Dawn sat just under the horizon like a held breath—pale, secret, and cold. Wolf woke with the rare clarity that follows a deep, uncompromising sleep: muscles loose, head clear, senses tuned.
The world still belonged to night; the coal-smoke of the previous evening curled lazily into a blue hush, and the low murmur of people shifting in their makeshift shelters was a distant thing.
He rose before the sun, boots whispering against the packed earth.
He glanced at the sky—no gold yet, only the thin indigo that marks hours before the day—and guessed the time with practiced laziness. Four, maybe five a.m.
He liked mornings like this: empty and peaceful
Klion slept on a crude bed of leaves not far away, breaths slow and even. Wolf walked over and crouched where he could see Klion's face. For a heartbeat he only watched for a brief moment.
Then he lifted his hand and slapped Klion lightly across the cheek.
Klion flinched, vision blurring as he surfaced from sleep. The slap broke the fog; his eyes cleared and met Wolf's with a flash of startled indignation.
He sprang upright so fast he nearly broke his bed.
"Don't come near me like that!" he spat, hand going to his hair, smoothing away the mess as if the motion could reclaim composure.
Wolf's mouth quirked; it was an expression that could almost be called affectionate if you ignored teeth. "We should talk before the others wake up and act like fucking rats," he said, a low practical edge to the words.
He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping camp, at the scattered fires, at the shapes that now seemed fragile and human.
Klion's jaw worked. He didn't argue. "I agree," he said finally, slipping into the role of leader as if it were a habit: efficient, slightly weary. He rose and fell into step, following Wolf away from the cluster of beds until they stopped beneath a fringe of trees.
This should be far enough, Wolf thought. The brush here would bend sound and throw whispers back into the woods. It was private enough for confession and plotting.
Klion wasted no time. "You did something to the people the Union sent to hunt for food, right?" His voice was direct—no pretense. The question landed like a stone.
"Yes," Wolf said without hesitation. The single syllable was not prideful and not defensive; it was merely factual.
Klion sagged inward, as if he'd been bracing for the answer and then had to release.
"I don't know how you do it," he exhaled, tired and angry, "but they're going to suspect us.
How are we going to deal with that suspicion?" The words sharpened at the edge—less accusation than worry.
Wolf's face softened for the briefest moment. "I'll tell you something good." He looked him straight in the eyes.
"They don't know it was me. I made sure of that. My disguise worked. And you can question them back—plant some doubt, stir another target." He watched Klion's pupils contract, measuring the man's reaction.
Klion's expression flickered with relief, barely visible. "And the machete?" he asked, voice small as if naming an exposed nerve.
Wolf pulled the blade free and let it catch the faint, pre-dawn light. The horn blade—glinted, a precise dark glimmer. Klion took a step back before he registered why.
"I have to hide it before I meet them," Wolf added, the statement matter of fact, not a plea.
Klion's eyes twitched, worry and something like admiration mingling there. "So what's your plan?" he asked, steady now.
Wolf smiled—thin, simple, efficient. "Wake our people up. List the task as exploration. You decide the reward." The plan was lean: plausible deniability, tidy incentives, and the advantage of framing.
Klion listened, taking each word into the ledger in his head. "Okay," he said after a beat.
"So, it's nothing crazy." He let out a short breath, and with the faintest of dry chuckles.
Wolf replied, "Of course I'm not going to do something that gets me killed."
He paused, then—an unexpected softness slid into the line of his voice. "After all…" His eyes drifted to the sleeping camp, to the low forms of people who had only this fragile, temporary safety between them and the outside. "I also want to survive. Just like you. Just like everyone here."
Klion blinked—stunned, as if the words had landed somewhere he hadn't expected. He pulled himself together with the practiced haste of a man who could not afford long astonishments.
What else did I expect to hear? Klion asked himself, scolding the foolish part of him that had hoped for something else.
Who doesn't want to live? The thought steadied him.
He let out a breath and then, smoothing the edge of his concern into authority, said, "I will go there and tell them. If they accept the task, they will walk up to you."
