The ash had finally stopped falling. The wind that swept through the ruined village was warm and dry, carrying the scent of smoke and dirt — the smell of things trying to live again after fire.
Alder stirred awake for the first time since the battle. The roof above him was half gone, the sunlight spilling through cracks in the wood. His body felt like it had been hammered flat — every breath was a reminder of the hit that nearly crushed his chest.
A villager nearby looked up, relief softening his soot-streaked face.
"You're awake," he said quickly. "Stay still — you're lucky to be alive."
Alder blinked slowly, forcing his vision to focus. "How long?"
"Four days since the hunt," the villager answered. "You've been out since then."
Alder groaned, pushing himself up on one elbow. "The villagers… what happened?"
The man hesitated, then said, "We're staying for now — just to bury the dead and gather what we can. After that… we'll leave. This place can't be rebuilt."
Alder's jaw tightened. His hand drifted to the bandages around his ribs. "All of it… gone."
The villager nodded, eyes downcast. "Too much fire. Too many lost. Even if we rebuilt, another monster might come. So we'll go."
Alder looked toward the window — or what was left of it — and saw the empty fields beyond, blackened to ash. His voice was low. "After all that, you're still forced to leave…"
The villager looked at him curiously. "You and that other hunter — you did more than anyone else would've. The monster's dead. That's more than enough."
"The other hunter?" Alder asked.
The man smiled faintly. "Hunnt. He's been in the blacksmith since yesterday morning. Hasn't left, hasn't eaten, just working."
Alder blinked. "Blacksmith?"
"Yes," the villager said, nodding toward the far end of the street. "The forge on the edge of town. He said he needed new weapons — something about using the beast's remains."
Alder let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a cough. "He's a blacksmith too? Gods, that kid's full of surprises."
He sat up fully despite the pain. "Where is he exactly?"
The villager hesitated. "You should still be resting—"
Alder cut him off with a raised hand. "Point me to him."
After a reluctant sigh, the man gestured toward the faint column of smoke rising beyond the broken rooftops. Alder nodded, muttered a thanks, and began walking, slow but steady, one hand pressed against his chest.
---
Hunnt's hammer echoed across the quiet village — a slow, rhythmic sound that rolled through the air like thunder muffled by distance. The forge glowed faint orange against the afternoon light.
Inside, Hunnt worked alone. Sparks danced around him as he pressed glowing plates together, shaping them against the anvil. The metal shimmered red, veins of molten light running beneath its surface like captured lava. Sweat streaked his face, soot clinging to his hair and arms.
When Alder stepped through the doorway, the heat hit him like a wall. He stood still for a moment, blinking through the haze.
"You're also a blacksmith?" he said finally.
Hunnt didn't look up. "Had to be. I use gauntlets and fists — if I break them, I fix them."
Alder chuckled, though it came out more as a rasp. "Figures."
Hunnt set the hammer down and turned toward him, studying the older man's bandaged frame. "You should be resting."
"Can't sleep through hammering like that," Alder said, leaning against the wall. "Thought I'd see what you're doing."
Hunnt nodded slightly and went back to work.
For a while, only the forge spoke — metal striking metal, the hiss of steam, the breathing of fire. Alder watched in silence, eyes catching the faint glow under the half-forged chestplate on the bench. The armor pulsed like it was alive.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Your new armor," Hunnt said. "Almost done."
Alder blinked, caught off guard. "Mine?"
"You'll need it," Hunnt said. "The old one's useless."
Alder walked closer, looking at the molten veins running beneath the armor's surface. "You made this from the monster?"
Hunnt nodded.
Alder exhaled slowly. "You work like you fight — quiet, and somehow terrifying."
Hunnt smirked faintly. "Fire listens better than people."
That earned a low laugh from Alder. Then his tone changed. "Hunnt."
Hunnt didn't answer right away. He kept hammering.
"How strong are you, really?" Alder asked.
