The hunters just would not give up. For three hours now, Velik had been listening to them clomp through the forest, chasing after him despite his best efforts to shake them loose. At one point, he’d thought he’d lost one of them, only to discover that the older, stronger one had split up from his apprentice. Torwin, if he’d heard correctly, could move through the forest without a whisper when he wasn’t leading his bumbling apprentice around.

That wasn’t enough to catch Velik, of course. He’d been hunting these woods for ten years, and Torwin had only been here for a few days. He didn’t know the lay of the land like Velik did, even if he did an admirable job of avoiding the worst of the environmental hazards. Velik was almost positive that Torwin was responsible for killing most of the monsters the pair ran across, Jensen being barely able to keep up.

An hour turned into four, and then into ten. At first, Velik was mildly amused that they thought they could run him down. Then he started to get annoyed. He’d done nothing to deserve this, was in fact busy trying to keep the towns from being completely overrun by a surging monster population. The pair should be out hunting their own monsters instead of killing whatever wandered into their path while they chased after him!

Despite the unwanted complication, he did manage to kill a few hundred monsters of his own. How are there so many? This is insane, even compared to just a few weeks ago. The bright side of things was that he was building up his decarma supply quickly. It wasn’t enough to buy a new piece of gear, but he’d be able to replace that healing potion by the end of the week at this rate.

Something caught his attention at the edge of his range, just a flicker of movement or the soft, muffled scuff of a foot kicking some dried leaves. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but he trusted [Predator’s Visage]. It was his oldest skill, and in all the time he’d had it, it had never lied to him. The hunters had caught up to him again while he’d been busy with a small pack of worgs.

Leave me alone! I didn’t do anything to you.

Scowling in disgust, Velik fled deeper into the woods, well outside his normal trails.

* * *

“And he’s gone again,” Jensen said, throwing his hands up in the air. “How does he keep doing that?”

“He knows the forest better than us. It’s his home.”

“Some jumped-up tree chopper with a spear is not better than two members of the Hunters Guild. It’s got to be some kind of a trick.”

The two of them stood on the trail, Jensen balanced on a pair of roots sticking out of the mud and Torwin on a stretch of ground that didn’t look nearly dry enough to hold him, but his feet somehow didn’t sink. Jensen had asked him three times this week how he did that, but the bastard refused to tell him what skill it was. He just kept spouting crap like, “Your stats are your tools. You must learn to master them or they’ll become a crutch.”

It was infuriating. For months now, he’d been following this old man, supposedly a gold-ranked hunter, holder of a rare class, on the promise that he’d learn what he needed to know to evolve [Tracker] into [Ranger]. He’d have been better off staying at home with yet another of his father’s private tutors trying to teach him how to shoot a bow like he didn’t already know. At least he’d have good food and a comfortable bed to sleep in.

“It’s getting late,” Torwin finally said.

Brilliant deduction, you crackpot.

“Back to that… uh… ‘inn,’ then?” he asked, praying the answer was yes. A lumpy bed was better than no bed, and he’d learned when they’d first gotten here that this forest was a nightmare once the sun went down.

“You go,” Torwin said. “I’m not ready to let this go yet.”

Jensen shook his head. Whatever. If he dies out here, I can go home. “Good luck tracking that devil down, sir.”

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“Thanks, Jensen. You… You did good keeping up today. I pushed you hard, but you never slowed down.”

“Got to get that class evolution somehow,” Jensen said. And thank Morgus this shirt is enchanted with [Endless Vitality]. Best twenty thousand decarmas I ever spent.

“Keep working at it. I’m sure you’ll get it soon. In the meantime, we’ll get you up to level 20 and get that third skill slot opened up, huh?”

“Looking forward to it,” Jensen said. That, at least, was true. “I’ll see you back at the inn.”

Torwin nodded, but he was already looking past Jensen out into the deep woods. You’re insane, old man. This place would tear anyone apart. Good luck. Try not to get yourself killed chasing after that wild kid.

