Sezha could feel it before he saw it. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. It was the same feeling as when he first entered the artificial realm. The dread that came with the knowledge you were being hunted. But this time, Sezha didn’t shy away from the fear. He embraced it. Let it ground you, make you alert, but don’t let them consume you. How many days had he spent here, tempering his body and will? He was no coward. He refused to succumb to fear. This time, he was the hunter.

The landscape went by in a blur. After the brutal exercise regimen the Prime had placed Sezha on during his early stages of training, he could sprint for hours on end. But his newfound stamina wasn’t just the benefits of strenuous workouts. He had evolved in ways he wasn’t quite sure.

Sezha came to a sudden halt. The stench of blood fouled the air.

He glanced around his surroundings. Flat, rocky plains greeted him as far as his eye could see, save the occasional lone dark column protruding out from the ground. This was a region he had rarely walked upon, much less explored.

Only a few paces further, he spotted the first signs of a fight. A ragged-looking corpse that was more like a hunk of butchered meat than a person laid face down, divided at the waist, entrails left to spill out. The emblem on the corpse’s back said it all. He was a man of the Kyu. One of the guardsmen he had roped into his ill-fated expedition. Sezha turned away and closed his eyes.

“Do not look away,” the Prime’s voice rang out, seemingly carried by the wind. It was cold as the day he first met her. “Such sights are commonplace on the Divine Path. Men who follow you will die. Harden your heart to these things. It isn’t enough just for your body to be strong, but your mind as well. Sacrifices are an inevitable part of traversing the Divine Path.”

Sezha opened his eyes, glancing around for the Prime. She was nowhere in sight. Some days, she didn’t even bother materializing.

“You’re saying I’m supposed to get used to this?”

“With time, you will indeed. Like the calluses on your hands, you will grow them over your heart. I did, as do all divine artists. The Path is not for the weak and kind.”

Sezha nodded, then tore his eyes away from the fallen guardsman. It occurred to him that he didn’t even know his name. This one was unmistakably dead, but where were the rest of them? Had they fared better than this poor man on the ground? He’d have to ensure the man’s family would be taken care of after he got back. If he got back.

The glint of steel caught Sezha’s eye. Buried in the man’s hand was a dagger, the blade nearly as thin as a needle. He set his sword aside and pried the needle-like dagger from the guardsman’s stiff fingers. He stuffed the dagger through a sash tied to his waist. Sezha wasn’t fond of wasting a good tool, and it could always come in handy. The guardsman wouldn’t need it any longer either.

As Sezha turned to leave, he muttered a wordless prayer to whatever gods were watching over them under his breath. He wasn’t the religious sort, but seeing as he was the one who got the poor guardsman killed, it was the least he could do. Perhaps in his next life, the guardsman would be fortunate enough to serve under a better master.

With every step taken away from the guardsman, Sezha felt a part of him falter. It hadn’t even been a year since he first started training, and according to the Prime, the Hunter had been brutalizing peasants and warriors alike for centuries.

Was it really possible to take down something so ancient?

Sezha walked until he reached the edge of the Stone Forest. Dark stone columns rose before him, all a different height to each other. Beyond this region was where Sezha had first come from. Was that his exit from the artificial world? Somehow, he doubted it would be that simple.

He took a moment to gather himself. Every moment in his life, past, present, and future, hedged on what would come next. He couldn’t possibly stop here, not when he had so much yet to do.

. . .

Wuqi opened his eyes and groaned softly. The man-beast stood over him, silent and watching.

A surge of panic swept through his body. He tried to lift his hand, but his body refused to listen to him. He paled. Heavens, was this how his life was going to end? Dying to whatever this thing was? Away from his friends and family? What would his mother think? Hopefully, she wouldn’t think he deserted his post. She had enough shame in her life.

The man-beast moved, and Wuqi cringed under his imposing build. But the cleaver did not fall on him as it had on Minzha. It fell on its knees, the man-beasts bulky shoulders shaking. It was. . . crying?

“Forgive. . .” the man-beast forced out, its voice rough and gravelly. “Forgive. . . me. . . son of Akan. . .son of man. . .”

Wuqi stared with wide-eyed horror. “What the hell are you talking about?” he whispered, his tone getting gradually louder, angrier. And for a second, his fear melted away to rage. “You killed Minzha, and you’re asking for forgiveness? Damn you, why? Why did he need to die?”

“Not my fault. . .” the man-beast muttered hoarsely. “Promise. . . they promise. . .” It trailed off, suddenly rearing its head back, and screamed into the sky. The very earth seemed to tremble. The man-beast roared and roared, part animalistic rage, another part oddly human-like.

The man-beast tossed his brutish armament aside. The cleaver hit the ground with a heavy thud. It clawed at its shoulders, ripping up flesh and drawing blood with its talons.

