The forest was alive again.
Leaves fell from the canopy as tremors rippled through the ground — the Gorvann had not gone far. Its heavy footsteps echoed between the trees, shaking branches and scattering small creatures that fled from the monster's path. The air was thick with tension and the smell of churned earth.
Rogan tightened his grip on the Drakeshard Reclaimer, the blade glinting faintly in the fractured sunlight that pierced through the mist. His arms trembled — not from fear, but anticipation. Behind him, Lyssara adjusted her stance, twin blades poised and glimmering with faint light. Will had his bow drawn, scanning the treeline for movement, while Willa raised her shield, planting her feet firmly into the soil.
They were exhausted, bruised, and battered, but not broken.
The forest rustled, and Rogan felt it — the pulse beneath the earth, the rhythm of the creature's movement.
"Get ready," he said quietly. "It's coming."
From the fog, the Gorvann burst forth again, charging with terrifying speed. Its massive arm came swinging down, the impact crushing a fallen log where Rogan had stood a second ago. He rolled aside, countering with a precise slash that sang through the air. The sword's edge glowed faintly red — the sign of his Spirit Gauge resonating.
The Gorvann bellowed, turning its attention toward him, but Lyssara darted behind the creature and slashed at the back of its legs. Her strikes were faster now, sharper, and she was aiming with precision — not wild aggression. She remembered Kael's words: "Look for weakness, not openings."
Her blades struck between scales, drawing thin streaks of dark blood. It wasn't much, but it was progress.
Will repositioned to higher ground, climbing a thick tree root and drawing another arrow. His breathing was steady, his focus razor-sharp.
Draw. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Release.
The arrow flew straight and true, embedding deep into the wound Lyssara had opened. The Gorvann roared in pain and swung blindly toward the direction of the shot, but Will was already gone, leaping down and rolling behind a cluster of rocks before drawing again.
"Will, keep its focus off Rogan!" Willa shouted, bracing herself.
The Gorvann turned back toward Rogan and raised its arm to crush him, but Willa charged in, slamming her shield into the monster's forearm with a metallic crack. The sound rang through the clearing. Sparks flew. The creature staggered for a heartbeat.
"Go, Rogan!" she shouted.
Rogan didn't hesitate. He exhaled, the sound sharp and controlled.
"Spirit Flow — full rhythm!"
He swung — Spirit I, Spirit II, Spirit III — each strike heavier, faster, the blade humming like it had a heartbeat of its own. When he brought it down in a final Spirit Roundslash, the Gorvann reeled backward, its footing unstable.
The others didn't waste the moment. Lyssara dashed in, twin blades striking the monster's exposed side. Will loosed another arrow into its shoulder. Willa followed with a shield bash straight to its ribs.
Their movements flowed together, a rhythm forming between them — strike, defend, reposition, attack again.
Hunnt's voice echoed faintly in Rogan's mind:
"A true hunt isn't about power — it's about harmony."
He could feel it now. The four of them were no longer individuals fighting the same monster — they were one unit, moving with shared purpose.
The Gorvann swung again, but this time, they were ready.
"Left flank!" Rogan called.
Lyssara ducked low, rolling beneath the creature's arm and striking its leg joint again. The monster stumbled. Will shifted position and fired two rapid shots — Power Shot, Power Shot — both hitting the Gorvann's weakened spots. Willa charged in front, shield raised high, catching the creature's counterattack before it could crush them. The impact sent her sliding backward, boots digging trenches in the dirt.
Her arms shook, but she didn't fall.
Rogan was already moving again. "Spirit Combo!"
He dashed in with a burst of speed, landing a diagonal slash followed by a spinning cut. His sword hummed, glowing red as he brought it down with a final Spirit Roundslash. The Gorvann howled, staggering back, its massive frame shaking.
It was working.
But then — the Gorvann roared, slamming both fists into the ground. A shockwave rippled outward, sending everyone flying backward. Rogan hit the ground hard, sliding across the dirt. Lyssara crashed into a tree, gasping for breath. Will tumbled and dropped his bow, scrambling to retrieve it. Willa rolled to her knees, shield raised protectively.