Wolf didn't react much beyond a small nod. He folded the machete back into its cover, masked the edge, and settled the blade against his hip as if that small motion anchored the plan. The pragmatic, almost mundane choreography of leadership comforted him as much as it did Klion.
"Ok," Klion said, a hint of finality in his voice. "I'll be quick."
The morning began in fragments—thin sunlight spilling through the canopy, a whisper of dew sliding down frayed leaf edges, and the faint crackle of old embers still clinging to warmth.
Klion stretched his neck with a quiet groan, his face set in that usual tired calm, and rose from his spot near the sleeping cluster. He rubbed his hands together once, bracing himself for the day ahead, then began moving through the camp.
The air was heavy with that peculiar stillness just before true morning: half the survivors still buried in dreams, others curled into themselves under the pale glow. When Klion's voice first broke the hush, it was steady—calm but carrying.
"Everyone, get up," he said. Not a shout, not quite an order, but there was iron in it.
"We have work to do."
A few stirred. Someone groaned. The sound of bodies shifting, dry grass rustling, a cough here and there.
Some opened their eyes just long enough to acknowledge him, then rolled over again.
Others pretended to still be asleep—breaths held too carefully, shoulders too still.
And some, deep in exhaustion, didn't react at all.
Klion watched all of them, expression unreadable. I'd expected this—people breaking in small ways after days of fear and labor. He didn't waste energy scolding them.
Let the lazy ones sleep. The rest will learn when hunger bites harder.
He clapped his hands once, sharply, calling attention. The echo ran like a ripple through the camp.
"Listen up," he began. "Today, we keep the cycle going. That means crafting, building, gathering, guarding. Everyone here eats because someone else works, and no one's free from that."
His voice deepened, a rhythm to it now—a quiet drill of purpose.
"For the crafting team—tools, utensils, whatever you can patch together from anything. Repair the weapons. Anything that looks like it might last another day, make it last."
He turned his head, scanning the faces that met his eyes. "Builders—extend the shelters. Some of these won't hold up if rain comes. Use bark, rope, wood, whatever the forest gives us. I want the roofs this time."
He pointed toward a few figures already gathering wood. "Gatherers—split into two groups.
Food and water. The usual path near the stream for the water run, and the green berry groves to the south for food. Check everything twice before you pick it. If it looks poisonous, it probably is."
A few nods followed, murmurs of understanding. Someone yawned loud, earning a glare from another. Klion ignored it and went on.
"For the guards—same rotation. Keep the watch around the camp. Anything moves out there that's not one of us, call it before you draw spears. We've had enough surprises."
There was a small shuffle among them—people whispering, some stretching awake, the weary discipline of survival settling into muscle memory.Klion waited until the noise dulled before speaking again.
"And lastly…" he paused, glancing over his shoulder toward the tree line where Wolf stood waiting, his shadow long and unmoving. "…the exploration team."
His tone shifted, quieter but heavier. "Today's exploration will be different. You all know the risks. But this time, our vice leader will take charge of the expedition."
A faint murmur rose in the crowd—whispers of surprise, a few uneasy glances exchanged. Wolf had a reputation now, shadowed by silence and rumor both.
Klion raised his voice just enough to cut through the talk. "If you're willing to take the risk, step forward. You'll find him standing there, near that tree." He lifted a hand, pointing toward Wolf—dark figure against the light, still and waiting.
"For more details, you can ask him directly," Klion continued, his gaze sweeping the crowd one last time. "The reward's the same as yesterday. Two full meals when you come back."
That promise—a small one, yet powerful in their world—hung in the air.
Two meals is a certainty. A reason to fight the fear.
Silence stretched for a moment. Then, one by one, movement.
The first was a man in a grey hood, face half hidden beneath the cloth, steps light and deliberate.The second—a tall man, bald, broad-shouldered, the kind who looked like he'd worked the world with his hands for decades.The third—a boy, couldn't have been more than ten, eyes wide but steady, clothes torn but patched. His small fists were clenched at his sides as he walked toward Wolf.
