Kuro and Fenric remained perched in the upper branches of the dead tree while the Hrungnir tore relentlessly at its base, their tusks gouging deep furrows into the ancient wood. Each impact sent tremors through the trunk, and with each passing moment, the tree's stability grew more precarious.

  "Hrung—" Kuro attempted to pronounce the unfamiliar word, his brow furrowing slightly. "Uhm..."

  "Hrungnir," Fenric enunciated carefully, drawing out the final syllable. "Nirrr. You have to stress the ending."

  "Yeah, I get it. Hrmm..." Kuro's pale eyes flickered with recognition. "The old man slipped that name too, I believe. So what about them? You seem confused and scared." His tone was neutral, almost clinical, as if he were discussing the weather rather than their impending deaths.

  Fenric stared at him incredulously. "Are we seeing the same thing?" He gestured wildly at the scene below. "Look at them! Swarming like ants, terrorizing us, ripping the tree apart—it's going to give out sooner or later! Do you get it? We are going to die! Why are you so calm?!"

  "Except for their numbers, they're nothing special," Kuro replied with a slight shrug. "We can defeat them."

  "How?" Fenric's voice cracked slightly. "Please, enlighten me—how exactly are you planning to do that?"

  Silence. Kuro said nothing, his gaze fixed on the creatures below.

  "Let me guess," Fenric continued, his tone edging toward hysteria. "By slashing them? Oh, for the love of—you said they're 'nothing special!' Do you even know what kind of beasts these are?!"

  "What..." Kuro paused, considering. "Pigs?"

  "What? No! I mean, technically yes, but no! They're—"

  The tree suddenly shook with dramatic violence. Fenric lost his grip and found himself dangling from a branch, his legs swinging wildly over the gnashing tusks below. "Fuck! These bastards—" he grunted, struggling to pull himself up—"they're one of the greater beasts!"

  Kuro, who had been crouching on a sturdy branch, stood up slowly, his hand instinctively moving to Mosvmora's hilt. "What? Greater beasts?" His voice sharpened with interest. "Are they stronger than high beasts?"

  "No, they're below them in the hierarchy, but deadlier in many ways!" Fenric managed to swing his leg up, trying to hook it over the branch. "They only dwell in the Tall Forest—that's what makes this so wrong!"

  "But—"

  "Yes! Exactly!" Fenric's eyes were wide with confused terror. "That's why I don't understand this situation! Why did they come down here? Why are they hunting near human settlements?" He lost his grip again and swung precariously. "Dude, can you give me your hand? I'm kind of struggling here!"

  "Tch. Here." Kuro reached down and hauled Fenric back onto the relative safety of the branch.

  "Thanks," Fenric gasped, steadying himself.

  Kuro still had more questions—many more—but the situation was deteriorating rapidly. The darkness was nearly absolute now, the storm having swallowed what little twilight remained. If I don't do something, we're dead.

  Fenric broke off a branch and began tearing strips from his already damaged shirt, wrapping the cloth around one end of the wood. "You have the lighter, right?" he asked, not looking up from his work.

  "Yes."

  Fenric pulled a small flask from inside his coat and poured some of the liquid onto the makeshift torch. "Light it."

  Clank. Tsssshhh. The branch caught fire immediately, flames licking hungrily at the alcohol-soaked cloth. Fenric waved the torch down toward the base of the tree, trying to drive the Hrungnir back.

  Nothing. They didn't even flinch. If anything, the firelight only made their red eyes glow more intensely, more hungrily.

  "Whatever fluid you used for the fire," Kuro said, his voice cutting through Fenric's mounting panic, "can you do the same thing for this entire tree?"

  Fenric's head whipped around. "Why? Do you want to burn this tree? Are you nuts?"

  "I can't see shit, idiot!" Kuro snapped, his composure cracking for just a moment. "Do you think that one branch is enough?"

  "No, but even if I had enough, I don't think this old, dead wood will catch fire easily enough to—"

  CRACK. CRRRRRACK.

  The tree lurched violently to one side. The Hrungnir had broken through more than half of the trunk's base. The ancient tree was now held upright by only a few stubborn strands of wood fiber and sheer defiance of gravity.

  "That's it. We're going to die." Fenric closed his eyes and began muttering what sounded like a prayer to gods Kuro had never heard of.

  "Give me that liquid," Kuro demanded, extending his hand.

  "Why? I told you it won't—"

  "Give me."

  Fenric reluctantly handed over the flask. There wasn't much left—maybe a quarter full. Kuro took it and his face darkened as he brought it to his nose. "Seriously? Alcohol?"

