The following morning, Ravenshire stirred with the soft rhythm of recovery. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, the faint smell of baked bread and hot stew weaving through the village streets. Children darted about chasing each other, though their laughter was quieter than usual, muffled by the lingering memory of the monster that had fallen just yesterday.
The Ravagerak's corpse, still sprawled across heavy planks in the courtyard, cast a long shadow over the village. Its blackened hide and jagged horns seemed like a permanent scar on Ravenshire's peace. Even in death, the beast exuded menace. Villagers gave it wide berth, whispering about what its arrival meant for the forests beyond.
For most of the party, rest was unavoidable. Corwin had collapsed into his bed as soon as he'd reached home, the weight of battle crashing down on his shoulders. His hammer leaned carelessly in the corner, still carrying dirt and faint traces of monster blood. Elara sat by her window, bow propped against the wall, fingers brushing over the fletching of an arrow again and again. Her gaze lingered outside where the Ravagerak's body lay, and she wondered how her shots could barely scratch it. I need more precision… more power.
Pyro, curled tightly in a ball atop a wool blanket, purred softly in his sleep. The little Felyne twitched now and then, perhaps dreaming of fights and feasts, his tail flicking contentedly.
But Hunnt could not rest.
Sleep was impossible with the memory of the battle etched into his mind: the deafening roar, the crushing strikes, and most of all — the moment his gauntlets had shattered. He could still feel it, the metal splitting under his fists, leaving him barehanded against armor thicker than steel. His knuckles had cracked, skin torn open, blood dripping. And yet… something deeper had surged inside him then. His fists hadn't broken completely. His will had pushed beyond his body's limits.
That memory burned in his chest like fire.
So while the others slept, Hunnt made his way to Coerl's workshop. The smell of smoke and steel greeted him as he stepped inside. On the workbench, laid neatly from yesterday's harvest, were the spoils of their victory: jagged horns, broken tail spikes, scales tougher than rock, and claws curved like sickles. Sunlight filtered through the window, bouncing off the pile of monster materials like dull jewels.
Hunnt ran his fingers over the scales, feeling their ridges. "A new hammer for Corwin," he murmured to himself. He pulled aside fragments that were heavy but balanced, envisioning how they might fit into a weapon. "Monster armor plating for him too. He deserves something that can endure those hits."
He sifted through the pile further, pulling aside thinner shards of scale and smaller spikes. "Reinforced protection for Elara… and Pyro as well." His lips quirked into a faint smile. "Can't let that little guy go charging without some kind of shield."
Then his eyes lingered on a cluster of talons and tail spikes, sharper than any steel blade he'd seen forged. His fists throbbed beneath the fresh bandages wrapped by Mel's careful hands. The ache was constant, a reminder of both his weakness and his resolve.
"And for me…" Hunnt whispered, clenching his jaw. "Gauntlets that won't shatter. Stronger… tougher. Something that can withstand everything this world throws at me."
He set the pieces aside in a careful pile. His pulse quickened. His mind burned with images of new weapons, new armor, new possibilities. But he knew that wasn't enough. Materials alone wouldn't bridge the gap.
It had to come from him.
---
Later, Hunnt wandered to the training grounds at the edge of the forest. The sun was climbing, painting the trees in hues of amber and gold. A soft breeze stirred the branches, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. The clearing was quiet, but for Hunnt, the silence was heavy. It was the perfect place to test the storm inside him.
He remembered the exact moment his gauntlets had snapped. The way his knuckles had split open. The helpless sting when blood mixed with sweat. And yet… he had kept punching. His body had refused to yield.
Hunnt unwrapped the bandages slowly. The linen peeled back, revealing bruised, swollen knuckles and skin still tender from the fight. He flexed his fingers. Pain lanced up his arm, but he didn't flinch. He needed to feel it.
He stepped before a thick tree trunk. Its bark was rough, its body solid, but Hunnt didn't hesitate. He lowered his stance, grit his teeth, and exhaled sharply.
"Again."
His fist slammed into the bark. The jolt shot through his arm, sharp and hot. His knuckles split anew, crimson smearing across the wood.
Hunnt hissed but pulled his arm back. "Again."
He struck once more, harder. The bark groaned. His skin tore further. Blood dripped, staining the roots.
"Again!"
His fists pounded against the tree, each strike louder than the last. His shoulders ached, his ribs protested, but Hunnt's eyes burned with determination. The pain became fuel, each drop of blood proof of his will.
Then — it happened.
A strange ripple spread across his forearm. The pain dulled, replaced by something… heavier. His skin shimmered faintly, then darkened, as if shadows had sunk into his flesh. From his forearm down to his knuckles, a sheen of black spread like molten steel cooling into armor.
Hunnt froze mid-breath, staring.
"…What… is this?"
The tree cracked beneath his next punch. Splinters flew, scattering across the dirt. Hunnt staggered back, lifting his hand. His fists gleamed with a strange, hardened sheen — black, solid, unyielding.
His breath hitched.
"This… this looks like… haki."
The word slipped from his lips, his voice shaking with disbelief. He flexed his fingers, and the black faded. Then he focused, clenched, and it returned, pulsing faintly with his will.
"Haki… in this world?" Hunnt whispered. His heart thundered in his chest. The Ravagerak hadn't just tested him — it had awakened something new.
For a moment, silence enveloped the clearing. Then Hunnt smirked.
He laughed once, softly at first, then louder, until the sound echoed through the trees. It wasn't the laugh of relief or triumph — it was the laugh of discovery.
"The possibilities… the combinations…" His grin widened, his fists tightening as the black sheen gleamed faintly again. "Rokushiki and Haki!"
He struck the tree once more, this time without hesitation. The trunk shuddered, bark exploding outward. His fist remained intact, the pain replaced with raw exhilaration.
Hunnt threw back his head, laughing again, the sound rolling across the empty training ground. "This… this changes everything!"
He stood there, fists trembling not with weakness but with power. The black armor pulsed faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat, each thrum a promise of greater strength.
Hunnt's pain was forgotten. His bloodied knuckles were no longer a weakness — they had become the key to unlocking something extraordinary.
The path before him had widened. No longer just gauntlets, no longer just fists of flesh and bone. Now, he had Black Steel — his will made real, his spirit hardened into unbreakable armor.
And as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the clearing, Hunnt's fists gleamed with the faint shine of Armament Haki. His journey as a hunter had changed forever.