The morning air tastes like iron and damp earth. It clings to the back of my throat, a gritty reminder that I'm not in Kansas anymore. Or, well, not in freaking Ohio anymore. It's colder here, the chill sinking into my bones despite the thin wool tunic and patched trousers.
We're lined up, a pathetic little row of hopefuls, on the far side of the courtyard. Not the usual training grounds.
Lyra stands rigid beside me, her braided ponytail cutting a sharp line against her neck. Tarek's practically vibrating with restless energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Finn, predictably, is muttering something under his breath, likely a stream of nervous jokes. Nessa is… Nessa is pale, her small hands clasped tight in front of her.
Max abandoned us here maybe ten minutes ago, with a curt, "Varos is getting the Captains. Don't screw this up." Charming as always. Though, I wouldn't expect a pep talk from him. He isn't that guy.
I flex my fingers, testing the grip on the practice sword. The worn leather feels strangely comforting. A week. A solid week of near-constant training. Max pushed us, relentlessly, drilling us in the basics of swordsmanship, combat strategy, and the dubious art of not dying.
The first few days were… humiliating. Years of obsessing over anime sword fights didn't translate well to actual combat. My form was atrocious. My footwork was nonexistent. I flailed, I stumbled, I nearly took out Finn's eye with a clumsy swing.
"Think of it like a dance, Cael," Max had said, his voice flat. "Fluid, controlled, deadly. You look like a startled moose."
Ouch. Accurate, but still stung.
But something clicked. Slowly, painfully, I began to understand the principles. The importance of balance, the economy of motion, the subtle art of reading an opponent. Max had a knack for pinpointing my weaknesses, then forcing me to overcome them.
That Transcendental Swordsmanship… it felt strange at first. Not a burst of raw power, but a subtle amplification of my natural abilities. It's like the sword becomes an extension of my own body, moving with an almost preternatural grace. I still have so much to learn but for the first time, I don't feel like I'm totally useless.
Now, standing here, waiting, the anxiety is a cold knot in my stomach. Those Hunter Captains… they're legends in the orphanage. Brutal, efficient, and utterly merciless. Rumors swirl about their powers, their skill, their… cruelty.
My eyes drift to Lyra, observing her from the corner of my vision. She looks… ready. Focused. I wonder what her Gift is.
I shift my weight, adjusting my grip on the sword. The System remains silent, a frustratingly unhelpful observer. I wish it would at least give me a heads-up, a glimpse of what's to come.
"You nervous?" Finn's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I offer a shrug, hoping it looks nonchalant. "Just… anticipating."
He snorts. "Right. Anticipating a swift and brutal defeat."
"Hey!" Nessa shrinks back, her voice barely a whisper. "Don't say that!"
"Just keeping it real, Nessa," Finn replies, but his voice is softer this time. "It's good to be prepared for the worst."
He's right. We all are. We were raised on the rough side of life with constant reminders of the dangers this world holds.
A shadow falls over us. I look up, and there they are.
Lieutenant Varos, his face a stony mask, leads the way. Behind him, five Hunter Captains. Each one radiating an aura of power, of danger.
The air thickens, becomes heavy enough to taste. It's a pressure against my skin, a primal warning that screams danger. Five figures stand before us, each exuding an aura that makes my gut twist. Varos, impassive as stone, anchors the group, but it's the awakened Captains that truly command attention.
Rhoan Vale, a mountain of a man with a greatsword strapped to his back, radiates sheer, unyielding strength. Sera Lune, all sharp angles and controlled grace, seems to simmer with contained heat. Darius Korr practically vibrates with restless energy, his dual short swords glinting in the dim light. Kaelith Ren is… still. Completely still. An unsettling calmness that feels far more terrifying than outright aggression. And then there's Ilyen Crowe.
He's younger than the others, lean and wiry, with eyes that scan us with open contempt. The wind seems to obey his will, swirling around him in a miniature tempest. He's everything Max warned us about – arrogant, unpredictable, and dangerous.
