Chapter 8: Hunting

By the next morning, I discovered something deeply unsettling.

The villagers were looking at me differently.

Not suspiciously.

Not fearfully.

Not even with the wide-eyed reverence they had worn after watching me turn Agrus the Red into Agrus the Slightly Shorter.

No.

This was worse.

They looked proud.

Men I passed gave me approving nods.

Women smiled like they knew something amusing.

An elderly Wolfkin patted my shoulder once and said, “Strong work,” before walking away.

Strong work.

I stared after him.

I had spent enough years around people to recognize when a sentence had a second meaning riding underneath it like a drunk passenger refusing to pay fare.

And considering Wolfkin hearing was good enough to make whispering a recreational hazard, I had a very uncomfortable suspicion about exactly what the village had heard last night.

Apparently walls in Silverclaw were less “walls” and more “socially optimistic wooden suggestions.”

Wonderful.

I had accidentally become local entertainment.

I spent the day doing what had become my usual routine.

Helping.

It still felt strange how naturally I had slipped into village life.

Three days earlier, I had been a dead man with absolutely no useful wilderness skills.

Now I could repair fences, shape weapon shafts, split firewood, carry heavy timber, and somehow avoid making myself completely useless.

The damaged barricade from the Hyenakin attack needed serious attention, so I ended up there with several villagers, replacing shattered sections and reinforcing weak supports.

The midday sun shone through a thin cover of clouds, warm without being cruel. The air smelled of fresh-cut wood, churned soil, and smoke drifting from cooking fires deeper inside the village.

A few villagers nearby chuckled.

Then they stopped.

Not gradually.

Instantly.

That alone told me who had arrived before I even looked.

I turned my head.

Clyr was approaching.

She had changed into practical hunting clothes, fitted for movement, with her brown hair tied back loosely. Her wolf ears stood alert above her head, though one gave a tiny twitch the moment our eyes met.

And there it was.

The blush.

Small, but visible.

Excellent.

At least one of us was capable of shame.

She slowed when she reached the group.

Clyr stopped beside me.

For a woman who had faced armed slavers without backing down, she looked remarkably uncertain about speaking to a man holding a piece of wood.

“Caled.”

“Chief.”

Her eyes flicked toward the others.

Three villagers immediately looked away.

I nearly laughed.

Clyr cleared her throat.

“Am I interrupting?”

I looked at the timber balanced against my shoulder.

“Only my promising career in structural engineering.”

She frowned.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Neither do I, apparently.”

That got a tiny smile.

Progress.

She rubbed one thumb against the side of her palm, a nervous habit I had begun noticing.

I turned back to her.

“Of course. What do you need?”

She straightened slightly.

“It’s my turn to hunt today.”

I nodded.

Silverclaw seemed to rotate responsibilities depending on skill, availability, and who had recently been injured by enormous armored psychopaths.

Clyr continued, “I was thinking you could come with me.”

I stared at her.

She tried to look casual.

She failed so completely I almost admired the effort.

“With you?”

“If you want.”

“Chief, I would be delighted.”

“Then come.”

She turned.

I followed.

Naturally.

We stopped briefly near the weapon storage.

Clyr took her usual spear and wooden shield.

I chose a sword.

The moment my fingers wrapped around the hilt, that familiar sense returned.

Comfort.

Understanding.

Not complete knowledge exactly.

More like the weapon introduced itself directly to my nervous system.

Hello, I am a sword. Here is how not to embarrass yourself.

Very considerate.

We left Silverclaw through the repaired section of barricade and followed a narrow trail into the surrounding forest.

The change in scenery happened quickly.

One moment, the village was behind us.

The next, we were surrounded by trees so tall they looked like they had been competing over sunlight for centuries.

Huge trunks rose from moss-covered earth, their bark twisted into deep ridges. Thick branches spread overhead, overlapping into a green ceiling that filtered the daylight into shifting shafts of gold.

Vines hung from trees.

