The Hunt Begins
At the crack of dawn, Emmic found himself at the edge of the Deadwood Forest. The trees loomed overhead like skeletal fingers, their twisted branches creaking in the wind. He could feel the eerie energy of the place, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional growl of a hidden beast.
Emmic’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the area. The Red Fang Pack was somewhere in these woods, and he had no intention of letting them escape. He had already scouted the forest’s perimeter the night before, marking potential escape routes and hidden paths. His preparations were meticulous; he couldn’t afford any mistakes.
Drawing a deep breath, he took his first step into the forest, his senses on high alert. Despite his outward calm, his thoughts swirled with a storm of emotions. Anger at the healers who threatened the girl. Desperation to save her. A cold fury that burned hotter the longer he thought about the injustice.
Hours passed as Emmic moved silently through the woods, avoiding patrols and setting traps in case he was ambushed. The deeper he went, the darker and more treacherous the terrain became, but it didn’t faze him. His mind was sharp, his body moving with the efficiency of a seasoned hunter.
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Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he found them. The Red Fang Pack had set up camp in a clearing near a river. A dozen rough-looking men sat around a fire, laughing and drinking, oblivious to the danger that lurked nearby. Emmic’s eyes scanned the group, identifying the leader—a tall, muscular man with a red wolf tattoo on his neck. Rukhal, the most dangerous of them all, with a bounty that made even seasoned adventurers hesitate.
Emmic crouched behind a fallen tree, watching them with deadly focus. He could feel the destructive energy inside him, waiting to be unleashed. But he couldn’t afford to be reckless. He needed to strike fast, take out the leader first, and scatter the rest.
His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, and he waited for the right moment. One by one, the men began to leave the campfire to check on their gear or rest. Rukhal stood, stretching lazily as he wandered toward the trees. This was it.
Without a sound, Emmic moved. His body was a blur as he closed the distance between them in seconds. Rukhal barely had time to react before Emmic’s blade was at his throat, glowing faintly with suppressed magic.
"Who the hell—"
"You’re dead," Emmic whispered, his voice cold as death itself.