Aydar's grip tightened on the Batyr's Blade as the sirens grew louder, their wails bouncing off the trees around the field. The black mist from the Shurale's corpse still hung in the air, curling like smoke over the torn-up ground. The girl he'd saved—wide-eyed, dirt-streaked—clung to his leg, her small hands trembling. He didn't have time to process what had just happened. The Gate was gone, but the weight of the sword in his hand and the glowing System screen in his vision told him this wasn't a dream.
"Kid, you okay?" he rasped, his throat raw from shouting. She nodded, barely, her lips quivering. He crouched, awkwardly patting her head. "Good. Help's coming. Stay put."
The System chimed again, unprompted:
[Status Update]
Strength: 15 (+10)
Agility: 8
Endurance: 10
Ability: Voice of the Urals (Level 1)
Weapon: Batyr's Blade (E-rank)
He flexed his arm, feeling a faint surge—like his muscles were waking up after years of sleep. The sword caught the moonlight, its curved edge glinting with those strange river-like etchings. He didn't know what it could do yet, but it felt right in his hand, like it belonged there.
A rustle snapped him out of it. Not from the trees—from the air itself. Another ripple, smaller this time, flickered about twenty meters away, near the rusted tractor. Aydar's stomach dropped. "No way. Another one?"
The ripple pulsed, then split into a new Gate, this one narrower, its edges jagged like broken glass. No towering Shurale emerged. Instead, a swarm of shapes skittered out—dozens of them, each the size of a dog. Their bodies were pitch-black, with spindly legs and glowing yellow eyes that darted in every direction. Bichura. Aydar remembered his father's tales: mischievous little spirits that haunted homes and stole trinkets. These weren't playful. Their chittering filled the air, sharp and hungry.
"Run!" he yelled, shoving the girl toward the approaching flashing lights. She bolted, and Aydar turned to face the swarm. The first Bichura lunged, its claws slashing at his shin. He swung the Batyr's Blade instinctively, and the metal sang as it cleaved through the creature, splitting it into mist. The System flashed:
Bichura Slain: +1 EXP
"EXP?" he muttered, ducking as another leaped at his face. He sliced again, catching two mid-air. The swarm didn't stop—more poured from the Gate, their numbers swelling. He counted at least thirty now, circling him like wolves. His heart pounded. The Voice of the Urals had barely dented the Shurale; against this many, it'd be useless.
A claw raked his calf, and he stumbled, pain flaring. Warm blood trickled down his leg. The Bichura hissed, emboldened, closing in. Aydar gritted his teeth and swung the blade in a wide arc, carving through three more. Mist erupted, but the swarm pressed tighter. He needed space.
The tractor loomed behind him, its bulk a makeshift shield. He backed toward it, slashing as he went. A Bichura latched onto his arm, its teeth sinking in. He roared, slamming it against the tractor's rusted hood. It burst into mist, but the bite throbbed, deep and hot.
The System pinged:
[New Quest]
Survive the Bichura Swarm
Reward: +5 Agility, Unlock Skill: Step of the Steppe
Penalty for Failure: Death
"Great," he snarled, kicking another Bichura off his boot. He reached the tractor and climbed onto its hood, gaining a moment's height. The swarm skittered below, clawing at the metal. He swung the blade downward, splitting heads and legs, mist rising in plumes. EXP ticked up—5, 7, 10—but the Gate kept spitting out more.
Sweat stung his eyes. His arms ached, the new strength fading under the strain. Then he saw it: the Gate pulsed faster, its light dimming. Maybe it had a limit. If he could hold out—
A screech cut through the noise. Not from the Bichura. Something bigger. The swarm parted, and a new shape emerged from the Gate—a hulking figure, twice Aydar's height, with a body of twisted roots and a single glowing eye in its chest. Its arms ended in splintered spikes, dripping with sap-like venom. Not a Shurale, not a Bichura. Something worse.
The System labeled it:
[Ural Stalker: D-rank]
HP: 200/200
The Bichura fell back, chittering as the Stalker lumbered forward. Aydar's breath hitched. E+ rank against a D-rank? He was screwed.
The Stalker swung a spike-arm, and Aydar leaped off the tractor just as the blow shattered the hood, sending shrapnel flying. He hit the ground hard, rolling to his feet. The Bichura swarmed again, nipping at his heels. He slashed wildly, keeping them at bay, but the Stalker was the real threat. It charged, its eye pulsing red.
Aydar dodged left, barely avoiding a spike that gouged the earth. He needed the Voice. Planting his feet, he roared, "Back off!" The sonic wave rippled out, weaker than before, but it staggered the Bichura and made the Stalker pause. Its HP dropped—198/200. Pathetic.
The Stalker retaliated, slamming both arms down. Aydar dove, the ground shaking beneath him. Pain shot through his bitten arm as he landed. The Bichura seized the chance, piling onto him. Claws tore at his jacket, teeth grazed his neck. He thrashed, stabbing with the blade, mist bursting around him.
Through the chaos, he saw headlights—police cars screeching to a halt at the field's edge. Shouts rang out, then gunfire. Bullets peppered the Bichura, dropping a few, but the Stalker didn't flinch. It turned toward the cops, its eye flaring.
Aydar staggered up, blood dripping from his arm. The System glowed:
EXP: 25/50 to Level Up
Quest Progress: 18/40 Bichura Slain
He spat dirt from his mouth. The cops wouldn't last against that thing. He had to act. Gripping the Batyr's Blade, he charged the Stalker from behind, aiming for its glowing eye. The blade sank into its root-flesh, sap spraying. The Stalker screeched, HP falling to 175/200. A solid hit.
It spun, faster than he'd expected, and a spike-arm caught his side. Pain exploded as he flew, crashing into the tractor's wreckage. The world blurred. The Bichura swarmed again, their yellow eyes everywhere. Gunfire faded—screams replaced it.
The System flickered:
Warning: HP 20/50
Aydar coughed, tasting blood. The Stalker loomed over him, its spike raised. Then, a new sound—a low hum, like wind through the mountains. The air shimmered nearby, and a figure stepped out of nowhere. Tall, clad in dark furs with Bashkir patterns, a bow slung over their shoulder. Their eyes glowed faintly, locked on the Stalker.
"Stay down," they said, voice sharp. An arrow flew, striking the Stalker's eye dead-center. It roared, HP plummeting to 100/200. The figure notched another arrow, glancing at Aydar.
"Who—?" he croaked.
The Gate pulsed violently behind the Stalker, its light turning crimson. The figure tensed. "No time. It's evolving."