Chapter 22: Happy Hunting

Chapter 22: Good Hunting

Lyman steeled himself, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said to Lunast, "I've made my decision."

"Alright, since your mind's set, of course, all I can do is support you. After all, I still need you to get me out of this prison. You dying wouldn't do me any good either." Lunast's voice carried a hint of amusement.

To turn Prey's hunting plan back on him, he needed to be fully prepared.

Lyman pondered for a moment, then asked, "You mentioned Captain Prew has a relic—what exactly is it? What does it do?"

"It's a dagger called the 'Blade of Revelation,'" Luna said calmly. "Normally it's as dull as a butter knife—can't even cut through paper. But once it touches blood, whether it's an enemy's or its owner's, it becomes incredibly sharp for a period of time. Even a Paladin's armor stands no chance against it."

Lyman asked, "So which is stronger—the Blade of Revelation or Inquisitor Nashel's Supernatural Ability?"

"If those two fought, the Inquisitor would definitely win. But that doesn't mean the Blade of Revelation is weak. There's no such thing as a useless ability or a useless relic—only people who don't know how to use them."

The Book of the Evil God would be thrilled to hear that, since I'm always griping about the useless abilities it gives me. Lyman thought bitterly, with a wry smile.

"So you're saying Prey hasn't tapped into the Blade of Revelation's true power?"

Luna let out a couple of chuckles: "Exactly. So here's your chance. If you can get your hands on the Blade of Revelation, I'll tell you what it really does."

Lyman wanted to ask how Luna knew that, but Luna would never give a straight answer. That guy never spoke plainly.

Prew's relic was impressive, sure, but a dagger that can't reach its target is useless no matter how powerful it is. Lyman had already figured out how to handle him.

All he needed was for the stablemaster to take him on, and then the next time Captain Prew went hunting, he'd have a legitimate excuse to tag along!

As for how to become the stablemaster's assistant... Lyman looked at the squeaking mouse, and an idea was already forming in his mind.

Just a little more nudging, and a bit of acting...

"Thanks, Lunast!" Lyman said. "I know exactly what I need to do!"

"You'll definitely succeed, neighbor," Lunast chuckled. "Because you've got no other choice."

***

The next day.

A pale sun cast weak, listless light across the prison yard.

The prison was as quiet as ever. Nobody paid any attention to the prisoner who'd died yesterday, as if he'd already vanished from everyone's memory, or as if such things were so common that everyone had gone numb to them.

Today, Lyman was assigned to patch up cracks in the outer wall. He and the scholar each hauled a bucket of mortar, spreading it over the cracked walls. The guard watching them leaned against the wall, yawning. It was so boring that even the guard couldn't be bothered to pay attention.

Suddenly, panicked shouts erupted from the stables.

"Whoa, Red Lightning, easy!"

A chestnut steed let out a high-pitched whinny, its front hooves slamming viciously against the wooden rails. The thick wooden bars snapped with a crack, sending splinters flying. The stables erupted into chaos as the other horses started panicking too. The hounds barked frantically, running around like headless chickens.

"Watch out! The horse bolted!" The stablemaster, Orif, went pale and grabbed a lasso.

But it was too late. The chestnut steed tore free of its reins, burst out of the stables, and went charging around the training grounds. Two guards who tried to stop it got knocked flying, slamming hard into the ground.

Nobody dared to stop the suddenly crazed horse, let alone hurt it—because it was Captain Prew's mount.

The chestnut horse was foaming at the mouth, kicked aside a few more unlucky guards, and charged straight at Lyman, its mane streaming like dark red flames.

The guard jolted and ran for his life. The scholar screamed, dropped his bucket, and scrambled away on all fours.

At the last second, Lyman dodged aside as the chestnut steed thundered past. The horse reared up, front hooves ready to smash down on the silver-haired prisoner. Everyone could already picture Lyman's bloody, bashed-in head—some even shut their eyes, unable to watch. But Lyman stayed cool as a cucumber, darting to the horse's side in a flash and grabbing its reins.

"Whoa, Red Lightning!" Lyman shouted. "It's okay, good boy!"

A miracle happened. The crazed horse actually calmed down at his words, lowering its hooves, shaking its head, snorting a few times, and settling down obediently.

