Chapter 45: First Hunt

The heavy, suffocating silence of the Jeju Forest’s southern border was broken only by the crunch of dead, black leaves beneath armored boots.

Crossing the perimeter first was the 1st Division, led directly by Ser Hetos.

The black-haired Sword Sage moved at the vanguard with smooth, measured strides, his dark cloak blending effortlessly into the twilight gloom cast by the obsidian canopy.

Right behind him marched three Sword Runners and five Sword Apprentices, their hands resting firmly on the hilts of their weapons, their eyes scanning the dark thickets for the slightest tremor.

Bringing up the rear were fifty foot soldiers armed with heavy long spears, razor-sharp rapiers, and broad cutting axes, moving in a tight, disciplined formation.

Their designated target was the herd of Red-Scaled Sheep—a species of peaceful livestock that had long since been twisted by unrefined abyssal mana radiation into nightmarish predators.

Unlike mundane livestock, these mutated beasts were covered in thick, interlocking crimson scales that acted like natural chainmail.

From their foreheads protruded three glowing grey eyes that could see through the dark mist, and their jaws harbored rows of jagged, flesh-tearing fangs.

Despite their terrifying physical mutations, the vast majority of the herd remained 1st-Tier Abominations—formidable against ordinary humans, but prime prey for a structured Superhuman hunting party.

Ser Hetos raised his gloved hand, signaling a halt.

The division froze instantly.

The soldiers dropped low into the underbrush, holding their breath as Ser Hetos pointed toward a clearing fifty paces ahead.

Standing alone near a cluster of blackened rocks was a solitary Red-Scaled Sheep, its three grey eyes scanning the dirt as it chewed on corrupted root bark.

A distinct, foul aura of 1st-Tier abyssal mana leaked passively from its crimson scales, confirming its rank.

’A straggler,’ Ser Hetos analyzed internally, his sharp eyes narrowing. ’Separated from its herd. An unusual mistake for a pack-reliant beast, but a perfect start for us.’

Hetos gave two sharp hand signals. Understanding the command instantly, the three Sword Runners and five Apprentices fanned out in a wide arc, slipping through the black trees to encircle the creature.

The fifty foot soldiers raised their long spears, sealing off the outer escape routes.

Ser Hetos could have easily ordered his subordinates to overwhelm the beast with numbers, but if the creature panicked and unleashed a distress howl, it could prematurely alert the remaining forty-nine abominations resting deeper in the southern sector.

He needed a clean, instantaneous kill.

Once he confirmed through his mana perception that the perimeter was completely locked down, Ser Hetos stepped out into the open clearing.

CLANG!

With a crisp metallic ring, the Sword Sage unsheathed his long steel blade.

He made no effort to suppress his presence, letting his sharp, heavy killing intent flood the clearing like a cold wave.

Sensing the sudden, suffocating pressure, the Red-Scaled Sheep snapped its head around.

Its three grey eyes locked onto the solitary human, glowing with sudden, feral rage.

Opening its wide, maw of razor-sharp fangs, the beast let out a high-pitched, ear-splitting screech that rattled the black leaves above, and charged!

BOOM!

The abomination’s heavy hooves tore through the soil, accelerating with terrifying speed as it aimed to shatter the human’s chest with its iron-hard skull.

In the Superhuman realm, stepping into the class of a Sword Sage marked a fundamental evolution in a warrior’s journey.

It was the class where a swordsman moved beyond mere physical speed and mana manipulation, attaining a deep, personal enlightenment with a single concept of nature.

Through this enlightenment, a Sword Sage forged their own unique style of swordsmanship—an original, True Sword Art.

But that came only after the Sword Sage advances into the Peak-stage.

To eventually ascend into the supreme class of a Sword Master, a Ranker was required to perfect and master the very art they had created.

And since he was still an Initial-stage Sword Sage, the True Sword Art Ser Hetos had conceptualized and refined over decades of battle was a borrowed True Sword Art known as the Dancing Shadow Blade Art.

As the Red-Scaled Sheep closed the distance in a heartbeat, Ser Hetos did not panic.

He waited until the beast’s fangs were mere inches from his throat before stepping slightly to the left, his movement as fluid as a ribbon catching the wind.

SWOOSH!

The abomination plowed harmlessly through thin air.

As it rocketed past him, Hetos’s blade flickered, executing a lightning-fast counter-slash across its flank.

SPURT!

A sharp metallic screech echoed as the steel blade cut straight through the hardened crimson scales, drawing a line of dark, corrupted blood.

The 1st-Tier Abomination winced in pain, digging its hooves into the dirt to slide to a halt.

Spurred by pure bloodlust, the creature spun around, its body surging with dark, chaotic mana as it lunged a second time, its movements far more violent and erratic.

"Foolish beast," Ser Hetos cold voice echoed.

He didn’t give the creature another second to act.

Hetos shifted his weight, channeling his refined mana directly into his ankles and blade, unleashing his signature art.

"Dancing Shadow Blade Art, First Form" Ser Hetos’ eyes flickered as he tightened his grip on his sword.

"Triple Shadow Step!"

ZIP! ZIP! ZIP!

In an instant, Ser Hetos’s physical body seemed to split into three identical, dark afterimages that fanned out around the charging beast.

The Red-Scaled Sheep hesitated for a fraction of a second, its three grey eyes darting wildly as it failed to discern which figure held the real physical weight.

Before its primitive mind could process the illusion, a single, blinding line of silver sword-light cut cleanly through the twilight mist.

FLASH!

SLASH!

The three afterimages converged back into a single figure standing five paces behind the abomination, his blade already halfway back into its scabbard.

The Red-Scaled Sheep froze mid-charge. A thin, dark line appeared around its thick neck, followed by a geyser of black blood.

With a heavy thud, its massive head detached from its shoulders, bouncing across the dead leaves before its heavy body collapsed uselessly onto the dirt.

The fight had lasted less than ten seconds.

Seeing the 1st-Tier beast slain so cleanly, the fifty soldiers and eight knights hiding in the tree line couldn’t suppress their excitement.

Low, disciplined cheers and grunts of admiration rippled through the ranks.

"Masterful strike, Lord Commander!"

"A clean kill!"

Without wasting a moment, Ser Hetos pulled a small crimson smoke flare from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the sky above the forest canopy.

A thick pillar of bright crimson smoke billowed high above the black leaves, signaling a successful initial kill and marking the clearing as a secured forward boundary.

Miles away, near the outskirts of the southern forest line, Craig sat comfortably atop Dark Sister’s lowered shoulder, his arm resting on his knee as he looked up into the twilight sky.

Seeing the vibrant pillar of crimson smoke rising above the trees, a cold, satisfied grin curled his lips.

"It seems Ser Hetos has successfully hunted down the first abomination," Craig murmured softly, his golden eyes reflecting the red haze in the distance.

He turned his head slightly, locking his gaze onto the armored figure standing beside him—Ser Meryln, the second native Sword Sage Commander of the Viscounty, who led the 2nd Division.

"It’s your turn now, Ser Meryln," Craig commanded, his voice sharp and expectant.

"Take your division, enter the southern sector, and begin the drive. Do not let a single sheep escape."

Ser Meryln bowed his head deeply, his hand gripping his heavy broadsword..

"By your command, Lord Viscount! The 2nd Division moves out!"