Flowers grew in clusters beneath exposed roots.

Strange blue insects drifted lazily between leaves, their wings catching the light like tiny pieces of glass.

Somewhere far above us, an animal called with a hollow musical sound I had never heard before.

I looked around.

“This forest is ridiculous.”

Clyr glanced over.

“Ridiculous?”

“In a complimentary way.”

I kept scanning the forest.

Every direction looked like somebody had taken an expensive fantasy painting and decided realism was for cowards.

As we continued deeper, I started noticing something else.

Clyr kept looking at me.

Not constantly.

She was too disciplined for that.

But every few minutes, I would catch her eyes drifting my way.

Then the instant I looked back, she suddenly found a tree very interesting.

The third time it happened, I let it go.

The fourth time, I became curious.

The fifth time, my personality won.

“You know,” I said, “if you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to start assuming I’m attractive.”

Clyr nearly walked into a branch.

She stopped and looked at me.

“I was not staring.”

“Of course not.”

“I was checking whether you were keeping up.”

“I’m three steps behind you.”

“Exactly.”

“That explanation has several structural weaknesses.”

She turned away.

Wolfkin ears were wonderfully terrible at keeping secrets.

I grinned and followed.

For another stretch, we moved without speaking.

Eventually Clyr raised one hand.

I stopped.

Her whole posture changed.

Playfulness vanished.

She lowered herself and motioned me down.

I crouched beside her inside a patch of tall grass.

Ahead of us, maybe fifty meters away, something enormous moved between the trees.

At first, I thought it was a boulder.

Then the boulder snorted.

A huge boar stepped into view.

And by huge, I do not mean “large pig.”

I mean somebody had apparently taken an ordinary boar, fed it rage for breakfast, and then let it spend several years lifting other boars for exercise.

Its shoulders came nearly to my chest.

Dark brown bristles formed a thick coat over a body built like a wooden wagon stuffed entirely with muscle. Two curved tusks jutted from its jaw, long enough that I immediately stopped thinking about bacon and started thinking about funeral arrangements.

Its hooves tore at the earth while it rooted among the leaves.

I leaned toward Clyr.

“That’s a boar?”

“A Brown Boar.”

“Creative naming survives across dimensions.”

She ignored me.

“They’re vicious. Strong too.”

“I noticed the portable battering rams attached to its face.”

Clyr gestured subtly toward it.

“It can charge extremely fast, but its weight works against it. Once it commits to a direction, it has difficulty changing course sharply.”

I nodded.

“Understood.”

She looked at me.

“That’s all?”

“What were you expecting?”

“A joke.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

Her mouth twitched.

We moved out of the grass carefully.

Clyr kept her shield raised and spear ready.

I drew my sword.

The metallic whisper of the blade leaving its sheath carried farther than I wanted.

The Brown Boar’s head snapped toward us.

Tiny dark eyes fixed on our position.

Its ears angled forward.

I raised my free hand.

“Hello.”

Clyr looked at me.

“Did you just greet it?”

“Manners cost nothing.”

The boar scraped one hoof violently across the ground.

Dirt sprayed backward.

I lowered my hand.

“Apparently he disagrees.”

The beast snorted.

Then charged.

Fast.

Much faster than something shaped like a tavern should have been capable of moving.

The earth trembled beneath its hooves.

Clyr broke right.

I stepped left.

And immediately, that same strange clarity filled my head.

Its movement became obvious.

Not slower.

Just readable.

The angle of its shoulders.

The placement of each hoof.

The direction of its head.

The path its own weight was forcing it to follow.

I shifted one step sideways.

The boar thundered past me.

Close enough that wind rolled against my clothes.

Clyr avoided it just as cleanly.

The animal tried to turn.

Badly.

Its hooves tore trenches through the dirt as momentum dragged it forward.

It slammed shoulder-first into a tree.

The trunk shook violently.

Leaves rained down.

I stared.

“That tree has officially joined the hunt.”

Clyr moved beside me.

