Chapter 3: The Hunting Game

Chapter 3: The Hunt

A young man in blue rode out of the dense woods on a fine horse. He was the "Anthony" the youth in red had called out to, and the "master" who had purchased Sylen.

Anthony caught up to Sylen, drew his longsword, and copied what the guy in red, Will, had done—leaning over to swing his sword as he rode up beside the boy.

Sylen suddenly ducked and rolled on the ground. The blade grazed the top of his head, just slicing off a few strands of hair.

Then he scrambled up, clumsy and wincing from the pain in his ankle, and ran toward the densest part of the trees, slipping through the tangled branches.

Anthony's swing hit nothing but air, and the blade buried itself in a tree trunk, nearly yanking him off his horse. Cursing under his breath, he reined in his horse and tried to yank the sword free, but the blade was stuck tight, and no matter how he struggled, it wouldn't budge.

His face went red, like he'd just been humiliated. He gave up on the sword and spurred his horse after the boy. But when he realized the horse couldn't get through the thick trees, he hit peak fury.

He whistled.

A hound burst out of the woods. Its shoulders were as high as a grown man's waist, muscles rippling, drool dripping from its fangs.

Anthony pointed where the boy had vanished and shouted, "Hunt!" The hound immediately snarled and gave chase.

Within seconds, the boy's bloodcurdling screams tore through the forest.

The hound came back, jaws clamped around Sylen's calf, dragging him out of the bushes. He tried to grab a tree, but the hound was stronger—his nails ripped off, leaving long bloody streaks on the bark.

"Let go!" Anthony ordered.

The hound finally let go and trotted back to its master, tail wagging like crazy, looking for praise.

"Damn it, running like that—you almost made me lose to Will."

Anthony got off his horse and went back to pull the sword out of the tree.

The blade was fine, still gleaming cold. That put him in a better mood.

"Gotta hand it to the dwarves—their swords don't chip even like this. Worth every damn coin!"

"You monster!" Sylen screamed, his voice raw. "The Abyss will curse you! The gods will punish you! Your soul will burn under the desert sun, you—"

Anthony sneered. "Gods? Where are they? If you're so tough, get one to come down and punish me!"

Sylen hung his head.

"Ha! Cat got your tongue now, huh!"

Anthony figured the kid had finally given in and moved in with a sleazy grin.

"Looking at you up close, you're not half bad. Shame to waste you as prey. I just happen to need a bed-slave..."

Sylen turned his head away, hugging himself, playing up the pitiful act. Anthony crouched down, grabbed his hair, and yanked him close.

"There, that's better. Be a good boy, and you'll have a way better life than you do now!"

In that instant, Sylen's wrist shot up.

He'd been hiding a sharp stone in his palm, and the second Anthony got close, he jammed it straight into his eye socket!

"AAAAARGH!"

Anthony let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed, clutching his right eye as blood poured between his fingers.

"My eye! You bastard! You goddamn slave! My eye!..."

Sylen jumped up and, while Anthony was still screaming, stumbled onto the horse's back.

He didn't know how to ride, but the well-trained, gentle horse just needed a single "Hyah!" before it bolted into the forest.

Anthony's face was a mess of blood, his screams turning into garbled curses.

"A mere slave... how dare... how dare you... I'll kill all of you! I'll skin you alive!—Blackwind, after him!"

The hound got the command, let out a low growl, and shot off like a black blur, following the scent and the blood.

Sylen lay sprawled over the horse's back, agony flooding his mind, making his head spin.

Behind him, claws pattered against the ground—some four-legged beast sprinting over dirt and leaves.

The hound burst out of the underbrush, its powerful front legs lunging at Sylen's back. Sylen cried out and fell off the horse, hitting the ground hard, his back screaming like it had snapped.

The hound clamped its jaws around his leg. The bone snapped clean through, splinters poking through the skin. That was the trick to keeping prey from escaping—every hound learned it in the first days of training.

Sylen closed his eyes.

"Gods, save me! I don't wanna die!"

If demons existed, did gods too? Would praying even get an answer?

Sylen didn't know. He just prayed, because that was all he could do.

"...I can't die! I have to live—someone's waiting for me!"

Just as he thought the hound's fangs would tear into his throat—

Everything stopped.

The hound froze mid-lunge, stuck like a statue. The wind stopped howling, the leaves stopped swaying, the horse went quiet, and the birds and bugs in the forest fell silent too.

No, that wasn't it—they hadn't stopped. Time itself had.

Sylen raised his head, trembling. Every survival instinct screamed that something beyond reason, something impossibly powerful, had arrived.

A pitch-black shadow appeared above his head.

The surroundings dimmed, as if all light were being absorbed by that shadow. The dark figure brought an unparalleled darkness to the space—no, more precisely, its very existence was the embodiment of the concept of "darkness."

