Six days after awakening, Kael was already deep into a routine that would break most boys his age.
His mornings began before sunrise. The town of Greyveil, with its stone-paved streets and towering walls, still lay in the embrace of dawn.
Kael stood near the fortified perimeter—a thick wall that kept the beasts of the wild at bay. Here, he began his endurance runs, circling the perimeter again and again, covering five to ten kilometers while carrying light weights strapped to his arms and legs.
Sweat poured off him in rivers. Muscles screamed.
But he gritted his teeth and pushed harder.
"If my Soul won't carry me... my body must."
After the run came agility drills.
He weaved through stacked crates, leapt low walls, sprinted between narrow alleys—all makeshift, but effective. Anything to sharpen his reflexes and footwork.
Then came the basics.
Push-ups. Sit-ups. Squats. Planks.
Again and again, until his limbs trembled.
Pain became his closest companion, but also his measure of progress.
But physical strength alone wasn't enough.
After a short break, Kael moved to his true focus: Soul Weapon practice.
In a small, hidden yard behind the orphanage, he trained with the Folding Scythe, the weapon everyone had mocked.
First came form and transition drills.
He opened and folded the scythe again and again, training his muscles to shift between the compact and extended form seamlessly.
Click. Snap. Extend. Fold.
Again. Again. Until the motion became instinct.
Then he faced the target dummies—some fixed, some hanging and swaying from old ropes.
With precise, and focused strikes, Kael targeted pressure points and joints on the dummies. Each cut was practiced with both scythe forms.
Precision and accuracy became his new obsession.
He moved on to blocking and parrying drills—fending off swinging wooden poles and testing his control over the scythe's defense. The Folding Scythe wasn't just for attack; it could be a shield in skilled hands.
Finally, Kael practiced basic combat techniques from Master Alric's book:
Reaper's Sweep—a wide, fluid arc meant to trip and slash.
Polearm Thrust—a sudden, straight strike for vital targets.
Snap Strike—a short-range flick for close-quarters.
He tested these moves against dense wood, tough leather, and whatever else he could find to mimic the hides of Soul Beasts.
Between drills, he forced himself to meditate, calming his mind.
Books became his second weapon.
He devoured texts about Soul Beast anatomy, especially those common to the Fogveil Ring-their weaknesses, attack patterns, and where they lurked.
He also studied outskirt terrain, learning to survive outside the safety of Greyveil for extended missions.
It was brutal.
The first days left him sore beyond belief. His hands blistered. His muscles throbbed. Every night, he dragged himself back to the orphanage barely able to stand.
But by the sixth day—
His strikes grew sharper.
His body moved smoother.
And his heart burned with a growing resolve.
Next day.
Kael had barely finished his morning drills when a message came from the Guild.
A party had accepted his request.
He wasted no time, making his way to the Guild building.
At the counter stood Layla, the female receptionist who had helped him before.
"You've been accepted Kael," she said with a small smile.
"Not the best party, but it's a start."
Kael bowed his head.
"Thank you."
Then she leaned in slightly,
"Listen... first hunts are dangerous. Don't be reckless. If it looks bad—run. Live to fight another day."
Her tone was softer now—almost caring.
Kael nodded firmly.
"I understand. Thank you... again."
By noon, Kael stood at the Western Gate—one of the four great entrances to Greyveil.
Beyond lay the rolling wilds and dangers of the outskirts.
The gate itself bustled with activity, hunters moving in and out, carts of supplies being loaded.
And there, a group of four waited.
At their front stood a tall man with weathered skin and a lean, confident build—their leader, Gareth.
"You the newbie?" Gareth asked flatly.
"Yes," Kael replied. "Kael. Folding Scythe. Flickering Soul Potential."
One of the party members, a cocky youth named Varek, armed with twin daggers snorted.
"A Flickering Soul? Tch. Dead weight."
"Enough." Gareth's voice cut like steel.
"We needed a fifth. He's here. Let's go."
Kael was also introduced to the rest:
Lira—archer, Wind Affinity, longbow Soul Weapon.
Tomas—heavy shield, Earth Affinity.
Varek—twin daggers, Shadow Affinity.
Gareth—leader, Greatsword, Fire affinity. All second rank hunters
Gareth glanced at Kael as they moved out.
"Fogveil Ring is no playground. Mists hide many things—terrain's tricky. Lesser Soul Beasts lurk there, easy prey for the right party... or a death trap for fools."
He continued in a level tone:
"Our mission's simple: hunt a sector of Lesser Beasts. Target is the Bloody Hound—packs of them infest the outer Ring. Nasty beasts. Fast, vicious, and coordinated."
"Without a proper party, hunting them is suicide. Stick to formation. Watch your flanks. And remember, if it gets too bad, retreat."
Kael swallowed hard—but his gaze stayed steady.
"Understood."
His first real hunt had begun.
They passed through the gates and beyond the walls of Greyveil, the land changed quickly. A cold wind swept over the party as they moved along an old dirt path.
Ahead lay the Fogveil Ring—a band of land thick with unnatural mist. It stretched around the town like a silent warning.
Fogveil wasn't called that for nothing. The fog there was no ordinary mist. It shifted and moved like it had a life of its own, swallowing sound and light. Even the sun seemed weaker inside it, as if afraid to shine too brightly.
The terrain was full of uneven ground, fallen trees, tangled roots, and hidden drops.
Here, Soul Beasts ruled.
The Fogveil Ring was home mostly to Lesser Soul Beasts, but stronger ones like the Feral Soul Beasts wandered in deeper zones.
Lesser Beasts ranged from weak creatures easy for new hunters to kill,
to deadly beasts that required full parties to handle.
Everyone had to stay alert.
Gareth led the way, eyes sharp. He moved with the ease of someone used to this kind of danger.
Lira kept to the rear, her bow ready.
Tomas stayed close to Kael, shield raised.
Varek darted from shadow to shadow, scouting ahead.
Kael followed silently, senses wide open.
They avoided several beasts along the way.
At one point, they spotted a pair of Mistlurkers, there where sinewy, and snake-like Soul Beasts that moved through fog like water and Gareth quickly signaled the party to halt.
He drew a quick line in the dirt—a signal for a change in route.
The party doubled back slightly, slipping through a narrow animal trail Kael had noticed earlier.
Further in, they saw strange claw marks on the trees—still fresh.
"Feral Ironclaw," Kael whispered, eyes narrowing.
Gareth looked at him. "You sure?"
Kael nodded.
"Their kind marks territory this way. If we go further east, we'll be within its hunting zone. We should cut south."
Gareth studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Good eye."
As they adjusted their path, Kael caught a glance from Lira. She gave a small nod of approval. Even Varek looked a bit surprised.
The journey continued in tense silence.
Every step was measured. No one wanted to attract attention from a beast they couldn't handle.
After another hour of careful movement, they reached a small clearing.
"We'll rest here. Fifteen minutes," Gareth ordered.
The party members sat, backs to trees or rocks.
One by one, they drew out Soul Beast Cores—small, crystal-like orbs taken from beasts.
In this world, these cores were power itself. Hunters absorbed the Soul Energy within to strengthen their cultivation ranks.
The stronger the core, the more energy—but absorbing too fast could backfire.
Kael had no cores yet, so he simply sat and calmed his breathing. His heart pounded from the tension of the hunt, but he kept his face calm.
"Half an hour from here," Gareth spoke up, breaking the silence,
"we should reach the Bloody Hounds' hunting ground."
Kael's grip on his scythe tightened.
This was it.
All the training, the sweat, the pain of the past six days... it was about to be tested.
His body was ready. His mind was sharp.
He took a slow, deep breath.
"I won't fail."