"You will each face a Captain," Varos states, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "One at a time. A test of skill, endurance, and resolve. Failure is… not an option."
A beat of silence, then Ilyen Crowe's voice cuts through the tension. "Are you sure they're ready for this? Look at them. They look scared to death." A cruel laugh escapes his lips. "Honestly, I'd rather test a pack of stray dogs."
He strides forward, pacing along the line, his gaze dissecting each of us. He pauses in front of Finn, scoffing, then moves on to Nessa, barely sparing her a glance. He lingers at Lyra, sizing her up with a predatory gleam, then stops directly in front of me.
His eyes lock with mine, an intense, unwavering stare. It's not a look of assessment, not a look of challenge. It's… irritating. Like he's trying to burrow into my head, to find a weakness.
I meet his gaze, refusing to flinch. A strange calm settles over me, fueled by a frustration I didn't know I possessed. I won't let him get to me. I won't let him see how scared I actually am.
The tension between us stretches, taut and visible. Crowe's lips curl into a frustrated sneer. He clearly expected a reaction, a sign of fear. He isn't getting one.
"Enough, Crowe," Kaelith Ren's voice is like the crack of ice. It's a quiet command, but it carries an undeniable weight. "Fall back. Line up."
Crowe scowls but obeys, muttering something under his breath as he rejoins the other Captains. Ren turns his gaze to us, his expression unreadable.
"Apologies for Captain Crowe's… exuberance," he says, his voice smooth and measured. "The Captains are looking forward to a good and fair match. "
Varos's voice cuts through the silence, cold and precise. "The match-ups are as follows. Lyra will face Captain Darius Korr. Tarek against Captain Kaelith Ren. Finn will test his mettle against Captain Rhoan Vale. Nessa… you will be challenged by Captain Sera Lune. And finally," he pauses, his gaze sweeping over me, "Cael Ardentis will face Captain Ilyen Crowe."
And then, Crowe.
He turns towards me, and the smirk that spreads across his face is utterly infuriating. It's not a confident grin, not a warrior's challenge. It's mocking. Sinister. Like he already knows he's won.
I force myself to meet his gaze, refusing to show even a flicker of apprehension. Inside, though, my heart is hammering against my ribs. This isn't some game. This isn't a training exercise. This is a fight for my life.
Suddenly, a window pops into my vision. Blue lettering on a black background.
[Quest Updated!]
Title: Hunter Trials -> Crowe's Challenge
Objective: Defeat Captain Ilyen Crowe in a duel.
Reward: Hidden Trait, New Skill, + 5 Strength ,+ 5 Endurance
Failure: system shutdown for 3 days
The quest notification hangs in my vision, a cool blue beacon in the growing storm of my nerves. Hidden Trait, New Skill, +5 Strength, +5 Endurance. Not bad. Not bad at all.
A smirk tugs at my lips despite myself. Crowe wants a fight? He's going to get one. This isn't about proving myself to the Captains, or earning a place among the Hunters. This is about silencing that arrogant smirk, about showing him exactly what I'm capable of. The system's reward is nice, sure, but the real prize is the satisfaction of wiping that look off his face.
I glance at Lyra. She's already facing Darius Korr, standing in the center of the courtyard. The two of them are coiled tight, radiating tension. Darius, with his twin short swords, looks like a predator about to pounce—all lean muscle and focused intensity. Lyra, despite being outmatched in size, holds her ground, her dark ponytail whipping back and forth as she shifts her weight.
Varos steps forward, his voice cutting through the air like a shard of glass. "This is a test of combat skill. No awakened powers are permitted. Any violation will result in immediate disqualification." He scans the faces of the Captains, his gaze lingering on Crowe for a beat longer than necessary. A subtle warning, perhaps?
He raises his hand, then drops it.
"Begin!"
Lyra doesn't hesitate. She moves with a speed that surprises even me, closing the distance between herself and Darius in a heartbeat. Her hand flashes out, aiming for a pressure point on his arm.
Darius barely reacts. He intercepts her attack with a swift parry, the clang of metal echoing across the courtyard. Then, he counters, a whirlwind of steel and motion.