Then, after a pause, two more broke from the crowd: A girl with purple hair, cut short in a rough bob, long bangs veiling half her face—her eyes glinted faintly through the strands like violet glass. And another—young, maybe high school age, her movements cautious, expression unreadable.
Wolf's gaze swept across them quietly. No words, no gesture. Just the cool, assessing stare that seemed to peel through skin and story alike.Then his hand moved to his pocket, drawing out the talisman—the Fingerbone Talisman.
He turned it in his palm, the light crawling over its surface.A faint pulse of energy trembled under his skin as the system text flickered before his eyes.
Name: Fingerbone Talisman
Description: Preserved fingerbone of a fallen intruder, kept by the Hornmaw boss.
Effect:
Incoming attacks from enemies are partially absorbed and slowed by the talisman's lingering essence.
The talisman doesn't stop damage entirely, but it reduces impact—giving the user a moment to react.
"Interesting," Wolf murmured under his breath, tucking it back into his pocket. The word was quiet but edged with curiosity, maybe even amusement.
He looked up again, eyes sweeping the five who'd volunteered. A faint smile ghosted across his lips—somewhere between approval and quiet calculation.
Let's see what kind of people you are.
His eyes fell first on the hooded man. He focused, and the familiar hum of Analytic Sight stirred behind his eyes. A faint flicker of script appeared midair.
Name: Go Taewoo
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: ???
Height: 175 cm
Class: ???
Title: ???
Lv.: ???
Stats:
STR: ??? | SPD: ??? | AGI: 15 | STA: ??? | END: ??? | POW: ??? | LUCK: ???
Mental Stats:
INT: 10 | CHA: ??? | FORTITUDE: ??? | GOODNESS: ???
Alignment: Good
Active Skills: —
Passive Skills: ???
"Fucking dammit…" Wolf cursed under his breath, lips barely moving. Even height and age count as numbers? He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Four tries left, then.
He activated it again—light rippled.
Name: Go Taewoo
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 30
Height: 175 cm
Class: ???
Title: ???
Lv.: 2
Stats:
STR: ??? | SPD: ??? | AGI: ??? | STA: ??? | END: ??? | POW: ??? | LUCK: ???
Mental Stats:
INT: ??? | CHA: ??? | FORTITUDE: ??? | GOODNESS: ???
Alignment: ???
Active Skills: —
Passive Skills: Scrap Knowledge, The Scavenger's Eye
"Oh my fucking shit…" he muttered again, expression twisting with mild irritation. "I don't really need to know his height or age, dammit."But his eyes lingered on the skills. Scavenger's Eye… must be something about perception or spotting valuables.
He exhaled through his nose. "At least that one's worth it."
Two more flashes later, he pieced the fragments together. The fifth attempt gave him a coherent frame.
Name: Go Taewoo
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 30
Height: 175 cm
Class: —
Title: Master of Basic Weapon
Lv.: 2
Stats:STR: 10 (+2) | SPD: ??? | AGI: ??? | STA: 11 | END: ??? | POW: 10 | LUCK: ???
Mental Stats:
INT: 10 (+3) | CHA: ??? | FORTITUDE: 6 | GOODNESS: 12
Alignment: Good
Active Skills: —
Passive Skills: Scrap Knowledge, The Scavenger's Eye
Wolf dismissed the screen with a faint flick of his fingers, lips twitching. Level two, huh? I wonder what he killed.
He turned his focus to the bald man next. His gaze sharpened, pupils narrowing as the status window unfolded through five exhausting attempts.
Name: Teddy Young
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 48
Height: 190 cm
Class: ???
Title: Big Man, The Woodsman
Lv.: ???
Stats:
STR: 20 (+3) | SPD: ??? | AGI: 8 | STA: 16 (+1) | END: ??? | POW: 5 | LUCK: ???
Mental Stats:
INT: ??? | CHA: 10 | FORTITUDE: 19 | GOODNESS: 18 (+2)
Alignment: Good
Active Skills: Woodsman's Lie
Passive Skills: ???
"Jeez," Wolf muttered. "Twenty-three strength? That's… ridiculous."He squinted at the name. "Teddy Young, young my ass." A dry snicker escaped him. "What kind of skill is Woodsman's Lie anyway…?"
