The warband leader towered over Aiden, its jagged greatsword raised high. Its chipped blade dripped with blood—his blood. Its crimson eye burned, unwavering, locked onto him like a predator savoring its kill.


    Aiden wasn''t in good shape. His side throbbed where the spear had gouged him in the last fight. Blood slicked his jacket. His ribs ached from the earlier impact, making every breath feel like a knife twisting in his lungs. His left leg burned, the muscle protesting after too many dodges, too many near-misses.


    But he couldn''t stop now.


    The orc warlord let out a low, rumbling snarl, its breath heavy with exertion—but Aiden wasn’t fooled. It was strong. Too strong for him to fight head-on.


    He shifted his grip on his knife, his fingers slick with sweat and blood. The weight of exhaustion pressed against his limbs, his stamina wearing thin. The wound in his side burned white-hot.


    The warband leader attacked.


    It didn’t rush in wildly like a lesser beast. It moved with purpose. Measured. It knew he was wounded. It wanted to draw this out.


    Aiden barely had time to react before the greatsword came down in a brutal arc.


    He threw himself sideways—but his body protested. His injured leg gave out for a half-second. Not enough to stop him, but enough to slow him.


    The edge of the blade grazed his shoulder.


    Pain exploded through his arm, blood spraying across the stone floor.


    Too close.


    Aiden staggered, his vision blurring at the edges. He needed a new approach. Dodging wasn’t enough. His body was breaking down.


    The warlord stalked forward, jagged blade rising again.


    Aiden had one shot at this.


    He forced himself to slow down. To read the patterns. To predict.


    The golden flickers of his foresight blurred, strained. His exhaustion was making the visions harder to follow, his reaction time slipping.


    But then—there.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    One path.


    Aiden pretended to falter.


    His knife dipped slightly, his stance loosened. A feint. A trick.


    The warband leader took the bait.


    It lunged, blade swinging down—committed to the kill.


    Aiden moved before it even landed.


    He twisted sharply, his injured side screaming in protest. His knife **lashed out—**not at the warband leader directly, but at the jagged blade itself.


    His knife clashed against the warlord’s greatsword at the perfect angle, shifting the trajectory just an inch.


    The blade missed his head.


    And buried itself deep into the stone floor.


    Stuck.


    Aiden didn''t hesitate.


    He lunged forward, driving his knee into the warband leader’s gut.


    The massive orc snarled, staggering. But it was still moving. Still too strong.


    Aiden needed more.


    His free hand snatched a fallen weapon—a rusted spear from one of the dead Ruin Dwellers.


    And with every last ounce of strength, he drove it through the warband leader’s exposed ribs.


    The warlord’s roar turned into a choked gasp.


    The massive body buckled.


    Aiden didn’t stop.


    He ripped his knife free and drove it into the creature’s throat.


    This time—it fell.


    Aiden staggered back, barely able to stay standing.


    Blood dripped from his hands, from his side, from his legs. His breathing was ragged. His vision swam.


    He had won. But he was barely alive.


    The deep, rhythmic pulse that had been lurking beneath his heartbeat all this time suddenly roared to the surface.


    Louder. Stronger.


    Aiden turned.


    And then, he saw it.


    A door.


    Not a normal entrance. Not something anyone else would’ve seen.


    It pulsed, the same deep, rhythmic beat that had guided him this far—a heartbeat, distant but pulling him forward.


    His vision flared.


    The golden glow flickered violently—then broke apart.


    His whole body shook. Not from pain. From change.


    The System screamed to life.


    [PERCEPTION +1]


    [ENDURANCE +1]


    [STRENGTH +1]


    [MANA +0.8]


    [RANK ADVANCEMENT: E → D]


    Not because of the fight.


    But because of the Source.


    The door called to him.


    Aiden took a breath, steadying himself.


    He could feel it—beyond this door, something waited.


    Something that had been waiting for him.


    With one final glance at the ruined battlefield, he stepped forward.


    And as he pushed through, the world changed.


    Meanwhile…


    The ruins were empty.


    Reiss stepped over a broken slab of stone, scanning the battlefield.


    A massacre.


    The bodies of Ruin Dwellers and their warband leader littered the ground. Blood pooled across the temple floor, weapons discarded, the fight long over.


    His frown deepened. Too fast.


    A squad couldn’t have done this in this time frame. Not unless it was someone strong.


    He crouched beside the warband leader’s fallen body.


    The wounds were precise.


    Not brute force. Not reckless.


    Whoever did this wasn’t just some overpowered Hunter tearing through enemies.


    They were skilled.


    Reiss exhaled, shaking his head.


    "What kind of Hunter…" he muttered, standing.


    His gaze flicked to the entrance of the temple.


    Nothing seemed off. Nothing stood out.


    No lingering traces of Rift energy. No hidden pathways.


    Nothing.


    Just ruins.


    He shrugged, turning away.


    "Guess they’re already gone."


    And with that—he left.


    Never knowing that just beyond what his eyes could see…


    Aiden had already stepped through to somewhere else.