Smoke still curled from the embers of the battlefield, a choking reminder of the chaos that had just ended. The orcs lay slaughtered, the High Orc reduced to a crumpled heap of flesh and bone. Yet, among the victorious, there was no cheer. No relief. Only silence.
Aden sat alone at the edge of the ruins, the blood dried on his face, his hands trembling—not from pain, but from memory. He couldn't recall the fight in full. Just flashes. Screams. Steel on flesh. And something else—something primal clawing at the inside of his chest.
Across the camp, the hounds had gathered. Their wounds were being tended, but their eyes remained fixed on Aden. Whispers broke the silence.
"Did you see his face? It wasn't human."
"He cut down the High Orc like it was nothing… like he didn't care."
"He attacked anything that moved. What if next time it's us?"
One of the younger hounds, Ilric, whispered, "It felt like he wasn't even there. Like it was something else wearing his skin."
"Something else?" another scoffed, "Don't be stupid. That was Vasco. Don't forget who he is."
Their captain, Garron, who'd remained quiet throughout, finally spoke. "We don't speak of what we don't understand. He lived, we lived. That's all that matters tonight."
The air between them hung heavy, the trust that once united them trembled under the weight of fear.
One hound, Gregor, a veteran—watched Aden longer than the rest. He didn't speak, but his eyes betrayed thought. Calculation.
Far from them, in the shadows near the treeline, the spy crouched. His fingers moved with precision, carving a second signal into the bark of a tree: Phase Two: Initiated.
He turned his head, watching the others with a detached interest. The mission had always been simple—observe Vasco, exploit his instability, and eliminate him if he became too dangerous.
But he hadn't expected this.
"He's not unstable," the spy muttered under his breath. "He's a monster."
That night, as the others slept restlessly, Aden was awake.
He stared into the flames of their dwindling campfire, thoughts spiraling.
Then the world shifted.
He blinked and found himself once more in the field of blood. The sky above pulsed with red lightning, and across from him stood the same figure—the cursed swordsman from his vision.
But this time, it spoke.
"You fear what you've become," it said, its voice like steel dragged across bone. "But it is not fear that will save you. It is acceptance."
Aden tried to speak, but his voice wouldn't come.
Behind the figure, he saw himself—Park Hyun. The man he used to be. Blood streamed from his eyes, his mouth stitched closed. He reached toward Aden, trembling.
Aden ran to him.
But just as he was about to reach out, Park Hyun crumbled into a mass of blood, vanishing into the soaked earth.
Aden fell to his knees, eyes wide with horror.
The cursed figure stepped closer, casting a shadow over him. "This is the path," it whispered. "Betrayal. Rage. Blood. That is what your name means now."
He awoke with a gasp, sweat pouring down his face.
The fire had dimmed. The hounds still slept—or pretended to. But one was missing.
He heard a rustle near the supply crates.
Slowly, silently, Aden rose.
He moved through the shadows and spotted the spy—rifling through the supplies with a dagger in hand, slipping something into one of the water flasks.
Aden's breath hitched.
A spark flickered in his chest—not of fear, but of clarity.
He was being hunted not by monsters alone.
And now, Aden would listen closely.
Because the next time betrayal came?
He would bare his teeth first.