Under the stunned stares of the crowd, Lyman led the chestnut steed back to the stables and handed the reins back to the dumbfounded stablemaster, Orif.

"Here you go, sir," he said, polite as ever.

"Ah? Oh." Orif took the reins in a daze. He had worked with horses for years and sometimes still got injured when they went wild, yet this young man had remained calm and composed, handling it with ease—how had he done it?

"You... you're good at breaking horses?" Orif probed.

Lyman scratched the back of his head: "Not really."

"Then how did you calm Red Lightning?"

Lyman patted the chestnut steed's muzzle: "Animals have feelings too. As long as you look into their eyes, you can understand what they're thinking. When I looked at Red Lightning, I knew it didn't want to hurt anyone. It's a gentle, good-natured soul—it was just scared by something."

With that, Lyman walked into the stables and kicked aside the straw scattered on the ground: "Look here!"

The stablemaster craned his neck and saw a dead snake hidden beneath the straw.

So that was it. The snake had crawled into the stables and frightened the horses. Red Lightning had stomped it to death, but was still shaken, which was why it had broken free of its reins and nearly caused a disaster.

When Orif looked at Lyman again, there was a hint of appreciation in his eyes.

"Right, right—animals do have feelings!" He nodded in agreement.

The prisoner who had previously served as his assistant had only one virtue: brute strength. He had no understanding of communicating with animals on a deeper level, only using violence to control them. Orif had wanted to replace him countless times but couldn't, because the other prisoners didn't even have that "brute strength" virtue.

Now that he was locked up, the stablemaster desperately needed a new assistant. This new prisoner seemed to have potential.

"Young man, any interest in working at the stables?" the stablemaster asked. "It's much easier than digging rocks outside—at least you won't be exposed to the sun and rain. I can see you have a talent for caring for animals."

Lyman put on a hesitant expression: "But... will they agree?"

"I'll talk to them." Orif waved his hand and walked toward the guard supervising Lyman.

They discussed something, their voices gradually rising, and then the two of them walked together toward Deputy Captain Edton.

The stables were left with only Lyman and Red Lightning staring at each other.

The chestnut steed snorted and spoke:

"Human, I put on a good performance just now, didn't I?"

Lyman patted Red Lightning's neck: "Back in my hometown, you'd definitely win a Best Actor award for that."

"Oh!" Red Lightning didn't know what "Best Actor" meant, but it sounded impressive. It made the horse feel extraordinary, utterly distinct from all those mediocre mules and common horses.

Last night, a little mouse had run into the stables to deliver Lyman's message: if Red Lightning helped him become the stablemaster's assistant, he would take care of its master for it.

Afterward, the mouse and its companions had dragged in a dead snake as a "stage prop." And thus today's scene had unfolded.

"You can really take down Prew?" Red Lightning eyed the silver-haired human suspiciously. He didn't look particularly strong—did he truly stand a chance against that man?

"Of course, as long as I have enough help." Lyman watched the guards while speaking through cupped hands. "Why do you hate Prew?"

"That guy always hits me. If I run slow, he hits me because I'm not fast enough. If I run fast, he hits me too, because his men can't catch up." Crimson Lightning kicked the ground gloomily. "My previous owner was the Warden, you know. He was a bit fat, but he never hit me, and he even fed me apples."

Deputy Captain Edon and the stablemaster approached together.

"Prisoner 1154, I didn't know you had such a way with animals. How many more surprises do you have in store for me?" Deputy Captain Edon's tone wasn't particularly surprised.

Lyman feigned fear, tugging at his clothes. "Dealing with animals is easier than dealing with people. A dog is always a dog, but sometimes people aren't people."

"Hmph, that's a real insight." Deputy Captain Edon said. "Alright, from now on you'll work in the stables." Edon added finally, "Olive, you're responsible for watching this kid. If there's another escape attempt, you'll be held accountable too!"

The stablemaster nodded repeatedly in agreement: "If he dares to run, I'll break his legs."

"Then I'll break yours." Edon shook his head as he walked away, muttering to himself, "If that kid has a talent for taming animals, then I could be captain myself?"

The stablemaster pushed Lyman into the stable. "Prisoner 1154, from now on, get along well with your animal friends."

