BXBX NOVEL Chapter 43: Chapter 43: THE HUNTER AND THE HUNTED.
Each one a fleeting message: "[Awakened Defeated]," "[Second Rank Swordsman Defeated]," "[Awakened Defeated]." These were mosquito bites, barely registering on his ever-growing experience bar. These guards, these thugs, were mere bugs he squashed with barely a thought.
As Blackwood Manor loomed closer, David found himself captivated by Luna's use of Wolf's Grace. Despite her higher class and superior skills, theirs were fundamentally the same. But the execution – that was a different story. It was like watching a child wield a sword compared to a seasoned warrior.
A revelation crackled through him, sharp and sudden. While he used Wolf's Grace for agility and brute force, Luna operated on a different level. It wasn't just about stalking prey. It was the primal essence of the predator – the coiled anticipation, the deadliness in every step. Luna wasn't just fast, she was inevitable.
David thought deeply as he carried Gareth on his shoulders, who showed him the path to the Finger's nest, focusing on the shadows that clung to him like a second skin. A jolt shot through him as the meaning of Wolf's Grace burned into his awareness. It wasn't just movement, it was a predator's maw, snapping shut with cold finality.
The shadows around him seemed to writhe and twist, acknowledging the shift within him. He wasn't just faster, he was a weapon honed to a lethal edge. He wasn't just a warrior, he was the wolf, ready for the kill.
"Young master?" Gareth called out to David. The wind clawed at David's face, a harsh counterpoint to the feverish heat rising from his own exertion. Gareth, slung over his shoulder like a discarded ragdoll, wheezed protests drowned out by the pounding of David's own heart.
The young master was a blur of inhuman speed, a tremor rippling through the ground with every footfall. Gareth's mind reeled, a cocktail of terror and begrudging awe. How could mere human muscles propel him like a runaway carriage? Suddenly, the world lurched. David came to a jarring halt, depositing Gareth onto the cold earth with a sickening thud.
Gasping for breath, Gareth scrambled to his feet, a throbbing pain settling in his backside. "Young master?" he stammered, clutching at his bruised tailbone.
David's gaze, a glacial wasteland where warmth dared not tread, locked onto Gareth. The air crackled with unspoken tension. "What is it?" David's voice was a rasp, honed to a cutting edge. Gareth swallowed, fear a bitter pill on his tongue.
"Young master, we are almost upon the Fingers' lair," he croaked, gesturing towards a wall of thick oleander bushes. "Beyond those, lies Blackwood Manor."A humourless smile twisted David's lips. "We? What 'we'?" The words dripped with icy disdain.
Gareth faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I don't… I thought we were—"A scream, strangled and abrupt, died in his throat. A searing pain lanced through his side, white-hot and agonizing. A sickening crack echoed in the stillness, the sound of bone giving way. His world blurred, then faded to an endless black.
David stood over Gareth's crumpled form, a detached look in his eyes. "So it seems," he murmured, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Wolf's Grace… terrifyingly effective." He glanced at his own hands, flexing them experimentally. "But a long way from Luna's mastery." A single, humourless nod confirmed his own judgment.
The faint scent of oleander filled the air, a sickly sweet counterpoint to the metallic tang of blood. David turned his back on Gareth, his gaze fixed on the looming silhouette of Blackwood Manor. The hunt was far from over.
****
(present.....)
The air in Blackwood Manor hung heavy, a noxious cocktail of fear and stale blood. David stood at the entrance, a monstrous silhouette bathed in the faint moonlight filtering through grimy doors. The guards and thugs surrounding him – mere gnats buzzing around a hungry spider – trembled under the suffocating weight of his presence.
His very aura screamed of power, a crimson tide threatening to engulf them all.
They all shared the same unsettling thought: David had surpassed the first phase of cultivation, solidifying his status as a master swordsman. None of them had even broken through the initial phase, making resistance futile against the crimson-stained figure near the entrance.
Another figure leapt from the balcony where the minator emerged, a silent rebuke to the carnage below. He landed with the effortless grace of a predator, an embodiment of precision and stealth. Dark leather armour, reinforced with glinting metal plates, moulded to his form, an aura of deadly efficiency clinging to him like a shroud.
His face remained partially obscured by a hood and mask, revealing only piercing eyes that burned with intense concentration.
In his gloved hands, he cradled a work of art. A sleek, intricately designed bow gleamed with polished metal beneath the trembling lantern light. A quiver, a symphony of razor-sharp arrows fletched with meticulous care, hung across his back, each missile ready to unleash its deadly song.
His attire, a blend of shadow-blending blues and earthy browns, seemed to melt into the gloom, making him a ghost in the mayhem. His utility belt and chest rig were an arsenal in miniature – pouches bulging with knives, vials of unknown concoctions, and other tools of the silent trade.
"Did you have to kill our men, Orkler?" the archer asked, his voice edged with irritation.
Orkler the Minotaur roared, the sound booming through the devastated hall. "Spineless bastards! All of them, Stripe," he bellowed, his voice a guttural testament to his frustration.
"Huh," A sigh escaped Stripe's lips, a weary exhale that spoke volumes. He wasn't in the mood for Orkler's typical bluster. "Did you at least kill the intruder?" he asked.
"Nyet," Orkler grumbled, the word thick with his native accent."The slippery coward vanished before I could get my hands – er, hooves – on him," he grumbled, stomping out of the shattered manor doors.
David, who had by a hair's breadth avoided annihilation, materialized outside just as Orkler lumbered out. The newcomer's presence, radiating a potent blend of power and menace, sent a jolt through him – these were undoubtedly Fingers, and judging by their bearing and the deadly aura they exuded, formidable ones at that.
Before he could contemplate his next move, the air shimmered and twisted, warping the moonlight into grotesque shapes.
Crimson orbs, crackling with malevolent energy that sent shivers down his spine, materialized above him. They circled him ominously, like ravenous vultures sizing up their prey, their pulsating red glow painting his face in a macabre light. With a collective hiss that sent chills down his spine, they hurtled towards him, their intent as clear as the night sky – to extinguish his life forever.