'Half of their souls have already withered, and not even the soul itself realizes it—such is the blindness of ignorance.'
Logs had been stacked high, forming a towering pyramid. Soon, it would be set ablaze as the ceremonial bonfire to light the official hunter selection.
This was the third time in the history of the Hunt that the Hell System would recruit Wind-Eye Hunters—after a thousand long years of silence.
On this night of the full moon, the system reopened and roared back to life. The Guardians of Hell themselves would descend and handpick the hunters, based on various qualifications and levels of skill.
After sunset, all chosen Wind-Eye Hunters from each clan were to gather in Oliga—the Central Hunter Academy, where elite blood hunters would be officially recruited. It stood at the heart of the middle clan's territory.
Here, the very name Wind-Eye Hunter would be put to the test. Here, each of them bore the heavy weight on their shoulders—to prove from which clan the greatest hunters truly hailed.
Some hunters had already arrived that morning, gathering in Oliga's main courtyard.
"Are you a hunter from the South?"
The hunter dressed entirely in moss green asked out of sheer curiosity, repeating the same question over and over while guessing out loud. His careless attitude and smug expression made him slightly annoying.
Most ignored him completely, some didn't even turn their heads when asked—let alone answer his sudden interrogations.
It made sense. Wind-Eye Hunters rarely knew each other, as each clan trained their own separately in their respective hunting academies.
Each region had built its own academy—one per territory—tasked with shaping the most powerful hunters of each clan.
Currently, three academies operated under Oliga's supervision, and four clans were involved—except for the northern clan's territory.
"Are you a hunter from the South?"
He kept asking, again and again, and he wouldn't stop until someone gave in to his ridiculous question. Only then would his mouth shut.
"Why do you keep asking? I can tell what clan someone's from just by glancing at them," a hunter in a mahogany cloak snapped. His tone was curt, displeasure clearly written across his face.
'You're from the southern clan,' the moss-green-clad hunter instantly knew, judging by his speech and that arrogant cloak.
Still, he had deliberately 'tuned' himself to blend in. Eastern clan hunters were meticulous and filled with magical trickery.
Ito feigned ignorance, wearing the innocence of a seven-year-old boy like a mask on his face. "Wow! That's amazing! What clan are you from? Can you teach me how to tell the difference between hunters? Isn't it true that some hunters disguise their identity?"
Southern hunters weren't that foolish either. They'd risk anything to earn the title of chosen hunter at Oliga.
"You're from the East. I recognize your clan's outdated fashion. And remember—every hunter here is an enemy, even those from your own clan." The southern hunter clicked his tongue and swept past him, his prideful cloak billowing behind him.
His words were fitting—but not entirely true.
'We even devour the souls of our own clan, if needed, to perfect our magic. That's not all. There's far more our ancestors never spoke of.'
Ito had experienced it once himself—he'd had to perfect his magic to qualify for selection.
Every hunter had their own way of being chosen by the Hell System. If selected, a hunter would earn great honor in their clan—and gain Goldi after every completed hunt, depending on the target class—once officially recruited.
Ito narrowed his eyes, recalling something the elders of his clan had once said. Curiosity itched at him.
His footsteps wandered through the academy's vast grounds in search of a place called Rebmus.
"What is this courtyard? Why does it never end? Where in the world is Rebmus?"
Ito kept grumbling—he had walked for hours but hadn't found what he was looking for. Really, he just wanted to see the eternal relic left behind by two legendary hunters of Oliga—a favorite tale often spoken of by the elders and ancestors of the eastern clan.
But after spending nearly half a day searching, Ito decided to turn back and return to Oliga's main courtyard.
Just as he turned around, the forbidden wind brushed against him, lifting strands of his hair into the air. It tickled as it passed through his nostrils, then escaped through his ears.
The wind was… seducing him.
As a hunter of the Eastern clan—raised through years of magical lessons and rituals—Ito already understood. He simply wanted to savor this 'temptation of time' offered by the forbidden wind.
"I gladly accept your temptation of time. Speak, if you wish to speak to me." Ito smiled sincerely, his eyes watching the soft breeze still lifting the hem of his cloak.
"You're nearly at Rebmus—the twin sources of Heaven and Hell once commanded by our former Lords."
The wind slithered into Ito's mind, a chill threading through his nerves.
A shiver ran through him. Every fine hair on his skin stood up like a frontline army ready for war. The creeping sensation of awe slowly but surely took over his body.
"Our former Lords? Who were they? And why are you telling me this?"
Ito was burning with curiosity, about to explod—but he kept calm, suppressing the urge to interrogate the wind.
