Snap

Cyrus frowned as he stepped onto a twig.

Another one, he thought wearily, moving forward and carefully avoiding more scattered foliage. It had been almost a week since Cyrus had ascended to a light apprentice. And he had assumed things would become easier.

Oh, how wrong he was. Cyrus sighed and rubbed his arm, only to suck in a cold breath.

"Damn," he muttered, rubbing his arm.

He checked his arm to find a large, purple bruise discoloring his sun-kissed bicep. Shaking his head, Cyrus ignored the pain and focused on the hoof trail he had followed for some time.

Cyrus was on the hunt. Or at least he was. While Latriaen had been teaching him how to track and hunt, it hadn't exactly gone well in practice.

Snap

Again, Cyrus frowned and looked down, finding another broken twig.

How is that Ork so silent?

The man was nearly two meters tall and brutish, yet he could move like a ghost. Cyrus sifted through his memories and could not recall a single moment when the man stepped on a twig. And he would have remembered since it's always so quiet!

How scary.

Chirp!

Hearing Bird call from above, Cyrus clutched his spear and whistled softly. Once Bird heard him, he swooped down and perched on his shoulder.

"Did you find anything?" Cyrus whispered to the white canary.

There was no response.

Right. You're a Bird.

Rolling his eyes, Cyrus sighed and kept moving forward. After some time, he knelt and felt the texture of the trail dirt between his fingers.

"It's still fresh," Cyrus murmured.

He peered through the fog but couldn't see anything. Was it still nearby, or had it already left the area? But Cyrus really hoped for the former, as it had been two days since his last meal.

Forward he went. This wasn't his first catch. There was some mouse-like thing the size of a small dog, which was a bit too lean. But after two days of starvation and moving, Cyrus was losing steam. Moreover, there were... other complications while hunting.

Chirp!

Cyrus stilled and whistled for Bird to retreat. It was them again. He conjured a flame and brandished his spear, ready for what would come. Then came that all-too-familiar screaming.

Then came those mountain lions from out of the fog and brush. Their gazes silently fixed on Cyrus, yet they did not attack. They spread into an open line and waited. A moment later came the larger thuds and snapping branches. They grew louder and louder until the hulking, metallic lion stepped from the mists just a few meters away from the aspiring Wayfarer. Its glowing green gaze assessed Cyrus as it began pacing from left to right, the fog clinging onto its metallic plating like cobwebs. Meanwhile, Cyrus kept his expression even. His steel blues would trace along the long scar of charred flesh and liquefied metal. But the alpha didn't seem to like that. As if they felt a phantom burn from Cyrus' gaze, the beast grunted and took a step forward.

Don't fuck it up, Cyrus.

Heart pounding, he pointed his flaming hand at the alpha and coalesced his flames to a single point on the tip of his finger.

"Hó'ájitéégóó yáat'é," Cyrus murmured softly. It took all of his effort not to stutter.

And it seemed to have worked. The metallic beast stopped, its flickering gaze reflecting the flames. Then there was an impasse. The two sides stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, neither making a move to attack. The silence hung forever with only the sound of Cyrus' own speeding heartbeat as company.

And then, it was over. The alpha turned around and kicked one of the lesser beasts before entering the aimless mists.

But Cyrus remained statuesque. He stayed as such despite the pack beasts leaving one by one, with the kicked one limping away. And even a minute or two afterward, he remained ready to activate his light and life runes to blind them while applying a slight speed boost to himself. But in the end, Cyrus broke his stance and breathed deeply.

Fooled ya', Cyrus glibbed in his heart.

That damned pack had been chasing him for the past week. And if they hadn't appeared in plain view, there would be scratches on trees or eaten game.

"Am I trespassing?" Cyrus mumbled.

But it wasn't a problem so long as they could be pushed back. With that thought, Cyrus resumed the hunt with Bird by his side. On he went. But as the hours passed, Cyrus took a detour to a nearby hillock after marking the trail he was chasing.

Once on the peak, he channeled mana toward his gaze. A blinding light flashed, and Cyrus spent the next few minutes testing with different quantities of mana.

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"No runes," he eventually said, shoulders slumping.

He then revealed his camera and readied his aim.

Click

Numerous domain runes were scattered across the trees and landscape on its screen. But Cyrus wasn't happy with the sight.

"What am I to do?" Cyrus pulled at his beard. "Am I supposed to just rely on my camera?"

Insight was a godsend. But the limitations were far too glaring. What, was Cyrus supposed to pull out his camera and take photos while in the middle of a fight? He wasn't that brazen, was he? But that wasn't all. After a few days of testing, Cyrus quickly realized that insight was too inclusive. Should he take a long shot, his camera's screen would be cluttered with runes. Worse was that runes were displayed on a two-dimensional screen. A rune could be just inside a tree or five meters behind it for all he knew.

"It's better than nothing," he muttered, his gaze stretching to the foggy skies. "But the sooner I become an adept, the better."

He closed his eyes and focused inward. Within were hundreds of runes that ran throughout his body. First were his flame runes. They ran from his chest to his left hand. Then were his light runes, which were split rivers heading off to his eyes and left hand. And finally, his life runes. They were the most versatile as they offered strength anywhere and everywhere. So, Cyrus kept them on the mobile, shifting them around wherever he needed them, mainly around his lungs.