“It will recover quickly.”

“The tree?”

“The boar.”

“Less comforting.”

The Brown Boar shook itself and turned.

Clyr lifted her spear.

“The hide is extremely thick. Striking the body wastes effort.”

“Good to know.”

“Aim for the eyes.”

I looked at the furious animal.

“Ah. The universal weakness.”

“What?”

“Eyes. Very popular design flaw.”

The boar charged again.

I felt energy stir inside me.

This time I recognized it.

Berserker Aura.

I released the restraint.

Heat surged through my body.

Crimson power spread across my skin.

My heartbeat hit harder.

My muscles expanded, strength filling my limbs until the sword felt almost weightless.

Clyr glanced at me.

Even after seeing it last night, she still looked impressed.

I had no time to appreciate the appreciation.

The boar was coming.

I ran directly toward it.

Clyr shouted, “Caled!”

“Trust the terrible idea!”

At the last moment, I jumped.

The boar’s tusks passed beneath me.

I drove my sword downward.

The blade punched directly into its left eye.

The beast screamed.

Not squealed.

Screamed.

Its head whipped violently sideways.

I yanked the sword free before the motion could tear it from my hands.

Clyr rushed in from the other side.

She planted one foot, launched herself upward, and drove her spear into the boar’s remaining eye.

Another roar shook the forest.

The animal thrashed blindly.

Its head slammed into both of us.

I felt the impact across my ribs.

The world rotated.

I landed several meters away, boots carving through leaves as I fought to stay upright.

Clyr hit the ground and rolled, shield protecting her shoulder.

The boar spun wildly between us.

Blind.

Bleeding.

Still terrifyingly alive.

I watched it stomp.

Lower its head.

Brace its legs.

Then something clicked.

That stance.

That force.

The way its power gathered through the hind legs before transferring forward.

I understood it.

Of course I did.

My body had watched the technique twice.

Apparently that was enough.

“Oh, this ability is going to get me into so much trouble.”

Clyr looked toward me.

“What?”

“Nothing responsible.”

I planted one foot.

Then the other.

Lowered my center of gravity.

And pushed.

The world lunged backward.

I shot forward with explosive force.

Not running.

Charging.

Exactly like the boar.

Except I had better posture and fewer tusks.

My shoulder slammed into its side.

The impact sounded like someone dropping a wardrobe off a roof.

The Brown Boar left the ground.

Actually left it.

Several hundred kilograms of murderous pork flew sideways and crashed through a patch of brush.

I stumbled to a stop.

My eyes widened.

“Okay.”

Clyr stared at me.

I looked at her.

“I stole the pig attack.”

“You copied its charge?”

“I prefer ‘borrowed without consent.’”

The boar struggled upright.

Clyr recovered first.

She pulled her spear free from where it had fallen, then looked at the animal.

Then at me.

A decision flashed across her face.

She threw the spear.

Not at the boar.

At me.

I caught it automatically.

“Little warning next time.”

“Finish it!”

“Ah. Better context.”

The Brown Boar charged blindly toward the sound of our voices.

I stepped forward.

Waited.

Closer.

Closer.

Its mouth opened as it roared.

There.

I drove the spear forward with both hands.

The point entered through its mouth.

The force of the charge pushed the shaft backward, but Berserker Aura held me in place.

The spear buried deep.

The boar’s roar broke into a wet choking sound.

Its legs stumbled.

Momentum carried it another few steps.

Then the massive body collapsed.

The ground shook.

Leaves jumped.

Silence returned gradually to the forest.

I stood there breathing hard, both hands still wrapped around the spear.

Then I looked down at the dead monster.

“Well.”

Clyr approached.

I pulled the spear free and offered it back to her.

“That was significantly easier than the advertising suggested.”

She took the weapon.

“Because you are significantly stronger than most people.”

“Ah. So I’m ruining the difficulty balance.”

“The what?”

“Nothing.”

She examined the boar.

“Normally a Brown Boar takes several hunters.”