Lyman looked around meaningfully. "Of course," he said with significance, "my good friends, no one will dare bully you from now on."

***

Several days later.

Early morning, before dawn, a large crowd gathered in the prison square. Captain Pry wore his finest hunting attire, carrying a hunting bow and a sword at his waist, mounted on a fine horse. A dozen guards followed him, all his most trusted men who had accompanied him from the Holy City.

The rotund Warden stood among the riders, appearing even shorter. He rubbed his hands together like a fly preening, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Today is a fine day for hunting, gentlemen. I hope you all have a plentiful harvest."

His gaze fell on two others nearby—two Inquisitors, Aiser and Nashel, also riding in the procession.

"Once you return loaded with game, we can hold a feast. I'm sure all misunderstandings and hard feelings will melt away in the celebration."

Aiser looked grim.

Yesterday, the Warden had suggested that Captain Pry join them both in the hunt. "I hope a grand event will bring you closer and make you reconcile."

Aiser had no desire whatsoever to shake Pry's hand. He'd rather rummage through a heretic's crotch than touch Pry. But he couldn't very well refuse the Warden's goodwill, so he reluctantly agreed.

Nashel nudged him with his elbow. "Smile, at least for the Warden's sake. Even if you have to fake it."

Aiser's mouth twitched, indicating he was making an effort. "I'd rather go on an outing with a cult leader."

"Sounds more interesting than hunting with Captain Pry. I'd pick the cult leader too." Nashel said casually.

At the rear of the procession, stablemaster Olive loaded supplies onto a horse, then turned to Lyman: "During this hunt, you're in charge of the horses and dogs. Remember, you're here to work, not to sightsee!"

Olive led four hunting hounds, all muzzled, excited by the upcoming hunt. He struggled to keep them under control.

Lyman, meanwhile, led several packhorses. They didn't have Crimson Lightning's explosive speed, but they were hardy and suited for carrying goods. They bore the tools and provisions needed for the hunt, and on the return trip, they'd carry the heavier game.

"I understand, Mr. Olive." Lyman said politely. "I'll take good care of them."

As he spoke, he looked toward Captain Pry at the head of the procession. The captain's mount turned its head and exchanged a mysterious glance with him.

With a long horn blast, the prison gates slowly opened, and the hunting party set out, marching in force toward the forest at the center of the prison island.

Captain Pry rode Crimson Lightning at the front, while his men clustered around Nashel and Aiser, looking less like they were protecting them and more like they feared they might escape.

"Inquisitor, your riding skills are quite impressive." Deputy Captain Slevin flattered. "Have you two participated in hunts before?"

Nashel grinned. "Hunting animals? No. Hunting humans? Quite often."

Slevin's smile stiffened. "W-well, of course. It's thanks to excellent Inquisitors like you hunting heretics that we can rest easy."

"Oh? Shouldn't it be the opposite? The heretics you hunt are locked up in prison, so your workload should be getting heavier. How can you sleep at your age?"

Nashel smiled innocently, his innocent expression leaving Deputy Captain Slevin unable to tell whether he was joking or deliberately mocking.

Slevin laughed awkwardly and signaled to the other guards. They understood, and one by one began praising the Inquisitors. Nashel laughed along with them, while Aiser remained silent, as if everyone there owed him money.

The trees around them grew thicker, the path beneath their feet transitioning from a smooth road to a rugged trail, until finally there was no path at all.

"Let the hounds loose!" Captain Pry ordered.

The stablemaster removed the dogs' muzzles and untied their leashes. The four hounds immediately rushed to the front of the procession, sniffing the air, low growls rumbling in their throats.

Captain Pry looked at the stablemaster and his helper, his brow furrowing.

"Why's that prisoner tagging along?" he asked Slevin in a low voice.

"He's the stablemaster's helper now," Slevin replied. "Someone's gotta tend the animals."

Captain Pry's face clouded over. He still had the training ground incident from days ago burned into his memory; remembering that humiliation felt like being tossed into a furnace, his face going hot.

"Hmph, walking right into his own grave. We'll take him out while we're at it." He said in a voice only the two of them could catch.

