When he finally broke through the last line of trees, the familiar sight of the shed stood ahead of Teclos, its rune-covered wooden walls faintly humming with residual mana. For a moment, he just stood there—chest rising and falling, breath visible in the cold air.

Then he exhaled. A long and heavy sigh.

His shoulders dropped as the tension left his body all at once.

He made it.

He didn’t need luck or saving. He had pulled through with quick thinking and adapted to the situation given to him.

A grin slowly spread across his face.

It grew wider by the second, until by the end, it looked quite cheeky.

"Suck on that, old man..."

He muttered under his breath, satisfaction clear in his tone as he walked up to the shed.

"At least you’re not a total disappointment, brat."

The voice suddenly came from behind him.

It was close, very close, in fact.

Teclos froze.

The grin vanished instantly.

His body tensed as he turned his head slightly—

The old man stood just a few steps away, hands behind his back, posture relaxed as if he had been there the entire time.

Watching.

Teclos rolled his eyes and turned fully now, masking the brief shock as best as he could.

"I did what you told me to do, old man," he said, tone sharp, a hint of defiance slipping through. "What’s next?"

A brief silence followed.

The old man studied him—not casually, but with a sharp glint in his eyes.

A piercing stare.

It unsettled Teclos. The man usually ignored him—never even sparing him a glance.

His eyes lingered on Teclos’s posture, his breathing, the way he held the short sword, the faint tremor still present in his arms.

Then he looked at his face.

The defiance was written all over it.

’He’s stubborn like a bull and proud like that lowly manticore up on the mountain.’

For a brief moment—

There was no humor in the old man’s expression.

Only cold evaluation.

Then—

A faint crease formed between his brows.

It wasn’t anger, at least Teclos didn’t seem to think so.

But more like a judging look.

"You talk too much," he said flatly.

Teclos didn’t back down.

"Yeah, yeah, and you don’t explain enough. Anyway, I did the task."

A pause.

The old man’s gaze lingered a second longer.

Then he turned away slightly, walking past Teclos toward the shed.

"You did," he admitted.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, motioning Teclos to follow.

"But barely."

Teclos’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent this time.

The old man placed the short sword back among the other weapons and retrieved Teclos’s gear, tossing it to him without ceremony.

Teclos caught it.

"Your concealment was decent," the old man continued. "Your decision to break the line of pursuit—correct."

A pause.

"But your awareness is lacking."

He shut the shed door with a firm click.

"You noticed the pack too late. You didn’t question their numbers soon enough. And if you hadn’t acted when you did—"

He glanced sideways at Teclos.

"You’d be dead."

He gave a blunt and unfiltered judgment.

Teclos frowned but didn’t argue.

Because he knew.

The old man wasn’t exactly wrong; it was just that his tone was pissing him off.

The old man turned fully now, facing him again.

There was something different in his expression.

Less dismissive.

More... acknowledging, kind of.

"You’ve got instinct," he said. "And just enough brains to not die immediately."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"But that attitude of yours..."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"...will get you killed faster than any beast in this forest."

Teclos met his gaze.

Unflinching.

"I’m still alive, aren’t I?"

For a split second—

Something flickered in the old man’s eyes.

Amusement.

Sharp and dangerous, like he was looking at a fun toy to play with.

Then it was gone.

"Hmph."

He turned and began walking back toward the forest path leading to town.

"Come along."

Teclos followed.

This time, the silence between them felt a bit different.

Not as empty or distant anymore, at least Teclos seemed to think so.

The old man spoke again after a few steps.

"Same time tomorrow."

Teclos exhaled through his nose.

Of course this stubborn old fool wouldn’t acknowledge him that fast, but this time—

There was no frustration from Teclos, as he saw that this old, grumbling ass of a man also could be moved, even if just a tiny bit.

The only thing left for him was to focus on the next task.

Because now he understood the rules of this game.

And he intended to shatter every expectation the old man had.