It's a relentless assault. Darius doesn't give Lyra a moment to breathe, his blades dancing around her own, forcing her to constantly defend. She's quick, agile, weaving and dodging, but Darius is faster, more precise.
The fight is a blur of motion. Metallic shings and the grunts of exertion fill the air. Lyra skillfully uses her footwork to create distance, attempting to exploit any opening in Darius's defense. She lashes out with a series of strikes, targeting his wrists, his elbows, his legs, but Darius anticipates every move, deflecting each blow with effortless grace.
She's not relying solely on speed, I realize. Lyra's movements are calculated, strategically positioning herself to minimize the damage and maximize her defensive capabilities. She's fighting smart, utilizing every ounce of her strength and agility.
But Darius is a master swordsman.
His attacks grow more forceful, each strike carrying the weight of years of training and experience. He begins to corner her, forcing her back towards the edge of the courtyard.
Lyra stumbles, losing her footing for just a fraction of a second. It's all Darius needs.
He lunges, his twin blades blurring into a single streak of silver. A swift, precise cut across her forearm. Not deep enough to cripple, but enough to disrupt her balance.
Lyra cries out, dropping her sword. Before she can recover, Darius's boot connects with her temple.
She collapses to the ground, unconscious.
Varos steps forward, swiftly assessing Lyra's condition. "She will be fine. A concussion, a bruised arm. Nothing more." He gestures for two guards to carry her back to the infirmary.
Crowe lets out a harsh laugh, his voice laced with amusement. "Pathetic. Honestly, I expected more of a challenge."
My hands clench into fists. That smug bastard.
The air feels thick, suffocating. Lyra's fall hangs heavy in the silence, a grim reminder of the power imbalance. Crowe's laughter grates on my nerves. Each one is like a shard of ice driven into my skull.
Tarek went down quickly. Kaelith Ren barely broke a sweat, his spear moving with an almost blinding speed. Tarek fought with brute force, a whirlwind of fists and feet, but Ren simply… sidestepped everything, delivering a single, precise strike that dropped him like a stone.
Finn lasted a little longer. He was surprisingly nimble, dodging and weaving around Rhoan Vale's earth-shattering attacks. But Rhoan was just too strong. Every block, every parry, sent tremors up Finn's arms. Eventually, a single blow to the chest sent him flying, cracking against the stone wall with a sickening thud.
Nessa... Nessa was the most heartbreaking. Captain Sera Lune didn't even bother drawing her sword. She moved like smoke, a blur of controlled aggression, disarming Nessa with a flick of her wrist, then using her own momentum to sweep her off her feet. It wasn't brutal, just… efficient. Sera's cold detachment was more terrifying than any display of fury.
Now it's just me.
I step forward, ignoring the knot of anxiety twisting in my gut. My boots crunch on the gravel as I walk towards the center of the courtyard, towards Crowe. Every eye is on me. The other trainees, silent and wide-eyed. The Hunter Captains, impassive and assessing. Varos, his face a mask of stoicism.
Crowe is already waiting, lounging casually, his short sword held loosely in his hand. He's smirking, that same infuriating smirk.
Varos raises his hand, then drops it. "Begin!"
And then… nothing.
We just stand there, staring at each other. Seconds stretch into an eternity. Crowe doesn't move, doesn't attack. He just… watches me. It's unnerving.
"Cat got your tongue?" he finally drawls, his voice dripping with condescension. "Or are you getting cold feet? I thought you were so confident. So eager to prove yourself."
He takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. "Maybe you're not cut out for this. Maybe you should just go back to the orphanage and play with toys."
I clench my jaw, fighting to control my breathing. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But his words sting. I don't need his approval, but I want to prove him wrong.
"Don't mind him, Cael," Finn calls out from the sidelines, his voice strained. "He's just trying to get into your head."
Easier said than done.
Crowe's smirk widens. "Oh, I'm getting under his skin. Good. It'll be even more enjoyable when I break him."
And then, he moves and lunges at me.
