Chapter 87: Grotesque Face
It was past noon, and although the sun dominated the sky, its light failed to penetrate the ambient cold. The air remained icy, saturated with that strange mist that enveloped everything, as if it were holding winter in its arms.
Dylan moved silently, knees slightly bent, muscles supple, focused. The mist thickened in irregular patches, sometimes closing around them like a clammy hand. He felt his breath shorten reflexively, his eyes scanning the shadows, the stones, the weapons planted in the ground like warnings.
Ahead of him, Maggie led the way. Calm. Precise. Steady steps. Her axe on her back, ready to speak for her.
Behind, Élisa closed the trio, her daggers at the ready, golden eyes piercing every movement between the tombstones. A born huntress. Each of her steps seemed to anticipate the terrain’s traps.
This was their second hunt of the day.
The first hadn’t been easy. But they had held firm. The three of them had proven that taking down a third-rank demonic beast was possible. Difficult, violent, but doable.
The problem was, the day wouldn’t last forever. And the higher the sun rose, the more the zone’s atmosphere seemed... tense. As if the mist itself was becoming nervous.
They needed a second target. Quickly.
But they still had to choose it. It took them long minutes of observation, crouched between the stones, analyzing tracks, half-visible movements in the mist. Because these beasts weren’t stupid. Some were even cunning. They had been hunting here far longer than them.
And this territory was their domain.
Facing them head-on would be suicidal. They would have to lure them. Make them move. Flush them out. Then strike.