The reek of iron hung in the air, thick enough to choke on.
Kael crouched in the knee-high weeds, eyes fixed on the twitching carcass of a horned hare in the clearing ahead. Its white fur was stained crimson, steam rising from its still-warm body. A fresh kill — but not his.
The guttural snarls of the hunters who'd brought it down were still echoing through the trees. Somewhere deeper in the forest, they were tracking something bigger.
Kael's hand slipped into his coat pocket, fingers brushing the cool glass of a small vial. One drop — that was all it would take.
The rules of the Beast Hunting Guild were clear: Touch another hunter's kill and you'd lose a hand. Sometimes your life. But the guild didn't own Kael.
And besides…
They didn't know what he could do.
He darted forward, boots silent on the damp earth. In seconds, he was kneeling over the hare, knife in hand. With a swift slice, he opened a vein in its neck.
Hot, metallic blood rushed into the vial.
The moment the red filled the glass, Kael pressed the vial's rim to his lips.
It burned like molten metal down his throat, and then—
The rush hit him.
Images exploded behind his eyes: the hare's desperate sprint through the underbrush, the pounding of its tiny heart, the surge of elemental fire in its marrow. His muscles trembled as Gene Points poured into him — every last drop of the beast's power.
One hundred percent. Not the pitiful third the guild cubes gave.
His breath came in ragged gasps, but he grinned despite himself. The system in his blood — whatever cursed, blessed thing it was — had no rival.
The warmth spread through his limbs, settling in his core like a hidden flame.
[F-Rank Gene Absorption Complete: +10 GP.]
A whisper only he could hear.
A snap of twigs yanked him out of the haze. Voices. Close.
"Something's wrong," a man muttered. "The carcass was right here—"
Kael's pulse spiked. He grabbed the hare's limp body, wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and slipped into the brush.
He didn't run. Running made noise. He flowed, his footfalls matching the rustle of leaves in the wind. The voices faded.
Only when the scent of smoke replaced the scent of blood did Kael stop.
He had made it back to the Scavenger's Lane — the place where men too poor, too weak, or too reckless sold whatever scraps they could find from the low-tier hunting zones.
The market was a mess of patched tents, greasy cooking fires, and hawkers selling meat of questionable origin. No one looked twice at Kael as he slipped into a side alley.
Inside his narrow shack, Kael unstrapped the satchel at his side. Inside were two more vials of beast blood, both dark and clotted.
Not much. Not enough.
He sat cross-legged on the splintered floor, pulling a worn scrap of parchment toward him. It was covered in messy columns of numbers and scribbled notes. GP tallies, beast locations, rumor fragments about rare sightings.
At the bottom was his target:
D-Rank Flamehorn Rhino — 100 GP (Fire/Earth)— Patrol range near Red Vale Gorge.— Hunt patrol: Guild-licensed. Heavy guards.
Kael traced the name with one finger. A D-Rank beast was far beyond what a lowly scavenger should even see, let alone kill.
But he didn't need to kill it.
He only needed a few drops.
A knock rattled the thin wood of his door.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Who is it?"
The door swung open without answer.
A tall man in a Guild Hunter's coat stepped in, his black beard streaked with gray. His eyes swept the shack, pausing on the satchel.
"Kael." His voice was calm, but his hands were empty — no blade drawn. That was worse. "There's been… theft in the hunting zones. Blood theft."
Kael leaned back on his hands, forcing his tone to stay casual. "Sounds nasty. Guild's losing profits?"
The man didn't smile. "Three hunters swear they left a hare corpse. When they came back, it was dry. Bone dry."
Kael shrugged. "Guess the forest's hungrier than you thought."
The hunter stepped closer until the smell of steel and smoke filled the space between them. "Careful where you wander, Kael. Some things bite back."
He left without another word.
Kael's jaw tightened. The warning wasn't idle. If the guild suspected him…
He pushed the thought away. Danger was constant in the hunting zones — but so was opportunity.
His GP count was pitiful. Without a breakthrough soon, he'd be stuck scraping hare carcasses for the rest of his life.
And he hadn't been born with this cursed gift just to live as a rat in the alleys.
He would go to Red Vale Gorge. He would taste the blood of a D-Rank beast.
That night, Kael moved like a shadow through the undergrowth. The moon was thin, the stars smothered by drifting clouds.
He reached the ridge above Red Vale Gorge and peered down.
There — a massive shape moved among the boulders, its horn glinting in the faint light, molten cracks glowing along its hide. Each step shook the ground.
The Flamehorn Rhino. Fire and Earth in one body.
A Guild patrol circled nearby, crossbows loaded, spears tipped with runed metal. They kept their distance. Even for licensed hunters, this was not prey to be taken lightly.
Kael's throat went dry. One mistake, one slip, and he'd be trampled before he could draw breath.
But the hunger in him — not for food, but for power — roared louder than his fear.
He began to descend.