Time slows. Everything sharpens.
Transcendental Swordsmanship flares to life, an instinctual surge of energy coursing through my veins. The world seems to quiet, the sound of the wind fading into a distant hum.
I react without thinking. I bring my practice sword up, the metal meeting Crowe's blade in a shower of sparks. The impact sends a jolt up my arm, but I hold firm, bracing myself against the force of his attack.
I parry, barely deflecting his follow up strike. His blade is incredibly fast, incredibly precise. He's relentless, a whirlwind of steel and fury. I'm forced into a defensive posture, dodging and weaving, trying to keep his blade from finding its mark.
Each parry is a struggle, each block a testament to the skill Max drilled into me. He's faster, stronger, more experienced. I'm relying on technique, on instinct, on the faint whispers of Transcendental Swordsmanship guiding my movements.
Crowe presses his attack, driving me backwards. Step, parry, dodge, block. It's a frantic dance, a desperate attempt to survive. Sweat stings my eyes. My muscles burn. My breath comes in ragged gasps.
I'm losing ground.
He's testing me, probing my defenses, searching for a weakness. And I can feel it, the tightening coil of despair threatening to overwhelm me.
This is it, I think, a cold dread creeping into my heart. I'm not strong enough. I'm not fast enough.
But then, something shifts. A flicker of clarity. A spark of defiance.
I realize I've been too focused on defense, too reactive. I need to take the initiative. I need to fight back.
Another parry. This time, I don't just deflect his blow, I channel my energy into it, rotating my body, using his momentum against him.
And then, with a roar, I spin, a full 360-degree turn, bringing my heel crashing down on his stomach.
It connects with a sickening thud.
Crowe doubles over, gasping for air. His sword clatters to the ground. He's momentarily stunned, off balance.
This is my chance.
I don't hesitate.
I rush forward, my practice sword aimed at his throat. He attempts to recover, to block, but he's too slow, too disoriented.
I thrust.
The tip of my blade presses against his skin. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to stop him in his tracks.
Silence descends on the courtyard.
Crowe stares at me, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. His jaw hangs open, his expression a mixture of anger and humiliation. The smirk is gone, replaced by a look of stunned incomprehension.
I stand there, panting, my sword hovering just inches from his throat, my heart hammering against my ribs. My legs are trembling, my muscles aching, but I feel… exhilarated.
I did it.
I actually did it.
The silence is broken by a collective gasp from the crowd. The other trainees are staring at me, their mouths agape. Even the Hunter Captains look surprised.
Varos steps forward, his face unreadable. He surveys the scene, then slowly nods.
"The match is concluded," he announces, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "Cael Ardentis is the victor."
A wave of cheering erupts from the trainees. Finn is jumping up and down, yelling my name. Nessa is smiling, her face lit up with genuine excitement.
Even Max has a glimmer of approval in his eyes.
Crowe, still reeling from the unexpected defeat, glares at me with pure, unadulterated fury.
"Beginner's luck," he hisses, his voice barely a whisper.
I just smirk back, a genuine smirk this time, filled with a confidence I didn't know I possessed.
"Maybe," I reply, my voice steady. "But I think I'm just getting started."
I lower my practice sword, taking a step back. The weight of it feels strangely light in my hand now, almost… anticlimactic. The adrenaline is still surging through my veins, but a strange calmness is settling over me.
I start walking back toward Finn, Nessa, Tarek and Lyra, ignoring the murmurs and stares that follow my every move. A small, satisfied smirk plays on my lips. I might be outmatched in raw power, but I can adapt, I can improvise. And apparently, I can surprise a cocky Captain or two.
But the moment of triumph is short-lived.
I feel a shift in the air, a sudden surge of power. Instinct takes over, and I glance back toward Crowe.
He's still on the ground, but his eyes are blazing with fury. And he's crackling with energy.
Wind whips around him, swirling into a miniature vortex. It's subtle at first, a barely perceptible distortion of the air. But then it intensifies, the wind howling like a banshee, kicking up dust and debris.
He's not accepting defeat.