"Everyone okay?!" Rogan shouted.
"Still breathing!" Lyssara coughed.
The Gorvann beat its chest and bellowed again, its amber eyes burning brighter. Its body tensed, muscles swelling as it charged.
"Stay together!" Rogan ordered. "Don't scatter!"
Willa stepped forward, intercepting the beast's charge. The force of its attack pushed her back, her shield creaking under pressure, but she held. Behind her, Rogan moved in again, his blade tracing arcs of light through the mist. Lyssara joined him from the flank, striking whenever Rogan created an opening.
Will climbed back to his feet, drawing his bow once more. His breath steadied — inhale, exhale, focus. He aimed for the creature's eye, waiting for the perfect moment.
The Gorvann swung one arm toward Willa, the other at Rogan. Rogan ducked, rolled forward, and slashed upward with a Spirit II strike, the blade biting deep into the creature's arm. Willa shoved back with her shield, breaking the beast's balance.
"Now!" Rogan shouted.
Will released his arrow. It flew true — piercing the Gorvann's eye. The monster screamed, thrashing in pain. Lyssara seized the chance, her blades flashing as she leapt up and carved a long slash across the monster's neck.
Rogan finished it with a spinning roundslash that forced the Gorvann to stagger backward.
The earth shook as the monster stumbled, half-blind, retreating several steps before collapsing to one knee. It wasn't dead — just exhausted and overwhelmed.
The four hunters stood in front of it, panting heavily, their weapons lowered.
They had done it.
The Gorvann growled weakly, its breath shallow but steady. Slowly, it turned and began limping back into the forest, vanishing between the trees.
Rogan lowered his sword. "It's leaving."
Lyssara wiped the sweat from her brow, exhaling. "It didn't die."
"Good," Willa said softly. "That wasn't the goal."
Will let out a shaky laugh. "So this is what monster training feels like?"
"Feels more like surviving a storm," Lyssara muttered.
Rogan looked at his sword — the Drakeshard Reclaimer still unbroken, the blade gleaming faintly in the dappled light. He exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from his body. For the first time in his life, his weapon hadn't chipped or cracked. It had flowed with him — perfectly in rhythm.
Hunnt emerged from the trees with Kael and Seren beside him. The three mentors surveyed the clearing, where the ground was torn and scattered with debris from the fight.
Hunnt crossed his arms, his voice calm but proud. "Not bad."
Seren smirked. "They lasted longer than I expected."
Kael nodded. "And they didn't panic when things turned."
Hunnt approached the four, his gaze steady. "You all did well. You followed your rhythm, you adapted, and you trusted each other. That's what matters."
He paused, looking at Rogan. "Your control's finally catching up to your power."
Rogan smiled faintly, exhaustion in his voice. "Still needs work."
Hunnt's eyes moved to Lyssara. "And you — your strikes were sharp. You found the beast's weak points. That's what separates a swordsman from a hunter."
Lyssara nodded quietly, unable to meet his eyes.
"Will," Hunnt continued, "your positioning saved them more than once. Keep moving like that, and you'll become a true marksman."
Will nodded. "I'll get faster."
"And Willa," Hunnt said, his tone softening. "You held the line. A shield bearer who doesn't yield is worth more than a dozen blades."
Willa smiled shyly. "Thank you, sir."
Hunnt looked at all of them once more. "Rest. You've earned it. Tomorrow, we'll talk about what you learned."
The four nodded and began to walk back toward the village, their steps heavy but proud.
As they disappeared through the trees, Lyssara glanced over her shoulder. Rogan was walking slightly ahead of her, the evening light catching the edge of his sword. She stared at the blade, unchipped, unbroken — at the calm rhythm of his movements.
Her chest tightened. He's… changed.
She clenched her hands into fists, eyes burning with quiet resolve.
"I need to catch up," she whispered.