Luke's gaze rested calmly on the dense canopy overhead. In the fading amber of dusk, there was almost nothing to notice at first glance.
But the Quinn hidden deeper within the leaves felt—somehow—that his eyes had pierced straight through the branches and landed on her.
She couldn't hold back her shock anymore. She sprang down from the tree, disbelief still lingering in her eyes.
They'd been about seventy meters apart. The entire time, she hadn't made a single sound.
And yet Luke had found her with terrifying precision.
The odds of that being luck were basically zero.
Quinn wasn't unfamiliar with people who had sharp senses—she was one of them. Her perception was far stronger than most, whether it was smell or hearing.
But even she wasn't confident she could do what Luke just did—spot someone perfectly concealed in an instant.
It was like he had a dozen extra pairs of eyes. Absurd didn't even begin to cover it.
And while she was still reeling, Quinn realized she was starting to go numb to it.
Because this prince in front of her had already made her feel this way more than once.
"Believe me now?" Luke asked as he watched her approach, a faint smile on his face.
Quinn nodded, her mood lifting a little.
So it wasn't that she was weak—he was just that strong.
Someday… could she become that strong too?
The thought flickered through her mind as she stared at him.
Noticing her spacing out, Luke said with an easy grin, "You're already doing great. You'll be incredible in the future."
Hearing that praise so suddenly, Quinn froze again.
In those clear, gentle eyes, she saw reassurance—true affirmation.
Her heart stirred.
She'd only known him for a day. And honestly, her performance today had been a mess… yet he still recognized her.
Warmth spread through her chest.
No one disliked being acknowledged. She didn't either.
But alongside that warmth came a quiet heaviness.
She didn't know how she was supposed to live up to his expectations.
Seeing the worry on her face, Luke chuckled. "Don't overthink it. Come help me pack up."
He turned around and began dealing with the unconscious Trihorn Spotted Deer.
At the same time, he thought to himself: Still not quite enough. But there was no rush—there was plenty of time ahead to get closer.
Quinn snapped back to herself and answered, "Yes."
The two of them started sorting the game Luke had taken along the way—more than a dozen in total. After cleaning and bundling everything, they split it evenly and prepared to head back.
By then, the sun had sunk to the horizon, giving off its final lingering warmth.
Night wouldn't be far behind.
Halfway back, darkness had already fallen.
It wasn't pitch-black yet—no torches needed, and the path was still visible—but not a shred of sunlight remained.
On the way back, if Luke ran into more prey, he'd still take it. Any points he could get were worth getting.
Now, in the dim light, Luke used Shadow Concealment, inching closer to a bristle burrowmole.
The thing looked like a hedgehog. If you weren't paying attention, you'd swear there was no difference.
A bristle burrowmole's spines had decent value. They weren't on the level of a Silver-Ear Rabbit, but for smaller magical beasts, it was still considered a rare find.
A live capture was worth more points, so when it came to rare types like this, Luke usually tried to take them alive.
But this time wasn't so smooth.
Just as he was about to close in, a cool gust swept through the trees—crack—and a branch snapped and fell.
The bristle burrowmole jolted instantly. It squeaked twice and bolted, fast as lightning.
Luke had already used up all his arrows earlier that afternoon. Without hesitation, he activated Godspeed Footwork and chased, his figure flickering between the trees.
As he ran, he realized something—Godspeed Footwork paired with Shadow Concealment had its own advantage.
It meant he could move quickly while still in a stealth state.
He chased for a while, but the bristle burrowmole dove back into its burrow.
At that point, Luke had no way to deal with it. He could only sigh at how ridiculously lucky the little thing was.
Then, a flicker of firelight in the distance caught his attention.
He looked over and saw someone had started a fire. Two silhouettes sat by it, tangled together—judging by their shapes, two women.
Even in the dark, Luke's eyesight was excellent. He caught a vague glimpse of one woman's face and narrowed his eyes.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he shifted his steps, moving closer.
Before he even reached them, he heard voices.
"Vayne, Vayne? Don't fall asleep. Can you still hear me?"
"I can…"
"Hold on a little longer. Almost done."
"…"
One voice—mature, urgent—kept calling Vayne's name. The other, weak and breathless, sounded like it could vanish at any moment.
Soon, Luke had a clear view of them.
The worried woman looked around forty-five, with gray-white hair. Her face was weathered by hardship, though traces of her old beauty still showed through. She wore a hunter's outfit and carried high-quality gear.
The young woman in her arms was far younger—eighteen or nineteen. Black hair, a delicate oval face, skin so fair it seemed to glow in the firelight. Her slim frame had developed beautifully.