Hunnt glanced at him, then returned to his work. "Strong enough to hunt alone."
"The blurs in the air, the way you moved…" Alder pressed. "The flying, the black hands — what are those?"
Hunnt set the hammer down and exhaled. "Secret."
Alder frowned. "Why didn't you use them earlier?"
"Secret."
Alder's patience cracked. "You've got to be kidding me. Secret again?"
Hunnt turned his head slightly. "Because it's unsafe. And unusual."
"Unsafe for who? The monster?"
"For everyone."
Alder pushed off the wall, frustration rising. "Then make it safe! Show the world! Hunters could learn from you — imagine if everyone could fight like that—"
Hunnt turned sharply, his gaze like steel. "And then what? The Guild finds out, and every hunter who learns it starts asking for more zenny per rescue? More fame for saving one life while ignoring ten? They'd twist it, Alder. You know they would."
Alder's mouth opened, but no words came.
Hunnt stepped closer, voice low but firm. "You've seen what greed does to men. You've lived under their creed — the Four N's. No Quest. No Reward. No Recognition. No Volunteers."
Alder's breath caught. He looked away.
Hunnt's tone softened. "That's why these techniques can't spread. They're not for power. They're for protection."
Alder stared at him for a long moment, then asked quietly, "So why have them at all?"
Hunnt turned back to the anvil and resumed working. The glow flared against his face. "Because they're needed by people who still remember what it means to protect. That's all."
Alder's eyes narrowed. "You talk like it's more than that. Like there's something else behind it."
Hunnt didn't deny it. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a thin metal insignia — black with a faint, etched triangle and a clenched fist within it. He held it up to the light.
"There's a group," he said quietly, "a path more than a name. They move without recognition, without Guild sanction — just hunters who refuse to ignore the helpless. We call ourselves the Eternal Wanderer."
Alder blinked. "Never heard of them."
"You wouldn't have," Hunnt said. "We don't want to be known. We're hunters who walk between the Guild's shadows. We fight for the people who can't pay for help — the ones who'd be forgotten."
He set the insignia on the bench. "Potential members aren't chosen for fame or strength. Only for their heart. For their selflessness."
Alder stared at the symbol, then back at Hunnt. "Like me?"
Hunnt nodded. "You moved without orders. You didn't wait for coin or recognition. You just acted. That's what matters."
Alder went quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then he looked down at the emblem again. "You're recruiting me."
Hunnt smiled faintly. "If you'll have it."
"Why me?" Alder murmured.
"Because I've seen what kind of man you are," Hunnt said simply. "You fight for others, even when the Guild refuses."
The older hunter exhaled slowly, something like disbelief in his tone. "You think this… Eternal Wanderer can change the world?"
Hunnt returned to his work, tightening a strap on the armor. "No. But it can remind it."
Alder laughed once, a rough sound. "Remind it of what?"
"That the hunt was never about the reward," Hunnt said. "It was about the people who live to see another sunrise."
Alder said nothing for a while. His gaze lingered on the insignia, the faint glimmer of the forge reflected in its edges. "So what happens if I say yes?"
"Then you'll learn the truth," Hunnt said. "All of it. But not yet. Think about it first. Don't say yes out of gratitude. Say yes because you believe it's right."
Alder's expression softened. "You sound like an old teacher I once had."
"Was he wrong?"
"No," Alder said quietly. "He just died believing the same thing."
Hunnt nodded once and turned back to his anvil. "Then maybe it's time someone else believed it too."
Alder's eyes flicked to the glowing armor one last time. "You'll finish it soon?"
"Before dawn," Hunnt said. "Then rest. You'll need it."
Alder lingered for a moment, then smiled faintly. "You're a strange man, Hunnt. But I think the world needs strange men."
He turned and stepped outside, the setting sun washing the street in red light. Behind him, the hammer began again — slow, patient, alive — as if echoing the heartbeat of something greater beginning to form.