It was time.
They were exactly where Ere wanted. He drew the dagger, steady, though his hands trembled—not from fear, but from the lack of strength left in his body. This was his chance.
The grizzly turned, still confused, its wounded leg slowing its pivot just enough for him to slip behind it. Ere moved in low. Fast. A quick slash across its back. Steel met fur, hide, and muscle—but the blade barely bit. The cut was shallow, far weaker than the strike Mika had landed earlier. Worse, the wound on its leg already looked as though it had adapted, no longer hindering its movement as much.
So that was it.
This was not a battle of power. It was a battle of endurance. A battle of repetition.
A thousand cuts, if needed.
Ere tightened his grip. If that was the price, then he would pay it until his final breath. This was not protection.
This was responsibility.
Mika and the villagers had done nothing to deserve this. This fight had followed him. It belonged to him. He had to carry its weight.
Today, those weeks of training had to mean something.
He took a deep breath, his body feeling lighter. His steps came easier now, more focused, more precise. He moved between the trees in short bursts, using the trunks as shields. The moment the beast swung, he shifted behind bark and wood, letting its claws carve through trees instead of flesh.
Then he stepped back in.
One slash across the shoulder. A cut along the ribs. A quick stab toward the side before slipping away again.
His style was not elegant. Not refined.
It was survival.
Hit. Move. Cover. Strike again.
The dagger flashed in short, sharp motions, each attack precise, never overcommitted. He was landing far more hits than he had expected. Not enough to kill—but enough to frustrate it. Enough to keep it angry.
And that anger quickly turned to fury.
The beast stopped chasing him around the trunks. Instead, it began tearing the forest apart. One swing—a tree cracked. Another—a trunk split and collapsed. It no longer searched for him. It destroyed everything around it.
In seconds, the forest became a wasteland of shattered wood and broken branches.
There was nowhere left to hide.
Ere stood in the open.
Face to face with it.
Its claws came down like knives. He met the first strike with his dagger. Steel screamed. The impact ran through his arm, into his shoulder. Another clash. Another.
Every block felt heavier.
Like the weapon itself was being ground down.
Like his soul was being chipped away with it.
Still, he stood—with only one promise to himself.
To give everything.
But the beast no longer held back. Its body twisted, muscles coiling beneath its fur, and the next strike came with monstrous force. Ere barely raised the dagger.
The impact sent him flying.
His back crashed into a broken trunk. Wood splintered beneath him. Pain exploded through his ribs. Blood spilled from his mouth, from his hand, from cuts he had not even felt opening. The ground beneath him darkened. His vision blurred.
The beast approached.
Slow. Certain. Ready to end it.
And then—
the blood beneath him began to glow.
A circle. Crimson. Burning like fire.
His blood had traced it.
Just like the one he had drawn in the dwarven ruins.
No…
This was stronger.
Ere looked down.
The dagger was changing.
Its straight edge curved into something more savage. Dark blue steel. Sharper. Heavier. Beautiful in a monstrous way.
Then the pain shifted.
Some of his wounds faded—not healed, but transferred. Thin scratches began appearing along the blade.
It was taking the damage.
Sharing it.
Alive.
No—
Connected.
Ere forced himself up. The dagger should have felt heavier, its form now more complex, more detailed—but instead, it felt lighter than ever before.
As if it had adapted to him.
The steps came back.
Shadow Steps.
The technique he had read only hours ago.
He moved.
And the world slowed.
The beast's claws swept toward him. He slipped aside. A breath. A shadow. A blur. Every step felt weightless. Every dodge left something behind—an afterimage, as if his shadow had taken the hit instead.
He flipped back. Stepped in. Cut across its forearm. Pivoted. Another slash to the leg. Then the shoulder. Then the throat.
One cut after another.
Faster. Lighter. Cleaner.
This was no longer survival.
This was rhythm.
A dance at the edge of collapse.
The beast faltered.
So did he.
Every movement drained what little remained of him. They had both reached their final breath.
Ere let his back rest against a broken trunk as the beast approached for the final clash. Its eyes held no fear—only instinct, only violence.
And strangely…
he admired that.
But when their eyes met, his did not waver. Its presence did not overwhelm him.
His drowned it.
The beast lunged.
Ere moved.
One final step.
One final strike.
The dagger drove deep into its stomach.
The beast froze.
For a single suspended moment, neither of them moved.
Then it collapsed.
Its weight crashed over him, heavy enough to steal what little breath he had left. Blood poured over his hands—so much that he could no longer tell where it came from.
The monster's.
Or his.
Hunter and hunted, their blood mixing on the broken earth.
Ere could no longer move. Every muscle gave in at once. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision.
And this time…
he let it.
Before his eyes fully closed, his gaze fell to the dagger. It had returned to its original form—plain, silent, as if hiding its true nature.
But he could still feel it. It was no longer the same blade.
This was the weapon that had pierced the beast's hide.
The one that had stood with him when his body could not.
A forgotten art. A strength entrusted to him by Dasteni.
If he survived…
he would master it.
Carry it forward.
Before the darkness finally took him, a name surfaced in his fading thoughts.
Das.
The least he could do.
To honor her.
To ensure what she had protected would not be lost again.
Then—
darkness took him.