"…Ugh… ughhh…"
Shuku feels dizzy. Breathing is difficult. His mind is wrapped in darkness that slowly begins to lift, as if someone just threw cold water over him. His eyes flutter open.
"You're awake."
The voice is calm, deep, and carries an air of superiority.
Shuku's blurry vision starts to sharpen, revealing the crisp image of a tall, muscular man with a beard and striking gray hair that draws attention immediately.
"Uhh… huhhh…!"
Still lightheaded, Shuku takes in the details of the room around him. It's damp and dark, sealed off from the outside world. A staircase leads up to somewhere unseen, and a single orange light bulb hangs from the ceiling, casting a dim, uneven glow over everything.
"So, you're the third manhunter that came after me."
Where… where am I? Shuku wonders, his mind still clouded from the effects of whatever he was given.
"You… are Reynard!"
Even through the haze, his memory is sharp enough to recognize the man glaring down at him with disdain — the man he was hunting.
"So you really are a manhunter," Reynard replies. "Recognized me just from that ugly poster? I don't think we've ever met."
"Where am I? What did you do to me?!" Shuku snaps.
"You're in a basement. Can't you see that?" Reynard says casually. Then his tone shifts, carrying a hint of mockery. "And I have to compliment your bravery. Coming after me… with just a knife."
He pulls out a black knife, holding the tip between his fingers and turning it playfully.
"My knife?!"
Shuku frantically checks his pockets, confirming they're empty. Reynard smirks and tosses the blade behind him. It clatters into a pile of weapons in the corner — swords, bows, and other gear taken from those who came before.
"The other two were smart. They came here with full gear, long swords, sharp knives, bows, everything. They knew exactly who they were dealing with and didn't come unprepared. But you..." Reynard leans in close to Shuku's face.
"I'll admit, you're either extremely brave, naive, or just stupid to think you could kill me with nothing but a knife. You're the second type of rookie manhunter. The arrogant kind." He steps back again.
Now with the situation clear in his mind, Shuku tries to think of a plan. First, he needs to distract Reynard and buy time.
"You're right. I can't kill you. You're stronger, better equipped. You win, I lose. So can you let me go now? I swear I'll leave you alone."
Silence.
They stare at each other, neither willing to back down or trust the other. Then Reynard leans closer again, eyes narrowing.
"Hm... strange. You say that like you have no intention to fight, but I don't feel any sincerity, fear, or cowardice in you."
Shuku stays silent, meeting his gaze.
"I'll admit, you're... different. I've seen murderous lunatics and fierce fighters strapped to chairs like this, hands tied behind their backs, torture tools laid out on a table. No matter how much they tried to look calm, their fear always gave them away. Through sweat, fast breathing, or restless eyes. But you..."
Shuku narrows his eyes slightly.
"You act like you don't care. Like nothing I do to you will matter. As if pain or death isn't your worst fear."
Reynard straightens, then leans back down again.
"I know that look. I had it once. I know what it's like to exist without living. Let me guess. No family. No one to rely on. No dreams. No hope. Nothing to live for except the instinct to survive another meaningless day in search of some fleeting pleasure. Am I right?"
Shuku says nothing. The truth cuts deep. It feels like an invisible blade piercing his chest. He has no argument, no words to counter. He silently nods.
"You're lucky, in a way. With nothing to lose, you can live without fear. I understand. I was like you, once. Long ago. Maybe she told you my story?"
Reynard is talking about his wife, Arila Sinnard.
"Yeah..."
"Then I don't need to explain further." He turns his back to Shuku, looking at the table of tools.
"Lucky for you, knowing your attitude and background, I've lost interest in torturing you. So don't worry. I'll make it quick and painless."
He reaches down and picks up an axe.
"...Fuck." Shuku thinks.
Despite being fearless and indifferent moments ago, Shuku now feels a chill to his bones. Not because he fears death, he's practically immortal, but because of what is about to happen.
