The resolve that had crystallized in Valerius on the hilltop was a fragile thing, a thin shell of determination stretched over a deep abyss of terror. He was not a warrior; he was a bookish boy who had spent his life among dusty tomes and forgotten histories. He knew the names of ancient kings and the routes of long-dead trade fleets, but he knew nothing of traps, nothing of hunting, and absolutely nothing of the primal violence that now coursed through his veins.
The wind carried the scent of the Cursed Woods, a thick, cloying aroma of decay and something else—a musky, animalistic smell that raised the fine hairs on his arms. The forest seemed to breathe, a dark, living thing that promised to swallow him whole. Yet, his stomach rumbled, a traitorous, all-too-human sound that grounded him in his desperate reality. The tree in his mind echoed that hunger, a silent, ravenous void that demanded to be sated. It was a symbiotic curse; the boy's body and the tree's power both screamed for sustenance.
He chose a spot on the very edge of the woods, where the scorched earth of his village met the ancient, gnarled roots of the forest. The ground was littered with broken branches and large, jagged stones—perfect camouflage for a rudimentary snare. He moved with a kind of desperate, feverish energy, his hands, once used for turning pages, now scraped and bruised from moving heavy rocks. He was clumsy and slow, a far cry from the sleek efficiency of a hunter. But he was methodical. He remembered a passage from an old military history text, a footnote on guerrilla warfare: "The greatest strength of the weak is their cunning."
Valerius closed his eyes, and a different kind of sight opened to him. He focused on the tingling sensation at the back of his neck, the lingering echo of his newfound Observation Haki. The world became a landscape of blurry presences. He could feel the small, scurrying movements of field mice, the rustling of a nocturnal bird deep within the woods, and the slow, lumbering footsteps of something large and heavy. An F-tier monster. It was a heavy, dull presence, radiating a simple, single-minded hunger. It was moving slowly but steadily towards the edge of the woods. Towards him.
He opened his eyes, the blurry world of Haki fading, leaving him with the stark reality of the present. The monster was still some distance away, giving him precious time. He worked faster, the adrenaline a sharp, bitter taste on his tongue. He used thick, thorny vines from the edge of the forest, weaving them into a rough noose. He anchored it between two large, ancient trees, camouflaging the trap with leaves and loose earth. It was a crude design, but it was all he had.
He retreated a few dozen feet, hiding behind a charred oak tree, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. The Haki in his mind flared again. The presence was closer now, a hulking, unintelligent force. He could sense its frustration, its rage, as it struggled to navigate the thorny undergrowth. It was moving slower now, its single purpose of finding food beginning to cloud with a primitive irritation. Valerius gritted his teeth, his palms sweating. He was playing a dangerous game, baiting a creature of pure instinct with nothing but his own fragile existence.
The monster lumbered into view. It was a beast of pure muscle and bone, a grotesque mash of a boar and a badger, with thick, coarse fur and teeth like jagged daggers. Its small, beady eyes darted back and forth, sniffing the air for a sign of prey. It was exactly as his Haki had predicted: a mindless, powerful brute. An F-tier threat, but to Valerius, it was a leviathan.
He focused on his other ability, the terrifying emptiness. The purple field of nothingness shimmered around his hands. He felt the pull again, the ravenous want, but this time, he was trying to control it. The feeling was disorienting, a sickening lurch in his gut as if he were falling into a bottomless pit. He had to be careful. He wasn't trying to devour the monster entirely, only a small part of it. A leg, a head, something to bring it down. He focused on a patch of thorny ground just behind the monster.
The beast snorted, its gaze falling on the edge of Valerius's trap. It took a hesitant step forward, its massive body lumbering closer to the snare. Now.
He pushed the Void outward, a clumsy, uncontrolled burst of purple energy. It wasn't the precise, surgical strike he had hoped for. Instead of hitting the monster, the void hit a loose pile of rocks beside it. They vanished with a pop, leaving a small, circular crater of nothingness. The monster, startled by the sound, reared back, its primal fear overriding its hunger for a moment. It took a frantic step backward, its hind leg catching in the vine noose.
The trap held. The monster bellowed, a sound of fury and pain. It thrashed and bucked, its immense strength testing the strength of Valerius's knot. The vines held, but barely. The monster was a hair's breadth away from tearing itself free.
Valerius knew he only had one chance. He pushed the Void outward again, this time aiming for the monster's head, a clear shot now that it was trapped. The disorienting sensation was worse this time, the world blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors as he channeled the power. He held the feeling, pushing it forward, a frantic, desperate effort of will. A focused cone of purple energy shot from his hands, a terrifying beam of nothingness.
It struck the monster's head, not cleanly, but on the side, shearing off its ear and a large patch of its face. The beast's bellow turned into a choked gurgle, its movements becoming weak and uncoordinated. It fell to the ground, thrashing weakly, the light fading from its eyes. The Void had not killed it, but the wound was fatal. Valerius stood there, trembling, his mind a foggy mess from the exertion.
He slowly, hesitantly, approached the dying creature. The smell of blood, of hot, visceral meat, was overwhelming. The creature was still, its chest rising and falling in slow, labored breaths. He stood over it, a boy and a beast, the hunter and the hunted, the line between them blurred. This was his first kill. The first harvest.
The reality of what he had done slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't a game. This wasn't a book. This was blood, and death, and the brutal, raw nature of survival. He had not just survived; he had ended a life. The terror of his situation, the sheer weight of his new reality, settled on him like a shroud. He stood there, alone with the corpse, the victor of a battle he never wanted to fight, the first step on a path he never wanted to walk. The tree in his mind felt a tremor of satisfaction. But Valerius felt only the cold, hard reality of what he had become.