  "I promise it was for you!" Fenric said quickly, guilt written across his features. "I just didn't get the right time to give it to you! Hehe..." The nervous laugh betrayed the truth—he'd been drinking it behind Kuro's back during their journey.

  "I'll deal with you later." Kuro uncorked the flask and poured the remaining alcohol along Mosvmora's blade. The liquid ran down the horn like water on obsidian. Then he touched the torch to the sword.

  WHOOOOSH.

  The blade erupted in flames, glowing bright crimson in the darkness. The fire danced along its edge but didn't seem to harm the horn at all—if anything, the sword seemed to drink in the flames, to become one with them.

  "What are you doing?!" Fenric asked, genuinely alarmed now.

  Without warning, Kuro drew back and hurled Mosvmora like a spear directly into the snow-covered ground below.

  The flaming blade spun through the air, a wheel of fire in the darkness, and struck the ground with tremendous force. Multiple Hrungnir were caught in the impact, their bodies punctured and torn. But more than that, the fire and the force of the throw created a reaction with the deep snow. It melted rapidly, hissing and steaming, creating a wide circular clearing where actual ground was visible for the first time since they'd entered the snowfield.

  Kuro jumped.

  He dropped from the tree with perfect control, landing in a crouch beside his embedded sword. He wrapped his fingers around the still-burning hilt and pulled it free, then rose to his full height in the center of the melted circle.

  "Now come, pigs."

  "KURO!" Fenric's voice was raw with disbelief. "Do you have a death wish?!"

  Every Hrungnir in the vicinity turned toward Kuro. Their red eyes fixed on this prey that had dared to descend to their domain. They began circling, positioning themselves, preparing to dive beneath the snow for their killing strikes.

  But something had changed. Three of them came rushing at Kuro from beneath the surface, planning to tear his legs apart—but now, with the wide circular clearing around him and the light from his burning sword, he could see them clearly. Their forms were visible beneath the thinner layer of remaining snow, dark shapes moving with predatory intent.

  No more jumping.

  Kuro tightened his grip on Mosvmora. The flames along the blade burned hotter, responding to his will, his focus. He could see clearly now.

  The first Hrungnir erupted from the snow to his left. Kuro pivoted and swung. Mosvmora carved through fur, flesh, and bone, and this time the wound was cauterized instantly by the flames. The creature's scream was cut short as it collapsed, its body already beginning to burn.

  One.

  A second came from his right. Another swing, another burning corpse.

  Two.

  They kept coming, one after another, and Kuro kept slashing. His movements were economical, precise, each strike calculated for maximum efficiency. The Hrungnir bathed in fire, running in circles, screaming their death agonies as they burned. Kuro himself became bathed in blood—it splattered across his face, his clothes, his hands. The melted snow around him turned pink, then red, then dark crimson.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

  The remaining Hrungnir, seeing their packmates fall one after another, changed tactics. They began piling snow back into the clearing, using their bodies and tusks to push the white powder back into the melted circle. The fire began to dim as moisture reclaimed the ground. Kuro's movements began to slow—not from exhaustion, but from the returning depth of the snow.

  Then one of them got through.

  A Hrungnir managed to come up directly beneath him, its tusks tearing through the side of his right leg. Blood sprayed fresh and hot, steaming in the cold air.

  Kuro dropped to one knee, grunting in pain, but he didn't release his sword. He swung blindly, catching the creature across its face and sending it squealing back into the snow.

  From his position in what remained of the tree, Fenric watched, stricken with a complex mixture of fear and awe. He saw Kuro's bravado, his absolute fearlessness. Even now, surrounded and wounded, about to be swarmed, there was no despair in those pale eyes. Only determination. Only the certainty that he would emerge victorious or die trying.

  Fenric felt shame wash over him—hot and bitter. Here was this human, this D-rank adventurer on his first real quest, fighting with the courage of a seasoned warrior. And what was Fenric doing? Cowering in a tree. Praying for salvation.

  No. No more.

  Kuro was on his knee now, his right leg bleeding steadily, trying to fend off the Hrungnir with his burning sword. But the numbers didn't seem to diminish. For every one he killed, two more took its place. The situation seemed hopeless.

  But his eyes—his eyes spoke a different truth. They burned with the same intensity as the flames on his blade.

  The Hrungnir sensed weakness and rushed forward for the killing blow, converging from all sides.

  "HAAAAAAAAAA!"

  A scream came from above—raw, primal, filled with rage and shame and newfound courage.

