Under the dim light of the lantern, the grotesque remains of the hound lay sprawled on the ground, its skeletal structure shattered and crushed beyond recognition. Broken shards of bone jutted out from the torn, reddish flesh, remnants of the monster’s twisted form. It would have been a more gruesome sight—a sickening, bloody mess—if there had been any blood at all. But instead of the usual crimson pool, there was only a strange, oily black slime oozing from the wounds. Was this the creature’s blood? Or something more sinister?

But Kaiser’s main concern wasn’t the creature’s anatomy. He was far more inclined to find out what happened to his severed hand.

His gaze searched the mangled remains, but all he could see was a shredded mess of flesh and bone, scattered and obliterated. Any hope of finding his hand intact quickly faded. Even if he did somehow recover it, it wasn’t as if he could reattach it in a world still waiting for advanced medicine or surgical tools. The loss was permanent, and he had to accept it.

He could still do "it" with his remaining right hand, anyway. So the loss isn't that crippling.

Still, as he stared at the devastated remains of the hound, he couldn’t shake his frustration. Any normal creature would have died long ago. But just when he thought it was finally over, the torn flesh and broken bones began to twitch. To his disbelief and exasperation, the mutilated body started to squirm, fragments of muscle and sinew inching toward each other as if trying to rebuild itself.

Kaiser groaned, his voice laced with exhaustion and frustration.

'Please, just freaking die already.'

But his desperate wish went unanswered. The dismembered pieces kept writhing, attempting to reconnect. Thankfully, the creature’s regenerative ability had weakened significantly; it moved sluggishly, like a dying insect, struggling to piece itself together in a futile attempt to survive.

Rising unsteadily, Kaiser watched the grisly scene with a grim expression, his exhaustion visible. If even being crushed to this extent wasn’t enough to kill it, what more could they do?

Beside him, Alfred—the stoic, rough-looking hunter—reached into the pocket under his chest guard and pulled out a small, flat steel container. It looked like a flask. Twisting off the cap, he stepped closer to the monster, unfazed by its feeble movements, and held the container above it.

In a low, gravelly voice, he murmured, “For the innocent villagers you devoured.”

As the first splash of liquid, rather, — a potent alcohol—poured down onto the twitching flesh, it caught the lantern’s warm glow, glistening as it splattered over the bones, the flesh, and the slick, dark slime. The monster shuddered, not from pain, but from something that seemed like dread.

Alfred’s deep voice echoed again, resonant and resolute. “And for my men, who fought hard for this day to come.”

He poured another generous splash, letting the alcohol cover every inch of the creature’s remnants. Then, after a moment’s pause, he tossed the metal flask toward Kaiser.

Startled, Kaiser caught it instinctively, blinking as he glanced between the flask and Alfred. It took him a moment to understand what they were doing. A ritual?

The ritual didn’t seem necessary, but the decisive and cautious were doing it, so it should be fine. He decided to follow along.

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This was no respectful farewell— more of a final mockery, a farewell tainted with rage, for the beast that had stolen so much life from them out of vileness, to satisfy its own hunger. And now, it's facing the consequences.

If Kaiser were ever to face death like this—battered, helpless, sprawled on the ground while his enemies took their time to burn him alive—it would be a grim end indeed.

But for this monster, such a horrible fate was only fitting.

“Uh… thanks,” he muttered, raising the flask in acknowledgment. Now that he was part of the ritual, he searched for something to say.

As he felt a sharp pang from his missing hand, a bitter smile formed on his lips. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and raised his voice.

“For my god damn hand, I hope you enjoyed your last supper, whatever piece of sh*t you are. I know you did, I'm sure of it. Because I grew that f*cking hand myself for eighteen years.” He spat, his tone laced with sarcasm.

He tilted the flask with a bitter face, letting the remaining alcohol pour out, ensuring it soaked every part of the vile creature’s body.

Alfred gave Kaiser an odd look, but they wasted enough time already. He might not show it on his stoic face, in reality, his the most eager to finally rid the world of this vile creature. With a weary sigh, Alfred smashed the lantern onto the soaked remains of the hound. Flames erupted, hungry and untamed, consuming the alcohol-drenched flesh in a blaze that spread fast and wild, devouring every inch of the beast. The hound’s charred remains squirmed and twitched in eerie silence, its convulsions revealing a strange semblance of panic, perhaps even pain on some primal level. But neither Kaiser nor Alfred reacted. They simply watched, indifference and silent, as if this was nothing more than a melancholy bonfire.

