Chapter 291: The Hunt
The scratch came again.
Soft.
Deliberate.
Not a claw dragging wildly across wood, not a beast testing the barricade with brute force, but a single sound placed against the church door with almost thoughtful restraint. The praying faltered. Several villagers lifted their heads at once, eyes wide, hands frozen around charms and prayer beads. Someone whispered the name of a god under his breath, but the word came out cracked and unfinished.
Kael did not move from the pew.
His repaired armor rested against his body again, the damage from the Dark Beast mostly mended. Brokk’s Hammer lay beside him, close enough to grab, and his gauntlets sat properly over his hands. The minimap remained open in the corner of his vision, silent but more useful than every prayer in the building. Green dots filled the church, packed together in trembling clusters. Outside, the red dots had tightened around the walls.
Then came a knock.
Three taps.
Measured.
Civilized.
The sound rolled through the church worse than a howl.
A woman covered her mouth to stop herself from crying out. One of the younger men near the back gripped a chair leg like it could become a weapon if he believed hard enough. The priest stood in the aisle between the altar and the barred doors, his face pale beneath the candlelight.
Another three taps came.
Then a voice spoke from the other side.
"Open."
No growl. No snarl. No monstrous distortion. It was a man’s voice, calm and clear, perhaps even pleasant if heard in daylight over a market stall. That made it worse. A beast scraping at the walls could be feared as an animal. A beast that knocked and asked to be received had stepped into a different kind of terror.
No one answered.
The voice continued. "We do not want all of you."
The villagers looked at one another.
Kael’s eyes shifted slightly to the minimap. One red dot stood directly in front of the door. Several others waited in a loose half circle beyond it. More circled the church’s sides, patient and restless. The ones near the windows had stopped moving. Listening.
"Give us the one who is not one of you," the voice said. "The stranger. The one marked with our kin’s blood. Give him to us, and the rest of you may live until dawn."
The church changed.
Not loudly. Not at first. Fear rarely became betrayal all at once. It started in glances. One villager looked toward Kael, then away too quickly. Another followed. The old woman who had been praying louder after hearing him mutter about the wolves lowered her hands and stared at him as if he had become a door she wanted opened. A man with two children pressed against his side swallowed, eyes flicking between the barred entrance and the armored stranger seated on the pew.
The request was simple.
Too simple.
One life for many. One outsider for the village. One man they did not know, one man who had appeared from nowhere with weapons and armor and no connection to their dead, their homes, their gods, or their names. It was the sort of bargain frightened people wanted to believe in because the alternative was accepting that no bargain had ever existed.
The priest turned slowly toward Kael.
"My son," he said.
Kael looked at him from beneath the helmet.
The priest took that as permission to continue. Or perhaps he simply could not stop himself now that fear had given him a path that sounded like virtue. "You heard them. They ask only for you."
Kael remained silent.
The priest clasped his hands together, voice gaining strength as the villagers watched him. "You are strong. Stronger than anyone here. You came armed, armored, and fearless where we can only pray. Perhaps this is why the gods brought you among us. Not to hide with us, but to save us."
Several villagers murmured agreement.
The priest stepped closer, eyes shining with desperation disguised as reverence. "To give yourself for the lives of the innocent would be an honorable deed. A heroic deed. The gods would look upon such sacrifice with favor. Songs are not written for those who cling to life while others perish. They are written for those who give themselves so others may see the dawn."
Kael leaned back slightly.
"If you’re so sure about that," he said, "why not do it yourself?"
The priest stopped.
The question landed harder than it should have. His mouth opened, then closed. For a moment, the holy certainty on his face cracked and something smaller showed through. Human fear. Ugly, honest, and completely ordinary.
Kael tilted his head. "Why not sacrifice yourself if you want this glory and heroism?"
The villagers turned toward the priest.
The priest’s lips trembled once. "But they requested you."
"There it is," Kael said.
The answer spread discomfort through the church, but discomfort was weaker than terror. It did not last long.
"He’s right," a man near the back said, voice shaking. "They asked for the stranger."
"They said they’d leave us alone," another whispered.
A woman clutched her daughter tighter. "Please. Please, sir. We have children."
"You can fight," someone else said, taking one hesitant step forward. "We can’t. You said the walls wouldn’t protect us. So go. Lead them away."
The murmurs rose, overlapping into pressure.
"Save us."
"Please."
"You don’t belong here."
"They came because of you."
"If you stay, we all die."
The priest did not stop them. He lowered his eyes and let the village speak the cowardice he had wrapped in holy language. That was the part Kael disliked most. Not that they were afraid. Fear was natural. He had been afraid plenty of times. But the speed at which they turned survival into righteousness, the way they pushed a stranger toward the door while trying to make it sound like mercy, made something in his chest go cold.
Not that he had intended to stay inside the church forever.
He was going out anyway.
The notification had already made the truth clear. Once the moon rose, the wards would fail. The church offered minimal protection, not salvation. Staying inside with dozens of terrified villagers would only make things messier once the werewolves tore through the walls. If he wanted to survive the night or kill the One Eyed Red, he needed room. He needed movement. He needed the enemy outside, where his minimap could track them and where panicked villagers would not get in the way.
Still.
Being pushed felt different from choosing.
Kael sighed and stood.
The villagers recoiled at first, then hope flickered through them. Sick, trembling hope. The kind people felt when they had convinced themselves that a door closing behind someone else meant death would forget their address. Even the priest looked relieved, though he tried to hide it behind solemn sadness.