The hounds started barking up a storm, and from deep in the woods came the crack of snapping branches, like some animal had been spooked by the barking and was booking it out of there.

Captain Pry rode toward the two Inquisitors, deliberately raising his voice: "How about a little contest? Whoever bags the biggest animal wins. Winner gets a bottle of 'Scorching Sun.' Deal?"

Nashel said, "That doesn't seem too fair. You know this terrain way better than we do, and you have the hounds to help. Ain't we doomed to lose?"

"Then I'll spot you. After you." Captain Pry pointed with his riding whip toward the forest depths. "Slevin, you'll escort the Inquisitors and take two hounds."

"Understood."

The deputy captain rode up alongside Nashel. "Sir, I know a creek where the beasts come to drink. Want to try our luck there?"

Nashel and Aiser traded looks.

Even though the Warden suggested this hunt, Captain Pry had to be behind it. Aiser didn't buy for a second that Pry really wanted to make nice. Maybe the guy was planning to embarrass them out here, so both of them were on their guard.

"Go on, Nashel." Aiser said flatly. "You're the better shot; winning's on you. Just be careful you don't get bit by any 'beasts.'"

Nashel grinned, spurring his horse to follow Deputy Captain Slevin, while casually adjusting his belt, shifting the empty sword hilt to where he could grab it fast.

The group kept moving but gradually split up. Nashel, the deputy captain, and a few guards headed west, their shapes quickly swallowed by the thick trees.

Captain Pry watched them depart, a smirk creeping onto his lips, his eyes turning colder.

***

The night before. Captain's office.

"Sir, the trap is set."

In the flickering candlelight, Deputy Captain Slevin's face was half in light, half in shadow, like a sinister mask.

"Are you certain it's foolproof?" Captain Pry asked coldly.

He toyed with the Blade of Opening. The "relic" was flipped and spun in his palm like a toy knife.

"I deliberately placed the trap deep in the forest, a place even I wouldn't dare venture lightly," the deputy captain said.

"Good. First, trap that redhead and render his supernatural abilities useless." Captain Pry gripped the dagger tightly. "If necessary, take him out too!"

***

Deputy Captain Slavin scanned the trees around him out of the corner of his eye. When setting the trap, he had marked the route—every so often he snapped a branch and carved a notch into the broken end.

Of course, Nashel was so focused on hunting prey that he'd never notice the marks. Even if he did, he'd just chalk it up to wild animals.

"Sir, the stream is over there." Slavin beamed, steering Nashel toward the trap.

The canopy formed an impenetrable dome overhead, and the light in the woods grew dimmer, as if dusk had fallen early. Any ordinary man would've gotten lost in this green maze long ago; even Slavin could only keep moving thanks to the markers he'd left behind.

"Deputy Captain, how much farther?" Nashel drawled. "You're not trying to lead me astray so your boss can win, are you?"

"I wouldn't dare, sir. There really is a stream. I've bagged wild boar and stag over there. If you're tired, take a rest, and I'll personally go bag something for you."

Nashel snorted. "Forget it. I don't want people saying I won without lifting a finger. Lead on."

Slavin shot a meaningful look at the men behind him. They melted silently into the woods. Ten paces ahead lay the pit they'd spent several nights digging—a deep pit covered in leaves, disguised to perfection. The second the Inquisitor stepped on it, horse and rider would go down together.

Once down there, he could scream his lungs out and no one would come for him. Whether to let him starve in the pit or torment him a while before hauling him out was entirely Captain Prew's call.

Slavin licked his dry lips, watching Nashel ahead. The Inquisitor's upright silhouette looked to him like an animal walking to the slaughter. The corner of his mouth curled up on its own, as if he could already hear the sweet screams...

The Inquisitor rode his horse right across the leaf-covered clearing.

Nothing happened.

The smile froze on Slavin's face.

"Impossible! This is the spot!" He looked around frantically—the markers all pointed here! The snapped branches, the notches in the breaks—there was no mistake!

Not believing it, he spurred his own horse forward. Reaching the trap's location, he jumped off his horse, dignity be damned, jumped up and down a few times, then stomped hard on the ground that should've caved in.

The ground didn't budge an inch.

