A field of crystal spires stretched endlessly across the mountainside.
At first glance, they resembled a garden in full bloom—delicate stems rising upward, branching into jagged petals that caught what little light pierced through the storm. But there was no softness to them. No life. Only hardened formations of translucent ice and mineral, grown into unnatural shapes that defied the raging wind.
The blizzard howled across the field, yet the structures stood unmoved, as if the storm itself had long since given up trying to break them.
A hand reached out.
Without hesitation, it tore one of the larger crystals from the ground.
The structure cracked with a sharp snap before being shoved into a pouch tied at the man's waist. He raised his arm, shielding his face from the cutting wind as he scanned the field for more.
Riven exhaled through gritted teeth, his breath instantly dissolving into mist. His cloak snapped violently behind him, but he made no effort to reinforce himself with magic. Not yet.
Mana was a currency here.
And he had no intention of wasting it on something as trivial as comfort.
A crunch of snow sounded behind him.
He turned.
The two warriors were approaching through the storm.
One of them staggered forward, barely maintaining balance as he carried the other over his shoulder. The man hanging off him was limp, his limbs frozen stiff, his breath no longer visible.
"Did you find any yet?" Riven asked, his tone sharp but controlled.
The standing warrior shook his head, his face pale beneath the frost clinging to his skin.
"We found one. Just one… but it's not enough." His voice trembled, either from the cold or something deeper. "We can't go further. He's… he's not going to make it."
Riven's gaze shifted to the man slumped over his shoulder.
Then he clicked his tongue.
"That stupid bitch…" The words slipped out under his breath, laced with irritation rather than concern. "If she hadn't slowed us down, we wouldn't be crawling through this hell in the first place."
The warrior hesitated, then gave a bitter nod.
"At least… we'll get something out of it."
A thin, unpleasant smile tugged at Riven's lips.
"Of course we will."
His voice lowered, almost thoughtful.
"They should've just played along. Would've made things easier for everyone."
There was no guilt in his tone. No hesitation. Only mild annoyance, as if something valuable had slipped through his fingers due to poor timing.
"They were already spent," he continued, brushing snow off his sleeve. "No potions. No strength left. All they had to do was stay put and accept the situation."
The warrior shifted uncomfortably but didn't argue.
"They knew," Riven added after a pause, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That mage girl… she caught on earlier than I expected."
A faint scoff escaped him.
"Didn't matter. Out here, awareness doesn't buy you survival."
His gaze drifted toward the storm beyond the crystal field.
"There's nowhere to run. Not in that condition."
Silence settled between them for a moment, filled only by the roar of the wind.
Then—
Riven's expression changed.
"…Wait."
His hand lifted sharply.
"Be quiet."
The warrior immediately stiffened.
In his panic, he loosened his grip—
—and the body slipped.
It hit the snow with a dull, lifeless thud.
Riven's eyes snapped toward the fallen figure.
For a brief second, the only thing visible in his gaze was irritation.
He stepped forward, crouching beside the body. A gloved hand pressed against the man's neck.
Nothing.
His jaw tightened.
"…Tch."
He stood up, brushing his hand off as if he had touched something unpleasant.
"He's already dead."
His voice turned cold.
"Dispose of it."
The warrior flinched. "Y-Yes!"
Without another word, he hurriedly grabbed the corpse and stumbled away into the storm, desperate to follow orders.
Riven watched him go.
Then—
Slowly—
A look of quiet disgust crept across his face.
"…Useless."
He lifted his hand.
A small, dark magic circle formed silently in his palm, its edges faintly pulsing beneath the storm's dim light.
He didn't call out.
Didn't warn him.
Didn't even hesitate.
The spell activated.
Invisible.
Seeping.
Embedding itself deep within the fleeing man's body.
A death curse.
One that would sit quietly within his mana veins, waiting for a single thought from its caster to bloom into something fatal.
Riven lowered his hand.
Just like that, it was done.
No ceremony.
No second thoughts.
The corners of his lips curled upward, faint amusement flickering in his eyes.
Two liabilities removed with a single motion.
Now…
There was no need to share anything.
His attention shifted back toward the storm.
Those two girls.
His expression darkened slightly.
"They won't get far."
Exhausted. Injured. Out of resources.
Even if they had managed to crawl away, the mountain itself would finish the job for him.
And if, by some miracle, they were still alive—
A slow, greedy glint surfaced in his gaze.
"Then I'll just take my time."
This time, there would be no interruptions.
No interference.
No one to split the reward with.
Just as he began to move—
He stopped.
Something stirred within the storm.
Faint.
Distant.
But unmistakable.
Shapes.
Multiple.
Approaching.
Riven narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce through the curtain of snow. The wind distorted everything, turning silhouettes into shifting ghosts.
"…What now?"
His grip tightened slightly.
Another group?
Adventurers?
Or—
Something worse?
He glanced once toward the direction the warrior had disappeared, then back toward the incoming figures.
Calculation flickered behind his eyes.
Then, without hesitation, he moved.
His staff came apart in his hands, the crystal core sliding free from its housing. He tucked it safely into his cloak before gripping the wooden shaft.
With a sharp motion, he tried to snap it.
It resisted.
"…Tch."
Grabbing a jagged rock from the ground, he placed the staff against another and brought it down hard.
Crack.
Again.
Crack—
Until the wood finally splintered apart.
He discarded the broken remains without care, scattering them into the snow.
From the outside, it would look like the aftermath of a desperate struggle.
A mage without a weapon.
Separated.
Vulnerable.
Riven exhaled slowly, steadying himself as he adjusted his expression.
Fear.
Fatigue.
Desperation.
He let those emotions settle onto his face like a mask.
By the time the figures reached him—
He would no longer be the hunter.
