'You must become one with magic if you wish to wield it flawlessly—not merely exploit it.'
The bonfire flared crimson, like thousands of tongues eager to lick the thick wooden logs stacked within.
"Twilight god's magic."
"A magic no human should be able to perform."
Ito watched in reverent silence as the Hell Warden circled each colossal pyramid, lighting them one by one with nothing but the flick of her slender fingers.
A thousand hunters filled the main courtyard of Oliga. All of them seemed entranced, hypnotized even, by the presence of the Hell Warden—who, in their minds, had always been imagined as something fearsome, monstrous.
"Shouldn't he be guarding heaven instead?" some hunters whispered among themselves.
'Maybe... he'll turn into something terrifying any second now,' Ito speculated.
Apparently, the central clan's hunters were irritated by the hushed chatter.
"Silence! Did they teach you no manners in your clan academies?"
Likh, the Hell Warden, simply smiled at the petty squabble. He made her way to the high podium, ready to address them.
"Welcome to Oliga, chosen hunters of the four wind clans. A thousand years ago, I too stood on this very podium, selecting the finest hunters from five clans to become official Reapers." Likh's words were a deliberate provocation.
The hunters' gazes grew sharp. After all, the lost clan was home to two legendary hunters—names passed down through the ancestral tales of every clan.
"The era has changed, and I've observed that many of you carry remarkable potential. Knowing that brings me joy. Young hunters deserve proper training. Once you become official hunters—that's when you'll face the true world waiting to be conquered."
Likh raised the torch and hurled it high into the dark night sky—along with himself.
For a few seconds, silence swallowed the air. Then, a burst of light shattered it, igniting flames all around Oliga's courtyard.
Panic seized several hunters. Grass turned to fire. Massive timber beams twisted into the shape of giant serpents, spewing waves of scorching heat.
"Shouldn't I have been a seer instead of a hunter? My predictions are always dead-on," Ito said, hands on his hips, proudly praising himself.
A towering man cloaked in blazing fire, wielding a golden trident, his robe flowing like Rapunzel's hair, had returned—bringing with him a thousand hell-bubbles to determine the fate of the strongest.
Likh returned to the podium in his true form.
"The Hell System Hunt has resumed. The selection for 'official blood hunters' is now open!"
A thousand hell-bubbles floated and spun around the hunters, each designed to scan their physical and spiritual strength.
"If you decisively overcome your hell-bubble, it will transform into an official hunter's bracelet—its quality reflecting the skill level of each young hunter."
"And let it be known: the name of the top-ranked hunter and their clan will be etched upon the eternal exhibition wall of Oliga."
The hunters were well aware of this. Still, staying calm and rational in such a moment was easier said than done.
These bubbles were tuned to follow the subconscious minds of the hunters.
As if to demonstrate, hunters from the Central Clan activated their hybrid tricks to take down a massive, mutant rat.
"Come here, you damned rat! I'll show you how I'm going to mince your filthy body!"
Osa, a young hunter from the Central Clan, brimmed with confidence—fueled by the hopes of a clan born from many.
The Central Clan had no singular cultural tradition like the others. It was forged from the blood of mixed lineages. Yet, Oliga stood on their land, and hunters of this clan were known to master diverse skills, thanks to the blended blood that ran through them.
Elsewhere, someone was clearly struggling with their hell-bubble.
"I was picturing this bubble turning into animal dung—why the hell did it become a two-headed dragon?!"
A hunter screamed, sprinting from the pursuing beast.
Ito was fortunate that Oliga's courtyard had no visible end. But silently, he had already devised a plan.
"I'll keep running, wretched dragon, so don't stop chasing me," he whispered.
In truth, the twin-headed dragon was merely gliding above him, not quite close enough to scorch Ito with its forked tongue.
Still, the heat from its breath was foul—rank and nauseating.
Ito had already used a bit of his magic, yet his instincts urged him to keep running. Suddenly, an image came to mind: the last hunter of the Northern Clan standing alone across a frozen wasteland. As if his soul yearned for the return of that forbidden wind.
