Three days.
Three days of relentless motion.
Three days where the land beneath their feet ceased to matter.
They ran the way only hunters could—rank dictating speed, power bending distance. Hills flattened into blurs. Rivers were crossed in single strides. Nights passed without rest, broken only by the screams of monsters foolish enough to cross their path.
By the time the city finally rose on the horizon, even S-rank bodies carried exhaustion deep in the marrow.
Massive walls of reinforced stone and alloy towered ahead, runes glowing faintly along their surface. This was a living city—untouched by recent catastrophe, guarded, alert. Smoke rose from chimneys. Lights glimmered. Life continued here.
Lunaria slowed first.
The others followed instinctively.
His half-length silver hair fluttered freely in the wind, framing his face with soft, almost delicate lines. The nose mask hid his mouth, leaving only those pale, unreadable eyes visible. Dust and dried blood clung to their clothes, and the weight of days of killing still clung to their presence.
They approached the gates.
The guards noticed immediately.
Weapons rose.
Mana flared.
"Stop right there!"
A dozen city guards formed ranks atop the wall and at the gate itself. Their eyes swept over the group—five hunters, battle-worn, moving too smoothly, too confidently. No insignias. No banners.
Rogue hunters.
That was the first conclusion—and the most dangerous one.
"You don't have clearance," the captain barked. "State your business."
Ash stepped forward calmly. "We're seeking entry. Temporary settlement."
The captain's gaze slid past him.
Then it landed on Lunaria.
And lingered.
He was smaller than the others. Slim. Masked. Hair loose and pale against ash-stained clothing. After days of battle, exhaustion only made his features softer, more unreal—like something that didn't belong on a road soaked in blood.
A few of the guards exchanged looks.
Predatory ones.
"Well now," one muttered quietly, not bothering to hide his smirk. "That one doesn't look like a hunter."
Another snorted. "If they're rogues, we'll deal with them inside. The cells have… ways of making people talk."
Lunaria felt it.
Not fear.
Disgust.
Ash stiffened. Kael's hand tightened. Riven's mana spiked for a split second before he forced it down.
The captain raised a hand. "Weapons down. All of you. You'll be detained until we're sure you're not criminals."
Lunaria lifted his head slowly.
The air changed.
Not violently.
Not yet.
"You're making assumptions," he said softly.
The captain laughed. "You don't get to negotiate at our gate, boy."
That was the mistake.
Lunaria stepped forward.
Just one step.
The ground beneath the gate cracked.
Mana pressure rolled outward like a tidal wave, slamming into the guards with invisible force. Several staggered back. One dropped to a knee, gasping. Weapons rattled as hands trembled uncontrollably.
Eyes widened.
"What—what rank are you?" the captain demanded, voice suddenly strained.
Lunaria reached into his coat and withdrew a badge.
S-Rank.
The rune flared the moment it caught the light.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Behind Lunaria, the others revealed theirs—each one burning with authority that pressed down on the walls themselves.
The captain swallowed hard.
"I suggest," Lunaria said calmly, aura barely restrained now, "that you reconsider how you treat travelers."
The guards lowered their weapons almost in unison.
The gates began to open.
As they passed through, none of the guards dared meet Lunaria's eyes.
They had sensed it then—too late.
The city had not almost rejected rogue hunters.
It had almost offended something far worse.
And Lunaria walked through the gates with quiet steps, hair brushing his shoulders, mask hiding his expression—leaving behind men who would remember that moment for the rest of their lives, thankful that intimidation was all they had earned.