But right now her brows were drawn tight. Her complexion kept shifting between pale and flushed, pain written all over her. Her lips trembled white, as if she were freezing—yet at the same time, there was a fragile, pitiful softness to her.
Her leather collar had come open, exposing a wide stretch of pale skin and the undergarment beneath, making her look almost overheated.
Her flat lower stomach was smooth and bright, with faint, athletic definition along her abdomen—normally a breathtaking sight.
Except that beauty was ruined by two small puncture holes on the right side of her lower belly.
From those wounds, black lines spread like inked patterns—like a spiderweb crawling across her pale skin, staining it heavily.
It was an ugly, gut-twisting sight.
Luke wasn't trying to peek. He'd simply walked up at exactly the wrong moment and saw everything.
Now he was certain.
The girl in the older woman's arms was the Night Hunter—Vayne.
Different from his impression—prettier, and much younger.
She looked poisoned, low groans leaking from her throat.
"You have to hold on. If you pass out, the toxin will spread faster inside you."
As she spoke, the older woman pulled out a small dagger.
She held it over the fire until the blade turned red-hot.
Then she took out a bottle—some kind of dark gray-black liquid inside. She popped the cork and splashed it onto the glowing blade.
Steam burst out with a sizzling sound, along with a sharp, choking medicinal stench.
After that, she looked down at Vayne and soothed her. "Don't be afraid. Just endure it."
"Uh…" Vayne let out a blurred, weak sound in response.
The older woman slowly brought the dagger toward the puncture wounds, clearly intending to cut the area open and drain the poisoned blood.
Watching that, Luke's eyelid twitched. He spoke up immediately.
"If you do that, it won't help—you'll just torture her for nothing. You could even cause infection and other complications."
A male voice suddenly coming from behind—
Frey startled, and her annoyed, wary gaze snapped over. "Who's there?"
As she spoke, she raised a crossbow. The bolt gleamed coldly in the firelight, aimed straight at the direction of the voice.
Then she saw him.
A tall young man, strikingly handsome, standing there with a frown.
Vayne, hearing the movement, forced her eyes open and looked over through a haze.
"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just passing by," Luke said, raising both hands to show he meant no harm. Then he stepped forward little by little.
The firelight lit his face, letting Frey see just how unreal his looks were.
Most people judge by appearances. Seeing Luke's face, Frey's guard dropped significantly.
And judging by his fine clothing, he likely came from money.
"What did you say?" Frey asked.
Even as she spoke, she couldn't help a flash of self-reproach.
How had she been so careless—she hadn't even noticed someone approaching from behind.
Soon, confusion followed.
Had she been so focused on Vayne that she'd missed everything?
If this man had meant harm, a simple sneak attack could've doomed them both.
What she didn't know was that Luke had simply forgotten to drop Shadow Concealment—and in a situation like this, anyone would have a hard time noticing an approaching presence.
Luke stepped closer and looked at the wound on Vayne's lower belly.
"Your method is wrong. You're trying to drain the poisoned blood from her body, right?"
Frey nodded helplessly. "It's the only thing I can think of. The antidotes we brought don't work at all. I tried sucking out the poison, but it did nothing. I thought the only option left was opening a bigger cut."
"The venom of a Tattooed Two-Tailed Snake really is hard to deal with," Luke said, his eyes shifting toward the side.
Not far away lay a Tattooed Two-Tailed Snake that had already been killed.
It was long and thin—nearly three meters—even though its body was relatively small. Its scales were a bluish-green, with patterned markings on its head.
In death, its mouth hung open, revealing two fangs still dripping venom.
This kind of magical beast was extremely poisonous and excellent at hiding. It usually didn't attack humans unless provoked.
The venom of the Tattooed Two-Tailed Snake was the slow-acting kind.
After being bitten, the victim first felt a numb itch at the wound. Not long after, pain would set in—and that's when tattoo-like lines would begin spreading from the bite.
That was how the snake got its name.
As the pattern expanded, the victim would start feeling alternating chills and heat, like a violent fever—then unbearable agony.
Only when the tattoo pattern spread across the entire body would the victim finally die.
Some didn't even make it that far—they died from the pain midway.
At that thought, a strange glint flashed in Luke's eyes.
Why would a Tattooed Two-Tailed Snake show up in the forest like this?
This wasn't even its usual habitat. They were typically found in areas with fewer trees.
They preferred burrowing and living underground, feeding on rodents in tunnels.
When he thought about the word "usually," Luke immediately suspected it was the same situation as the White Rock Grizzly from earlier that morning.
Hearing Luke's words, Frey hurriedly asked, "Do you have an antidote for Tattooed Two-Tailed Snake venom? If you do, I'll pay whatever price you want."
