Raizen turned to his companions, his eyes blazing with unyielding resolve, a spark reignited amidst Noxvaria's cold ashes, poised to erupt into a blaze that would consume all hardship and despair. "Kael," he called, his voice sharp as a blade, a command slicing through the frigid air. "The villagers' bows and spears are too weak—rotted cords, wooden tips that splinter like dry twigs after a few strikes. Can you improve them? We need weapons strong and sharp enough to fell Graysows, to pierce their armored hides and bring them back as trophies for all."
Kael stepped forward, still clutching the warped Asvaria fragment, its faint red pulses flickering like a lost heartbeat in his trembling hands—a relentless reminder of the failure he couldn't forgive himself for. He scanned the villagers' crude, weathered weapons leaning against tent walls: warped bows damp with rot, frayed cords ready to snap, wooden spears blunted or shattered after sparse use. "The wood here is tough," he observed, his hoarse voice carrying the expertise of a top engineer, as if analyzing materials in a life-or-death crisis. His pale blue eyes sparked with hope and technical zeal, pushing back the usual guilt and despair. "It can withstand force if reinforced properly. I saw metal shards from old tools in the rubble near the cliff—we can sharpen them for arrowheads and spear tips to replace wood. These cords are useless," he said, tugging a rotted rope that snapped instantly. "I'll use roots from the dried vines we passed—they're tougher, more durable. Braided with thin metal strands, they'll boost elasticity and damage. If we do this right, these upgraded weapons will cut through Graysow hides like a hot knife through butter, not shatter like before." He tested an old bow, pulling its cord until it broke with a faint crack, shaking his head in disapproval, but his eyes burned with renewed purpose—a man rediscovering meaning after drowning in the shadows of his mistakes.
"Seiryu," Raizen continued, turning to the petite, agile woman with long black hair now neatly tied back. "Can you prepare medical support? I don't want to lose anyone to untreated wounds after the hunt—we need every soul alive and strong for the greater challenges ahead."
Seiryu nodded decisively, her steady hand gripping the glinting scalpel under the dawn's dim light. Her deep black eyes shone with silent resolve, like a field medic seasoned by urgent surgeries in Saigon 2050's tech-war zones. "This godforsaken place has nothing but ash and murky water," she said, her voice cold but pragmatic. "But I brought a basic first-aid kit from Saigon—enough to disinfect wounds, stitch deep cuts, and stop bleeding in emergencies. On the trail, I noticed plants with turmeric and mint-like scents—they could soothe wounds and prevent infection with some time to gather and process." She opened her small medical bag, revealing pristine bandages, clear vials of alcohol, and a compact suturing kit. A fleeting worry flashed in her eyes as she glanced at Raizen, fearing his reckless streak, but she masked it with her usual steely calm, a shield against vulnerability she never allowed to show.
The next three days passed in a frenzy of relentless work, a tense symphony of survival and fragile hope amidst Noxvaria's cold ashes. Kael toiled sleeplessly by the outpost's murky, ash-choked stream, its icy water flowing over gray stones, carrying the musty scent of damp earth and stinging ash. He dipped his hands to wash sweat and grime from his face, using flint stones to painstakingly sharpen metal shards scavenged from rubble or the villagers' old tools. Under his deft hands, they transformed into razor-sharp arrowheads and spear tips, sturdier than any weapon the Aerith had seen in their long, desperate years.
The two surviving Aerith, their gaunt hands nimble from years in the wild, returned with massive bundles of dried vine roots from a nearby sparse forest. Surprisingly tough and resilient, they could replace the rotted hide cords the tribe had relied on as a fragile lifeline. Kael meticulously tested each bow's tension, each spear's edge, his hands trembling from exhaustion and sleep deprivation, but his pale blue eyes burned with iron resolve—he vowed not to fail again after Asvaria's catastrophic blast, not to let these new comrades' blood spill needlessly due to his past errors under Valen Kabe's manipulation.
Seiryu returned from the forest with a small cloth bag brimming with strange herbs she'd carefully gathered—some with a fresh turmeric scent when crushed, others with a cool minty aroma. They couldn't replace modern antibiotics or painkillers but could ease burns and prevent infection in these harsh, unsanitary conditions. "This is our only way to survive long-term here," she told Raizen, showing her haul, her voice low but certain. She wrapped the herbs like a seasoned soldier prepping for a grueling campaign, checking her scalpels and sutures with a surgeon's precision, her eyes cold but her hands briefly trembling at the thought of the gruesome wounds the Graysow hunt might bring.