"Hey, Deputy Captain! What are you doing? Taking a piss?" Nashel's voice drifted lazily out of the dense woods, like he was mocking his clown act.

Cold sweat instantly soaked Slavin's clothes.

*What the hell is going on?* he thought.

***

The night before. The black cell.

A silver-gray mouse crouched in Lyman's palm, munching away on a hunk of black bread. Rock-hard to humans, but to a mouse, it was the perfect treat for grinding teeth.

"So Captain Prew had them dig a trap." Lyman rubbed the mouse's tiny head. "Dandelion, can you and your companions destroy those markers?"

"No problem! Us mice are the best at gnawing wood! I can also talk to the forest animals and get them to help!"

As long as the markers were destroyed, the two-legged ones would never find the trap! Mr. Lyman must be trying to help the red-haired Inquisitor!

Dandelion felt she'd fully figured out Mr. Lyman's plan. After all, she was the smartest mouse on Prison Island.

"Then," Lyman went on, "you copy those markers and make new ones, leading to safe spots in the forest."

"Huh?" Dandelion couldn't follow Lyman's logic. "Why? Wouldn't it be enough to just make sure they never find the trap?"

"Because the wrong markers will get Deputy Captain Slavin to lead the Inquisitor away from the group," Lyman said lightly. "That way the main group gets smaller, which is better for my next plan. I need Captain Prew to end up alone—he has to be alone."

***

Captain Prew led the rest of the men to a clearing in the woods. It was his usual hunting camp, with a messy pile of firewood and some logs for sitting left behind.

The stable hand grabbed Lyman. "We'll camp here and wait for the gentlemen to get back. You get the fire going, and be quick about it!"

Lyman nodded obediently, tied the packhorse to an oak, and helped the stable hand unload the gear. If the hunt ran into evening and they couldn't make it back to the prison, they'd have to camp here for the night.

Not far off, Captain Prew's dark gaze locked onto the busy silver-haired figure. The humiliating memory from the training ground resurfaced, eating at his reason like snake venom.

Once Aether Orolan is dealt with, I'll come back for this miserable little prisoner, he thought. I'll break every bone in this bastard's body and make him wish he'd never been born!

Suddenly, the hounds grew restless. They sniffed the air excitedly, claws gouging deep furrows in the dirt, drool dripping from their fangs.

"Seems there's prey nearby, Captain Prew." Aether gazed into the dark depths of the forest.

Prew's face instantly broke into a fake smile. "Don't forget our wager, Your Honor the Inquisitor!"

He whistled. Two hounds, receiving the command, shot into the woods like twin bolts of lightning. Prew spurred his horse hard, and Red Lightning charged forward with a neigh.

Aether gave a slight tug on his reins, and his mount followed like a whirlwind.

Red Lightning chased the hounds, racing through the dense forest. Aether's horse managed to keep pace, but the rest of Prew's trusted men were already far behind. Soon, their figures vanished into the woods, and even the sound of hooves faded away.

Prew was initially flustered—he had planned to find a secluded spot, gang up on Aether with his men, and disguise the corpse as a wild animal attack. But now he was alone...

No, why panic! Couldn't he handle this pretty boy by himself? Not to mention he still had the "relic" his uncle had given him! In single combat, this played right into his hands. He would show everyone that he, Enoch Pry, was second to none!

The two lead hounds suddenly burst into a frenzy of barking, splitting off in opposite directions. Red Lightning chased the black-and-white spotted hound, while Aether, riding alongside, pursued the other. Without realizing it, the two parted ways, the distance between them growing.

Prew cursed inwardly, hastily reining in and signaling Red Lightning to turn, but the beast seemed to have gone mad, ignoring his commands entirely and fixating on the hound ahead.

From ahead came the hound's low growls, as if calling the horse and rider to join the chase.

You fool, do you really think we're here to hunt?!

Prew raised his whip and lashed Red Lightning hard. The horse screamed in pain, rearing up, nearly throwing its master. Prew frantically grabbed the reins, barely managing to steady himself.

"Idiot!" he roared. "Turn around! Go that way!"

But no matter how he shouted or whipped, Red Lightning paid no heed, only circling nervously in place.

Cold sweat beaded on Prew's forehead. He looked around, realizing he had unknowingly ventured deep into the forest's heart.