Reynard holding an axe and promising it will be "quick and painless" means only one thing: he plans to behead Shuku in a single swing, ending it before the pain signals even reach his brain. Death would not stop him, but Shuku dreads the sensation itself. He experienced it once in the Slave Arena and swore never to feel it again. He could endure it, but he never wanted to.
He needs a way out, and fast.
"...You said you once lived without hope, without dreams, and without fear of death," Shuku says.
"???" Reynard narrows his eyes.
"So... what made you change? What keeps you trying to live after the Guild gave you an extermination order?"
"...You're right. I had nothing to lose, back then. But now, I do—"
CREEK.
A sound echoes from above. A wooden door opens, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps on the stairs.
"Reynard? Your lunch is ready, oh—"
It's Arila. She comes down holding a metal tray with a bowl on it, bringing Reynard his daily meal — perhaps one of the reasons he's managed to stay hidden for so long.
"I'm sorry to interrupt. I'll leave immediately—"
She places the tray on the floor and starts back up, moving quickly, her expression caught between confusion and worry. Reynard watches her with a faint frown but stays silent.
"Wait!" Shuku interrupts. "Are you sure about this, Arila? Protecting him? Why? Because you love him?! He used you, abused you, tortured your body and mind! Even now, he's still using you to protect himself! Why would you keep doing this?"
"..." Arila pauses, her face tightening. She looks down, frowning in hopelessness, unable to form an answer. Reynard keeps watching.
"Oh... I get it." Shuku presses on. "You don't love him. You just have Stockholm syndrome."
"Stockholm syndrome? What is that?" Reynard asks.
"You're not in love with him, Arila. You're obsessed. Gaslighted. Listen to your own mind! You need to free yourself from him, or you'll never be happy."
"Shut up. Don't tell my wife what to do!" Reynard snaps, while Arila remains frozen in silence.
"You know that helping a wanted man makes you guilty of the same crimes, right? If they find out you've been sheltering him, you'll be killed alongside him—"
THUD!
Reynard's fist smashes into Shuku's cheek.
"I think you're talking too much."
THUD!
"Ugh!!" Another blow.
"This is what you get for trying to flirt with her."
THUD!
"Ugk!" Another punch lands hard.
"Your teeth fell out. You should have kept your mouth—"
"STOP!"
Arila's voice cuts through the basement before another strike can knock out the rest of Shuku's teeth.
"Please, Reynard, don't make this any harder. Let it end quickly."
"...Arila... go upstairs. Now." His voice is low and sharp with disdain.
She turns to leave, ready to abandon Shuku to his fate, but Shuku seizes the moment.
"Arila! You can still stop this! You don't have to help him!" His words spill out with blood from his mouth.
Reynard steps in quickly, closing the gap with her. He cups her cheeks and pulls her face close to his.
"Arila... listen. I love you, okay? I'll protect you as long as I'm alive. You don't need to worry. You don't have to feel guilty about any of this. I'll take the responsibility, alright?"
"...Okay..."
"Good. Now go upstairs."
She nods. Without another word, she climbs the stairs and closes the basement door with a loud CREEK and a heavy DUNG.
Now alone, Reynard turns back to Shuku.
THUD!!
The punch lands like a hammer.
"Bravery isn't your only trait."
THUD!!
"You're also a moron."
THUD!!
"You should have stayed silent. I would have given you a painless death. But now, I'll enjoy giving you hell before you die."
THUD!!
"Hhh... uhh..."
Reynard's fists ache from the repeated blows. He pauses, panting slightly, staring at Shuku's swollen, bloodied face.
Then Shuku laughs.
"...Ha."
"???"
"Ha... ha ha."
The laughter is faint but steady, like it's coming from somewhere deep inside.
After all the hits, after all the pain, the man is laughing, as if he's enjoying it. The sound creeps under Reynard's skin, filling him with a sudden, unfamiliar anxiety.