My blood runs cold. That's not just anger, that's… volatile, untamed power.
He's gathering his Gift.
Before I can even process the danger, he moves. A blur of motion. A streak of wind and steel.
He launches himself at me, a spiraling attack aimed straight for my head.
It's fast. Incredibly fast. Faster than anything I've seen before.
My instincts kick in. Transcendental Swordsmanship flares to life, sharpening my reflexes, amplifying my awareness. The world seems to slow down again, granting me a fraction of a second to react.
I duck.
The blade flashes over my head, missing me by mere inches. The wind from its passage whips my hair across my face.
I stumble backwards, narrowly avoiding a follow-up kick aimed at my chest.
Crowe's attack is relentless, a whirlwind of furious strikes. He's abandoning all pretense of skill now, relying purely on brute force and raw power.
It's a mistake.
He's overextended. He's committed too much energy to that initial attack, leaving himself open.
I see the opening. A fleeting moment of vulnerability in his relentless assault.
I brace myself, channeling my own energy, focusing on the principles Max drilled into me. Balance. Timing. Momentum.
As he lunges again, aiming a vicious slash at my side, I shift my weight, stepping to the side, using his momentum against him.
It's a textbook maneuver, one Max showed us dozens of times. But executing it against a Captain of the Hunters, against Ilyen Crowe, is something else entirely.
I sidestep his attack, letting his force carry him forward. As he flies past me, I bring my practice sword around, not aiming for a cut, but for a strike with the hilt.
I connect with the back of his head.
The sound is sickening. A dull thud, followed by a gasp of air.
Crowe crumples to the ground, completely unconscious.
Silence descends on the courtyard once more. This time, it's a stunned, disbelieving silence.
The other trainees stare at me, their mouths agape. Even the Hunter Captains look shocked.
Rhoan Vale's jaw is slightly ajar. Sera Lune's eyes are narrowed, studying me with a cold, assessing gaze. Kaelith Ren… well, he's still inscrutable.
But the most telling reaction comes from Varos.
He's standing perfectly still, his face utterly neutral. But I can see it in his eyes—a flicker of surprise, a hint of… respect?
"Impressive," he says, his voice low and measured. "Very impressive."
He pauses, then adds, "You neutralized a Captain of the Hunters. That… is not something that happens every day."
The word spreads like wildfire through the courtyard. A ripple of whispers and astonished murmurs.
I did it. I actually knocked out Ilyen Crowe.
Not with skill, not with power, but with technique. With a well-timed counterattack. With a little bit of luck.
"What… what just happened?" Finn stammers, his eyes wide with disbelief. "He was so fast! So strong! You just… dropped him with the hilt of your sword!"
"He left himself open," I shrug, trying to play it cool. "I just took advantage of the opportunity."
It's a lie, of course. It was more than just an opportunity. It was a desperate gamble, a split-second decision. But there's no point in admitting that.
Lyra steps forward, her dark eyes studying me intently. "You're unpredictable. I underestimated you."
A small smile tugs at my lips. "I have that effect on people."
Varos clears his throat, pulling my attention back to the present. The ringing in my ears slowly fades, replaced by the hushed whispers of the other trainees. He surveys us all—Tarek, Lyra, Nessa, Finn, and me—a strange glint in his eyes.
"Cael, Tarek, Lyra, Nessa, and Finn," he announces, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "You have all demonstrated sufficient skill and… potential. You are hereby inducted as official Hunters of Ashwood Haven."
A surge of adrenaline courses through me. We did it. We actually made it.
Finn lets out a whoop of joy, slapping me on the back. Nessa, usually so shy, is beaming, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Lyra gives a curt nod, a flicker of something akin to respect in her eyes. Tarek just grins, flexing his biceps.
"However," Varos continues, his tone abruptly shifting. "Do not mistake this for a celebration. Your training is far from over. This is merely the beginning."
He pauses, letting his words sink in. "You will report to Captain Rhoan Vale tomorrow morning for advanced combat training. Be prepared to push yourselves to your limits. Failure is not an option."