Wuqi glanced at his sword, which had been flung mere inches away from him. He cursed, straining to grasp the hilt with trembling fingers. There was no better opportunity, especially with the man-beast distracted. If only he could just get the sword in his hands. . .

Giant, callused hands brushed past Wuqi’s dirty cheeks and tightened around his throat. He slowly looked back at the man-beast. But his attention wasn’t on the crimson-red eyes but the distant figure running toward them. He surely must’ve been hallucinating. Was that the young master? His chest was bare, and he wore a pair of ragged trousers. And was that a sword he was carrying? Wuqi wasn’t aware that the young master practiced the way of the blade.

As the man-beast’s hold over his neck grew stronger, Wuqi’s vision began to dim. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to thrash about. The young master was closer now, but he wouldn’t make it in time. And even if he did, what good could he do? Even Minzha had stood no chance. Some guardsmen he was. Wuqi was supposed to be coming to the defense of the young master, not the other way around. The last words Wuqi could force out of his cracked lips were, “please run.”

. . .

Sezha weaved expertly through the stone forest, not a trace of waste in his movements. It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint the location of the Hunter—he simply needed to follow the roaring. His heart grew tenser with every passing minute. What had agitated it so?

Then, he caught a glimpse of it. The Hunter kneeled over the broken figure of a young man, Wuqi. Sezha’s mind panicked, but his body moved on its own, ducking behind a column. Had he seen correctly? Sezha had always been taller than most, but even kneeling on the ground, the Hunter’s freakishly large frame made him look like a child.

Sezha leaned against the column for support; his knees felt like buckling.

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He had never even been in a real fight. How could Sezha have thought he was ready? Did he really think a few weeks of training could turn him into a true warrior? What would the Prime say? Trust in your training? But even she wasn’t all-knowing, otherwise how could she have gotten trapped in here?

She had misjudged Sezha. He was no warrior, only a coward pretending to be one.

The sword in Sezha’s hand quivered. He glanced down in shock. It was as if it were alive, begging Sezha to charge into battle with it. Heavens, Sezha thought bitterly. Does even the sword have more courage than me? For once, he studied his sword. Not just how it looked, but how it felt in his hands. The face reflected in the gleaming blade was no longer a boy. Dirt-stained cheeks and tired dark eyes stared back at him. Was that a stubble on his chin? Despite his situation, Sezha chuckled. If his family saw him now, they wouldn’t even recognize him.

But how much had he changed on the inside? Was he still the same spoiled brat always running away from his problems?

Sezha made his decision. He leaped out from behind the column, then dashed toward the Hunter. It felt tantamount to committing suicide, but he would regret it even more if he was killed cowering in fear.

The Hunter slowly turned, rising to its full height. Could something of its size even be killed? Although dark red blood streamed down its shoulders, it seemed to be unfazed. Sezha needed to be smart about this. Charging in blindly without thought to strategy would likely lead Sezha to an untimely death.

Sezha glanced at the oversized cleaver a few paces away from the Hunter. Was that the blade to have slain the guardsman from before? Could a man even be able to lift such a weapon? It seemed as tall as Sezha himself.

The Hunter watched warily, face hidden behind a hemp bag. For that, Sezha was grateful.

Stepping forward, Sezha tripped on a crack in the earth.

The Hunter struck with its fist.

Sezha grinned, his blade flashing upwards, slicing through the Hunter’s fist.

That seemed to have done the job. The Hunter stumbled backward, cradling its hand and roaring into the sky. It could feel pain. The Hunter was mortal, just like Sezha.

“Now that we’ve got greetings out of the way,” Sezha said, twirling his blade, “what say we end this?”

The Hunter lunged aggressively with its good hand. Sezha rolled under the blow, righting himself behind the Hunter. He spun immediately, thrusting his blade out by instinct. The tip of his sword caught the Hunter in the chest.

Sezha’s face dropped. The blade was caught on its muscles. He looked up at the Hunter’s beady eyes and just knew that had been on purpose.

An open-handed slap knocked Sezha off his feet and into the air. He hit the ground, trying his best to roll with the momentum until his head was caught on a rock.

The world around him spun. Disoriented, Sezha turned over and crawled to his knees. How did he stop the world from spinning? The slap had hit him straight on the ear. The warm blood dribbling down the side of his neck was proof of that.

“Get up, Sezha!”

Sezha lurched to his feet. What was he thinking? He didn’t have time to rest.

“Fight with focus,” the Prime’s voice whispered in his ears. “The idiotic hunk of meat possesses strength built up through centuries, but it’s still a guileless beast at heart. Make use of that intelligence you’re so proud of.”