He filed it away. I'll note him down.
Then, finally, his gaze shifted to the smallest one—the boy.
Name: Leo Bell
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 9
Height: 137 cm
Class: ???
Title: —
Lv.: 1
Stats:
STR: 5 | SPD: ??? | AGI: 6 | STA: 3 | END: 1 | POW: ??? | LUCK: 14
Mental Stats:
INT: ??? | CHA: ??? | FORTITUDE: 4 | GOODNESS: 2
Alignment: Good
Active Skills: ???
Passive Skills: Simple Survival, Sun-Dialer
Wolf tilted his head, curious. "Simple Survival? Sun-Dialer?" he repeated under his breath, half to himself. "The first sounds like endurance, but the second… timekeeping, maybe?"
He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What a pity. I wish I could see the rest."
He flexed his neck once before focusing on the two girls at the rear. Their forms were outlined by the faint glimmer of dawn—one older, poised yet hiding behind stillness; the other younger, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Wolf's eyes narrowed slightly, the faint flicker of his status window reflecting across his pupils.
Name: Han I-Seul
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: 17
Height: 160 cm
Class: ???
Title: ???
Lv.: ???
Stats:
STR: ??? | SPD: 16 | AGI: ??? | STA: ??? | END: 10 | POW: 11 | LUCK: 9
Mental Stats:
INT: 16 | CHA: 18(+2) | FORTITUDE: 15(+1) | GOODNESS: 0
Alignment: Neutral
Active Skills: Whispered Confession, Slight of Hand
Passive Skills: Worn In, Phantom Residue
He tilted his head slightly, brows arching. Hmm. Decent stats, from what I've seen.
Her charisma's really high. His gaze lingered—she didn't seem to notice, her eyes fixed somewhere near his boots. And she even got plenty of skills… though what the hell is "Whispered Confession"?
A faint snort escaped him—half amusement, half exhaustion. Damn, I have no clue what any of these skills even mean. He shook his head, dismissing the screen with a flicker of irritation.
He then turned left a little, and focused on the bob-haired girl. She met his eyes—or rather, one visible through the long fringe that veiled half her face. Her expression was still, distant, yet there was something lurking in it—a faint trace of danger or deliberate restraint.
Name: Zhao Xinglian
Gender: ???
Race: ???
Age: 20
Height: 170 cm
Class: —
Title: False Heart, Dancer of the Pale Knife
Lv.: 3
Stats:
STR: 15 | SPD: 19(+5) | AGI: 15(+3) | STA: ??? | END: ??? | POW: 16 | LUCK: 20
Mental Stats:
INT: 18 | CHA: 18(+1) | FORTITUDE: ??? | EVILNESS: 10(+7)
Alignment: Evil
Active Skills: Heartspasm
Passive Skills: False Heart, Elegant Madness, Blood Memory
Wolf's eyes widened for a moment. "Uh… why are both the girls seem kinda..bad?" he muttered under his breath, his tone half disbelief, half annoyance.
I mean, sure—the Korean girl's "neutral," but I'd consider that borderline evil already.
He exhaled through his nose sharply, tapping the corner of the screen with an impatient flick before it faded.
And how's she level three with all this stat? That's insane…
His eyes flicked down to her hands—steady, long-fingered, faint traces of callus hidden beneath a pale tone. That kind of speed and luck... she's killed before.
He thought about her listed skills for a moment—Heartspasm, False Heart, Elegant Madness, Blood Memory… He didn't like any of those words. I'll keep an eye on her.
The status window blinked out, leaving only the cold morning air between them. He let out a quiet sigh and turned back toward the group, the faint creak of leather under his glove as he rested his hand on his weapon.
"Alright," he said finally, his voice calm but cutting through the morning hum like a blade drawn slow. "Let's get this started."
All five of them straightened a little, the faint sound of shifting boots and the rustle of gear filling the air. Wolf scanned them briefly—calm, almost teacher-like.
"Have any of you gone to that one path that leads toward the ruined passage?" His tone was casual, but his gaze flicked sharply from face to face, weighing every hesitation.