  Fenric dropped from the tree like a falling star, like divine judgment made flesh. His transformation had already begun mid-fall. His nails had elongated into proper claws, each one three inches long, curved and wicked as any blade. His teeth had sharpened into fangs that gleamed in the firelight. His eyes blazed with ember-bright intensity. Yet his form remained distinctly human—this was the true nature of a half-beast, caught between two worlds, embodying the best of both.

  His movements became wholly animalistic, operating on instinct and fury rather than thought.

  He landed in the middle of the converging Hrungnir and slashed.

  The creatures didn't stand a chance. Fenric tore through them with savage efficiency, his claws ripping through fur and flesh with ease. He moved like liquid violence, all grace and fury, his half-beast nature fully unleashed.

  Kuro struggled to his feet, gripping Mosvmora with renewed determination. Together, they swung without rest, without mercy. Kuro's burning blade and Fenric's bloody claws painted the snow in shades of red and orange. They fought until the remaining beasts finally stopped their assault and retreated to a safe distance, watching, wary.

  Both warriors stood in the center of the killing field, sweating despite the cold, breathing heavily, their bodies screaming for rest they couldn't afford.

  Kuro glanced at Fenric, noting the claws, the slightly elongated features, the feral gleam in his ember eyes. "So you can fight."

  "Of course," Fenric panted, a bitter smile on his face. "Who do you think I am? I told you—I don't deal with humans. But animals?" He bared his fangs. "Animals I can handle."

  A rare smile crept across Kuro's blood-splattered face. It was small, barely noticeable, but genuine. "So what are these pigs' next move?"

  "I don't know," Fenric admitted, his enhanced eyes scanning the circle of watching Hrungnir. "I know about them, but not everything. Let's just hope they retreat."

  "No." Kuro's voice was flat, absolute. "That's not an option. I came here to kill every single one of them, and I intend to do exactly that."

  "Come on, partner, you can't be serious—" Fenric looked at Kuro's face and saw no room for negotiation. He gave up with a sigh. Still panting, he called out to the watching beasts: "Come on, fuckers! Don't just stand there looking all innocent! Do something!"

  The remaining Hrungnir waited, watching with those unnaturally intelligent red eyes. Then, as if receiving some unspoken command, they turned as one and ran deep into the darkness beyond the firelight.

  "Are they retreating?" Kuro tensed, about to plunge after them into the darkness.

  "Shit—no, wait!" Fenric grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Something's not right."

  The burning corpses of the beasts lay spread across the clearing, providing light and warmth, but the rising storm still posed problems for their vision and threatened to extinguish the flames. Then, suddenly, without any natural reason, the storm died.

  Not completely—the snow still fell, but gently now, almost peacefully. The howling wind ceased. The oppressive darkness lifted slightly.

  "Do you smell something?" Kuro asked, his instincts screaming that this change was not a good sign.

  "Yes," Fenric replied, his voice tight with tension. His enhanced senses were picking up something new, something that made his half-beast blood run cold. "Something evil. And the sound... it's moving."

  "Of course. Probably the Hrungnir regrouping—"

  "Yes, but..." Fenric's ears swiveled, trying to pinpoint the source. "It feels big. Enormous."

  As the last word left his mouth, his ember eyes widened with sudden, horrified realization. "No... don't tell me..."

  A sudden screech erupted from the darkness.

  It was unlike anything Kuro had heard before. The terrorizing sound didn't just reach his ears—it seemed to vibrate through his bones, through the very ground beneath his feet. It was rage and hunger and ancient cruelty given voice.

  Fenric's limbs shook violently, his courage threatening to abandon him entirely. But Kuro stood still, unshaken. The scream was terrible, yes, but he had heard worse. He thought back to his first true nightmare, to the sounds that had haunted him in the Tall Forest. This was nothing compared to that.

  "I can't believe this is happening!" Fenric's voice was rising toward panic again. "What kind of cursed luck do you have?! This is your first quest, for Molly's sake! And you're D-rank of all things! This has never happened before! Never!"

  "Whatever that scream belongs to, it's big. Way big." Kuro readied his sword, the flames along Mosvmora's edge flickering in response to his focused intent. "Beast, if you've got something to say, it's now or never."

  Fenric was still dazed, still processing the implications of what was coming. He forced himself to focus, to explain. "I told you the Hrungnir are greater beasts, right? That's correct—but only the males. The females... no, they fall into a category close to high beasts, but different. They're called Abyssals."

  He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry despite the cold. "Unlike high beasts, they don't carry any magical properties, but they're deadlier—deadly enough to rank close to a high beast in raw physical capability. And I think..." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I think this one is their queen."

  Step... step...