Even in past hunts, with his trusted men by his side, he had never dared tread so far into such depths.

It was said the island harbored not only fierce beasts but also ancient, sinister forces. The Holy Nation had established a prison here precisely to keep watch over those evil stirrings...

Rustle, rustle, rustle—

The underbrush suddenly shook. Prew started, instinctively reaching for the sword at his waist.

But it was the black-and-white spotted hound emerging from the thicket. It stared intently at Prew, its brown eyes deep as a cold well.

"So it's just you, you beast. I thought it was some wild animal."

Prew relaxed, about to lower his hand, when the hound suddenly lunged, striking like a black-and-white whirlwind.

It pushed off with all four legs, leaping into the air, and tore its master clean off the horse!

***

Three days ago. The stable.

"Hello, human."

Lyman looked down to see a black-and-white spotted hound slowly approach and sit before him.

The hound was lean and sleek, bred specifically for long-distance running and retrieving game. It had big, gentle brown eyes.

Lyman glanced around, making sure the groom was busy with the horses in the distance and the guard was nowhere in sight, before speaking cautiously: "What can I do for you, uh," he glanced at the hound to confirm its gender, "ma'am?"

The hound gave him a graceful nod. "So I heard from Red Lightning that you want to kill Captain Prey?"

Lyman shot the chestnut steed a look, silently scolding it for being so loose-lipped. The horse just flicked its tail, unbothered. "This thing's known to every beast, bro."

Lyman looked away. "I do have a plan," he said.

"I can help you," the hound said.

"I thought your kind was loyal to their masters." Lyman was surprised. Aren't dogs supposed to be man's best friend?

The hound suddenly bared its teeth, a thunderous growl erupting from deep in its throat.

"Prey killed my pup. I want revenge! I want him to pay in blood!"

Lyman remembered. The puppy Captain Prey had killed was also a black-and-white spotted hound.

"Besides you, how many other hounds are willing to join?" he asked.

"They all listen to me," the hound said.

Lyman closed his eyes and quickly ran through his plan. If the hounds and horses worked together, they could stage a chase to lure Prey deep into the forest alone...

"Alright. I agree," Lyman said. "But my plan requires you to take a big risk. Are you willing?"

"As long as you keep your word, I'll do anything."

Lyman crouched down in front of the hound and held out his hand. "It's a deal."

"It's a deal." The hound placed its paw on Lyman's palm. "My name's Fan Xing. Happy hunting, Mr. Lehman."

***

Prey slammed into the ground.

He saw stars, his head ringing, every bone in his body aching as if crushed by a boulder. Before he could get up, the hound pounced again, jaws wide, fangs bared, aiming for his neck.

Prey cursed and threw up his arm to protect his throat. The hound bit down on his wrist, teeth sinking into the bracer, piercing the leather but stopped cold by the metal plates underneath.

Thank God he'd worn the full leather armor this time! It was meant for the fight against Aether Orolan, but it came in handy here!

Prey snapped his wrist, flinging the hound off. The hound tumbled across the ground, scrambled to its feet, lowered its body, pawed the earth, and locked its brown eyes on Prey, ready to strike again.

Prey seized the moment to leap up, drew his longsword, and held the gleaming blade across his chest.

"You beast! You're rebelling?" he snarled.

The hound growled deep in its throat and lunged again like a whirlwind, aiming for Prey's thigh. Prey swung his sword, and the hound barely dodged in time.

Prey had already read the move and kicked out, catching the hound square in the belly. The hound yelped, flew through the air, slammed back-first into a thick tree, and tumbled to the ground.

Prey strode over, sword in hand.

"I remember now—that pup was yours, wasn't it?" He flashed a grin of gleaming white teeth. "I'll skin you alive, just like I skinned your pup!"

He raised his sword high.

—BANG!

Pain exploded in his back, and Prey flew forward like a sack of potatoes.

What the hell? Who hit him from behind? Was someone else here?

Prey hit the ground, tasting blood and dirt in his mouth—maybe a broken tooth too.

He scrambled to roll over, only to see Red Lightning rearing up, iron-shod hooves raised high, about to come crashing down on his head like sledgehammers!