But the victim.
And from there…
He would decide exactly how this story ends.
Because if there was one thing Riven excelled at—
It was surviving.
No matter what it cost others.
---
The storm howled like a living thing.
Snow swept across the mountainside in violent spirals, erasing footprints as soon as they were made, blinding anything that relied on sight alone. Yet through that chaos, a group advanced with quiet precision.
They did not see the storm.
They felt through it.
Ray moved at the front, his steps steady, each motion deliberate as the others followed in formation behind him. Their eyes were covered with strips of cloth, blindfolds pulled tight, shutting out the useless world of white noise and blinding wind. In its place, another sense guided them.
Astrons.
The flow of energy painted the world in sharp clarity. Every rock, every slope, every shifting current of wind… all of it mapped itself into their awareness like a living blueprint.
Their bodies had changed.
Their senses had evolved.
The cold, once biting and unforgiving, now barely grazed them. Sabertusk leather hugged their forms, reinforced with carefully prepared blood packs that radiated warmth, turning the mountain's cruelty into little more than an inconvenience. Where ordinary beings would have slowed, shivered, hesitated…
They advanced.
Unfazed.
One of them suddenly halted, his head snapping toward the horizon.
"…Wait."
A beat passed.
Then his voice exploded with excitement.
"LOOK! WE ACTUALLY MADE IT!"
The formation broke as several others focused their senses forward. Through the storm, beyond the swirling chaos—
They felt it.
A dense cluster of energy, vibrant and alive.
Ray narrowed his eyes beneath the blindfold.
"…So this is it."
Without another word, the group removed their blindfolds almost in unison.
The world rushed back in.
And before them—
A field unlike anything they had ever seen.
Crystalline structures rose from the ground like frozen flames, shimmering in hues of pale blue and soft violet. They weren't flowers in the traditional sense, yet they carried the same fragile beauty, their surfaces refracting light into faint glimmers despite the storm's fury.
Spirit herbs.
A massive field of them.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then instinct took over.
Several goblins stepped forward, drawn in by the sight—
"Stop."
Ray's voice cut through the air like a blade.
His hand rose, halting them instantly.
The shift was immediate.
Excitement turned into tension.
Every warrior stepped forward, forming a loose defensive line as their gazes sharpened, cutting through the storm with lethal focus.
"…Who goes there?" Ray's voice carried, low and controlled.
Silence answered him.
The wind screamed louder, as if trying to bury whatever lingered ahead.
Ray didn't move.
"…Step forward," he continued, his tone hardening, "or you will be branded as an enemy."
For a moment, nothing.
Then—
A shape.
Faint at first. Just a distortion within the storm.
Then it grew clearer.
A figure emerged from the white haze, moving slowly, deliberately. Cloaked, hunched slightly, each step heavy as though dragged forward by exhaustion.
Hands raised.
Empty.
The man stopped at a distance, making sure not to cross the invisible boundary Ray had set.
"Don't attack!" he called out, his voice strained, carried unevenly by the wind. "I'm just… a lone adventurer. I got separated from my party…"
He staggered slightly, as if struggling to remain upright.
"I have almost no mana left… and my staff—" he glanced down briefly, shaking his head, "—it's gone. Broken."
Then, lowering himself carefully, he dropped to one knee in the snow.
"In the name of the great council…" his voice softened, almost desperate, "please… lend me aid."
The performance was flawless.
Even the smallest details aligned. The tremor in his voice, the uneven breathing, the subtle delay between movements as if his body was on the verge of collapse. Every piece painted the picture of a man barely holding on.
The goblins exchanged glances.
The mention of the council hung in the air, heavy with implication.
Ray didn't respond immediately.
His gaze remained locked on the man as he extended his senses outward, scanning the surrounding area. The storm interfered, but not enough to mask a coordinated presence.
Nothing.
No hidden signatures.
No movement beyond the natural chaos of the mountain.
Still…
Something about it lingered.
A faint itch at the back of his mind.
Suspicion.
Yet logic pressed against it.
The man was alone.
Unarmed.
Exhausted.
And if his words held even a fraction of truth, turning him away could carry consequences beyond this mountain.
Ray exhaled slowly.
"…Tch."
He turned slightly, addressing his group.
"Find a suitable place and set camp."
The tension eased, though not entirely.
"Collectors," he continued, "gather as many spirit herbs as you can. Don't miss a single patch. Lord Haruto will find use for them."
Several nodded immediately, already preparing to move.
"Guards," he added, "split up. Some of you go with the collectors. The rest stay and assist with setting up tents and preparing food."
His voice sharpened slightly.
"Be quick. We need everything ready before Haruna returns."
With that, he turned back toward the cloaked figure.
"…What is your name, human?"
The man lifted his head just enough, as if relieved to still be acknowledged.
"Riven," he answered. "Riven… is my name."
Ray held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then, without another word, he looked away.
"Stay out of everyone's way," he said flatly. "As long as you can do that, you're free to remain here… for now."
That was all.
No welcome.
No trust.
Just permission.
Ray turned and walked off, already shifting his attention to organizing the camp.
Behind him—
"Thank you! Thank you very much!"
Riven's voice rang out, filled with gratitude, almost overwhelming in its relief.
But his head remained lowered.
And as the goblins dispersed, moving efficiently across the field—
The expression hidden beneath his hood twisted.
A slow, creeping grin stretched across his lips.
Sharp.
Hungry.
Watching.
Every movement. Every position. Every opening.
The way the guards split. The distance between groups. The momentary lapses when attention shifted from one task to another.
He saw it all.
Memorized it.
"…Perfect," he murmured under his breath, just quiet enough for the storm to swallow the sound.
A wolf had just been welcomed into the flock.
And the storm—
It only made the hunt easier.
...