Wolves—cunning hunters by nature, their senses razor-sharp, their spirits cruel and ever alert. They run tirelessly, break the resolve of prey by endless pursuit, and strike as a pack to bring down even beasts far larger than themselves.
The moment Jin felt those feral gazes fixed upon him, he understood one truth:
There would be no escape. Only battle.
Two shapes circled in the undergrowth: a lean, younger wolf and a scarred, broader one—an old mated pair, by the look of them. Their matted gray fur blended seamlessly with the twisted roots and fallen leaves.
Jin let out a breath, hand tightening around the worn hilt of his navy blade.
"Seriously… I'm half your size, yet you still pull this pincer crap? Damn beasts."
His back shifted imperceptibly as he retreated, seeking terrain—fallen logs, uneven roots—that might turn to his advantage. Yet the wolves mirrored each step, slipping wider, jaws curled in silent promise of blood.
Ten meters… eight… three…
A raw, guttural snarl split the air.
The smaller wolf lunged, claws scything toward Jin's throat.
But Jin moved. Years of slaughter and ambushes as a mercenary king made his reflexes sharp as drawn steel. He pivoted, blade flashing to intercept.
Before steel could bite fur, the larger wolf struck from the side. A sudden gray shadow, claws outstretched—
Jin twisted, blade across his body.
Clang—thud!
The wolf's mass slammed him backward until bark cracked against his spine. His chest burned; air fled his lungs.
"Close," he hissed.
His breath misted as he stepped forward. Kill or die: there was no room for fear. Muscles coiled like bowstrings, he launched at the smaller wolf, steel trailing an arc of lethal promise.
But the wolf slipped aside, gaze mocking.
And again, the larger wolf sought his flank.
This time Jin was ready. His feet rooted, hips twisted, and he drove the blade behind him in a savage backhand sweep.
"Turn-back cleave!"
Steel met flesh. Bone cracked. Hot, rancid blood sprayed his arm.
The larger wolf tumbled, entrails unspooling, body convulsing as life fled.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Jin's breath came ragged; the fight had drained him far faster than he liked.
"One left," he spat, wiping sweat that stung his eyes.
"And a lone wolf's always the most vicious."
Across the clearing, the surviving mate's gaze turned feral, bloodshot. Grief twisted into hate, and it charged.
Steel rang on fangs and claws. The two figures clashed again and again—ferocity matched by desperation. Jin's arms ached; wounds burned raw. The wolf bled too: ragged gashes down its flank and shoulder.
Three minutes. Each second an eternity.
Finally, the wolf's claw caught Jin's shoulder, sending him staggering. Warm blood dripped from three fresh gashes, soaking the fabric of his tunic.
"Enough," Jin growled, voice low and ragged.
He lowered his center of gravity, knees bending. Muscles in arms, back and legs drew taut.
The wolf snarled and leapt.
"Come—DIE!"
Jin thrust forward with all the fury of a cornered beast.
Steel punched through fur, through flesh, through ribs. The wolf's momentum crushed Jin beneath it, claws scoring his arm—but it was already dead, jaws slack.
They rolled, dirt and leaves flying, until Jin lay gasping on the ground.
For a moment, everything was silent but the wild hammering of his heart.
Pain flared in his shoulder. Another bloody gash.
Teeth gritted, he shoved the corpse aside and rose.
Couldn't rest. The copper stink of blood might call worse predators.
Blade in hand, Jin stumbled away. Each step left a smear of red.
Half an hour later, he collapsed against an ancient tree, chest heaving.
His wounds wept, sticky warmth soaking cloth. The urge to close his eyes tugged at him.
Not yet. Jin forced himself to scan the undergrowth.
And there—beyond broad-leafed plants—purple flowers nodded in the breeze.
"Ha… just my luck."
He crawled closer, hand trembling.
In his world, the flower had no name. In the old mercenary notes, it was only called "Bloodroot"—crushed and packed onto wounds to slow bleeding and ease pain.
He chewed the bitter stems, spat the pulp onto torn skin, and hissed as raw fire bit deep.
"Damn mutts… you ruined my flawless skin," he muttered.
Blade nicked cloth into strips; rough bandages bound the oozing wounds.
Wounds patched, Jin straightened with a grimace. His breath still came fast, heart still raced—but he could move.
He wouldn't die.
Not today.
Walking again, Jin reflected on the fight.
His control over muscle and bone had grown, but he hadn't yet reached the next realm: where inner force—chi, spirit, whatever you named it—flowed in harmony with flesh.
"Bright Vein stage," he murmured. Every muscle and tendon trained to unleash every drop of strength. After that comes Dark Vein—force bred within, a power that can truly shatter armor.
The mercenary king had known such terms. But here, with this world's rich air and beasts of monstrous vigor, he might reach them faster than ever.
His fist clenched.
"Soon. Faster than ever before."
Light dappled through thinning branches.
Then, at last, open sky.
Jin stepped clear of the treeline.
And saw, nestled in the valley below: rooftops, smoke, the promise of voices and warmth.
For the first time in days, the mercenary's cold mask cracked. A wild grin spread across his battered face.
"Finally… finally! Out of the damn wilds!"
He dropped the blood-crusted blade at his feet, raised both arms to the sky, and roared, ignoring the pain that stabbed shoulder and chest.
In that cry was everything:
The taste of near death.
The relief of survival.
The wild, stubborn joy of a soul reborn into freedom.
Step by step, he was climbing back toward power.
Toward the future he craved.
Toward strength, freedom, and yes—somewhere out there—laughter, sake, and warm embraces.
He turned his eyes to the village.
And walked forward.
This story is inspired from various fanfics i have read from around the world so if you find any similarities please dont mind . Thank you
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T/N :
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