“Last warning,” the voice acquired a more threatening tone.
“Lower your wings, Zhao. Or we’ll see how long these children can survive when the tent falls and the Stalkers enter their feeding frenzy.”
The sound above their heads was deafening now, dozens, perhaps hundreds of Shadow Stalkers hammering against the protection, hungry, maddened, waiting. Their collective frenzy created a symphony of impending doom that made even the bravest students tremble.
The figures covered in black fabric remained at the tent’s entrances, creating a sense of silent siege. Their presence alone seemed to make the air heavier, more oppressive, as if the very darkness had taken physical form.
The auxiliaries formed a protective circle, their beasts manifesting as patterns of power across their bodies, scales, fur, and feathers gleaming faintly in the dim light. Each of them knew that against a horde of frenzied Shadow Stalkers, their chances were slim at best.
Zhao stepped forward. The hooded figures tensed, but didn’t retreat. Their stillness was more threatening than any movement could have been.
“I wonder if Yino has truly fallen so low as to threaten children.”
His owl merged with him without fanfare, a subtle change in the air, a presence that spread like ink in water.
“The famous Hunter of Yano,” the voice from outside sounded amused, but there was an edge of caution in it. “Your reputation precedes you, Zhao. How many of ours have you tracked and eliminated flying over the abyssal border? Twenty? Thirty?”
“Forty-two,” Zhao responded with the same calm he might discuss the weather.
Zhao stood tall, his owl manifesting across his skin. It wasn’t the ostentatious beast many would expect from someone with his reputation, but those who knew the Hunter’s history understood that his power lay in the lethal precisión of the user, not just his Silver 3 beast raw strength.
“All of them better than you. None stupid enough to attack in my territory. You’ve made a mistake coming here.”
He wasn’t just a professor, the Hunter of Yano, as he was known at the border, was famous for his ability to track and eliminate threats from the rival kingdom. His very name was spoken with fear and respect in certain circles.
The blades pressed deeper into the tent’s fabric. The Shadow Stalkers’ impacts created a frenzied rhythm overhead, their collective hunger growing with each passing moment.
A dry laugh resonated from outside. “Mistake? No, old friend. This place… these training grounds you’ve used for generations. We know them better than you think.”
Zhao showed no reaction, but his mind worked rapidly. That information shouldn’t be available to Yino. Unless…
“We have a simple proposal,” the voice continued. “Luna, Klein, Feng, and Astor. Hand them over, and the other forty-six students will live. It’s a generous deal.”
The named students tensed.
Luna, her shadow wolf manifesting briefly before melting back into the shadows. Klein, his golden lion gleaming with contained fury. Feng, whose red cobra created scarlet patterns across his skin. Astor, the blue rhinoceros pulsing with power beneath his surface.
“And if I refuse?” Zhao maintained his casual tone, as if discussing the day’s weather rather than the lives of his students.
“Then,” the figures pressed their blades deeper into the tent’s fabric, creating ominous patterns of stress in the protective material, “we’ll have to settle for ensuring Yano loses an entire generation of promising talents. Not our preferred goal, but…”
The auxiliaries were ready to fight, but Zhao could see the worry in their eyes. Even with all their combined skills, protecting fifty students from a horde of enraged Shadow Stalkers, plus some extra attackers of unknown rank would be impossible.
The math was simple and brutal.
“You have to make a decision, Hunter,” the voice sounded almost compassionate now. “Four lives, or fifty? The heirs of some noble families, or an entire generation of students?”
“Four lives or fifty, that’s the choice you’re giving me. Right?” Zhao repeated slowly. “Curious…”
The black figures shifted uneasily. Something in Zhao’s calm disturbed them more than any display of power could have.
“Do you know why they call me the Hunter of Yano?” he stepped forward, and though the blades pressed deeper into the tent’s fabric, no figure dared to cut it.
“It’s not for the number of enemies I’ve eliminated. It’s because never, not once, have I let a single target escape.”
Something changed in Zhao’s posture… a shift so subtle that only the most observant noticed it.
The auxiliaries formed a tighter circle around the students. But everyone knew that against a horde of maddened Shadow Stalkers…
“My choice…” his voice became dangerously soft.
The black figures tensed when they felt the change in the air.
Silver feathers flashed in the darkness, moving with lethal velocity.
Ten feathers, ten targets.
The heads of the black figures in his sights.
The attack was so sudden that two of the hooded figures didn’t even have time to react. The feathers pierced their masks with deadly precision, their bodies collapsing before they could scream.
The others were faster.
Some ducked, others covered with their arms, and some retreated behind the tent’s folds. The silver feathers cut through the air where their heads had been moments before.
The first cut in the tent’s fabric was the beginning of the storm.
“Proud fool!” the leader’s voice resonated with fury as the figures began tearing at the protective fabric.
The cuts in the tent multiplied rapidly as the enemies attacked. The first Shadow Stalkers began entering, their black bodies nearly invisible in the gloom.
“You could have saved forty-six students,” the leader continued as more medusas slipped through the openings. “But your pride has just condemned them all!”
“Pride has nothing to do with it,” he responded while launching a feather that eliminated the first Stalker that came too close. “I simply refuse to negotiate with monsters who take children hostage.”
The sound of tearing fabric was his only answer as more and more medusas began flooding the space.
Zhao’s silver feathers flashed in the darkness while eliminating another medusa slipping through the cuts. His eyes, sharpened by his owl and decades of night hunting, detected every movement in the shadows as if it were daylight.
‘Thirty-seven,’ he counted mentally as another feather found its target. The Stalkers’ bodies fell, but remained dangerous even in death, their mana-absorbing ability persisting for days.
More cuts appeared in the tent’s fabric. The black figures coordinated their attacks, creating strategic openings that allowed more Stalkers to enter.
“Maintain formation!” Zhao ordered his auxiliaries while another feather flew from his hand.
The auxiliaries reduced the circle even more… Zhao was confused for a moment, it was reduced too much.
Were there fewer students now?