* * *

Jensen was a good kid, but he was too lazy to really push himself to the edge. That was why he was having so much trouble ranking up his skills. Even if that hadn’t been the case, even if his class had been legendary rarity instead of merely uncommon, it wouldn’t have changed the facts. Torwin wasn’t going at even a third the speed he could on his own, and as much as this whole mission’s purpose was to help Jensen get stronger, they did still need to complete it.

And I need to know who this boy is. He’s way too young to be the Black Fang, but who else could even be out here? Something’s off about him, either way. [Identify] came back completely blank, and there’s no way his mental stat is that high. Maybe he’s got some sort of shrouding item.

With Jensen sent back to town—hopefully without any incidents, but the young [Tracker] knew the dangers of the region now and had proven he could handle them—Torwin was free to finally stretch his legs. He didn’t know these woods as well as the spear-wielder, but he was level 51 with a rare class. This chase was as good as over.

At least, that was what he thought at first. Things started predictably enough. He picked up the trail, a feat that was surprisingly difficult, proving once again that whoever the boy was, his woodcraft was phenomenal. Torwin was willing to put money on it that there was a skill involved, probably one at a high rank.

Still, he was making progress. It was only a matter of time until he caught the guy. No matter how many streams the boy crossed over, or where he took to the trees and jumped from branch to branch, Torwin always found signs of his passage. Of course, it helped that the hunter he was chasing was still going out of his way to kill monsters. Those were much easier to locate, and they were plentiful enough to keep Torwin going the right direction.

This kid is a damn ghost, though. He can’t have had that class for more than a few years – three at most. There’s no way he’s older than twenty. The mayor said this monster density is a new thing, so there’s no way he’s been out here hunting long enough to have really packed on the levels. How is he doing this?

While he ran, Torwin thought up and discarded various ideas. Nothing seemed to fit, mostly because of the boy’s age. If he’d been older, the obvious answer would have been that he was the Black Fang himself, but that was impossible. Besides, Torwin was well-versed in the capabilities of classes that focused on wilderness survival and hunting, and he was sure half the stories the locals told about their legendary protector were the byproducts of drunken bullshittery.

Whoever and whatever the Black Fang really was, he wasn’t some kid who could barely grow enough facial hair to pretend to have a mustache. But he might be the Black Fang’s own apprentice. Morgus knows he’s a far sight better than mine if that’s the case. Maybe I could convince Mr. Fang to trade. Sure would be nice to have one that listens to direction and relies on himself instead of his dad’s money.

He was closing in on the kid. All signs pointed to that. The sun had just gone down, which Torwin expected to make things easier. He could see in the dark, but what were the chances that this kid had a similar skill? The loss of daylight would slow the spear-wielder down, and then Torwin would find him.

Three hours later, he was forced to admit that he’d severely underestimated his prey. Not only had he not caught up with the kid, but he was forced to admit that he’d lost the trail completely. Not only that, but he was running low on arrows. He only used the best, but even those broke sometimes. The unrecoverable losses were adding up, and the few that were left rattled in his quiver with every step.

“Damn kid actually beat me. That’s embarrassing,” Torwin said, but there was a smile on his face. “Maybe I am getting too old for this game after all.”

He looked through the shadows one last time, but it was clear to see. He’d lost the trail. With a final salute to the darkness, he turned around and started the run back to the Raven’s Nest.

* * *

Velik grunted in satisfaction. His wide loop had circled around to the east, and right before him were clear signs that his annoyingly stubborn pursuer had finally gotten the message. Hopefully, he’d keep walking until he was back in Celarut or whatever town he was calling home.

He’d keep an eye out, just in case, but Velik was confident that he could finally get to work. Those monsters weren’t going to kill themselves, and dodging the old hunter had taken up far too much of his effort tonight. Now that that was over, he could double back to where he’d seen those fresh blur hawk droppings twenty minutes ago.

With a smile on his face, he raced through the dark.