The dragon's breath grew more violent, its stench thickening the air. Ito began crafting backup plans—just in case the bubble transformed beyond what his subconscious could control. His ancestors had warned him well: the Central Clan was a nexus of deceit and injustice.
"I'll create a shadow lake... and dive into it with this disgusting heat-breathing dragon," Ito muttered, glancing back with a mischievous wink.
The dragon roared in outrage at the gesture.
Just as he was about to chant his spell, Ito noticed the sudden shift in weather. The sky had grown dark—clouds coiling like snakes overhead.
If it rained, his magic would be useless. Creating a shadow lake would be impossible. His entire plan would collapse.
But Ito didn't lose his nerve.
Instead, he tore burning grass from the courtyard and shaped it into a killer's rope. He bundled scorched earth and grass into a massive coil, slinging it over his shoulder.
The dragon was now mere meters behind him, jaws gaping, ready to devour the hunter in full green garb.
But instead of devouring Ito, the beast swallowed the flaming bundle of grass and dirt.
The result was chaos.
The twin-headed dragon reeled backward, its scales beginning to fall one by one. Smoke billowed from its mouth—burning grass from hell igniting its insides. Ito, not wasting a second, grabbed a thick wooden beam and transformed it into a slender rod to spin the killer rope.
"Of course your mouth burns, idiot," Ito scoffed with satisfaction.
The dragon's sticky saliva erupted from its maw, ejecting the grass bundle. The gooey substance would now act as an unrelenting trap.
Ito used the wooden rod to spin and pull the viscous strand, shaping it into a death-thread soaked in saliva and hellfire.
The dragon growled again, eyes blazing with rage. Its once bone-white horns had turned blood red.
Ito braced himself. He hurled the rope at the beast, but the dragon unleashed a powerful blast that shattered the rope's trajectory.
The force knocked Ito off his feet.
He crashed to the ground, the rope recoiling and entangling him completely.
Now, Ito looked absolutely pitiful.
The twin-headed dragon bit the rod still clutched in Ito's hand and dragged the hunter across the ground like a lunatic.
"Aghh! Damn it! This is what you call being trapped in your own damn trap!" Ito cried, every inch of his body aching.
The twin-headed dragon grinned—almost perfectly—while Ito, tangled in his own rope, began crafting a second tactic.
He closed his eyes, holding tightly to a shred of hope: that somewhere ahead, the crystal-blue lake his ancestors spoke of would appear. In his robe, a pouch of itching powder waited to be unleashed once they neared it.
"I believe in the two greatest hunters of Oliga from the Northern Clan. Just let me see the crystal-blue lake… that's all I ask."
Ito opened his eyes again, tightening the rope to pull himself closer to the twin-headed dragon. With a nimble move, he wrapped himself around the beast's tail—ready to hang on just long enough to scatter the itching powder.
"Feel my wrath, you stinking lizard!"
The powder burst forth.
The dragon's tail thrashed wildly, twisting and curling as a maddening itch set fire to its nerves. It spun in dizzying circles, roaring in protest. Ito tried climbing toward the beast's crimson horns—but slipped. Again.
"Are you a dragon or a damned eel?! Why are your horns this slippery?"Ito grumbled in frustration.
Unbothered, he dumped more itching powder directly onto the horned area.
The dragon wailed in agony.
Ito had to clutch tightly onto its scales to avoid being thrown off—the twin-headed beast was now completely out of control.
No one knew how far it had flown with Ito dangling from its back. He had no more powder left, and no plan either. All he could do was surrender to the chaos. But then... he noticed something strange.
"The grass down there… It's fresh again. That green... It's so vivid. Wait… did I fail the challenge? Did the bubble beat me?"
And then—just like that—the dragon's head dove into a vast crystal-blue lake.
It was as if a miracle had answered him.
"Wha—?! A crystal-blue lake?!" Ito snapped out of his daze.
Without hesitation, he dove in, the water instantly refreshing his soul and body alike.
In that moment, the dragon, his panic, even the challenge—forgotten.
He floated, mesmerized, gazing at the world beneath the surface.
"How can this even be called a lake?!" he muttered, utterly in awe.