The Hunt Begins

Before dawn, the hour of the rooster had yet to break.

Deep within the Hartvalt Grand Castle, in the former Grand Duke's private training room, a heavy, resonant sound of strikes echoed through the space in a steady rhythm.

BOOM—! CRACK—!

The sound of something tearing through empty air made the entire room vibrate.

Balgrim Hartvalt hurled his sword to the floor with a thunderous clang.

His bear-like frame, covered in muscle so dense it made his age irrelevant, stood like a living wall. Countless scars—carved from the blood of monsters and barbarian tribes—twitched and writhed with every movement.

"Huuuuu—."

What he held was less a sword and more a slab of iron too thick and heavy to call anything else. A massive greatsword the height of a grown man.

Balgrim swung it like a practice blade, sweating since morning.

Then—

Screee—!

The thick ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠iron door of the training room slid open, and someone stepped inside.

Balgrim dropped the greatsword to the floor with a crash and turned his head.

"What business brings you here at this hour?"

Balgrim's beast-like eyes locked onto the visitor.

The figure who entered was Kyle.

He strolled in with lazy, unhurried steps.

"Since you won't believe it if I say I came to greet you, I'll get straight to the point."

Then he dragged a wooden chair from the side of the room and collapsed into it with a heavy thud.

"Changing the duel venue from the public training arena to the sealed one. That was something His Excellency Grand Duke Roderick didn't want to humiliate himself over, so I had no intention of pressing the issue."

Kyle said it with a grimace, looking bored.

"But here's the thing, Grandfather. I spent the entire day yesterday in that sealed training arena, and the only one who crawled in to challenge me was Leina."

Balgrim's thick eyebrows twitched.

"The second day, two days ago, there were at least three. But yesterday, besides Leina, not a single one even had the guts to fight."

The corner of Kyle's mouth twisted upward.

It was mockery.

"Cowards are already starting to scatter. Looks like this Grand Duchy has more yellow-bellies than I expected."

"Yellow-bellies."

"Yes. The ones who swore they'd kill me, who were foaming at the mouth to do it. The ones who set up their challenge mats, declaring they'd judge me—a mere bastard—and put me to shame. All because they couldn't stand the sight of themselves being crushed and left face-down on the ground."

A cold contempt passed through his green eyes.

"But now they're backing away just because they don't want to leave behind the humiliating scene of losing?"

Kyle scoffed.

"Isn't that pathetic?"

Balgrim let out a short, sharp snort after hearing that.

"Tch. You're right. A pathetic bunch."

Balgrim didn't bother hiding his own contempt, agreeing with Kyle's words.

"The ones who bared their fangs, saying they wanted to kill me—now they're tucking their tails because they're afraid their own teeth might break. That's not something a northern knight should do."

Kyle nodded.

"Exactly. But that's precisely the problem."

"A problem?"

"Yes. I have to fight hard, every single day, for a whole month."

Kyle looked down at his own hands.

"Fights where flesh tears and blood flows. That's what I need."

Then he clenched his fist.

"But if the prey won't come out of their holes, I'm left with nothing to do."

The Blood God's Power grows through endless combat and wounds.

If he rests even a day, an entire month of precious time is wasted.

Strength is forged in the fire of battle—not something that blooms like a flower in a greenhouse.

"So what do you suggest? Are you going to lift the restriction and let mid-level knights challenge me too?"

"That's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fine too."

Kyle shrugged.

"Or it doesn't matter if five or ten mid-level knights swarm me at once."

At Kyle's words, Balgrim nodded.

"I understand your meaning."

Balgrim continued.

"Starting today, I'll arrange it so that multiple mid-level knights can challenge you at once. I'll make sure high-level knights are tempted to come after you too."

Balgrim's eyes flashed coldly.

"But remember this. Bearing all of that is your burden alone."

"I know."

Kyle grinned—sharp and dangerous.

"After all, they're barely even worthy of being called knights. If they swarm you as a group, that'd be just fine."

Kyle spoke with genuine anticipation in his voice.

"I just hope there are fighters out there who can actually wound me with their current bodies."

His tone showed no fear of injury.

On the contrary—he was looking forward to it.

Fights where his flesh tears and his blood flows.

The monstrous power that grows from within those fights.

That was what Kyle was right now.

Balgrim tried to keep his expression stern as he looked at Kyle's smile.

But Kyle had seen it.

'His mouth was about to curve up into a fond smile, but he stopped himself.'

He had been fighting the urge to smile warmly, and Kyle chose not to point it out.

"I'll take it as a given that you'll set the stage for me, and be off."

"Go on, then."

— — *

Stepping out of the training room, the clock read six in the morning.

The morning in the north was cold.

But the air Kyle felt as he walked the Grand Castle corridors was not simple chill.

It was naked fear.

Scrub— scrub—

A maid scrubbing the corridor floor since early morning spotted Kyle.

In that instant, her hand froze.

"……!"

She hastily bowed her head.

The other servants were the same.

The closer Kyle's footsteps came, the more visibly rigid their bodies became.

They had feared him before too.

But more than that, they had despised him.

The drunken troublemaker of the Grand Duchy, who threw his weight around after getting drunk.

But the fear now was of a different kind.

Their eyes have changed.

Kyle strolled down the corridor lazily, observing their reactions.

It wasn't simple disgust.

It wasn't discomfort either.

It was overwhelming fear.

And no wonder.

The incident of beheading Knight Baren Kreuz's head without a second thought, right in the middle of the training arena.

That nightmare was seared into the minds of the servants and maids as a traumatic memory.

The political fact that what he said was "treason"—that meant nothing to them.

Only one proposition occupied their thoughts:

'That madman who cuts down even knights without mercy—will he cut down our necks too?'