The breeze exited through his navel and slipped back in through the crown of his head. The air grew icy around him, and the scent of blooming jasmine invaded his senses. His chest tightened.
Ito was being possessed.
His arms and legs moved on their own, following patterns and instructions whispered by the wind now controlling his body.
"Our former Lords were Northern Hunters—two eternal legends far beyond reach. We wish to show you one of their eternal relics… one that Oliga could never again claim."
Ito's steps shifted, drawn toward a mighty Zantium tree. He circled the tree seventeen times.
When the final turn was complete, he stood motionless, facing the tree like a statue. A cold breeze kissed the back of his neck again.
"Use your Broukirakh magic. Your vision will pierce through the Central Clan's illusion spell—cast long ago by Oliga's ancestors on this tree."
Ito slowly closed his eyes. He whispered the incantation with heartfelt sincerity, placing his full soul and spirit into it.
"Very well… I will lift this hidden veil." He opened his eyes slowly.
A gentle smile curled on his lips.
Ito was in awe.
Within the seventeen layers of magical shields surrounding the tree, there burned an eternal flame. The fire blazed with a glacial blue, forming astonishing silhouettes—beyond description.
"A captivating flame... beautiful, yet shrouded in mystery," Ito whispered, mesmerized by the glow and consumed by curiosity about its origin.
The air grew colder until Ito realized his body had begun to freeze.
"The Flame of Immortality is lonely. It still waits for Orvar to return."
The temptation of time conjured sketch after sketch before Ito—visions of a man walking across a vast snowy plain, followed by a pack of ice wolves.
Ito furrowed his brows in confusion. He strained to recall the tales of his ancestors, trying to interpret the 'sign' through the 'magic' being revealed to him.
Then he remembered.
"The legendary hunter from the North... three thousand years ago? Is that who you mean? Orvar, the first and greatest hunter Oliga ever produced—he vanished, didn't he?" Ito smirked, convinced he had figured it out.
But just then, he felt an invisible hand grip his throat—tight.
"Our Lord did not vanish! It was the hunters who could no longer see him. You destroyed the Northern Clan. Only one hunter remains in that icy wasteland you beheld—raised not by men, but by the universe itself, amidst the brutal cries of the hunting world."
The choking eased—just slightly.
Ito wanted to fight back using all the magic he had mastered, but he couldn't. His body was frozen. His neck burned with searing heat. He was utterly helpless.
"Why did you ensnare me with the Temptation of Time spell—and why must you tell me all this?" His breath caught in his throat. Ito felt dizzy, as though he were losing control over his body and soul.
The forbidden wind slowly closed the veil of his vision. The tree appeared normal again. The freezing sensation in his body began to fade, and his neck felt lighter. The air near him filled his ears with whispers.
"You will be chosen as an official hunter at tonight's initiation. But half of your soul has been sealed by the Northern Hunter three thousand years ago—without your knowing. You are destined to be hunted by the final generation of the Northern Clan. The Executioner."
Ito's face twitched in irritation. The wind was spouting nonsense. But as a cunning hunter of the Eastern Clan, he knew how to twist this with a mind reversal—to turn the wind's own logic against it.
"So what if I'm being hunted? I will soon be an official hunter. Won't he vanish if he defies the system? Official hunters serve the system. Is he even recognized by it? Isn't the Northern Clan long gone?"
The wind formed tiny swirling gusts beside him.
"Zhen is merciless. And terrifying. You must be clever."
Then, the forbidden wind vanished—leaving Ito both proud and uncertain about his abilities. He sat down on the grass, trying to digest the surreal experience.
But the sound of a bell snapped him out of his thoughts—the signal that the Hellwarden would soon begin the selection of official hunters.
"I must hurry!" Ito used a touch of his magic to quicken his steps, appearing to run through the air.
Unbeknownst to him, someone had been watching him all along—following from the shadows, a smile forming on his face.
It was Likh, the Hellwarden.
Too humble to be called a mere warden—he was the controller who had guarded hell for thousands of years. Naturally, he knew all about the hunted souls who had escaped or slipped through the cracks.
"The fresh wind from the Central Clan... always so clever with 'mind reversal' magic. That's why it's one of the hardest prey to seal. It tries to shadow the greatest hunters—only to lead them to ruin."
Likh paused, his eyes catching a faint green glow in the distance—it emanated from the Eastern hunter's chest, right at the heart.
"Looks like this time, the forbidden wind chose the wrong target."
He chuckled lightly before vanishing in a flash.
"I will test him—harshly."