Around the same time Owen started punching the tree, a hunter armed with a hunting bow knelt over some fresh kanga tracks and furrowed his brows. The tracks were relatively fresh. A kanga would definitely fill the kids’ stomachs better than a few furrels or jarbits. It would taste better too. With that in mind, he knocked an arrow on his bow and followed the tracks until he discovered the prey digging in the dirt for grubs. There was a straight shot between two trees even from a notable distance.

Since the animal was already distracted, the kill would be easy. The man took aim. Then, he imbued a small amount of spiritual energy into his eyes to enhance and extend his sight. A small imaginary target bloomed in his mind’s eye. There was no wind; no alterations. He knew the arrow would pierce its heart. He pulled back on the bowstring, but right before letting loose the arrow, he saw something bigger move behind the bush next to the kanga. As a precaution, he carefully relaxed the bowstring in order to observe the situation.

A moment later, a man wearing only undergarments and a blanket bounded around the bush and attacked the moderately dangerous omnivore with his bare fists. The bowman paled at the reckless action. However, he quickly recognized the strange man as the one he had brought into his home the previous night for treatment. What in the world was the guy doing out here attacking wild beasts? Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to think of an answer before the guy started slamming the kanga’s head against a tree trunk. He grimaced at the unadulterated brutality.

Briefly, the bowman repented that he had brought such a dangerous person into his home, but then he noticed the wistful expression on the man’s face. He looked… sad? Mournful? The bowman recalled seeing similar expressions on his father’s face in the past. Curiosity about the man’s situation stirred within him.

To the bowman’s surprise, the strange man didn’t even bother to absorb the remnant spiritual energy from the deceased kanga before traveling deeper into the forest as if in a trance. Wondering if he could somehow help this troubled man, the bowman nimbly climbed the nearest oak and followed the man from the treetops.

When the strange man unhesitatingly attacked a small pack of rattilas, the bowman frowned. Part of him wanted to jump in and help when one of the ratilas successfully bit the guy’s arm, but he stopped himself when he saw the somber expression on the man’s face again. It wasn’t the look of a man who reveled in fighting, nor was it the face of a man in pain.

Is he… punishing himself? The bowman wondered.

Shortly after he thought such, he noticed three more rattilas charging toward the scene of combat a few hundred cubits opposite him. Figuring the man on the ground was already in over his head, he darted through the trees and retrieved three arrows from the quiver on his thigh. Since there were multiple targets, he not only used spiritual energy to enhance his sight further, but also imbued his arrows with it to improve their power and stability.

[Thwip] [Thwip] [Thwip]

Three arrows whizzed through the air in quick succession, gored through the hearts of the rattilas, and lodged themselves in the soil on the other side. The bowman scrunched up his nose since he had used more spiritual energy than necessary. He still hadn’t adjusted to using it to strengthen his arrows yet.

From there, he nimbly hopped down to the ground with a barely audible thump. Then, he swiftly retrieved the three arrows while absorbing the remnant spiritual energy from the corpses. After that, he climbed back into the treetops in order to follow the strange man.

After the third time the guy jumped into a group of rattilas, he broke his silence by shouting like some sort of ogre. It was like he was voicing inner frustrations toward his targets while pummeling them. At least, that was how the bowman perceived it. The only strange thing was the the beasts never noticed the guy until he actually attacked them. Was it just a coincidence?

This continued until late morning. For the most part, the bowman watched in solemn silence as the man on the ground recklessly charged into battle with stray kangas and small packs of rattilas. The only time he helped was when other rattilas attempted to ambush the guy as they were so keen on doing to unwary prey. Even then, he stayed out of sight.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Eventually, though, the man on the ground finished off the last of a pack of nine rattilas and stopped. He simply stood among the animal corpses covered in sweat, small wounds, and a mixture of both his blood and the blood of the animals he brutally pummeled. Although a weapon would have been more messy, he was still dotted with all shades of red. He panted with shallow breaths since he had been running from battle to battle without rest. Honestly, it was a pitiable appearance.

