The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from outside the tent as the Admiral, draped in a pelt mantle and smelling of fresh sweat, stepped inside. Every stride he took was as steady as a mountain.
His gaze swept across the medical tent until it landed on Leon. Though the hunter was pale and gaunt, his eyes were sharp, reflecting a clarity and resolve like a whetted blade.
The Admiral approached the bedside and asked in a low voice, "I heard you were awake. How are you holding up? Doing alright?"
"I'm not dead," Leon replied. "I can still move."
"It's a miracle," the Admiral said bluntly. "But don't think for a second that waking up means you're fit for battle. The situation in the Elder's Recess has stabilized for now. I'll take care of Malzeno..."
Leon reached out and gripped the broken hilt of the Decimation Claws lying beside him. "I can still move," he repeated slowly.
Dumpling stood nearby, crossing his tiny paws over his chest and puffing out his cheeks. "We're not backing down, meow!"
The Admiral fell silent for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips. "I knew you wouldn't give up..."
He paused for a heartbeat, then pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment and handed it to Leon. "Your quest window hasn't expired yet. But if you haven't successfully hunted Malzeno by the morning of the day after tomorrow, I will step in."
Leon nodded and took the parchment.
He unfurled the scroll, his eyes scanning the vigorous brushwork—a new hunting commission written in the Admiral's own bold hand.
[QUEST NAME: THE UNYIELDING HUNTER'S SOUL]
[QUEST LEVEL: 9★]
[TARGET: SLAY MALZENO]
[VERIFICATION: NONE]
[LOCATION: ELDER'S RECESS]
[CLIENT: ADMIRAL]
[QUEST DESCRIPTION: AN EMERGENCY QUEST ISSUED PERSONALLY BY THE ADMIRAL. GIVE IT YOUR ALL! DON'T LET ME DOWN.]
[REWARD: 38800Z]
[TIME LIMIT: 36 HOURS]
Leon's gaze lingered on the phrase 'The Unyielding Hunter's Soul.' His fingertips brushed against the paper as if touching a heavy, solemn vow.
He looked up at the Admiral, his tone calm but resolute. "Don't worry. I'll finish it."
The Admiral stared at Leon with a rare look of pride. Without another word, he simply nodded and turned to leave. His heavy footsteps receded into the distance across the rocky ground outside.
Silence filled the tent until Dumpling finally spoke up. "Rookie... we really can't fail this time, meow..."
"Yeah," Leon whispered, turning the broken hilt over in his hands. "We can't fail again."
He stood up. Though his movements were slow, his straight back was no longer that of a patient.
"Where are we going, meow?" Dumpling asked, hopping off the bed to follow him.
"The Workshop," Leon said, his voice low but carrying an undeniable weight. "I need my gear repaired, and..."
He looked down at Dumpling. "It's time I got you a proper set of equipment."
Leon was well aware of the effects of Heart-Bond Resonance. Now that Dumpling had his own attribute points, his strength and speed should be roughly on par with Leon's own.
If that were the case, Dumpling could actually participate in the hunt.
"Huh? Gear for me, meow?" Dumpling blinked, as if he hadn't fully processed the words. "Are you serious? You're really getting me gear, meow?"
"Yes," Leon nodded, his stride steady as he walked out of the tent. "You're my partner. I'm not letting you step onto the battlefield empty-handed again."
Dumpling froze for a second before baring a row of tiny fangs in a grin. He pumped a fist triumphantly. "Then make it the coolest set ever, meow! It should be able to breathe fire, turn invisible, and maybe even fly—"
"Keep dreaming," Leon interrupted flatly. "If it makes those short legs move faster, it's good enough."
"Hey! That's cold, meow!" Dumpling protested, hopping and skipping beside Leon in indignation.
. . .
Heat still billowed from the Workshop, where the rhythmic clanging of hammers and the shouts of smiths formed a rough, industrial melody.
Leon pushed the door open, greeted by the familiar scent of iron and fire. The Second Fleet Master was currently swinging a massive hammer, pounding away at a piece of metal.
He looked up and spotted Leon, his eyes widening. "You're not dead yet?!"
"Sorry to disappoint," Leon said with a faint smile. "Did I let you down again?"
"Tsk, you're a hard one to kill." The Second Fleet Master set down his hammer and walked over, snatching the broken hilt from Leon's hand with a sigh. "Man, these are the Decimation Claws. These things can slice through Elder Dragons, and yet you turned them into a piece of scrap iron?"
