Part 1: Hunt the Dead, Find the Living
The Hollows weren't a forest. They were a scar.
Trees here grew wrong—bent in spirals, bark gray and slick like old bone. The ground hissed under their boots, releasing tiny bursts of mana whenever disturbed. Wild magic. Old. Half-rotted.
Sylvia knelt at the edge of a gnarled ravine, sniffing the dirt.
"Three passed here," she said. "One bleeding. Two already dead."
Yuji scanned the clearing ahead. "Any beast signs?"
"No," she said, standing. "But something was dragged."
Amelia drifted nearby, twirling a parasol made of shadows she'd conjured purely for the aesthetic. "The mana's acidic," she murmured. "It's old necromancy. Not spawned… harvested. Someone's repurposing ambient mana."
Yuji frowned. "This was supposed to be a simple fetch job."
"Then they lied."
They followed the trail downhill, the trees growing denser, the air tighter.
Then they heard it.
Not a scream. Not a growl.
Laughter.
Followed by the sound of steel crushing bone.
Yuji raised a hand. The party slowed.
They reached a clearing choked with broken trees, where half a dozen corrupted beasts lay in ruin—limbs severed, skulls caved in, ichor steaming on the grass.
And at the center of it all stood a woman.
Alone.
Tall. Muscular. Bare-armed and blood-slicked, her cloak torn and hanging from one shoulder. Her red-blonde hair was tied in a crude warrior's knot, her eyes fierce under blood-streaked war paint.
She held a warhammer that looked like it had been made from the remains of a church bell and a riot.
She was laughing.
"More?" she shouted at the woods. "Come on, you magic-drunk bastards!"
Sylvia blinked. "That's not a victim."
"No," Yuji said, stepping forward. "That's our next headache."
The woman whirled, eyes narrowing as she spotted them.
"Who the hell—" she began.
Then she saw Yuji.
Her grip shifted.
"You don't smell like the guild," she said, lowering the hammer just slightly. "You're not one of theirs."
Yuji nodded. "I'm here for the missing adventurers."
She tilted her head. "They're dead."
"I figured."
There was a beat of silence.
Then she said: "You're standing wrong."
Yuji raised an eyebrow. "I'm standing fine."
"Not for a fight." Her smile curved like a knife. "Which means you don't think I'm a threat."
Sylvia stepped forward. "He doesn't need to posture."
The woman grinned wider. "Good. Then I won't feel bad about this."
And she charged.
Part 2: The Woman Who Hits First
Sacha didn't run like a human.
She charged like a landslide—low, fast, too heavy to stop. The moment her boots hit the ground, the air shuddered with the weight of her mana. Not refined. Not elegant.
Just pressure.
Yuji stepped forward, cloak off, hands loose at his sides.
He didn't cast.
Didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Until the last second.
Then he sidestepped.
Sacha's warhammer hit the dirt where his ribcage had been with enough force to shatter a boulder. Dirt exploded. Roots tore.
Yuji twisted around her, driving a palm toward her spine.
She ducked. Fast.
Her elbow came up—caught his jaw. Not clean, but enough to rattle his teeth.
He stumbled, recovered, blocked her next swing with his forearm.
It hurt. Badly.
She grinned as they clashed again. "You're not made of glass. Good."
Sylvia moved to intervene. "Yuji—"
He raised a hand without looking. "Let her."
Amelia sat on a nearby rock, chin in her palm. "He's flirting in Valkyrie."
Sacha roared and drove forward again. Her attacks weren't wild—they were calculated violence. Every swing tested distance. Every step pressed space. She didn't just want to win. She wanted to measure him.
And Yuji let her.
He blocked with forearms, dodged with inches to spare. He didn't retaliate yet—not fully.
Until she overextended. Just a hair.
And he stepped into her guard.
Elbow. Gut. Knee.
Three strikes in one breath. Each precisely placed. She gasped—but grinned wider.
"You hit like a man who's broken before."
He said nothing.
Then she dropped the hammer.
And headbutted him.
CRACK.
Yuji reeled—blood in his mouth.
He laughed. Just once. Dry. Dangerous.
Then he grabbed her by the collar and slammed her into a tree.
Not with magic.
With fury.
"Done?" he asked.
Sacha blinked up at him, blood trickling down one temple.
Then—she smiled.
"No," she said. "But now I'm interested."