbow into its side, forcing it off balance.

A sharp whistle rang out—Lyra's signal.

Arthur ducked just as she threw a dagger over his head. It struck the third Shadowfang clean between the eyes, dropping it instantly.

Only one left.

The final wolf hesitated, its instincts warning it that the tide had turned. Arthur didn't give it time to reconsider. He surged forward, blade flashing.

The beast leapt back, but Arthur was faster. He feinted left before shifting his weight and striking right. The sword bit deep into its side, and with a final, pained growl, the last Shadowfang crumpled.

Silence returned to the forest.

Arthur exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. His hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline. He turned to Lyra, who was already retrieving her dagger from the fallen beast.

She nodded at him. "Not bad. You're learning."

Arthur let out a breathless chuckle. "Not sure my heart agrees."

Lyra smirked. "Get used to it."

Arthur shook his head, looking down at the bodies of the Shadowfangs. He had done it—survived another fight, won against creatures meant to tear him apart. But more than that, he had adapted. He was becoming something stronger.

And he was only getting started.