The shortcut cost them everything but time.
They were two days closer to the academy now, but the toll weighed heavier than any distance. No one spoke of Taren's death. No one dared look at the spot where the Mawbeast had dragged his body down into the earth.
They moved like ghosts.
Feet blistered. Eyes hollow. Stomachs empty. Minds frayed.
Kael's shirt was half torn, the bandage over his ribs stained through. Still, he kept walking, following the group with slow, even steps. Liri walked beside him, occasionally brushing away leaves from the path so the younger students wouldn't trip.
The hunters said little now.
Captain Varn led the group with a hand on his sword at all times. The third-in-command, a hunter named Clyne with burn marks along one arm, scouted from above. His eyes scanned the trees and underbrush for movement.
Only silence.
Then Kael saw it: strange red vines peeking through the ground, curling unnaturally between roots.
"Bloodroot," he murmured.
Clyne jumped down ahead of them. "We're close to the Flame Gate woods," he said, gesturing forward. "These roots mark the edge. Once we clear them, we're nearly there."
A ripple of hope passed through the group—weak, but enough to straighten some backs.
Then they heard it.
Click.
A low rattling hiss, followed by scratching.
From beneath the leaves ahead, Borerats erupted—beasts the size of wolves, with jagged claws and eyeless, twitching faces. They smelled of rot and wet earth.
"Formation!" Varn shouted.
Students scrambled. Hunters charged. But the Borerats were faster.
One leapt toward a younger girl, mouth wide.
Kael didn't think—he moved.
He dropped the broken spear, yanked a knife from a fallen hunter's corpse, and dove. He tackled the rat mid-air, driving the blade into its neck.
It screeched—blood sprayed his face.
But another rat followed.
Kael rolled away, landing hard on his shoulder. The beast lunged, but suddenly—
Clang!
A sword slammed into its skull.
Ravi stood there, panting, his face pale.
"I said stick close," Ravi growled, yanking Kael to his feet.
All around, students fought back. Some used weapon of dead , others just sharp sticks. One beast tried to retreat into a burrow—
Liri set it ablaze.
When the smoke cleared, they counted: one more dead student. The boy had been mocking Kael just two days ago. He lay still now, face bloodied, chest torn open.
No one cried.
Even the nobles were silent.
They buried the body hastily with rocks.
Then they sat and tried to eat. But there was nothing to eat.
Until the hunter Clyne dragged something out of the woods.
A Fangstalk Beast—already half-dead, pierced by an arrow and missing one leg. It must've stumbled across their scent, only to fall near their camp.
Clyne raised a brow. "Anyone want to finish it?"
No one moved.
Kael stepped forward.
He didn't even hesitate.
He raised the broken sword he'd scavenged… and drove it through the beast's skull.
It convulsed—then went still.
Silence followed.
Clyne grinned. "Ten percent of this beast's worth is yours, boy. By hunter law."
He tossed Kael a pouch. Heavy.
"Hundred gold. You earned it."
Kael nodded, hands shaking—not from the act, but from the weight of everything behind it. The pouch was warm. The blood was still on his blade.
The hunters began skinning the beast, carving up parts for future gear, collecting the fangs and bloodsacs.
"Why didn't you save it?" a student whispered to Kael.
He didn't answer.
Because that wasn't the rule.
And this wasn't the world to ask for mercy.