The Hunter shambled toward the cleaver with slow, lumbering steps. It didn’t even seem to consider Sezha a threat anymore. A part of him was relieved, another part frustrated. The Hunter would pay dearly for underestimating him.

“You’re pathetic,” Sezha said, barely able to keep on his feet. He wanted nothing more but to lie on the ground and fall into a deep sleep.

The Hunter stopped in his tracks. He was only a few paces away from the cleaver.

“How was I foolish enough to fear you?” Sezha continued. Just a little more. “You should be the one to fear me. I’m not like the peasants and children you tear apart.”

The Hunter turned back to Sezha. It was impossible to tell the expression behind its mask. Was it enraged? Amused? Apathetic?

Sezha drew in a deep breath, then fell into the most basic of unarmed stances. He emptied his mind of all distractions. He could see it now, the flame in his core. It grew hot until it consumed everything within him. Sezha would not fade away silently and without a proper fight. He refused. If not for him, but for his mentor who had put her all into teaching him.

Sezha’s face was the very picture of calm as he charged at the Hunter. The Hunter threw a punch, Sezha stepped to the side, whipping his leg out at its ribs. He connected. And shockingly enough, the Hunter stumbled back.

Was he hurting the damn beast?

“Clarity. . .”

Sezha froze. He looked up at the Hunter with utter shock.

“Come forth, warrior.” Its voice was muffled behind the hemp bag. For the first time, the Hunter’s eyes seemed to have focus. “I beg of you, end my suffering, and return my soul to the Path.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sezha demanded, hastily falling back into a stance. “Why wait until now to talk?”

“The Path brings clarity,” the Hunter repeated, his voice heavily accented. Sezha couldn’t quite place where from though.“It has been many years since I have last felt it. . . qi. You are a divine artist. As was once I. Has the Honored Council finally sent you to end my wretched existence?”

“I. . .” Sezha trailed off. “I don’t understand.”

“Ah,” the Hunter rumbled. “I had hoped. . . nevermind.” It—or he—or whatever it was, glanced down at the sword buried in his chest. He pulled it out without so much as even a groan and studied it. “Was that his blade? That must mean. . .” The Hunter sighed, then flung the blade away to the side. “I’m sorry, boy. By my honor and sworn duty, I must execute you.”

“Is there a reason?” Sezha asked.

“For the last thousand years, I have been acting as the guardian of this realm.” The Hunter paused, then shook its head. “A moment, please. I must collect myself.”

Sezha watched on silently. However, inside his mind, it was anything but. Should he make a break for it? What if it was a trick to pull down his guard? Did the Prime know the Hunter could talk?

“Yes. . .” the Hunter continued. “I am the guardian of this realm. . . The council tasked me. . . I must guard. . . I am bound to fight by the. . .” He snorted in frustration, shaking his giant head. “It fades. . . Before I am gone. Grant me a release befitting of a warrior.”

“Very well,” Sezha said. He had a thousand things he wanted to ask the Hunter, but it seemed whatever had been done to turn him sane was wearing off. “Try not to struggle too much.”

The Hunter muttered something in a language Sezha didn’t understand a single word of, then rushed forward, swinging his club-like arms. There was no grace nor elegance to it, but the sheer speed of his strikes was more than enough to force Sezha backward.

Sezha fought like a man possessed. He ducked, he dodged, he spun. Power surged through his muscles as he slammed his foot into the Hunter’s knee. The Hunter stumbled, falling on one knee.

I’ve got you now! He rushed in for the kill. A dark blur shot up, grabbing Sezha by the throat and lifting him up from the ground. He dangled helplessly in the Hunter’s iron grip. The veins on Sezha’s forehead bulged as the life was choked from him. Within seconds, bright blood began to gush from his nose.

Sezha, with the metallic taste of blood on his lips, bared his teeth in defiance. He reached down for the dagger tucked in his sash, then gripping it with his thumb on the pommel, he raised it above the Hunter’s head. By the time Sezha’s opponent had noticed the knife, the blade was already in motion. He rammed the knife through the Hunter’s eye socket, and thanks to its slender shape, it pierced all the way through to the brain. It felt like stabbing an overripe fruit.

The Hunter screamed, dropping Sezha down on the ground. He coughed and coughed and coughed, gasping for air like a man who had nearly drowned. No time to rest, Sezha thought. It was time to finish the job.

But the Hunter was still. He sat on his rear, his one good eye blinking as if he hadn’t just been stabbed in the other one. Blood pooled around his punctured eye, staining the hemp bag covering his face. Slowly, he pulled the knife out from his eye, then tossed it back to Sezha.

“You. . . have. . . my. . .” the Hunter trailed off. After three shallow, ragged breaths, he fell silent and eventually stopped breathing at all.

Sezha watched the Hunter in his last moments solemnly. Then, he passed out.