He sounded like he knew what he was talking about, and all she could do was gamble on a miracle.
They didn't carry the right antidote—because who would expect a tattooed snake to suddenly drop from a tree and bite you?
And going to the nearest town was impossible now. The venom took effect in only half an hour.
Once it spread too far, even an antidote might not save her.
Truthfully, she didn't have much hope when she asked.
The odds of running into someone out here who just happened to carry a specific snake antivenom were absurdly low.
Luke shook his head. Seeing the disappointment flash across her face, he added, "I don't have that antivenom. But I do have another way."
Frey froze. "What way?"
Vayne stared at him through a fog of fading consciousness. Her mind was still barely clear enough to follow the conversation.
Luke said, "I know some medical techniques. I should be able to neutralize this kind of toxin."
Frey's face lit up with desperate excitement. "Can I ask you to save my child? If you have conditions, name them now—or after you cure her, either way."
Even she knew her red-hot blade idea was crude and stupid.
But it had been the kind of stupid you reached for when you truly had nothing left.
Now that there was a real solution, she wasn't going to let it slip away.
Vayne's life mattered more than anything.
At the same time, Frey also understood something else—
No one did charity for free.
In this moment, she could only hope Luke wouldn't demand something outrageous—or ask for something unacceptable.
"I do have a condition," Luke said bluntly. Then he glanced between Frey and Vayne. "You don't look like mother and daughter. You look like mentor and student."
Frey paused. Under that young man's gaze, she felt like he'd seen straight through her. So she spoke plainly.
"Yes. I'm her mentor. We're demon hunters. What's your condition?"
There was nothing shameful about being a demon hunter—if anything, it was respected—so there was no reason to hide it.
Luke looked at Vayne and said, "After I cure her, the two of you will serve as my bodyguards for one week."
Seeing Vayne poisoned gave him a bad feeling.
A White Rock Grizzly showing up in dense woods was one thing.
But now there was a Tattooed Two-Tailed Snake too—and judging by what happened, it had been aggressive.
Otherwise, demon hunters wouldn't be careless enough to get caught like this.
Sensing something was off, Luke remembered the tarot pull he'd done earlier that morning—neither good nor bad—and the desire to hire more protection grew stronger.
Because if something dangerous happened next…
What if Yurna alone couldn't handle it?
Then who would protect him?
As a weak, pitiful, helpless prince, he was suddenly suffering from a severe lack of security.
And as bodyguard candidates, these two were perfect.
Both were demon hunters—professionals who specialized in hunting monsters, dark magic, and those controlled by it.
They had the strength for it.
Frey hesitated for only a moment before agreeing without overthinking it. "Fine. If you can cure her, then she and I will protect you for one week."
She let out a quiet breath of relief.
At least it wasn't some excessive demand.
Protecting the benefactor who saved Vayne's life for a week—honestly, even without the condition, it would've been the right thing to do.
At that moment, Vayne let out a few pained muffled groans. Her breathing grew more rapid, and the black venom-pattern on her abdomen spread even farther.
Luke, however, didn't rush. He calmly rummaged through his pack, searching for what he needed.
Vayne forced her eyes open as much as she could. From the conversation between him and her mentor, she understood this man was about to treat her.
Then—
Footsteps sounded again from deeper in the forest behind them.
Frey's guarded gaze snapped over—
And she heard Luke's voice. "She's with me."
Only then did Frey lower her guard, watching as a beautiful young woman stepped out of the trees in light armor and said to Luke, "Your Highness, what happened here?"
It was Quinn.
Luke's Godspeed Footwork had left her behind by quite a distance, and she'd also had game to handle—so she only caught up now.
She arrived to find Luke by a campfire, with two women beside him.
And Frey, catching the way Quinn addressed him, went still—shock rising in her chest.
"Your Highness?"
In Demacia, there were very few people who could be called that.
Or rather… only two.
Besides the prince everyone had always known—Jarvan IV—there was also the other prince rumored to have been found among the common folk.
After Frey and Vayne returned from the Freljord, they'd heard news about that prince, but they didn't know what he looked like—only that his appearance was said to be extraordinary.
Now, looking at Luke's face—and his fine clothes—
That faint aura of nobility that he tried to keep restrained still shimmered like starlight.
In her heart, Frey confirmed it.
"You're the prince?" she asked instinctively, her tone turning respectful.
She wasn't Demacian, but she still understood what that status meant in this country.
Without even thinking, her posture lowered.
Luke hadn't planned to hide it anyway. He nodded.
Frey felt completely blindsided.
She never would've imagined she'd run into a kingdom's prince out here in the woods.
And now—this prince was preparing to save her student's life.
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