December 22, clear weather.
Hanske darted through the forest, branches flapping against his face and body.
Yet he remained indifferent, sprinting wildly, leaping over moss-covered rocks and rotten wood, stepping on streams and moving forward.
Suddenly, as if sensing something, his beast-like eyes narrowed briefly, followed by a swift dive.
Crack—Snap—
Under the shadow of the branches, a blood claw with a width of a meter suddenly extended, shredding leaves and bushes.
At the moment of diving, Hanske spun swiftly, his steel sword with a reddish edge swept up, striking beyond the blood claw.
There was nothing in the shadow, but as Hanske's sword struck down, a scream erupted from the void, and a cloud of blood mist exploded.
With one hit, Hanske did not linger, instead rolling on the ground.
Where he had been standing moments ago, four or five streams of blood rushed by at high speed.