As expected, Raizen's plan met resistance from an elderly hunter, his face etched with scars from countless battles with Graysows and Twistfangs. His voice was hoarse from years facing death and relentless loss in the dead forest. "Graysows aren't easy prey, outsider," he said, his aged eyes glinting with deep skepticism and ingrained fear, like one who'd lost too much to trust empty promises. "I've seen them tear apart our strongest warriors in seconds—their claws are sharp as daggers, their jaws crush bones like dry twigs. How can we capture them alive? You talk big, outsider, but I doubt you grasp how dangerous they are—I watched my father die under their tusks, his blood staining a corner of the forest that day."
Raizen met the old hunter's gaze, unflinching, his calm resolve like that of one seasoned in overcoming doubt with action, as he had in the Eternal Seed camp leading the weak against ruthless predators far worse than Graysows. "We won't face them head-on like fools," he replied, his voice steady as a vow amid the tense air, each word a hammer shattering fear and skepticism. "Our strategy is to lure the fiercest adults into a prepared chaotic zone, disorienting them to attack each other. Then, the panicked, weaker young will be easier to isolate and capture. Our goal isn't just to kill for a few days' meat—we need them for long-term survival, to rebuild this tribe's strength, so those starving children don't perish in the coming winter. Trust me—I've calculated every move, every risk, and I won't let anyone die needlessly in this hunt."
The scarred hunter frowned, his hands tightening on his weathered spear for comfort, but after a silent inner struggle, he nodded slowly, his aged eyes kindling with faint hope amidst the despair that had long cloaked Noxvaria.
The hunt arrived. Led by Raizen and Selena, the elite hunting party slipped into the sparse forest, where moss-covered boulders lay scattered amid thick ash. Towering ancient trees blocked the sun's feeble light, casting eerie, silent shadows like natural traps awaiting unlucky prey. The wind's whistle through dry branches mingled with the forest's wild sounds—distant growls, the crunch of dead leaves underfoot—creating a scene both primal and terrifying, a grand yet mournful symphony of life and death echoing through the vast dead forest.
Raizen's heart pounded, not with fear but with the familiar thrill of a commander facing a monumental challenge—not just to survive the day, but to prove he could lead these people from darkness to a brighter future. Fresh Graysow tracks—deep hoofprints in the moist streamside soil, claw marks on trees from tusk-sharpening—prompted Raizen to signal a halt and conceal the group. His hand tightened on the spear Kael had upgraded with a sharp metal tip, his stance ready like a soldier entering an unforgiving battlefield. The damp earth's scent mixed with the faint, musky tang of wild beasts, stirring distant memories of brutal survival drills in the Eternal Seed camp, where he'd breathed the mingled stench of his own blood and sweat in stifling jungles.
"Split into three groups as planned," he whispered to the sub-leaders, his low, sharp voice cutting through the cold, tense air like an invisible blade. "Group one, led by Kaelric, will distract with noise from the west—strike rocks, shout, do anything to panic the alpha and draw its attention. Group two, under Selena, will ambush near the prepared pit traps—ensure the spikes are ready and the leaf camouflage holds. Group three, the main attack and calf-capture team, I'll lead directly. To your positions—move!"
Kael, tasked with long-range support from a safer, elevated eastern vantage, drew back a reinforced bow. A specially crafted metal-tipped arrow shot forth with terrifying speed, a silver streak flashing and vanishing. The polished tip gleamed faintly as it struck true, embedding in the forehead of the herd's fiercest adult male, its long, curved tusks glinting, its ember-red eyes blazing. About to charge the noisy western group, it collapsed, legs thrashing in a final, pained roar before going still. Its crimson blood soaked the ash, a striking first victory for the hunters.
"See? I told you!" Kael shouted from his perch, his voice brimming with pride and exhilaration. His pale blue eyes shone, as if rediscovering faith in himself and his technical skill after months haunted by guilt under Valen's sway. "I won't let my work go to waste—not this time, never again!"