'No peace for the wicked,' Kaiser thought, feeling neither joy nor hatred as he observed the flames burn. Just... relief. A strange, peaceful feeling of finality.

On the other hand, Alfred’s expression was as impassive as stone, his eyes fixed on the blaze with fierce focus, as though making sure the creature would die once and for all.

After a while, the grim atmosphere was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching from the bushes. Someone pushed through the underbrush, leaves crunching underfoot. Kaiser was the first to turn, recognizing the spiky-haired figure stepping out of the shadows.

Brick.

Kaiser greeted him with a glare, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "There you are bastard, finally. When did you get so smart?"

Halfheartedly praising his excellent move on positioning himself in the far out bushes in preparation if ever the monster passed the three layered ambush.

Brick smirked, shrugging off the hostility. “I’ve always been blessed with a good head, if you didn’t know. Dumb ones die young, so you’d better be careful… Almighty Player,” he replied, placing a mocking emphasis on the last two words. If Kai doesn't have that title, Brick's tongue would probably be sharper.

Kaiser rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to retort. 'Look at this shameless bastard. He probably only survived by sticking close to Alfred. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was Alfred’s idea for him to take that position in the outskirts bushes.'

Whether Brick had acted on his own or under Alfred’s guidance, his position in the bushes had certainly played a big role in their victory. Even so, Kaiser couldn’t help but feel a stab of frustration over something far more personal.

“If you’re so ‘smart,’ then why didn’t you come and help me restrain it earlier? If you had, maybe I wouldn’t be missing a hand right now.” Kaiser’s voice was tight, struggling to stay calm.

Brick had been close enough to lend a hand when Kaiser was wrestling the beast to the ground. Instead, he headed somewhere else, leaving Kaiser to restrain it alone. Perhaps Brick had been afraid, or maybe he held a grudge—ever since Kaiser had been chosen as a Player, Brick’s looks had grown sharp and almost malicious.

Brick shrugged, his expression cocky as ever. “Is that so? I figured it’d slip your grip again, so I was ready to intercept its escape route.” Despite his usual arrogance, Brick’s face shifted to genuine confusion as he glanced over at Kaiser. “But… what do you mean by ‘missing a hand’? You look perfectly whole to me.”

Kaiser frowned, Brick’s words turning his irritation into puzzlement. What was he talking about? Hesitating, he raised his severed arm… only to freeze in shock. His hand, the one that had been sawed off in the battle, was back! A new, pale hand had grown in its place, perfectly formed, as if it had never been lost at all. Except that the covering mantle was gone.

Alfred stole a glance at Kaiser’s fully restored hand, hiding the surprise that rippled through him. Kaiser’s regenerative ability was astounding, almost unnatural—regrowing a severed limb in mere moments. Just imagining how powerful he would become in battle sent a chill down Alfred’s spine. Combatting “Players,” these otherworldly individuals, might be beyond anything he could ever prepared for.

‘No wonder they’re called the legends of old,’ Alfred thought secretly, his face set in a stony expression.

The flames finally did their work on the hound. Its flesh had burned to char, leaving only ash and cinders. The bones had been smashed to dust, and the dark, gluey substance evaporated into wisps of steam. Nothing was left but the certainty that this creature had no chance of resurrection.

They had made absolutely sure of it.

However, just moments earlier, amidst the frenzy of the hunt as they pursued the hound’s wild upper body through the dense forest, a different scene had unfolded back near the base, where the chaos had first erupted. In a clearing, a group of Hunters had dragged what was left of a hound’s lower body— severed, lifeless, and devoid of purpose—to be burned to ashes.

While everyone was focused on the furious chase, a small, sinister presence made its move. A thin, snake-like creature slithered out from the carcass, made entirely of black, slimy substance. Its movements were silent as it slipped away into the shadows, when no one is looking. Unnoticed by anyone in the clearing, it slithered cautiously, eventually vanishing into the forest, it left no trace behind, its sinister intentions hidden under the cover of darkness.