The wind along Vaelstorm's coast carried the brine of the open sea and the faint, metallic scent of tension. The sky hung low, heavy with clouds, and the sound of the waves was restless — like something alive beneath them.
Hunnt walked several steps behind Will and Willa, the newly appointed student hunters. Both were nervous, clutching their weapons close, eyes darting toward the endless gray horizon.
"You sure about this?" Will asked, his tone wavering between curiosity and disbelief. "The coast isn't safe anymore. Monsters have been nesting closer each week."
Hunnt's gaze swept across the jagged shoreline. "That's why I came."
The twins exchanged uneasy glances.
They were young and green — trained in the guild's halls but never tempered by the field. Their movements carried that stiff precision of students who had studied more than they had fought.
"We were supposed to take the guild exam together," Willa said, her voice quiet but steady. "Hunt small serpents near the shore — that was the task. Simple, right?" She gave a humorless laugh. "Except the coast was already crawling with monsters."
"I went anyway," Will added, bitterly. "They said it would be easy, that the migration hadn't started yet. I told them they were wrong. Two days later, half the coast turned red. They failed me before I even drew my bow."
Hunnt frowned. "They failed you for surviving."
"Guess the guild doesn't like being told they're wrong," Will muttered.
Willa sighed. "I got sick before the test. After seeing what happened to him, I never went back."
Hunnt's tone was calm but firm. "The guild's blind spots aren't your fault. You both made the right call staying alive."
They continued along the rocky path until the land began to slope downward toward the coast.
Hunnt stopped and scanned the horizon. "What kind of monsters are here?"
"All kinds," Will said, pointing toward the surf. "Serpents, coral eels, reef crawlers — they move in groups now."
Willa tilted her head at Hunnt. "You haven't even drawn your weapon. What do you fight with?"
Hunnt lifted both arms. The blackened steel of the Infernal Fistbreaker caught the pale light. "These," he said. "My fists."
Will's eyes widened. "You're insane. Those monsters breathe water."
Hunnt smirked faintly. "Then I'll just have to make them choke on air."
The twins followed him only halfway down the slope before stopping. They could already see the water below bubbling unnaturally, dark shapes twisting just under the waves.
Hunnt strode down to the shoreline alone. The sand sizzled faintly beneath his boots as seawater met the residual heat radiating from his gauntlets.
The first creature appeared with a hiss — a long-bodied serpent, scales glinting blue and silver, eyes burning red.
Hunnt didn't hesitate. He pivoted his stance, pulling his right arm back, and swung with all his weight. The punch landed squarely against the serpent's jaw. The impact cracked like thunder and sent the beast reeling backward into the water, sand spraying high around them.
Steam hissed from the contact point — not blood, but vapor, the fire snuffed out by saltwater.
Hunnt clicked his tongue. "Fire's useless."
A second serpent broke from the surf, teeth flashing white. Hunnt met it head-on. His fists blurred, striking rapid and hard — body over technique, instinct over style. Each blow sent waves splashing up the rocks, but the creatures only recoiled before charging again.
He ducked under a snapping jaw, drove his knee into a scaled chest, then twisted his body to throw the monster off balance. It crashed into the shallows with a guttural roar.
Behind him, Will shouted, "You're surrounded!"
Hunnt glanced up. He could see the silhouettes — five, six, maybe more — sliding through the water, circling.
"Enough," he muttered, stepping back toward dry sand.
The serpents slithered closer, hissing, but none dared to breach fully onto land. After a tense moment, they withdrew, tails disappearing into the black waves.
Hunnt breathed deeply, his fists lowering. "They're resistant to heat," he said, more to himself than anyone. "Impact hurts them, but not enough. The elements are against me."
Will and Willa descended carefully, stopping a few meters away.
"You actually fought them bare-handed," Willa said, half-amazed, half-scolding.
Hunnt wiped a streak of seawater from his chin. "Fought? No. Tested."
"And what did you find out?" Will asked.
"That I need something sharper."
---
Back in the city, the streets were alive with evening light. Fishermen hauled empty nets, blacksmiths hammered in frustration, and merchants argued over dwindling supplies.
Hunnt walked straight to the weapons district, stopping before a small forge near the edge of the harbor. The air shimmered with heat and the ring of hammer on steel.
Inside, the racks held every kind of weapon imaginable, yet one drew his attention — a long sword of simple make, its edge unpolished but balanced, quiet.
Hunnt picked it up, testing the weight. The steel hummed faintly as it moved through the air.
"That's a blade for patience, not strength," the blacksmith said, watching him. "You sure that's your kind of weapon?"
Hunnt smiled faintly. "We'll see."
He paid the man, slung the weapon across his back, and stepped outside where Will and Willa were waiting.
"You're changing weapons already?" Will asked.
Hunnt nodded. "The gauntlet's useless against what lives in the sea. This one will do better."
"You even know how to use it?" Willa pressed.
Hunnt's grin deepened slightly. "Enough to learn fast."
She hesitated, then said, "You can use our practice yard. It's behind the house, up by the cliffs."
"Good," Hunnt replied. "Lead the way."
---
Their home sat high above the city, overlooking the coast. The training yard behind it was small — just a dirt field with wooden posts and worn target dummies. But to Hunnt, it was enough.
He unsheathed the blade and stepped forward. The sword felt strange in his grip — lighter than the weight of the gauntlets, but not yet familiar. He could sense it again, that faint disconnection between his will and the weapon.
He ignored it.
"Overhead Slash," he murmured, the blade cutting cleanly through the air.
"Right Slash."
"Left Slash."
"Thrust."
Each motion came smoother than the last, the rhythm settling in his breathing. He let the motion carry him, finding the balance between control and instinct.
He moved into the next sequence — the spirit of the weapon answering him, faint but real.
Spirit I — diagonal.
Spirit II — upward.
Spirit III — spinning cross-cut.
Spirit Roundslash — full circular finisher.
The blade whistled through the fading light, slicing air with fluid precision. The ground beneath him darkened with the lengthening shadows of each movement.
Will and Willa stood quietly at the edge of the yard, their words caught in their throats.
Hunnt didn't look at them. He continued the pattern again and again, until his breath matched the swing of the sword, until each step felt like an echo of his heartbeat.
By the time the first stars appeared above Vaelstorm, the sound of steel against air had become steady and endless — a rhythm that filled the night and refused to fade.