In the shadow's hands was a massive tome, its brass cover inlaid with a single closed eye.

Sylen's lips trembled: "You... who are you?"

***

Lyman, floating in midair, was taken aback. This boy... could see him?

He had been tracking the boy for a while now, certain this was the one who had made the wish. But until just now, when time had inexplicably stopped, the boy hadn't been able to perceive his presence.

He wondered what he looked like in the boy's eyes. Probably terrifying, judging by the boy's face—already set in grim resolve, like a pitiful sacrifice being led to the altar.

When Sylen saw that the shadow did not answer, he immediately realized he had asked a foolish question. He had just prayed to the gods, and then the shadow appeared—what else could it be but a god?

Only, this "god" was quite different from the radiant deities worshipped by humanity. Could it be the legendary outer god of heresy?

Heretical god or righteous god, as long as it could save Sylen, he would offer everything he had.

Lyman felt he should say something; standing there in silence with the boy wasn't going to work. He'd already decided to make this poor kid his first Apostle, but how should he go about it? Should he run some kind of ritual? The Book of the Evil God didn't say anything about that. He had no clue how much longer the time-stop would hold.

He mulled it over, then asked, "What's your name?"

—What is your name? The shadow asked thus. Its voice was deep and solemn, like a bell tolling through a vast cathedral.

"My name is Sylen," the boy replied humbly. "May I ask... are you a god?"

Not just a god—an evil god, no less. Lyman thought. Every word he said from here on out had to be carefully picked to keep up the whole evil-god vibe.

Thinking back to the fantasy novels and movies from his past life, he copied the vibe of those cryptic, mysterious types: "I happened to catch your prayer while drifting through the cosmos, and curiosity brought me here."

Wandering the cosmos... So this shadow truly was a "god" from the outer world!

Excitement and fear hit Sylen at the same time. His prayer had drawn in something this powerful—there was no backing out now, no room for regret.

"Please save me!" he cried. "I'll do anything! I—I don't want to die!"

The gray Apostle Card in Lyman's hand shook hard, like it sensed something. The word "Apostle" above the card broke apart into little specks of light, scattered into the air, then snapped back together into "Sylen."

In the middle of the card, lines started appearing on their own, tracing out a figure's shape. But before it could finish, the drawing just stopped. The card buzzed, and Lyman could actually hear it whirring.

What the hell? Did I mess up the steps?

Lyman was stumped. He read the passage from the Book of the Evil God again.

"Guide them to seek their true inner desire... 'True'? So 'survival' isn't what he really wants?"

"Is this what you truly want?" Lyman asked.

Being questioned like that by such a mighty being, Sylen couldn't stop shaking. Of course he wanted to live—how could that be a lie?

But if the "god" was asking, there had to be a reason. Sylen pressed his hand to his chest, where there was no wound, yet it ached terribly. What did he truly want?

He remembered the last words of the two clansmen who'd died to save him, thought of his sister somewhere unknown, and the homeland he could never return to.

"Survive," "find a place to hide"—was that his future? Hiding out in strange lands, scared of getting grabbed and enslaved again, living in fear for the rest of his life. Was that what he wanted?

"No! That's not it!" The boy's fists clenched on their own. "I want to live—live with my head held high!"

As he talked, his voice got louder all on its own:

"I won't hide, I won't live in fear! When I want to return to my homeland, I'll go back. When I want to come to the mainland, I'll come!

"I won't be hunted anymore, I won't be anyone's slave!—I want, I want freedom!"

As the boy shouted the final word, the eye on the cover of the Book of the Evil God snapped open, its crimson pupil shaking like crazy!

A blinding light exploded from the boy's chest. It surged into a torrent, shot straight up into the sky, then came crashing down with unstoppable force—like the Milky Way pouring in reverse—and slammed straight into the card in Lyman's hand!

The gray faded from the card, revealing a bronze base. Countless radiant lines converged on the card's surface, forming a picture:

A young man stood amidst a storm, his seaweed-like hair whipping wildly in the wind. He raised both hands high, breaking the shackles on his wrists. His wrists were bloodied, yet his gaze was unyielding. Behind him, the sea raged violently, as if about to devour the world.

At the same moment, a card appeared in Sylen's hand, nearly identical to Lyman's Apostle Card. The only difference was the back of the card—instead of a symmetrical pattern, it bore elegant, flowing script.

"Seleren Moon Tide"

"You were once a bound slave, and now you have gained the power to break your chains. You will walk a path of suffering, but the price you pay will ultimately be rewarded. You will taste tears, and more often than not, blood. You will become a raging tide that sweeps across the world—what you bring will be fear or hope?"

【You have accepted the mission: "I Am the Tide."】

【You have unlocked a new task: "Become a Warrior."】