Blood dribbled down to the tip of Velik’s spear, thick, viscous, and black – monster blood. It beaded up at the edge before falling to splash on a carpet of wet autumn leaves, just another drop among the gallons already painting the forest floor. In the center of that mess was a creature of thick, knotted muscles and fur so coarse that it could peel the flesh off a classless child just by rubbing up against them. It had a mouth full of jagged teeth and black nails that scrabbled against the dirt as it tried to drag itself closer to its intended prey.

Even with its spine severed, it was still a monster. Knowing that it was going to die, it was left with only an instinctive desire for revenge. Pain was no match for that overwhelming urge. Velik watched it carefully, though he knew he was in no real danger. This particular beast was a known entity, just one of hundreds he’d slain over the past two years when they’d started appearing. He knew the reach of its lunging bite. He knew the strength of its flat, lifeless black eyes. He knew how to hide, when to run, and, most importantly, when to strike.

That was why this monster was lying on the ground, having taken a surprise spear-wound through the back while it skulked through the forest, and that was why Velik knew how to trick it into baring its throat in an attempt to reach upward and snap at his outstretched hand. The spear blade punched through fur and hide like they were a coat of mail and pinned the monster to the ground.

[You have slain a bristle fur worg (level 14).]

[You have been awarded 1 decarma.]

[You have advanced to level 28. +2 Physical, +1 Mental, +2 free points.]

Fourth one today. Why are there so many lately?

It was a thought Velik had often pondered over the last six months. At first, he’d thought it was just a slightly busier spring than normal, but as the season changed into summer, he’d changed his mind. Monsters were showing up faster and in greater numbers. Even worse, the average monster was now around level 17. Last year, they’d only been level 10.

He wouldn’t say he was worried about what he’d do when another elite showed up, necessarily, but he understood that the risk would be far greater. Those kinds of monsters weren’t meant to be killed solo, not even by someone of the same level, but it was impossible to get anyone else to cooperate with him, so he was forced to get clever every time another of the hulking brutes appeared.

Once he was sure there were no other monsters lurking in the brush, just waiting for an opportunity to rush out at him, Velik turned to his status. In the last half a year, he’d leveled five times, more than in the two years prior to that. It was yet another sign that something was wrong.

[Name: Velik]

[Race: Human (Duskbound)]

[Class: The Black Fang]

[Level: 28]

[Physical: 87(+8)]

[Mental: 51(+2)]

[Mystical: 22]

[Free Points: 2]

[Decarma: 26]

[Skills:]

[Predator’s Visage (Rank 7)]

[Spear Warden (Rank 4)]

[Stealth (Rank 6)]

[Gear:]

[Blood Seeker(+5Ph)]

[Hunter’s Cowl(+2Me)]

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

[Stalker’s Boots(+3Ph)]

With hardly a thought, he put both free points into physical. Over the years, he’d experimented with expanding his mystical stat, but the simple truth of it was that he rarely encountered monsters with magical abilities, and his own skills relied almost entirely on his physical stat instead. [Predator’s Visage] had a magical component to it that greatly enhanced his senses, but it was hardly even necessary after all these years. Even his gear barely required a hint of magic from him to be used to its full potential.

Worgs never traveled alone, not unless Velik had already killed all but the last one. Since that wasn’t the case here, he got to work following the monster’s trail. The rest of its pack would be close by, probably less than a thousand feet. He’d need to be careful not to let himself get surrounded. Moving swiftly and silently, he followed the rough trail his prey had blazed through the underbrush, hoping it would lead him to his next target.

Instead, he came across a curious sight. Two men were out in the forest, both armed with bows. One was older, with thin, gray hair on his head and a thick gray beard on his face. A beak of a nose overshadowed his mustache, and his ears and cheeks were the ruddy red of a man who lived his life outdoors. He had leather armor on with matching bracers and boots, and a quiver of arrows hung off his left hip.

His companion was a study in contrast. Only a few years older than Velik himself, the man had a handsome face with a strong jaw. He was tall and lean, clean-shaven with fine blond hair styled with some sort of product. Velik gave them a wolfish grin as he considered the scent the young one of the pair probably gave off up close. No doubt the stink alone had warned any nearby monsters of his presence.

The two were still a hundred yards off, barely visible through the brush, but Velik kept clear of them anyway. The younger one might be a fumbling idiot, but the older one was a different matter. He pushed past branches and danced through entangling roots without so much as a stumble, all while keeping a sharp eye around him.

If not for [Stealth] and his own years of experience hiding from monsters in this forest, Velik suspected he might have been spotted, a feat very few could claim, and none of them still alive. Whoever this hunter was, he was good.

“Six of them,” the older hunter hissed to his companion. “They’re looking for something. See how their heads keep swinging back and forth. We let ‘em get much closer, they’ll spot us, assuming they haven’t already smelled that mess in your hair.”

Velik’s nose crinkled in amusement. I knew it.

Before the younger man could open his mouth to defend himself, the older one raised a hand to cut him off. “Just circle ahead of them. That blue-sap fir ought to be good. Soon as they come into position, you start shooting. Kill as many as you can. Prioritize the ones trying to run for cover. Remember, the job isn’t complete until they’re all dead.”

The old man had the right mindset, and if he did let any of the worgs go free, Velik would hunt them down himself. Hopefully, the apprentice was equally competent and would save him some work. Judging by the clumsy way the man moved, not at all like the older one, Velik doubted it.

Regardless of how gracefully he did it, the apprentice got himself into position. He produced a bow that Velik was certain was magical, even from so far away. A moment later, an arrow seemingly made entirely of some silvery metal appeared on the string, confirming his suspicions. Smoothly, the apprentice drew the bow back and shot the closest worg right between the eyes.

That’s a hard target. Slope of the skull means the arrow’s probably going to skip off instead of penetrating, unless that bow is real magical.

Even as Velik thought that, the first arrow slammed home, puncturing the worg’s brain as it blasted through the relatively thin fur on its face and significantly thicker bone just behind it. The apprentice didn’t hesitate to see if his shot was successful, however. He already had two more arrows in the air before the first finished its flight, both against targets on the fringe of the pack’s formation.

One worg died immediately, but the other took the shot on its shoulder. The pack scattered, smart enough to get behind cover and fan out. That was where their tactical expertise ended, however, and the old hunter immediately ambushed them with a volley of impressively rapid and precise shots that struck exposed flanks and necks.

Between the two of them, only one worg got out of the killing field. It was wounded, though, and the trail of black blood it left behind as it limped away was easy to follow. Velik ghosted after the duo as they chased their quarry through the forest, if only to make sure they got it in the end. Once it was dead, he was satisfied with their work.

“Well done, Jensen,” the old hunter congratulated his apprentice. They spent a few minutes discussing the take down and the apprentice’s work, as well as what was worth harvesting off a worg’s corpse—nothing—before finishing up with, “Let’s get back to town before it gets too late to see. Trust me, navigating unfamiliar woods at night is challenge enough. Doing so with unknown monsters lurking nearby is a fool’s errand.”

Velik watched the pair turn toward the closest town and shook his head. He supposed it was good advice for an amateur hunter, but there were simply too many monsters roaming the woods to waste time traveling back and forth from one of the many frontier towns in the area. Nice as it was to see a few other hunters out helping to quell the increasing population, they weren’t going to make a dent at the rate they were going.

Besides, I do my best work after dark. If I took the night off, who would teach the monsters to be afraid of the shadows? They might start thinking they own the place, and we can’t have that, now can we?