Chapter 3 : Hunter
Without noticing Riven eyes swayed a little bit and drifted into a deep slumber
Sun rays pierced through the cracked window and spilled into the living room, bathing the house in warm light. Birds warbled outside, their calls mixing with the distant voices of other animals, all of it reaching Riven's ears.
He rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket over his head, trying to steal a little more sleep. But his body betrayed him. His eyes opened anyway, unfocused and distant.
With a quiet sigh, he sat up. His hair was still disheveled from sleep, sticking out in stubborn strands.
He shuffled toward the bathroom, brushing his teeth while swaying slightly, fighting to stay awake. Afterward, he took a quick bath.
Moments later, he stood before the mirror with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
The reflection staring back at him was striking.
A well-developed body—defined abs, a broad chest, shoulders hard as steel, arms thick with strength that looked capable of crushing trees. Riven's physique was unnatural, especially for someone his age.
He was only fourteen.
Most boys his age were still frail, skinny, caught in the awkward stages of puberty. Riven was not. He stood nearly one hundred ninety centimeters tall, his body already fully formed, dense with muscle.
And yet, beneath that strength were the marks of his life.
Bruises. Cuts. Scars.
Proof of the ruthless existence he lived as a hunter.
Riven strapped on his gear and slid his sword into its sheath. After a final glance around the house, he opened the door and stepped outside.
The sight before him stole his breath.
To the left lay the village—humble and modest in size, its narrow streets slowly coming to life. The church towered over the other buildings, its structure casting a long shadow as shopkeepers opened their stalls, workers headed to their trades, and children made their way to school.
To the right stretched the vast forest, dense and imposing, forming a natural wall around the village. Despite its danger, it was beautiful in its own way.
Riven lingered for a moment, then continued on.
Each breath he exhaled emerged as white fog, instantly swallowed by the cold air. Winter was nearly upon them.
As he reached the village streets, Riven began searching for a cheap breakfast. He checked the coins in his hand—three cc.
"That beef cost me a fortune," he muttered with a quiet sigh.
He flicked one coin into the air, watching it spin as it caught the morning light.
After walking for a while, Riven stopped in front of a small side shop tucked between two larger buildings. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open.
"Hey… you again, kid," a voice called out. "I dream of having a real customer for once, you know."
The middle-aged man behind the counter frowned faintly, though there was no real malice in his expression.
"Good to see you too, Sir Renout," Riven replied as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "What can I get for three cc? I'm starving."
He placed the three coins on the table.
Sir Renout gathered them up, then glanced at Riven thoughtfully. He was a middle-aged man with medium-length hair parted neatly to the side, a few white strands betraying his age. A well-groomed beard framed his face, adding to the quiet charm of his appearance.
"I can make you an omelet," Renout said, already wiping down nearby tables in preparation for the day. "Eggs with milk."
Riven didn't hesitate.
"That would be perfect. Thank you."
A small, genuine smile crossed his face.
With that said, Sir Renout disappeared into the kitchen to prepare Riven's order.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying a small plate holding a beautifully golden omelet, sprinkled with green herbs. A warm, sweet aroma filled the shop, drifting through the air and making Riven's stomach twist with hunger.
He stared at the plate as if it were a treasure, saliva nearly dripping from his mouth.
Picking up his knife and fork, Riven pressed his hands together briefly.
"Thank you for the food."
Then he dug in.
Sir Renout pulled out a chair and sat beside him. "So," he said, his voice tinged with quiet sadness, "you going hunting again today?"
With his mouth still full, Riven grabbed the cup of milk and chugged half of it, nearly choking before letting out a long sigh of relief.
"Yeah," he said. "How else would I make money?"
He shifted his attention back to the food, eating with practiced speed.
"You know," Sir Renout said after a moment, "my offer to work here still stands."
Silence settled over the room.
Riven's movements slowed, then stopped. He looked up at the man.
"I know," he said quietly. "But like I told you last time—if I want to be someone respected, someone of worth, I need to be strong." His eyes hardened with resolve. "I'll become a royal knight. And I'll make everyone respect me."
Sir Renout sighed softly but his eyes shone a bit
"Im happy for you kid , cling to that dream tightly because you never know, even angels can fall"
The plate was wiped clean, and the cup that had once been full now sat empty.
With a small wave, Riven headed for the door. Sir Renout watched him from behind, gathering the dishes and wiping down the table. Just as Riven reached the exit, he stopped.
He turned around.
Sir Renout looked up, confusion crossing his face. Before he could speak, Riven asked, "Do you know where Lasseo is?"
The man blinked. "Huh?"
Riven clicked his tongue softly. Of course.
"Never mind," he said. "Thanks again for the food."
Before Renout could respond, Riven pushed through the door and was gone.
He made his way toward the mountain, weaving through the village streets. From time to time, people shot him dirty looks, but he paid them no mind. He was used to it.
Half an hour later, he reached the mountain's base and began his ascent.
The higher he climbed, the steeper the slope became—less a hill now and more a towering wall of stone and earth. Yet Riven didn't slow. His body warmed, blood pumping, the rising temperature doing little to hinder him.
At last, he reached the summit.
Without wasting time, Riven began preparing his usual trap for hunting Aeskarims. The massive wooden trunk still lay nearby, dark stains and splattered remains marking where it had crushed its last victim.
He moved to the side, where a wheel mechanism and long lever were anchored into the ground. Gripping the handle, he pushed and pulled the pulley system. The chain rattled as it tightened, lifting the enormous trunk inch by inch until it rose clear of the earth.
Once it reached the top, Riven locked the chain in place to keep it from falling. Then he strung a new cord high between two trees, carefully setting the trigger.
The trap was ready once more.
Lowering his backpack, Riven pulled out what looked like a worn notebook. He opened it to reveal a simple hand-drawn map. Three locations were marked, each circled carefully, a name written above every symbol.
To the northwest, a circle surrounded a crude drawing of a tombstone.
The Old Graveyard.
To the west, another circle marked the bend of a river.
River of Solitude.
And to the north—
A red circle.
Bolder. Sharper.
Above it were the words:
The Obsidian Borough — DANGER.
Riven closed the notebook and slipped it back into his pack. When he lifted his head, his gaze locked onto the forest ahead. Power and adrenaline gleamed in his eyes.
Then he ran.
He burst into the trees at full speed, branches and undergrowth blurring past him as his feet barely touched the ground.
Aeskarims had a weakness.
Their eyes struggled to track fast-moving objects. Anything that moved too quickly became prey in their perception. Normally, they avoided humans—these creatures were intelligent enough to know better. They could wield weapons with decent efficiency, after all. Most of those weapons, however, were scavenged from fallen knights who had died in battle.
Riven exploited that flaw.
He dashed left, then right, accelerating suddenly, changing direction without warning—creating a flickering illusion of movement through the trees.
It worked.
One of them noticed.
The creature's eyes wandered, unfocused and confused.
Then its mouth opened.
A shrill, distorted scream ripped through the forest, violent enough to make eardrums ache.
Hostility ignited instantly.
The Aeskarmi lunged forward—
Running fast.
Far too fast.