Wolf's interest

Rael's vision swam as he staggered through the forest, his breath ragged. His ribs burned with every step, and his split lip had swollen, making his mouth taste of iron.

His fight with the mercenary had left him in bad shape.His fingers trembled from exhaustion, and his body screamed for rest.

But he couldn't stop.

He had killed a man. And where there was one mercenary, there were more.

The dead never stayed forgotten in places like this.

The air was thick with mist, curling between the trees like grasping hands. Rael pushed forward, each step heavy, his body sluggish.

Then—he heard them.

Boots on wet earth.

The crackle of branches underfoot.

Voices.

"Found the kid's trail. Blood all over the damn place."

Another voice, rough and amused. "He actually took out Jonas? That scrawny rat?"

Rael's pulse pounded. He dropped low, pressing himself against a fallen log. His fingers curled around his dagger's hilt, though his grip was weak.

More voices. Closer.

"He won't get far in that condition."

"Should we kill him?"

A pause. Then, a deep chuckle.

"No. Bring him in. I want to see the little bastard myself."

Before Rael could react, a boot slammed into his ribs.

Pain exploded through his side. His body seized, but he was too weak to fight back.

Rough hands grabbed his arms, dragging him out of hiding. He thrashed, but it was useless.

The last thing he saw before darkness took him was the smirking face of a tall man, golden eyes glinting like a predator.

---

Rael woke to the scent of burning wood.

His body ached.His ribs were tightly wrapped in bandages, his wounds cleaned. He was alive.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows along the cavern walls. He wasn't outside anymore. He was somewhere else.

A cave? No—a hideout.

Figures sat around the fire, sharpening weapons and murmuring in low voices. The air was thick with the smell of leather, steel, and something roasting over the flames.

A man sat across from him, watching with a lazy smile.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wrapped in a dark cloak. His hair was silver, streaked with hints of black, and his golden eyes gleamed with amusement. A scar ran across his jaw, giving him a permanent smirk.

"About time you woke up," the man said.

Rael's muscles tensed. He didn't recognize this man, but everything about him radiated danger.

"Where…?" Rael's voice was hoarse.

"You're in my camp," the man said casually, tossing a piece of meat onto a plate. He nudged it toward Rael. "Eat. You look like you'll drop dead any second."

Rael hesitated. His body was weak, but his mind was still sharp.

"Why am I still alive?" he asked.

The mercenaries around the fire chuckled.

The silver-haired man leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Because I liked what I saw," he said simply. "You fought dirty. You fought smart. You killed Jonas when you had no business winning that fight."

Rael stayed silent.

The man's smirk widened. "Most knights would've died begging for mercy. But you?" His golden eyes gleamed. "You adapted."

Rael's fingers twitched.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man chuckled. "Name's Darius Venn. Leader of the Black Hounds."

Rael's stomach twisted. He had heard that name before.

The Black Hounds weren't just mercenaries. They were hunters. Sell-swords who thrived in battlefields, known for taking the dirtiest jobs—the kind no noble wanted their hands stained with.

Darius leaned back. "You've got two choices, kid. One—walk out of here, half-dead, and try your luck in the Trial again." His smirk faded slightly. "You won't last another night."

Rael swallowed hard.

"And two?" he asked.

Darius grinned. "You stick with me. I patch you up, teach you a few tricks, and in return, you fight for the Black Hounds."

Rael's heart pounded.

This wasn't a rescue. This was recruitment.

The Black Hounds didn't take in the strong. They took in the ruthless.

Rael wasn't strong. But he had survived.

And maybe, just maybe…

This was his chance to become something more.