He toyed with the hilt, his fingers tracing the cracks in the spine and the scorched marks on the edge. He frowned. "Cracks spreading along the core... did you take a breath attack point-blank to cause a blowout like this?"
Leon didn't say a word, only nodded.
"Hmph, you lunatic. Even the Decimation Claws have limits—don't drag your weapons into your suicide runs!" The Second Fleet Master picked up his hammer again. "I assume you still have leftover materials? I'll fix your gear and reinforce it. How about we customize it for Affinity?"
"Thanks." Leon turned to rummage through his storage box, pulling out materials for Dumpling's gear as well.
Nergigante and Vaal Hazak.
"These..." Leon placed the materials onto the workbench one by one, looking at the Second Fleet Master with determination. "Besides repairing my gear, I need a set of Felyne equipment made."
"...Huh?" The Second Fleet Master blinked, glancing at Dumpling, who was currently rolling around in the corner hugging a Monster Bone. "You mean for the cat?"
"Yes," Leon said seriously. "A full Vaal Hazak set—both weapon and armor."
Dumpling jumped up, paws on his hips, and puffed out his chest proudly. "That's right, meow! It's for yours truly. The Claws of Doom are about to debut, meow!"
"Doom, my foot. Stop giving yourself nicknames," Leon said, rolling his eyes.
The Second Fleet Master grinned. "Ha... interesting. These materials should be enough. I'll handle it."
As soon as he spoke, he barked an order to the smiths behind him. The Workshop erupted into a frenzy. The forge fires licked the air with a red glow, and hammers fell like thunder as metal was molten and reshaped in the flames.
Leon waited silently. Watching the armor and weapons take shape, the mix of battle-ready anxiety and cold focus in his heart felt as if it were being forged into his very soul.
Dumpling, meanwhile, was standing on a rack while a burly smith measured his height and limbs.
He was still rambling. "I want shoulder pads with spikes, meow! And the helmet needs goggles, meow! The tail armor can't be too heavy..."
"Quiet!" the smith snapped. "If you keep yapping, I'll make you a round little plushie suit."
Hearing that, Dumpling immediately covered his mouth, complaining through his paws, "Waaa! You're so cruel, meow!"
. . .
A few hours later, the equipment was finished.
Dumpling stood by the anvil, his new armor shimmering with a cold, eerie light. The helmet was a skeletal dragon bone mask, with two crimson eye-lights glowing deep within the sockets like a reaper guarding the underworld.
The surface of the armor was covered in interlaced scales and bone plates, with edges that looked naturally eroded.
The center of the breastplate resembled a gaping maw of beastly fangs. The pauldrons flared upward like sharp, aggressive horns, and his limbs were encased in heavy bone guards that didn't hinder his movement at all.
Despite his small size, the armor exuded a sense of pressure—as if he wasn't just a Felyne, but a general from a subterranean realm of decay.
Dumpling flexed his tiny paws, the armor clinking with a metallic grind. He spun around in satisfaction and grinned. "Hehehe—I look awesome, meow! This gear could make three Jagras cry, meow!"
Leon stood to the side, watching Dumpling's ears twitch inside the helmet. He sighed helplessly. "Don't get ahead of yourself. You're not going onto the battlefield to look cute anymore; you're going there to fight."
"Roger, meow! I'm your partner, Dumpling. Vaal Form, engage, meow!" Beneath the helmet, his eyes glowed with confidence.
Once Dumpling was suited up, the Second Fleet Master presented Leon's repaired gear.
Click!
Leon slowly fastened the final plate of armor. He was covered in black steel with scale-like textures, inlaid with deep purple crystal bone that seemed to flow with effluvium under the firelight.
The helmet was a full-face mask shaped like a skeletal beast, with dark red crystals hiding his eyes, looking like two ghost fires in the dark—a truly intimidating sight.
The entire set was rugged, yet every joint was flexible thanks to precision forging.
"It's ready." Leon gripped the reforged Decimation Claws and straightened his back. His low voice sounded as if it were echoing from the depths of the iron.
Dumpling stood at Leon's feet, looking up with sparkling eyes. "Leon, Leon! Don't we look like a squad of Undead Hunters? The kind that scares monsters away just by showing up, meow!"
"No," Leon looked down at Dumpling. "We're a dragon-hunting squad."
Dumpling blinked, raised his cat sword, and hopped onto Leon's shoulder. "That works too, meow!"
Two figures, one large and one small, man and cat, clad in the scales of the dead, stepped out through the iron gates of the Workshop.