—

Teclos returned home that evening like he always did lately.

Dinner was quiet. Familiar. Pleasant.

The warmth of the house, the simple food, the low murmur of talking—it all felt... distant compared to the forest. Compared to the constant tension of being hunted.

He ate his fill.

Answered a few of Saldia’s questions about his day.

Avoided the ones he didn’t feel like explaining.

Then he went to his room to lay down—

And was fast asleep within moments.

Morning came.

The room felt cold and crisp.

He went through his morning routine: dress, wash, and eat. Then he stepped outside with Talmir. The two walked together in silence for a while before splitting near the guild hall, each heading toward their own responsibilities.

Teclos took his usual spot by the counter.

Waiting with folded arms.

Leaning slightly against the wall near the entrance.

’Feels like this is my new job. Heh... somehow this hell feels nicer than my old job back on Earth. I just wish I had coffee...’

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

A pause.

His expression twisted slightly.

’...even though my new boss can go suck a long one.’

Right on cue—the old man appeared.

No grand entrance.

No sound.

Just... spawned out of thin air.

"Come, let’s go."

That was all he said, and Teclos followed him as usual.

Days turned into weeks.

The routine never changed.

Guild hall.

Forest.

Shed.

"Hide."

Run away, adapt to new beasts’ hunting methods, and survive while returning to the shed.

Again.

And again.

And again.

At first, Teclos barely made it back each time—scraped, exhausted, pushed to his limits.

Then—

He started improving. At the end of each day, he would ponder what had gone wrong or how he could escape or hide better.

His movements became quieter.

More efficient.

His control over darkness was better.

His senses expanded.

The forest, once overwhelming and dangerous, slowly became something he could read the flow of and adapt to its dangers.

And then one day—when he wasn’t even winded.

Teclos stepped into the clearing of the shed, breathing steadily with a relaxed posture. No frantic or panicked movements during the chase. No desperation.

His first clean escape.

For once—

There was no immediate comment from the old man on how he sucked.

No insult or critique.

The old man simply watched him for a moment, again longer than usual.

Then—

"Come with me."

Teclos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

They didn’t stop at the shed.

That was new...

Instead—

They headed in a completely different direction. Toward Lupos.

Teclos noticed it immediately, and his curiosity sparked.

’What’s this about...?’

He glanced at the old man, but there was no point in asking.

He already knew the kind of answer he’d get, so he kept quiet.

They walked.

And walked.

Roughly halfway to the city, the old man suddenly veered left—back into the forest.

They went deeper and deeper, into different terrain. A slightly different scenery.

After another two hours of the same rough path—

They reached a clearing.

And there—

Another shed stood.

Teclos stopped for a second, flabbergasted, thinking he was experiencing déjà vu.

He stood there, blinking.

’...How many of these things does he even have?’

The old man ignored his reaction entirely, walking up and unlocking it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Inside—

Weapons again.

Different arrangement and selection, but the same idea as with the last shed.

The old man reached in, grabbed a short sword, and handed it to Teclos without explanation again.

Then he took his gear like always. By now, it was also part of the daily routine.

Predictable.

Until—

It wasn’t.

The shed door closed with a dull thud.

The old man turned around.

And for the first time—

He spoke before disappearing.

"Up ahead," he said, voice calm... but somehow colder than usual, "you’ll find a goblin camp."

Teclos’s ears perked up.

"A small one. They have primitive—wooden and bone—weapons."

A brief pause, then he explained more.

"Your target is the boss of that camp, the chieftain."

As his eyes locked onto Teclos, they lost their light, and a pure, cold killing intent slightly seeped through.

Unwavering and absolute.

"Kill him."

The words hit harder than anything the old man had said before. The tone he said it in gave Teclos slight goosebumps.

There was no sarcasm, no mockery.

Just an order.

"Then return like usual."

For a fraction of a second—

Teclos felt the old man’s unsettling coldness.

Like something darker sat beneath the old man’s usual grumbling and insults.