Then there was their production. For now, he had settled on a four-to-three-to-one ratio with his fire, light, and life runes. That way, Cyrus could reach his offense and support faster.

But then Cyrus knit his brows and turned to the nearby mountain. Is he still there? Or is he now stalking me?

Shaking his head, Cyrus decided to continue the hunt. He went down the hill and returned to the tracks. And it was strangely mollifying. Being forced to starve unless killing for his meal took away any apprehension Cyrus had after a couple of days.

He kept his gaze on the tracks and surroundings. But the white birch and fog stretched endlessly, blending the path in a uniform expanse of white and gray.

Thankfully, he learned quickly to mark trees with arrows so he wouldn't lose his way back to camp. On and on he went. Cyrus soon stopped as what he sought broke the monotony of gray.

Slowly, breathlessly, he moved to a half-near and used a tree for cover. There, out by a pond. A small herd of deer grazed while a buck remained alert for any sign of danger.

Heart quickly beating, Cyrus slowly drew his revolver. Each step was taken with utmost care, avoiding any noise that might alert his prey.

This wasn't the first time Cyrus had caught up to this herd. But he quickly discovered that he had no way to instantly take out a foe save for a quick stab to the head or a round, the former being too risky to try since he was on the hunt.

One step. Two. Once he drew close enough, Cyrus willed the majority of his life runes to his head. With his breath held, Cyrus lined his shot. He aimed for one of the smaller ones. That way, the damage would be much more impactful. Then, he activated his focus. Time slowed.

Bang Bang Bang

A hit. No, three! The doe spasmed from the hits but still fled along with the others. Cyrus trailed behind. He whistled to Bird above a command to follow their prey should he lose sight of it. At least, he thought it was the correct whistle. His whistles had... mixed results.

Forward, Cyrus went. The doe was surprisingly very hardy. It managed to survive an hour of pursuit, forcing him to channel his life runes around his body to mitigate his straining muscles. But before he knew it, Cyrus stumbled onto it, wheezing on the ground and bleeding to death.

What's done is done.

"Sorry, little guy," he mumbled.

With a sigh, Cyrus raised his spear and swiftly delivered a powerful jab to its head. There. Done. He stood over the fallen beast and took in the sight. It was easy. Too easy for his tastes. But such things were too much of a burden on one's shoulders. After hoisting the carcass over his shoulder, Cyrus retraced his steps, eventually returned to the hillock, and headed straight to camp.

It should be starting soon, Cyrus thought, tightening his grip on his spear.

He strained his ears to the limit. He had to be here, waiting.

Snap

Cyrus acted the moment he heard the twig snap. Dropping the doe, he leaped to the right, narrowly evading a spearpoint the length of his forearm stabbing into him. In a swift counterattack, he swung his spear into the empty space where his attacker had been moments before.

And before him was a tall green Ork.

There were no words exchanged. Cyrus thrust his spear toward Latriaen's chest, only to meet the resistance of his teacher's own weapon. The two blades met. But to no one's surprise, Cyrus retreated, knowing that having a match between strengths was futile.

Instead, he conjured a small, hungry ember and threw it. His teacher would have been engulfed in flames if it had landed on his teacher. If. But Latriaen snorted, literally snorted. And the hot, bellowing air snuffed the flame like wind to a candle.

But Cyrus wasn't done. With a quick motion, he plumed fire toward the Ork's face as a distraction while he went for a swift and hard kick to the stomach.

Again, with the snort. The flames dissipated while Latriaen pulled back his fist, his animal arm tattoos seemingly coming to life. Then, he struck. Engulfed in fire, his fist met Cyrus' foot head-on.

There was no contest. A surge of searing pain shot through Cyrus's leg, propelling him backward. Cyrus would have toppled over if he hadn't used his spear as a counterbalance.

But the fight wasn't over. Cyrus assumed a defensive stance and placed a hand on his spearpoint. A pale glow over the blade transformed it into a blinding spear as Cyrus struck forward. It shot forward like an arrow as a dazzling ray of light aimed directly toward Latriaen's searing gaze. And just for extra oomph, Cyrus sent his life runes into his attacking arm and channeled mana.

Unfazed, Latriaen kept his eyes closed but advanced. He used the full weight of his spear to meet Cyrus'. Their weapons clashing echoed with resounding intensity. Again, Latriaen won. And the force of the impact drove Cyrus several steps backward. Unfortunately, this was the end of the battle. Not a physical sense, but a spiritual one.

Cyrus lost. But he gritted his teeth and stepped forward. The fight would not end until he was battered and on the floor. So, they continued.

The fight was brief, as Latriaen's style was both brutal and decisive. But the Ork held back. Otherwise, Cyrus wouldn't have been able to learn anything other than how dirt tasted. And it was a good lesson for Latriaen, tempering himself as well. Because on the first day, he ambushed Cyrus with all his tricks, the latter was instantly caught off guard and beaten to a bloody mess.

But there was a bright side to all of this. Each day brought new lessons as Latriaen would ambush Cyrus in new ways.

Soon, the battle ended when Cyrus was hit in the temple with Latriaen's spear, sending him sprawling to the forest floor.

"Another loss." Latriaen stood over his fallen student without expression. "But you've lasted for an extra minute this time, so good on you."

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