Inside a derelict hut in the "Village of the Weak," Harten was sharply rummaging through his gear. "Damn it... where is the ivory dagger?" The blade glinted under a sliver of dim light, and he gripped it firmly. "There it is... preparations complete." Harten stepped out of the hut with a dual purpose: to satisfy the hunger gnawing at his vitals and to solidify his bond with the old man. The food wasn't an act of charity; it was an investment. The old man was his only bridge to understanding this world—excluding those two peculiar girls.
As he departed the village, a thought crossed his mind: "Should I attack the Kinkepi buffalo?" To him, risking a confrontation with a pride of lions in the open savanna seemed easier than facing an armed gang. "Lions are mere beasts; armed humans are treacherous filth." Harten surged toward the village outskirts, where the savanna stretched before and behind him like a sea of tall grass.
Suddenly, he sensed someone following him. A hint of mockery touched his mind; the pursuer was a fool—their breath was ragged and their footfalls betrayed their position. Harten vanished in the blink of an eye into the high brush, startling the stalker who began looking left and right in terror before something yanked their leg violently, sending them face-first into the dirt. It was Arsha, screaming in fury, "Damn it! Who is the idiot that dares to pull me?"
Harten emerged from the grass, holding the silk thread attached to the hilt of his blood-stained dagger. Arsha froze. "You! You pampered brat! Release me this instant or—" Harten looked down at her with chilling indifference. "Or what?" Her tone shifted immediately. "No... nothing, please just release me." Harten hoisted her up, then suddenly slackened the rope, letting her drop onto her face again. He crouched before her, leveling the blade's tip at her throat. "Why are you following me? Speak, or I'll slit your windpipe!" Arsha stammered, staring at the steel near her vein. "Curiosity... just curiosity, I swear!" Harten stood up coldly. "Curiosity kills. Stop this and stay away from me," he said, leaving her in a state of genuine dread.
However, as soon as he was out of sight, Arsha wiped the fear from her face, replaced by a haunting coldness. "Damn... Kinkepi won't like this. I won't be able to spy on him now. That gaze, that scent of blood... he's a dangerous monster." She hurried back toward the village.
Meanwhile, Harten had pushed deep into the heart of the savanna under a scorching midday sun where predators lurked. A herd of buffalo appeared before him—masses of muscle and jagged horns. Harten thought, "Attacking without a plan is suicide; the herd won't let me take my prize easily." Then, a mad idea struck him: "I'll enlist my old comrades."
A short while later, a surreal scene unfolded across the savanna: a human running at terrifying speed, pursued by a pride of hungry lions! Harten was shouting and cursing with a comically terrified expression: "Damn it! Terrible idea... I hope I don't tire out before I get there!" Before the great cats' claws could reach him, he dove into the middle of the buffalo herd. Chaos erupted; the lions attacked, and the buffalo scattered in panic. Exploiting the frenzy, Harten latched onto the horns of a massive buffalo as if mounting a steed from hell.
The second phase began: separating the buffalo from the herd. Harten began wrenching the horns with Herculean strength, jerking them left and right to disorient the beast and force a change in direction. The buffalo resisted stubbornly, but Harten's will was stronger. He felt a burning heat searing his hands and shoulders; the Chip was draining his energy at an insane rate. Finally, the buffalo succumbed to its human "steering wheel," but it bolted at a frantic, unstoppable speed. On the verge of collapse, Harten spotted a nearby tree and decided to gamble.
He lashed one end of the silk thread to the tree while still gripping the buffalo's horn, the other end firmly in his hand. As the line snapped taut, Harten felt as though his body would be torn in two by the recoil. He roared in agony, but the thread held. The buffalo was jerked from lightning speed to a dead stop. Harten fell unconscious from the sheer exhaustion. "Damn... things were easier before this Chip."
After a long rest, Harten dragged the submissive buffalo back toward the village. At the gate, two soldiers bearing the tattoos of the forest killers emerged, with three others behind them. Harten tried to ignore them, but they blocked his path, muttering unintelligible words. Harten gripped his dagger, ready to strike, until Arsha appeared from behind them.
"Seems you succeeded, pampered boy," Arsha said spitefully. Harten snapped, "Translate what they're saying." She replied arrogantly, "And why should I help you?" Harten offered a terrifying smile. "For the sake of your village. These are Kinkepi men, and I have a bad habit of killing those I don't understand... and believe me, I'm not joking." Arsha shivered, then translated: "They're asking what right you have to Kinkepi property. This land and everything on it belongs to them—even you and the buffalo."
Harten laughed, then grabbed Arsha's arm with crushing force. "Tell him he's a son of a bitch, and to hell with him and Kinkepi!" Arsha was horrified. "I won't say that! Just obey them and hand over the buffalo!" The enraged soldier stepped forward, shoved Arsha aside, and spat on Harten. In that moment, Harten's face darkened, his features vanishing behind a mask of madness.
The soldiers laughed, but the laughter turned into a muffled gargle. The first soldier collapsed as a river of blood erupted from his throat from a perfectly straight, professional cut. Harten looked at the rest with haunting indifference. "Why are you so arrogant when you're this weak? I'll show you who I am." He raised his hand and began spinning the silk thread, the ivory dagger at the end whirring like a helicopter blade until it became an invisible blur.
"One." The second soldier's head took flight. The third charged with a spear, but Harten caught the shaft with his bare hand, snapping it like a twig, then passed his spinning blade through the man's torso at an angle like a buzzsaw. "Two." He hurled the broken spearhead, piercing the skull of the fourth soldier in the back. "Three... four."
Only the last remained. Harten threw the dagger like a bullet, impaling the man's leg. The soldier tried to crawl away, but Harten gave him no chance; he drove the dagger into his neck to make it "Five." Harten retracted his blood-red blade and turned toward Arsha, who was frozen in terror. He spoke with a terrifying calm:
"You have five seconds to explain why you summoned these fools... or you're joining them!"