The Huntsman Of Death:A Gamer's POV As Side Character

A long shadow stretched across the training ground as I tightened my grip on the sword, my knuckles whitening. With all my strength, I slashed at the air, the blade cutting through it with a faint hum, sharp and precise.

I paused, steadying the blade in front of me. A small chuckle escaped my lips as a thought crossed my mind.

If Reed saw me now, he'd probably start his endless nagging, calling this a waste of effort. And Roderick? He'd just mock me, claiming I was disgracing the sword by not following the traditional path of a swordsman.

I adjusted my stance, holding the sword straight toward my chest, and smiled. They'd never understand. The sword wasn't just a weapon to me. It was something more—something personal.

My mother had taught me how to wield it, after all.

Shaking off the lingering memories, I exhaled sharply and swung again. The blade sliced cleanly through the air, the faint buzz creating a rhythm. The movements were basic: diagonal slashes, horizontal cuts, an upward sweep—all simple yet purposeful.

"There are countless techniques and flashy styles," I muttered under my breath, "but I don't need them. Greatness comes from mastering the basics."

My mother's words echoed in my mind, steady and firm. "The simplest things, when ignored, will strike the deadliest blows."

I repeated the motion, over and over, my body moving instinctively. The sword was an extension of myself, each swing more fluid than the last. As I prepared to strike again, the sound of metal clanking pulled me from my focus.

I froze, my eyes scanning the space. Emerging from the shadows was a man with jet-black hair, his posture rigid, his stride measured. His cold, sharp gaze was fixed ahead as he walked, as if he owned the very ground beneath his feet. Edwin.

My curiosity flared as I watched him. So, the noble finally decided to step out and practice? Interesting.

With a smirk, I set the sword aside and hurried to intercept him.

Edwin moved with his usual air of pride, his expression unyielding. As we crossed paths, I made my move, deliberately slamming my shoulder into his.

He stopped, his gaze snapping to me, ice-cold and menacing.

"Watch it," he hissed, his voice low and sharp.

His reaction amused me. I met his glare with one of my own, my eyes steady and unflinching.

"Lowly pi—" he began, his voice dripping with disdain.

"You owe me a favor," I interrupted, my tone cutting through his words like a blade.

Edwin blinked, clearly caught off guard. "What did you just say?"

I didn't bother repeating myself. I turned and began walking away, my tone cold as I left him standing there. "You owe me a favor, Edwin. Remember it."

I heard him take a step forward, as if to follow, but I didn't look back. My pace quickened until I was out of sight.

Once I was alone, I leaned against a wall, exhaling heavily. "That was awkward," I muttered. "And definitely cringe. But knowing Edwin, it'll work."

I looked up at the sky, the crimson streaks of dusk painting the horizon. The sight brought a sense of foreboding.

"I hope the Hounds are handling things properly," I murmured. "Or else…"

---

Back on the training ground, Edwin stood still, his hands clenched into fists. His pride was bruised, and his frustration was clear.

"Is he insane?" he muttered, his voice low but sharp. He shook his head, his irritation growing. Then, as if struck by a thought, he reached into his coat pocket.

His fingers brushed against a folded piece of paper. Pulling it out, he unfolded it carefully, his eyes scanning the words scribbled on it.

The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by a wry smile.

"I see," he said softly, slipping the note back into his pocket. "That was no accident."

...

CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

The grass beneath his feet turned black and brittle, dying with every step. Around him, the trees twisted and shrank back, as if afraid. A man in a dark cloak walked steadily across the plateau, his staff tapping on the ground.

He stopped and looked around, his lips curling into a crooked grin. "Yes… this is it," he whispered, his voice low and cracked.

He let out a sharp whistle.

Krugh!

Yellow eyes lit up in the shadows, dozens of them. They burned like small fires, creeping closer. Among them was a massive wolf, its rotting body showing bone and torn flesh. On its back sat a pale woman, her hair wild, her face streaked with tears. She held something close to her chest, rocking it gently.

"My child…" she murmured, her voice shaking.

"What do you want to eat tonight?"

The man sneered, waving his staff. "Bring it to me."

The woman clutched the bundle tighter, her voice rising in panic. "No! You can't take my child! I won't let you!"

The man slammed his staff on the ground with a loud crack. "Silence!" he barked, his voice like thunder.

The wolf snarled and lunged forward. Its jaws snapped, grabbing the bundle from the woman's arms.

The thing tumbled across the ground and stopped at the man's feet.

He raised his staff high and slammed it down.

SPLAT!

Blood splattered everywhere. Flesh and chunks of bone flew, and two eyes rolled out, stopping in the dirt. It was a severed human head, its face frozen in horror.

The woman let out a terrible scream. She grabbed her head, pulling at her hair, and began sobbing uncontrollably.

The man didn't even glance at her. He crouched, dipping the tip of his staff into the blood, then began scratching strange symbols into the dirt.

Kuuuk!

A shriek cut through the air. The man looked up, his blood-streaked face twitching. A black raven circled above, crying out again and again, its shape stark against the moon.

The man started laughing, loud and wild, his voice echoing through the dead forest.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! What a night! What a beautiful, cursed night!" he yelled, spinning in place with his arms outstretched. "Let the nightmare come! Let it take them all!"

The raven cried once more before vanishing into the darkness. The symbols on the ground glowed faintly,