Prey rolled aside just in time. With a thunderous crash, the iron hooves slammed into the ground where he'd been lying, kicking up a huge clod of dirt.

If he hadn't reacted in time, his head would've been split open just like that patch of earth.

"You're turning on me too?!"

Prey was shocked and furious. This was a critical moment in his plan against Aether Orolan—why were these two suddenly losing their minds? The bitch hound turning on her master was one thing, but what was Red Lightning's problem?

Never mind that. He'd slaughter these two traitorous beasts first, then go finish off Aether Orolan!

Prey went to raise his sword, only to realize the fall had sent it flying out of his hand. The hound planted a paw on the blade, baring its fangs at him, a glint of satisfaction in its eyes.

"Hmph, animals will be animals. You think I only had that one weapon?"

Prey flung open his cloak, revealing a dagger in a black scabbard at his lower back.

"Dying by the 'relic' is the greatest honor of your miserable lives!"

Prey drew the dagger, wiped his hand across his face, and smeared the blood from his palm onto the twisted, grotesque blade.

The blood seeped into the blade like water into sand, and the dull, rotten-wood edge began to glow crimson, as if this weren't a dagger but the finger of some living thing, blood flowing beneath a skin of metal.

Prey roared and charged, thrusting the dagger forward like a striking viper baring its fangs.

The hound dodged, the dagger grazing its fur and striking the tree beside it.

With a hiss, the blade sliced through the bark like a razor through parchment, and the tree—thick as a man's embrace—was cleaved clean in two!

Fear flashed in the hound's eyes. It stopped pressing the attack and backed away, staying defensive.

Prey laughed heartily. Truly worthy of the 'relic'—it had turned the tables in an instant!

He advanced with the dagger, swinging with every step. The blade's wind mercilessly tore through everything in his path—trunks, branches, rocks—all cut down by its light. The crimson glow in the dagger grew more intense, like a bloodthirsty beast getting excited at the taste of blood.

The hound let out a panicked whimper, turned tail, and ran.

Prey grew even smugger and had no intention of letting this traitorous beast escape. He pressed the attack.

"I'll tear your mouth apart, flay your hide for a rug, and use your skull as a drinking cup! ...Argh!"

Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath his feet. Prey fell, caught by gravity, and plunged into darkness.

***

Yesterday. The stable.

"You've got to be careful of the 'relic' he carries," Lyman said to Red Lightning and Fan Xing.

Red Lightning chewed hay, mumbling through a full mouth: "What's a relic?"

Fan Xing shot an annoyed glare at its "accomplice": "Stupid horse, it's an object with extraordinary power. I heard Prey's relic was given to him by his uncle for self-defense—rare and deadly."

Lyman nodded in agreement: "That thing's called the Blade of Revelation. It's said that once it absorbs blood, it becomes incredibly sharp for a while—virtually unstoppable. It can cut through anything, which is why it's called 'Revelation.'"

Fan Xing wore a grave expression, pondering how a creature of flesh and blood could contend with a weapon of extraordinary power.

"Even if it's sharp, it's just a short dagger. As long as it can't touch me, it can't hurt me."

Red Lightning cut in, "But if you want to hurt him, you have to get close. Which is longer, your fangs or his dagger?"

Fan Xing was at a loss for words.

"Wait," Fan Xing suddenly wondered, "since that thing is so sharp, how does it fit into its sheath? Wouldn't the sheath get sliced open?"

"There's got to be a specially made sheath," Red Lightning said uncertainly.

Fan Xing shot back, "If there really were a sheath that even the Blade of Revelation couldn't cut through, wouldn't that sheath be the hardest thing in the world?"

Just as the two were about to launch into an otherworldly version of the irresistible-force-meets-immovable-object debate, Lyman hastily cut in.

"Red Lightning is right. Once the Blade of Revelation is activated, it can't be returned to its sheath. It has to be held in hand or set aside. So, we can use this trait to put Prey in a dilemma—a situation where he's forced to abandon the Blade of Revelation."

"How do we do that?" Fan Xing asked eagerly.

Lyman smiled mysteriously. "Did you know Prey had some guys dig a trap in the woods?"

"Oh, I heard about it from other horses," Red Lightning said.

"What if Prey falls into that trap..."