To that was added the secret whispers already spreading through the castle.

The former Grand Duke Balgrim had publicly rebuked the current Grand Duke Roderick, praising Kyle.

Because of that, rumors spread that Balgrim had marked Kyle as the true heir.

Grand Duke Roderick must have strained himself to suppress those rumors.

But how could he seal the mouths of every person in that place?

In the eyes of the servants, Kyle was already shimmering as the next power holder who could decide their life or death at any moment.

But Kyle placed little value on such rumors.

Politics this and whispers that—it's all just talk in the end.

What mattered was power.

Overwhelming, absolute power.

Everything only had meaning when backed by strength.

From the perspective of the Blood Cult Leader who once ruled with an iron fist and held the world beneath his feet, the laws of this world boiled down to two core principles.

Disobey, and you die.

Obey, and you are rewarded.

That was enough.

Then—

"Is that...?"

"Could it really be...?"

The whispers of servants and maids pressed against the walls reached Kyle's ears.

Kyle's gaze turned toward the front of the corridor.

Tap. Tap.

Measured, dignified footsteps.

There, walking toward him, was Leina Garyen in her immaculate formal attire.

She approached until she stood before Kyle.

Without hesitation, she dropped to one knee.

Then she bowed her head, greeting him with perfect formality.

"Leina, knight of your command, pays her morning respects."

The entire corridor went frozen.

The eyes of the servants and maids widened.

Someone swallowed their breath.

Someone nearly dropped the rag they were holding.

The greatest beauty of the north.

The flower of the Golden Lion Knight Brigade.

Genius swordswoman Leina Garyen.

She was kneeling before the bastard eldest son of the Hartvalt family—openly, without a shred of pretense—and calling him her lord.

Kyle let out a quiet laugh.

"Already greeting me with such formality?"

Leina answered with her head still bowed.

"It is only proper."

"You must have had a rough night. Taking in the blood energy was probably quite painful."

The corner of Kyle's mouth lifted.

Leina's shoulders flinched ever so slightly.

But she quickly regained her composure.

"It was bearable."

"Really? Did you get used to it at night? Or are you lying?"

At Kyle's words, Leina lifted her head.

Her clear brown eyes.

A faint, crimson glow flickered briefly in their depths.

The Blood Mist Spiritual Transformation Heart Method had already consumed all of her aura.

It had become a new power within her.

Right after surviving the trial and gaining strength.

Perhaps because of that, Leina's voice was colder than yesterday.

"I want to try my sword."

"Oh?"

Kyle's eyes narrowed.

"Annoyed?"

Leina didn't hesitate.

"I simply want to cut down your enemies."

From somewhere along the corridor, a stifled gasp echoed.

Kyle laughed low.

"I understand."

He looked down at the kneeling Leina.

"I also want to slaughter every fighter who dares to challenge me."

Their exchange was quiet.

But its content was enough to freeze the entire corridor.

"You're not going to step up, Derek?"

From around the corner of the corridor, the figure who had been secretly watching this scene went rigid.

Derek Hartvalt.

Kyle's cousin.

Kyle's green eyes locked onto him with pinpoint accuracy.

Then Derek's face went pale and his fingertips began to tremble.

"Why are you lurking around watching? Come out and face me like a man."

Derek tried to run.

But his legs wouldn't move, paralyzed by fear.

In the end, he walked out from behind the corner with a stiff expression.

"K-Kyle, cousin."

A form of address he would never have used before.

But now it flowed naturally from Derek's mouth.

Kyle waved his hand as if pleased.

"You're up early, cousin."

Derek forced a smile.

"Ah, haha… Yes. That is…."

"It's convenient we ran into each other."

Kyle slowly approached him.

"Today is the sixth day since I first received a challenge."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Derek's face hardened further.

"But there are no challengers."

Kyle let out a light sigh.

"I'm bored."

Glk!

Derek's Adam's apple bobbed.

"I-I see."

"Why don't you be my opponent?"

Kyle smiled.

"You've been training in swordsmanship too, haven't you? You're a branch of the Hartvalt family, so their blood does run in you. Let's have a proper duel—me and you. A truly blood-soaked, real warrior's duel."

Derek's face turned the color of dirt.

The words training arena, Kyle, and duel connected into one in his mind.

In Derek's head, Roman—his face splattered with blood—and Baren—whose head had been severed—and Leon—whose arm had been cut off—flashed before his eyes.

'Am I insane?! Why would I fight that brat!'

But he couldn't say it out loud.

Derek stammered and forced a laugh.

"H-Haha. You're joking, cousin. How could I, a mere branch, possibly dare to face the direct-heir you? Besides, I have urgent business—I was summoned by Father…."

It was an excuse that made no sense.

But before Derek could even finish speaking, he turned his body.

And he began to disappear into the opposite end of the corridor, practically fleeing.

Kyle watched his back.

"Coward."

Just two words.

But they landed squarely in Derek's back.

Thud!

Derek clenched his teeth.

But he didn't stop.

'I have to run!'

The fear was greater than shame.

His life was worth more than his pride.

And so Derek fled.

Kyle watched his retreating figure and let out a short snort.

"What a sight."

He looked back at Leina.

"I told Grandfather, but challengers don't seem to be popping up easily."

Leina remained kneeling on one knee, lifting her head.

"As you command."

A cruel smile spread across Kyle's lips.

"Leina."

"Yes, my lord."

"You're going to have to do some hunting for me."

Leina's eyes held a quiet, cold light.

"Hunting?"

"For those who lack the guts to step forward and challenge ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on their own."

The cruel smile on Kyle's lips grew even more chilling.

"We'll have to force them to crawl into the training arena and draw their swords."

A faint crimson glow shimmered across his green eyes.

"If you go out, the bait will be plenty."