Chapter 47: Learn, and learn fast.

Zyra’s boots sank into the damp mulch of the jungle floor, vines whispering against her shoulders. Around her right wrist, Spice was in a coiled position, hissing lazily at every leaf. Her squirrel, who she had yet to name, was darting nervously from branch to branch ahead of her.

She was thinking about how often her parents had taken such trips into unknown lands when suddenly--Hunter shoved her.

Zyra hit the ground hard, palms scraping against stone. "What the hell...?" She flashed him a look of anger, ready to kill him.

His voice was calm, almost bored, as he said, "Rule one of surviving the post-apocalypse: Survive." He crouched, eyes gleaming. "Rule two: never turn your back on strangers. I may be your husband, but I am a stranger, nonetheless. Our contract does not forbid me from killing you. Rule three: always be ready for a fight."

Before she could protest, he lunged. His fist cut through the air like a hammer. Zyra rolled out of the way, as quickly as she could, scrambling for the knife in her pocket. She stumbled to her feet, raising her knife, but Hunter’s movements were too fast, too precise.

He pinched a nerve below on her arm, and it went limp. The knife fell to the ground. She still swung wildly but quickly found herself shoved into the dirt again.

"You’re weak," he said flatly. "Forget all that cute fighting meant for Soul maidens to show off. This is the real stuff. It has to be raw and desperate. Learn to fight like a beast."

Zyra’s chest burned with humiliation. She tried to rise, but he was already on her, pinning her wrist. Spice hissed furiously, launching itself at his arm. For a moment, she thought her companion might actually land a bite, but he swatted the snake aside with a single slap, sending it tumbling into the leaves.

Tyrant stepped on it immediately.

"Spice!" Zyra cried, panic flaring. The squirrel shrieked from above, tail puffed like a banner. It threw peanuts at Hunter, but dared not descend.

She kicked, clawed, anything to break free. He caught her ankle, twisted, and she cried out in pain. He turned, looming over her, merciless. Hunter leaned close, his breath against her ear. "You are too soft. You have fire and anger, but you are too weak. You will be eaten alive out here. Zyra, you need to learn and learn fast."

Her pulse thundered. Tears pricked her eyes, not from pain but from the realization that she was still powerless. Spice slithered back, bruised but defiant, hissing at Hunter with renewed fury. The squirrel darted down. hiding behind Spice, chattering angrily, throwing peanuts like tiny missiles.

It was absurd, incredibly comical that Hunter let go of Zyra’s arm and stepped back.

She staggered to her feet, trembling. "You call that training? You nearly killed me!"

He shrugged. "If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. This was mercy. The jungle, beasts, hunters and all the other bad things out here will not give you that. Around me, always be on guard because surprise attacks will be part of your training." He walked ahead of her. "I will lead, you guide."

Zyra wiped blood from her lip, fury simmering beneath the anger. "One day," she said, voice low, "I will be strong enough to beat you."

His smile was thin, dangerous. "Good. That’s the point."

********

Time had passed, and the afternoon sun was losing its bite. It was now almost four o’clock.

Zyra sat comfortably on a smooth tree stump, her chin resting in her hands as she watched Hunter. The man was completely focused, holding a pair of binoculars tightly against his eyes as he stared at the guards that were patrolling the stone walls of the Starise dungeon. Every few minutes, he would let out a low curse under his breath. He looked like a man who had successfully escaped prison, only to find a map leading him right back to his old cell.

And indeed, the map had led them here.

They had been sitting in the brush for two hours, waiting for the perfect moment to move. Hunter had strictly forbidden her from entering earlier, explaining that gazetted dungeon hunting was all about timing. It was done in shifts: early morning or late evening. During the dead of the afternoon, the brutal heat made the beasts angry, erratic, and highly stimulated. It was simply an easier way to die to fight a sweaty, annoyed monster.

"I still don’t know what you expect to find in there," Hunter grumbled, finally lowering the binoculars to glance at her before instantly snapping them back to his eyes. "This is a gazetted dungeon. It’s safe, regulated, and picked clean by the authorities. There aren’t many wild beasts left inside, honestly. If you want a real challenge, I know other places."

Inside Zyra’s mind, a familiar beep sounded.

[He is wrong,]

The System screen popped up in her vision. The digital display blinked, perfectly overlaying their current coordinates with the location from the map.

[I am detecting heat signatures. A lot of them. They are deep underground. The map is absolutely right.]

Zyra blinked the screen away and looked at the back of Hunter’s head. "You are wrong," she said simply.

Hunter snorted but didn’t argue.

"Have you been here many times before?" she asked, tilting her head.

Hunter nodded. Zyra pointed her mouth to the side, slightly amused by his silence. The man was like an old clam...he only opened his mouth to say a few words at a time. He clearly wasn’t the type to reveal his life story to anyone, but then again, they were practically strangers who had only known each other for just a day.

They waited for another half an hour as the shadows grew longer. Finally, Hunter stood up and slapped the dust off his trousers. "It’s time to go."

He tossed her a wide-brimmed hat that smelled faintly of old sweat and pointed at her face. "Keep the flying glasses on. Don’t let anyone see your eyes and especially that red mark. We will have find something to cover it temporarily."

Zyra nodded. To be even safer, she knelt down, grabbed a handful of dry dirt, and rubbed it all over her forehead and clothes. Hunter watched her coat herself in dust like a chicken taking a dirt bath. He raised an eyebrow, slightly amused.

Together, they walked through the arches of the entrance and joined the waiting area. The place was bustling. Dozens of other hunters were sitting around, sharpening knives, checking armor, or nervously chewing on dried meat. Along the walls, shops were set up, selling overpriced weapons, healing potions, and protective gear. It felt like a crowded marketplace.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Hunter’s entire vibe changed. He went completely cold. His shoulders stiffened, and his face turned into a wooden mask. When a few solo hunters walked up, smiling and suggesting they form a team for safety, Hunter didn’t even let them finish their sentences.

"No," he barked, walking right past them.

"Hey, come on, a larger team means better loot..."

"I said no," Hunter muttered, ignoring them so harshly that the hunters walked away cursing him.

"Hunter? Is that really you?"

A loud, booming voice cut through the noise of the waiting area. From the front of the crowd, a heavily armored, burly man stepped out. He was massive, with a thick scar running down his cheek. He was smiling warmly, but the smile didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. It was the kind of smile a wolf gives a sheep before dinner.

Hunter’s body froze for a fraction of a second. A deep, feral growl vibrated in his chest.

He bowed his head and whispered through his teeth, "Of all the rotten, miserable bad luck in the entire world!"