The relief is almost intoxicating. We're dismissed. Just… dismissed. Varos barely spared us another glance, simply turning on his heel and striding away with the Hunter Captains trailing behind him like shadows. The air feels lighter, the weight on my chest easing with every step they take.
"We did it!" Finn shouts, practically bouncing with excitement. He throws an arm around my shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance. "We're actually Hunters!"
Nessa giggles, a high-pitched, bubbly sound. "I can't believe it! I really thought I was going to mess it up against Captain Sera."
Tarek just flexes his biceps again, a silent display of self-satisfaction. "Easy peasy. I was born for this."
Lyra leans against the stone wall of the courtyard, her expression still guarded. "Don't get cocky. This is just the first step. It's going to get a lot harder."
She's right, of course. This isn't a victory lap. It's the end of the prologue. The real test is about to begin.
"She's got a point," I say, pushing Finn's arm off my shoulder. "Rhoan Vale isn't exactly known for being… gentle."
"Gentle?" Finn scoffs. "That guy looks like he eats nails for breakfast. He'll break us all."
"We'll survive," Lyra says, her voice surprisingly firm. "We have to. We didn't come this far to be broken by some grumpy old man."
We fall into a hesitant conversation, swapping stories about our fights, dissecting our mistakes, and trying to make sense of what just happened. It's… nice. A sense of camaraderie, of shared experience. We're all outsiders, orphans thrown together by circumstance. Now, we're something more. We're Hunters.
"Honestly, Crowe was just being a jerk," Nessa pipes up, her voice small. "He was trying to intimidate everyone."
"He succeeded with most people," I reply, thinking back to the way he'd carried himself, the sneer on his face. "But I think he underestimated me."
"You definitely surprised him," Lyra murmurs, a hint of grudging admiration in her voice. "I didn't think you'd be able to take him down."
I shrug, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. "I just… reacted. I didn't really have a plan."
"That's your strength," Tarek says, surprisingly insightful. "You're adaptable. You think on your feet."
As the conversation continues, I find myself drifting towards the periphery, my thoughts wandering. The others are still animated, still buzzing with adrenaline and relief.
"Hey, I'm gonna go take a walk," I say, interrupting their chatter. "Need to clear my head."
"Alright," Finn says, barely looking up. "Don't get lost."
"I won't," I reply, turning and walking away.
What a day.
A few weeks ago, I was Colin Williams, a college freshman obsessed with anime and manga. Now, I'm Cael Ardentis, a Hunter of Ashwood Haven, a world away from everything I knew. A world where survival is a daily struggle, and where power is the only thing that matters. It's… surreal.
And then the System chimes in.
[Quest Complete!]
Title: Hunter Trials -> Crowe's Challenge
Reward: Hidden Trait: Battle Flow; New Skill: Combat Ability; +5 Strength; +5 Endurance
A wave of energy washes over me, a subtle yet noticeable surge of power. My senses sharpen, my muscles feel more resilient, my mind feels… clearer.
[New Trait Acquired: Battle Flow]
Description: An innate ability to perceive and react to combat scenarios with heightened intuition and efficiency. Allows for optimized movements, improved timing, and enhanced situational awareness.
[New Skill Acquired: Combat Ability]
Description: Enhances physical prowess and increases mastery of combat techniques. Improves reaction time, reflexes, and overall combat effectiveness.
I feel it instantly. A subtle shift in my perception. The world seems… sharper. More defined. Like I can see the flow of energy, the subtle cues that telegraph an opponent's movements.
Is this what it means to be a Hunter? To constantly assess, to constantly prepare for the next fight?
I flex my fingers, feeling the surge of newfound strength coursing through my veins. +5 Strength. +5 Endurance. It's not a massive increase, but it's something. It's a start.
I lean back against the tree, closing my eyes again. The wind rustles through the leaves, whispering secrets in my ear.
This is just the beginning. A new life, a new purpose, a new set of challenges. And I, Cael Ardentis, am ready to face them. Whatever they may be.
To be contninued...