Kael picked up Brokk’s Hammer and returned it to his inventory. He flexed his fingers inside the gauntlets, checked the position of his belt, then walked down the aisle toward the barred doors.
The priest moved aside.
No one said thank you.
That was probably wise.
Kael lifted the wooden bar from the door and set it down.
Behind him, the villagers held their breath.
He opened the doors.
A young man stood outside.
Not a beast. Not the towering wolf-form Kael had expected. A young man in a plain dark coat, with clean features, pale skin, and hair tied loosely behind his head. He looked almost too normal beneath the first touch of moonlight, standing in the churchyard with both hands relaxed at his sides. Only his eyes were wrong. Not glowing fully yet, but carrying a red gleam that the dark could not swallow.
The minimap was clearer.
Red.
The young man smiled.
Behind Kael, the church doors began to close. He heard hurried hands pull them shut, the scrape of wood, the rushed panic of people sealing away the man they had just surrendered. The bar fell back into place from the inside.
Kael did not turn around.
The young man’s smile widened. "The Elder said you have the blood of our kin on your hands."
"And what of it?" Kael asked. "You have the blood of humans on yours."
The young man chuckled softly. It was not offended. If anything, he seemed pleased that Kael had answered without fear. "You see, we are a race that likes to hunt."
"And?"
"It is much more interesting when the prey struggles to survive instead of huddling in a place where no salvation can be found." The young man glanced past Kael toward the shut church doors, and the contempt in his eyes was almost bored. "Running and afraid prey is much more delicious than prey pissing itself in hiding."
Kael looked back once.
Through the gaps between the planks and window shutters, he could feel the eyes of the villagers on him. They were silent now. Intimidated. Ashamed perhaps, though shame would not save them either. The priest had probably already resumed praying, because men like him needed words to stand between themselves and what they had done.
Kael turned back to the young man.
"What do you want?"
"Run."
"You want me to run?" Kael tilted his head slightly.
His gaze moved past the young man. The minimap showed the truth better than sight did. Red dots surrounded the churchyard, more than twenty of them, spread through bushes, behind gravestones, near the treeline, along the road, and atop the low stone wall that circled the church grounds. Some had human shapes from what he could glimpse. Others crouched too low, too long-limbed, eyes reflecting red in the dark like coals buried under ash.
Kael almost laughed.
"Yes," the young man said. "Run. Give us the thrill of the hunt."
He pointed toward the forest beyond the village. Between the trees, darkness thickened under the rising moon. "Do you see the edge of this forest? Make it there, and you get to live."
"I don’t buy it," Kael said.
The young man’s smile thinned. "What do you mean?"
"That’s too easy. There’s a catch."
"Yes. We will be hunting and chasing you."
"Doesn’t sound that appealing." Kael looked down the road, then toward the forest. "It’s missing something."
The young man blinked. "Missing what?"
"A reward."
For the first time, the werewolf’s expression faltered.
Behind him, a few red eyes shifted in the dark.
"Isn’t survival a reward enough?" he asked.
"Aren’t you guaranteeing it once I reach the end?" Kael asked. "I give you the thrill, but all I get is survival? What if I’m just faster than you all?"
The young man stared.
Then he laughed.
It began politely and ended with a hint of teeth. "Good joke."
Kael did not laugh with him.
The werewolf’s amusement slowly faded when he realized Kael was serious. "Regardless," he said, eyes moving over Kael’s gear, "seeing that you are unarmed, how about a weapon? We have amassed quite a few from past hunts."
"Don’t need them." Kael raised both hands, the gauntlets catching a faint line of moonlight. "Got my fists."
The young man’s eyes fixed on the gauntlets.
His nostrils flared slightly.
"Runes," he said.
Kael lowered his hands.
The werewolf’s expression shifted into interest. "Hmm. We have something like that. How about it? Let me speak to the Elder."
"Sure," Kael said.
The young man turned and walked away.
Kael remained where he was, standing in front of the church that had closed its doors behind him. He could hear the villagers inside now, whispering, praying, arguing in low voices. One person sobbed. Another told them to be quiet. The priest said something about faith, and Kael had to resist the urge to turn around and kick the door open just to ask him whether faith sounded better with a lock between them.
He did not.
Instead, he watched the minimap.
The red dots stayed in position.
The young man’s dot moved toward the largest one near the treeline. That would likely be the Elder, unless the One Eyed Red was close enough to listen. Several werewolves shifted in the dark, impatient but controlled. None lunged. None tested him. They wanted the hunt properly started.
That, more than anything, told Kael they were dangerous.
Monsters that followed rules were always worse than monsters that only followed hunger.
The young man returned a short while later.
"The Elder agrees."
A notification appeared.
[You have made a deal with the Werewolves.]
[You will be hunted down by the band of Werewolves.]
[You will be given a chance to make some distance before the hunt begins.]
[Reach the edge of the forest or survive a full night.]
[Reward: Epic Rune - Frost.]
Kael read the notification.
Then he looked toward the forest.
The werewolf smiled, red beginning to brighten in his eyes. "Run, stranger."
Kael rolled his shoulders once.
Behind him, the people inside the church remained silent, waiting for his footsteps to leave.
"Fine," Kael said.
Then he started walking.
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Please read the author’s note i left at the bottom got something i’d like to share with you all