Chapter 67: Second Hunt [1]

Damian’s face instantly hardened, his dark eyebrows knitting together into a stern frown.

He looked down at his sister with a heavy, uncompromising glare.

"Annie, stop this immediately," Damian warned, his tone dropping into a sharp, commanding register.

"Do not ever make such dangerous claims without absolute, undeniable evidence. We are guests residing inside the Lord Viscount’s personal castle.

Accusing his senior staff—especially the Head Maid who oversees the entire household—with zero proof will not be tolerated. If those words reach the wrong ears, it could bring ruin upon both of us."

Annie puffed out her cheeks, grumbling under her breath at her brother’s harsh lecture.

Knowing she wouldn’t win this argument, she pulled the plush blanket over her head, curled into a tight ball on the edge of the large bed, and stubbornly shut her eyes to sleep.

Seeing her fall silent, Damian heaved a long, quiet sigh of relief.

He turned away from the bed and walked over to the tall, arched window overlooking the quiet, moonlit courtyard of Heaven’s Net Castle.

The silver moonlight spilled into the darkened room, illuminating his sharp features.

Reaching down, Damian slowly unbuttoned his tunic and pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto a nearby wooden chair.

In the pale moonlight, his broad, deeply sculpted upper body was exposed—along with the horrifying array of countless scars that littered his skin.

It was a jagged tapestry of violent survival.

Thick, raised sword marks slashed across his chest and shoulders, intermingled with deep, jagged claw marks from wild mana beasts, pitted bite marks, and dark, faded tissue from ancient internal bruises.

This was a body that bore absolute, undeniable proof of his brutal, unforgiving life as a street-dwelling Mercenary Superhuman.

For years, Damian had walked through a sea of blood.

Dozens of rival mercenaries, ruthless bandits, and bloodthirsty monsters had met their end before his cold blade.

He felt no remorse, no guilt, and no compassion for those he had slain, for every single strike he had delivered was driven by one singular, desperate purpose: keeping his little sister alive in a world that sought to devour the weak.

’I spent my entire life fighting just to survive... just to protect Annie,’ Damian thought, staring out at the distant, glowing moon as he gently ran his calloused fingers over a deep scar on his forearm.

’But now... things are different.’

His dark eyes flickered with a quiet, fierce fire.

For the first time in his life, he was no longer fighting merely out of desperate survival, nor was he fighting solely for his sister.

He was now fighting for someone else—the extraordinary man who had reached down into the dark abyss, embraced him with open hands, and placed absolute trust in his strength.

Viscount Craig von Darkstar had not only granted him leadership over his personal, elite military company—the newly christened Crimson Dragon Order—but had also bestowed upon him a glorious, immortal title:

The First Dragonknight.

Damian crossed his legs and sat down on the cold floor near the window, closing his eyes to begin his nightly mana meditation.

For a full hour, he circulated his inner energy according to the conceptual principles Craig had revealed, refining his core and sharpening his mind.

Once his spirit was calm and centered, Damian stood up, walked over to the massive bed, and quietly slid under the covers beside the fast-asleep Annie.

Within moments, heavy exhaustion claimed him, and he drifted into a peaceful slumber.

Hours slipped by in quiet, steady motion as the silver night gave way to the soft, golden rays of dawn.

Morning arrived rapidly over the Myrain Viscounty, painting the sky in vibrant shades of amber and rose.

It was the final day—the decisive hunt of the Craig Festival.

Inside the sprawling master bedchamber of Heaven’s Net Castle, Craig stood before a full-length, gilded mirror.

He was meticulously dressing himself in his newly tailored crimson battle suit.

The form-fitting armor was crafted from lightweight, high-grade monster hide reinforced with intricate dark-steel plating along the shoulders, chest, and vambraces.

Deep red fabric draped elegantly over his tall, muscular frame, matching the striking crimson shade of his hair and casting an aura of undeniable nobility and dangerous elegance.

Knock. Knock.

A soft, rhythmic knock resounded from the heavy oak door of his chamber.

Without turning away from his reflection as he adjusted the leather straps along his gauntlets, Craig spoke calmly.

"Who is it?"

"It is Arya, My Lord," a pleasant, sweet voice echoed from the other side.

"Come in," Craig permitted smoothly.

The door swung open with a quiet creak, and Head Maid Arya Benova stepped gracefully into the room.

A bright, innocent smile lit up her polished face.

Her uniform was immaculate, not a single crease out of place as she clasped her hands together in front of her waist and offered a deep, respectful bow.

"Good morning, Your Lordship," Arya greeted warmly, her tone melodic and dripping with gentleness.

"May the dawn bring glory to the Seventh Successor. Words cannot express how deeply inspired the entire household has been by your miraculous leadership.

Your outstanding performances across the Myrain Viscounty have solidified your legendary status among the people. I pray for your eternal long life, health, and prosperity."

Craig offered a faint, amused smirk, casting a subtle glance toward her through the mirror’s reflection.

"Thank you for the glowing praises, Arya. What brings you to my quarters so early in the morning?"

Arya tilted her head slightly, her bright eyes twinkling with soft curiosity. "I heard whispers from the guards that My Lord plans on entering the forest to hunt once again today?"

Craig nodded casually, picking up his refined arming sword and sliding it into the leather scabbard at his hip with a crisp clack.

"That is correct. Today will be the final hunt of the festival. The Jeju Forest’s central C-level danger zone will be cleared of its high-tier threats today.

As for the remaining low-level danger zones, I will leave those for the local defense forces to handle at a later date. I have far more pressing political and military matters to settle back in the capital."

He turned his head slightly, his dark golden eyes locking onto her face with an unreadable, razor-sharp gaze.

"Is there a problem with that, Arya?"

Arya immediately shook her head, placing a delicate hand over her chest as if flustered by the thought. "Oh, no! Not at all, My Lord! I would never dare question your divine itinerary. I simply came to offer my humble blessings and wish the Lord Viscount the absolute best of luck on the hunting grounds today."

Before the conversation could linger any further, heavy, armored footsteps echoed rapidly down the corridor outside.

The tall, imposing figure of Ser Hughway stepped through the open doorway.

The veteran knight was fully draped in his gleaming, heavy steel plate armor, his massive longsword secured to his back and his crimson cape trailing behind him.

His face was set in a cold, battle-ready expression.

Ser Hughway placed his right fist over his chest, bowing deeply toward Craig.

"My Lord Viscount," Ser Hughway announced in a booming, resonant voice that shattered the morning quiet.

"The vanguard knights, Ser Damian, and the personal strike forces have fully assembled in the main courtyard. Everyone is armed, supplied, and ready for your command."