The morning air was crisp and sharp, carrying the faint scent of herbs, damp earth, and wood smoke from nearby chimneys. Hunnt stood alone in the clearing where he had spent countless hours swinging branches and rolling through the grass. His small fists were clenched, eyes sharp and focused, a fire of determination flickering in their depths.
If weapons can't connect with me… then I'll become the weapon myself, he thought. I need to train my body. Every strike, every movement, every breath… it has to count.
He began with conditioning. Sprinting across uneven paths littered with roots and rocks, he leaped over fallen branches and rolled across the soft dirt. Each motion tested his balance and reflexes, forcing his small body to adapt to obstacles and unpredictability. Push-ups, squats, lunges, pull-ups from low-hanging branches — every exercise was brutal, and yet each one strengthened his muscles, tendons, and joints, building a foundation capable of withstanding the repeated impacts of his own strikes.
His chest heaved, and sweat stung his eyes, but he barely noticed. Pain had become a companion, a teacher, not a deterrent.
Every blow counts… every movement counts… I have to make my body perfect, he whispered to himself, voice hoarse from exertion.
Next came punching drills. Hunnt struck the trees lining the clearing, his arms moving with precision he had never felt before. He punched the air, visualizing monstrous claws and snapping jaws, imagining the recoil and resistance that came with each strike. His small body learned quickly how to distribute force, how to pivot, how to absorb impact through the core rather than the wrists alone.
I can feel it… my body responding… faster, sharper… stronger…
Hours passed in a blur of relentless motion. Every punch, every roll, every leap refined his reflexes, sharpened his balance, and honed his stamina. The faint disconnection he had felt with weapons no longer existed; his fists moved as if they were born with him, extensions of his very essence.
Hunnt paused briefly, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his forehead and soaking the thin fabric of his shirt. He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, and felt a strange, exhilarating power coursing through his body.
Something's happening… he thought, eyes narrowing as he observed the subtle changes in himself. I'm improving… faster than I should… faster than anyone could expect… but I don't even know how. My body… it's learning on its own.
It was as if an invisible force was guiding him, quietly amplifying his strength, speed, and endurance with each exertion. The harder he pushed, the more his body adapted, adjusting muscles, reflexes, and breathing without his conscious effort.
Could it be… some hidden power, a gift I've never known?
Hunnt's heart thudded in his chest, exhilaration and exhaustion coiling together like lightning and storm clouds. He swung his fists once more, imagining the hide of a massive monster ripping under the force of his strikes. The imagined impact reverberated up his arms, yet he felt no fear, only the thrill of control and mastery over his own body.
By midday, his muscles burned, and his lungs screamed for air. Sweat poured down his face and soaked through his clothing, but Hunnt's eyes gleamed with unshakable determination. He paused to look at the clearing, now marked by divots, scuffs, and splintered tree bark — the silent testimony of his progress.
"This… this feels right," he murmured, voice rough but steady. "My fists… my body… this is my weapon. I don't need a sword, I don't need a bow… I have me. And one day… I'll be able to take down monsters with just this."
The realization filled him with a strange mixture of relief, pride, and anticipation. The faint power that had begun awakening inside him pulsed with a quiet promise, enhancing every motion, every strike, and every breath.
Hunnt clenched his fists, feeling the tiny tremors of strength coursing through his body. His eyes glimmered with resolve as he took a deep, steadying breath.
This is only the beginning. My fists, my body… I'll master them. And I will survive. I will grow. And I will become a hunter like no other.
With that thought, Hunnt resumed his drills, the air around him almost vibrating with the force of his dedication. Every punch, every pivot, every leap was no longer practice — it was creation. Creation of a weapon, creation of himself, and creation of a path that no hunter had ever walked before.
The clearing was silent except for the rhythmic pounding of his fists and the wind through the trees, but within Hunnt, a storm had erupted — one that would carry him into a future brimming with monsters, challenges, and his own untamed potential.