I rested my sword on my shoulder.

“Good news. Today you brought one Caled.”

Clyr gave me an amused look.

“Yes.”

I pointed at the carcass.

“Now comes the real enemy.”

She frowned.

“What?”

“Logistics.”

I gestured broadly at the enormous dead beast.

“How exactly are we carrying this chunky gentleman home? Because I’m strong, but I’m not emotionally prepared to wear a pig as a backpack.”

Clyr blinked.

Then smiled.

“We aren’t carrying it.”

“Excellent. I was hoping you’d say we leave it here and tell everyone the forest ate our homework.”

She crouched beside the boar.

I watched as she placed one palm against its bristled side.

A dark point appeared beneath her hand.

At first, it looked like a drop of black ink suspended in the air.

Then it expanded.

Slowly.

Silently.

A sphere of darkness grew outward from her palm, swallowing the boar piece by piece.

I stared.

The darkness engulfed the entire carcass.

Then contracted.

And the boar vanished.

“Excuse me.”

She stood.

“What?”

“Where did several hundred kilograms of angry breakfast go?”

Clyr held up one hand.

“Dimensional Storage.”

I stared at her.

“You have an inventory.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. Continue before I become jealous.”

She brushed dirt from her knee.

“It is my skill. I can place objects inside a separate storage space and retrieve them later.”

I slowly nodded.

“That is disgustingly convenient.”

“There are limits.”

“Of course. Reality saw you having fun.”

She ignored that.

“I’m the only person in Silverclaw who can use it. But because my skill manifested this way, I never developed a special combat skill.”

I looked at the place where the boar had disappeared.

“How much can you fit inside?”

“That was close to my limit.”

“Weight?”

“More like the amount of magic needed to maintain what I store.”

“So bigger things cost more.”

“Yes.”

“And if you fill it completely?”

“I can’t place anything else inside until I remove something or recover enough magic.”

I nodded.

“Still incredible.”

She laughed.

Clyr cleared her throat.

“Well.”

“Well?”

“Our responsibility is finished.”

I glanced at the empty clearing.

“Pig successfully relocated to another dimension. Mission accomplished.”

“Yes.”

She shifted her weight.

“So... perhaps we could do something before going back.”

I studied her.

The blush.

The avoiding eye contact.

The ears twitching like they were trying to send emergency signals.

My smile arrived on its own.

“Chief.”

“What?”

“You had a second plan.”

Her eyes widened.

“No.”

“That answer was too fast.”

“I only thought of it now.”

“Liar.”

“I am not lying.”

“You brought me alone into a beautiful forest.”

“It was a hunt.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You needed experience.”

“Very thoughtful.”

She looked increasingly flustered.

I stepped closer.

“You sneaky woman.”

Her face turned brighter.

“I am not sneaky.”

“You absolutely planned something.”

She looked at me.

Then away.

Then, with visible effort, forced herself to meet my eyes again.

“There is a river nearby.”

I waited.

Clyr swallowed.

“We could bathe there.”

I raised an eyebrow.

She added quietly, “Together.”

Ah.

There it was.

The innocent sentence wearing absolutely no innocent clothing.

I leaned closer.

“Just the two of us?”

Her ears dipped slightly.

“Yes.”

“Chief, I feel obligated to warn you about something.”

She looked nervous.

“What?”

“If you get into a river alone with me, bathing is not going to remain the only activity on the schedule.”

Her entire face became red.

Not pink.

Not flushed.

Red.

She stared at me for several seconds.

Then, instead of retreating, she took a small step closer.

“I know.”

That answer actually caught me off guard.

Clyr looked down for a heartbeat.

Then back up.

Her voice dropped.

“That was what I was hoping for.”

I stared at her.

Well.

Look at this.

The village chief who had nearly combusted from embarrassment when she knocked on my door last night was apparently evolving.

And much like everything else in Aphrodasia, she was evolving dangerously fast.

This girl was getting bold.