"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Reynard growls.
Shuku lifts his bloodied face, eyes locking onto Reynard's, and answers with a crooked, unsettling smile.
"...Nothing. I just realized you're exactly what I imagined. A douchebag with no empathy. Thanks to you, I won't feel any remorse for Arila when I kill you."
Reynard's nostrils flare. "I'm gonna flay you alive—"
"Anyway... thanks for beating me up."
"Huh?!"
Before Reynard can react, Shuku explodes upward. The ropes that had bound him are gone, fallen useless at his feet. In his right hand gleams the crimson edge of the Blood Knife, already raised for the strike.
"HUK!!"
Reynard reacts instantly. His hand snaps up, seizing Shuku's blade mid-swing. His other arm blocks Shuku's free hand before it reaches his face.
"HEAK!"
The two clash, strength against strength, their muscles taut and trembling as they lock together. Their breath comes hot and ragged in the damp basement air. Reynard's jaw clenches, his eyes narrowed with fury. Yet in the back of his mind, a frantic thought scratches at him:
'How the hell did this bastard untie himself?'
He had checked. He had made sure Shuku had nothing. No weapon. No tool sharp enough to cut the ropes.
The answer lies moments earlier. When Reynard's fists smashed into Shuku's face, blood spilled onto the floor. But that blood had not lain still. Unseen, it slithered away, guided by Shuku's will.
It crept up the back of the chair, pooling at the knots. Slowly, silently, it hardened into a thin, sharp thread that sliced through the bindings. Then it crawled back, up Shuku's arm, cutting into his forearm just enough to shape into a small, hidden blade of blood.
The Blood Knife.
Waiting for the right moment.
And that moment… is now.
Reynard's gaze drops to the weapon. "Where the fuck did you get that? And why is it red?"
Shuku's smirk is razor-thin. "You'll find out soon enough."
The struggle turns savage. Their boots scrape across slick concrete, blood and sweat mixing under the dim orange bulb. Shuku strains, muscles burning, but Reynard's grin never falters. Then, with a sudden twist of his hips, Reynard yanks Shuku off balance.
WHAM!
Shuku's back slams against the floor, the impact rattling his spine.
Before he can breathe, Reynard's boot crushes his wrist. CLANG! The Blood Knife skitters away, landing in Reynard's hand with a smooth, practiced snatch.
He twirls the crimson blade, eyes gleaming. "You're fucking dead now."
The knife arcs toward Shuku's skull, a blur of red.
Instinct takes over. Shuku raises his left hand—
SHHK!
His own knife drives straight through his palm. Pain erupts up his arm, blood spraying across the floor in a violent rush.
Shuku looks at the wound, then raises his eyes with an unsettling grin. "Oh, you made me bleed... oh well."
"Huh?!"
Reynard feels it. A dangerous chill. He drops the knife and leaps back.
The blood pouring from Shuku's pierced hand twitches... then slithers. Like a living parasite, it crawls up the knife's surface, swallowing it whole. The weapon pulses, grows, reshapes, fuses into one, stretching into a long, thin crimson blade.
"What the—?!"
Shuku rises slowly, stepping forward with calm precision. The new weapon drips onto the floor, each drop sizzling faintly. Its hilt fuses directly into the wound of his palm, as if the sword itself is alive, feeding on him.
"Time to say goodbye."
In one swift, upward strike—
SHTK!
The crimson blade slices clean through Reynard's right wrist.
"GRAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" His scream is raw and feral, bouncing off the damp walls. His severed hand hits the ground with a wet slap, fingers twitching once before falling still. Blood gushes in hot streams, splattering all over.
Reynard stumbles back, clutching the stump, voice cracked with disbelief. "What the fuck!!! What the fuck are you?!"
Shuku's eyes are cold and merciless. No triumph. No pity. Only the quiet certainty of a predator finishing the hunt.
"Your worst nightmare."