  The land beneath their feet tremored with each approaching footfall. The rhythm was steady, inevitable, like a death knell counting down their remaining heartbeats. Fenric stepped backward instinctively with each impact, his body screaming at him to flee.

  "Partner," he said, his voice carefully controlled despite his terror. "It's a final warning. Let's run. There's a slim chance—a very slim chance—we'll survive if we move now. Come on!"

  Fenric readied himself to bolt, then glanced at Kuro, waiting for some response, some indication that he'd finally recognized the severity of their situation.

  Nothing. Kuro just stood there, motionless. Snow had begun to collect on the brim of his hat.

  Fenric moved closer and looked at Kuro's face, really looked at his eyes. There was no despair there. No fear. No resignation. Only pure, crystalline determination—the absolute certainty that he would emerge victorious or die without regret.

  Seeing that unshaken resolve, Fenric came to a sudden conclusion. He had suspected it before, had wondered about it, but he hadn't been sure. Now he was. This young man, who moved with impossible confidence, who facing death without flinching—he really was the one.

  Kuro really was the one who had slain Ravmor, the Day King, the high beast.

  Fenric's heart, which had been running a frantic race in his chest, began to slow. His breathing steadied. The terror didn't disappear entirely, but it became manageable, tempered by a fragile seed of hope.

  He turned to face the direction of the approaching footsteps, standing beside Kuro rather than behind him.

  "The beast is hurt," Kuro spoke suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

  "What?" Fenric looked more carefully, his canine eyes piercing the darkness with greater clarity than any human's could. And there, just barely visible at the edge of the firelight, he saw it. "Oh my gods... yes. You're right. What? How is that possible?" He glanced at Kuro's wounded leg, blood still seeping slowly through his torn clothing. "You two match in that way. Your leg—is it alright?"

  "Just a scratch." The dismissal was absolute.

  The Hrungnir Queen emerged from the darkness into the light cast by the flaming corpses of her mates.

  She was enormous—similar in size to Ravmor himself, which meant she stood taller than a house at the shoulder. Her fur was ghost-white, pristine except where blood had frozen into dark patches. Each visible muscle seemed to breathe menace and promised violence. Her eyes were like pools of fresh blood, glowing with intelligence and hatred. Three giant tusks curved from her mouth, each larger than the last, their surfaces scarred and chipped from countless battles. Large horns grew from her head, curving downward like executioner's blades. Her nose shot steam with each breath, the vapor hanging in the cold air like dragon's smoke.

  And there, on the left side of her massive body, was a wound—a great, ragged tear in her flesh. The blood had frozen in the cold, creating a grotesque crystalline sculpture. The wound looked recent, perhaps only hours old.

  "Wow," Fenric breathed, momentarily forgetting his fear in sheer amazement. "I can't believe this. That's a serious wound."

  "It's a battle scar," Kuro interjected, his analytical mind working despite the danger. "Are you saying there are monsters out there even more dangerous than this monstrosity we're looking at?"

  "Hate to say this, but yes," Fenric confirmed quietly. "Especially in the deep places. The Tall Forest. The Sunless Depths. Places where even high beasts fear to tread."

  The Hrungnir Queen stopped perhaps thirty feet away from them. She lowered her massive head, those blood-red eyes focusing entirely on the two small figures that had slaughtered her males. Her breath came in great heaving snorts, each exhalation like the working of a massive bellows.

  Then she let out another scream—this one even fiercer than before, filled with rage and grief and the promise of retribution. The force of her breath made their clothes snap and ripple as if caught in a gale.

  "Get ready," Fenric said quietly, dropping into a fighting stance, his claws extended.

  "Hm?" Kuro glanced at him. "To fight, right?"

  Fenric's smile was grim but genuine. "I hate to say it, but yes. We fight."

  The Hrungnir Queen pawed at the ground, her massive tusks gleaming in the firelight. Behind them, in the darkness, Kuro could sense the other Hrungnir gathering, watching. This would be their final stand—the queen and her remaining pack against two warriors who had dared to invade their territory and slaughter their kin.

  Kuro adjusted his grip on Mosvmora, the flames along the blade burning brighter in response to his rising battle spirit. His wounded leg throbbed, his body was covered in blood and exhaustion pulled at his limbs, but none of that mattered.

  This was what he'd been searching for. Not the quest itself, not the meager reward, but this—the test, the challenge, the moment where everything hung in the balance.Despite everything he'd been through—cast away in this new, absurd world where monsters were real and death lurked behind every tree—he found the battle fun. Not in a sadistic way, but in the way a musician finds satisfaction in a difficult piece, or a craftsman in a challenging project. This was what he was for.

  The Queen charged.

  And Kuro smiled.