There was a ripple of small movements—Taewoo raised his chin and gave a curt nod.
The bald man, Teddy, crossed his arms and said, "Aye, passed by it once."
The boy, Leo, just nodded quickly without a word, his small hands fidgeting at his side.
The two girls followed suit—Zhao Xinglian with a soft nod, Han I-Seul with a quiet "yes."
Wolf's mouth curled into a faint smile. "Good."
But before he could continue, Go Taewoo stepped forward slightly, the gravel crunching under his boots. His deep voice carried easily, calm but edged with warning.
"We didn't go far. If you're planning to go past what we've explored… I'll have to step back."
Wolf raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Of course not," he said, tone smooth and confident. "We're not going that deep today. We'll warm up a bit before we do."
He drew his machete with a slow scrape, the sound slicing through the quiet air. Then, with an easy motion, he pointed it at Zhao Xinglian.
"Hey, you—step up."
She blinked once, startled, but obeyed. "Y-Yes?" Her voice was soft, uncertain, but there was something coiled beneath it—wariness, maybe.
"What's your name?" Wolf asked, tone lighter this time but eyes unblinking.
"Huh? My name is Zhao Xinglian."
"Alright, Xinglian," he said with a faint nod, stepping closer till the tip of his machete nearly brushed her shoulder.
"You'll lead the group to the entrance of that ruin path and wait until I come back."
The rest of the group looked confused. Murmurs started almost immediately—Taewoo frowning, Teddy scratching his neck.
"What do you mean, wait?" Go Taewoo's voice cut through the murmurs, sharp and tinged with frustration. He stepped a half pace closer, his stance rigid, shoulders squared as if bracing for an argument.
"Where are you going?" Leo asked, his voice softer but edged with worry.
"Vice leader, are we splitting up?" Teddy's words came out rushed, almost stumbling over themselves.
Wolf ignored the questions for a moment, turning the machete sideways and pressing the hilt into Xinglian's hand. His voice dropped low—only she could hear.
"So I'll give you a symbol that means you represent me," he whispered, tone laced with an undercurrent of warning. "Which is my weapon." He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting cold. "You're the strongest."
Her fingers tightened around the handle instinctively. Her throat bobbed once as she gave a quiet nod.
Wolf clapped his hands together suddenly—crack!
The sound snapped everyone's attention back to him. "Okay! Everything's set.
As for your questions—" he said, tone bright but layered with command, "our leader's planning to visit the unions to see what happened last night. I'll be going with him."
He paused, then smiled faintly, though his voice dipped cold again. "But rest assured, it won't take more than an hour. So if my weapon somehow ends up lost… or broken… you'd better have a very good explanation."
The silence that followed was heavy. Then he clapped again, breaking the tension with a forced cheerfulness.
"Alright, you all understand now. Go wait for me at the entrance. I gotta go. See you later, my team."
He turned on his heel. The morning light caught faintly on his machete's bloodstain before vanishing into the folds of fabric.
As he moved through the scattered camp, he passed the crafting group. The air was filled with the metallic clang of tools and the scent of scorched wood.
"Ah, it's the vice leader," one of the older men said, wiping his hands on a rag.
Wolf laughed lightly. "Haha, yeah," he said, voice casual as ever. Then, shifting gears, "Create a spear for me. Use this as the spearhead." He tossed over his sharpened rock.
The man blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Just do it," Wolf said flatly, no trace of humor now. "That's an order from our leader."
The mention of leader snapped the man's hesitation clean off. "Ah—right away," he said, hurrying to his tools.
Wolf nodded once, then continued forward. Soon he spotted Klion standing at the edge of the camp, his silhouette drawn against the pale, fog-draped line of the unions' boundary.
"You ready now?" Wolf asked, voice steady but carrying a faint edge of anticipation.
Klion didn't even look back. "I am always ready when it comes to my problem." His tone was cold, clipped. "And since you're here now—let's go."
Without another word, they both walked—boots crunching gravel, breath misting pale—as they crossed the faint dividing line into the territory of the unions.