Amidst the sounds of chirping, buzzing, and rustling of the forest, a somber atmosphere hung over the man. From the bowman’s perspective, it was an eerie scene to behold. The man on the ground released his fists and blankly stared at his open palms as though deep in thought. Seeing this, the bowman considered descending from the treetops in order to speak with the man, but then shook his head and decided to give him some space to work out his emotions before confronting him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now that Owen had brutally slaughtered almost a hundred wild animals with his bare hands, he stopped in order to collect his bearings. Although the nightmare affected him, he couldn’t deny that he had just killed all of those animals. Times like these almost made him regret adopting his grandpa’s creed of personal responsibility. One was responsible for one’s own actions. This was yet another burden to carry.

So much for trying to take the high road in not killing innocent animals. I really am a monster… Owen mused while rubbing his temples. He recalled his nickname from his MMA days. Back then, he earned his nickname as ‘The Ogre’ due to his brutal outbursts in matches. It was exactly that bad habit of drown out his memories through his fists which came back to bite him when someone he accidentally injured came back for revenge and purposely destroyed his shoulder beyond repair. Feeling phantom pain, he rubbed his shoulder, smearing blood on the mirage blanket in the process. In a way, the restored shoulder made him feel like part of his retribution had been unjustly removed. An empty space remained.

He lowered his head while thinking, I thought I had forgotten about that damn nightmare since it’s been so long.

While reflecting on his actions, his adrenaline slowly fizzled out. Several of the bites and scratches from the rattilas and kangas flared up. Exhaustion sapped away his energy like a leech. His muscles ached and cried out for rest. The wounds on his chest throbbed. Pus had stained the bandage. Owen grimaced at the fact that he had completely ignored his body’s state until now. With a frown plastered on his face, he lumbered over to the nearest tree, sat down next to it, and entrusted it with his back. His arms rested on his knees. His eyes closed.

Hoping to move on from his relapse, he opened his eyes and pulled up his status screen, almost like a person turning to their phone in an awkward situation. When it appeared, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Fighting those creatures hadn’t granted him any experience. At least, he hadn’t seen any notifications or anything during that time, and all the stats and levels were the same. The only difference from last time was that there was a ‘none’ in the secondary weapon slot, which reminded him he had left the wakizashi back at that house. Either way, the fact that those creatures died without even giving him experience left a sour taste in his mouth. On top of that, the only way of leveling up he knew from the Pathwalkers beta was ineffective.

Moments later, a rustling in the trees attracted his attention. Briefly, he attempted to stand, but his soreness prevented him from rising to his feet. Instead, he remained sitting but tensed his muscles in anticipation just in case something dangerous appeared. If it wasn’t a life or death situation, then there was no reason to force his weary body back into action.

Much to Owen’s relief, a human garbed in tan and green colored woolen cloth dropped down from the forest canopy a few meters away. Although Owen wondered how the man didn’t break his ankles from the fall, he focused on the man’s appearance and attitude. The man was somewhat short from Owen’s perspective, but even through his loose clothing, his lean muscle was clearly visible. None of the man’s body was visible since he even wore leather gloves and boots with high collars tipped with brownish gray fur. A green hood covered the man’s head, obstructing a clear view of his face, but his posture was open and displayed zero hostile intent. To add to that, the man’s main weapon, a shortbow, was casually slung over his shoulder. Besides, someone with malicious intentions would not have shown themselves.

With all of that in mind, Owen relaxed his guard slightly. However, his eyes must have displayed some level of distrust, considering the man didn’t approach immediately. Instead, he pulled back his hood and revealed a friendly smile full of mildly crooked teeth. Some sort of black clay was smeared on his prominent cheekbones. Messy brown hair short enough to barely touch his earlobes contrasted his large green eyes. The skin on his face was deeply tanned, indicating a mainly outdoor lifestyle. For some reason, he looked vaguely familiar.

Apparently noticing Owen’s confusion, the man scratched his head and spoke in a voice which sounded youthful and energetic as though he had just recently escaped the torment of puberty.

“Uh… hi?”