Something dangerous.

Then—

He vanished again.

As if he had never been there, Teclos stood alone in the clearing.

"..."

He exhaled slowly.

Goblin camp...

Kill the boss...

His grip tightened slightly.

"Yeah... sure. I swear a moodier geezer doesn’t exist on this planet."

He muttered it under his breath—but there was no real complaint in it.

After all, he finally had something other to do than just run away.

Still... he couldn’t shake that feeling.

That brief glimpse of something behind the old man’s eyes.

"...You’re one weird old bastard..."

Teclos shook his head and started his mission.

And walked toward the camp.

Teclos didn’t waste a second after the old man vanished.

A shadow tendril snapped upward, wrapping around a thick branch, and with a smooth pull, he lifted himself into the canopy. His boots never touched the ground.

Then—

He disappeared.

Darkness gathered around him, shrouding him and making him less noticeable in the shadows. It clung to his body, wrapped around his limbs, softened his outline, and blurred his presence.

He burned through less mana than before and was more obscured than before.

He was... part of the darkness now.

The dim light filtering through the dense canopy broke into patches and streaks, shadows stretching and connecting across trunks, branches, and uneven ground.

Teclos slipped into them like water finding its path.

This was the first time since the old man had started training him that he wasn’t prey, but the predator.

He moved forward carefully, branch to branch, never rushing.

Each step was deliberate.

Each shift of weight calculated.

He was really starting to move differently now. No more rushing, always in the darkness and shadows, never straying away from them even for a second.

His mind was slowly being morphed to think differently about what the best course of engagement was.

He only had a hard time rushing forward and head-on. And he always found success when going the silent way.

What he didn’t know was that he was being deliberately shown only one way out.

—

Teclos extended his senses.

His awareness spread outward from him, everything within his range noticed.

He felt every movement around him. Sure, the range wasn’t that great, but it was absolute.

Nothing could escape him once it entered his range.

After a while, he found what he was looking for: faint, scattered signatures ahead.

Goblins.

He slowed down and lowered his presence even more.

The first one came into view minutes later.

Perched lazily near the edge of a crude wooden structure, a goblin leaned against a sharpened stake, scratching its neck with dirty claws. Its skin had a sickly green tint, its posture hunched with twitchy movements.

A guard.

Teclos studied it.

The only problem now was the direction of the wind.

"...Tch."

It was blowing from his back toward the camp.

Goblins had sharp noses, so if his scent reached them—

This would turn messy fast.

He adjusted his route.

Slowly circling around the camp to get a better vantage point.

Then he sensed something like a messy patrol up ahead.

They weren’t organized like soldiers—but also not entirely careless either.

Unpredictable.

Which made them dangerous in their own way.

Teclos paused on a thicker branch, crouching low.

’I don’t know what the boss is...’

That was the biggest issue. A goblin wasn’t just a goblin; the chief might be a hobgoblin.

A stronger and faster variant. A physically enhanced goblin.

Or a shaman?

Adept at using special magic.

That could complicate things, depending on how smart it was.

A beast tamer?

That would be the worst outcome.

It would mean that powerful beasts could guard it, or ones with strong senses.

His jaw tightened slightly. There were too many unknowns.

Too many ways this could go wrong.

His gaze shifted across the camp again.

Teclos exhaled slowly through his nose.

’I can’t just start killing them.’

One wrong move—

And the entire camp would be alerted to an intruder. Besides, their blood could fall on him, always giving his location away.

The old man told him to kill the chief, not fight the whole camp.

This was a hunt.

And hunts required patience.

He leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes.

Kill the head—

And the body would fall into chaos.

That was the plan.

Simple but efficient.

Just to be sure, Teclos sank deeper into the shadows, his presence dimming further until even the faint traces of him became nearly impossible to detect.

Once he was sure they wouldn’t detect him, he moved again.

Like a ghost drifting through the canopy, closing in on the heart of the camp.