The Butcher.
I don’t know the name, but the reaction it gets tells me everything I need to.
He’s a monster.
Gale, still holding the bloodied adventurer, remains calm. His sharp gaze flicks to the receptionist. "Get him to a healer. Now."
The guild staff rushes forward, lifting the wounded man onto a stretcher and carrying him away. He mutters incoherently, his body trembling even as he’s taken from sight.
Gale straightens, his usual aloof demeanor replaced by something colder. More focused.
He looks toward the adventurers gathered around.
"Anyone who values their life should avoid the eastern forest."
No bravado. No dramatics. Just a fact.
But something in me—maybe stubbornness, maybe stupidity—keeps me rooted in place.
I glance back at the quest board.
The mission I picked—the one I planned to use to grind levels and get stronger—is in that forest.
Of course it is.
I should just let it go. Take a different quest, avoid unnecessary trouble.
But then, a notification flickers in my vision.
[Emergency Quest: The Butcher's Hunt]
Difficulty: ???
Objective: Survive.
I pause.
Survive? Not defeat. Not kill. Just… survive?
Not a great sign.
"Kelvin."
I blink, realizing Gale is suddenly standing in front of me.
The air around him is tense, controlled. Like a storm being held back just before it breaks.
"You’re new to C-rank," he says. "Stay out of this one."
A warning. Not a threat—just an observation.
I meet his gaze. "Who is he?"
Gale studies me for a moment, then exhales.
"An executioner from the old war," he says. "They called him The Butcher of Black Hollow."
The name means nothing to me. But judging by the way the room tenses even more, I get the feeling I should be concerned.
"He’s not an adventurer," Gale continues. "He’s not a bandit or a mercenary. He’s something worse."
I cross my arms. "Which is?"
Gale’s expression hardens.
"A killer. One with no rules."
I should walk away.
I just got to C-rank. I finally started making real progress. I bought new gear, upgraded my skills, even won against a skilled adventurer.
This isn’t my problem.
And yet…
I feel it.
That nagging sense of inevitability.
Like no matter what I choose, I’ll end up crossing paths with The Butcher anyway.
I exhale. "Where exactly in the forest was he spotted?"
Gale doesn’t even look surprised. "You’re going?"
"I have a quest there already," I say. "If I run into him, I’ll handle it."
Someone in the crowd snorts. "Handle it? You?"
I ignore them.
Gale studies me again, then lets out a quiet chuckle.
"You’re either brave or incredibly reckless."
"Probably both," I admit.
His smirk fades. "If you see him, don’t fight. Run. He doesn’t just kill—he enjoys it."
Noted.
With that, I grab my things and head for the exit.
The eastern forest is waiting.
And something tells me I won’t be the only hunter out there.
The deeper I go, the quieter everything becomes.
The usual sounds of the wild—chirping insects, rustling leaves—are missing.
Something isn’t right.
I press forward, hand resting lightly on my weapon. My mask keeps my identity hidden, but it does nothing for the growing tension in my chest.
A strange smell lingers in the air. Metallic. Coppery.
Blood.
I crouch low, moving carefully toward the source. The trees thin out ahead, revealing a small clearing.
Bodies.
Not just adventurers—bandits, monsters, anything that moved.
All butchered.
Some have been torn apart brutally. Others… precisely.
Whoever did this took their time.
A cold feeling creeps up my spine. I need to move. Now.
I turn—
And someone is standing behind me.
A man.
Tall. Dressed in dark, ragged clothes. His face is hidden by a hood and a mask, but his posture is relaxed. Casual.
Like he’s out for a stroll.
His right hand lazily holds a massive cleaver.
The blade drips red.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
Neither does he.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
Then—
He tilts his head.
And grins.
"Found you."
A chill runs down my spine, and for the first time in a long time…
I feel something close to fear.
The Butcher raises his cleaver.
I move.
The Butcher's grin is eerie, stretching just beneath his hood. He doesn’t speak beyond those first two words, but he doesn’t need to. His stance, his posture, the way he casually rests his cleaver over one shoulder—it all tells me the same thing.
He enjoys this.
I don’t wait.
The moment he lifts his weapon, I bolt.
Fighting him head-on? Not happening. I’ve seen what he’s done to the bodies in the clearing. Some were hacked apart in a frenzy, others killed with terrifying precision. He’s not just strong—he’s methodical.
I barely make it three steps before the air behind me explodes.
CRASH.
A tree bursts apart, splinters flying past me like arrows. The Butcher's cleaver slammed through it like paper, missing me by an inch.
I don’t stop. I duck, weave between trees, pushing my legs to move faster.
But he’s fast too.
Footsteps pound behind me, heavy but unhurried. He’s not sprinting—he doesn’t need to. It’s like he knows I can run all I want, but eventually, he’ll catch me.
Branches whip past my face as I push forward. The forest is dense, but that won’t stop him. I need cover. I need distance.
I flick my hand, pulling up my system interface in my vision.
[Abilities]
— Piercing Strike [Active]
— Regeneration [Passive]
— Weapon Transmutation [Active]
— Level 10 Bonus: ???
Still nothing on the Level 10 Bonus. Whatever it is, it hasn’t unlocked yet. Useless.
Stolen novel; please report.
I grit my teeth. Fine. I’ll work with what I have.
I flick my fingers again, shifting my toothpick into a long spear. If I have to fight, I need reach.
Another crash.
I pivot mid-run. A glimpse over my shoulder reveals The Butcher walking through the wreckage of yet another tree, unfazed, like he’s out for a morning stroll.
What the hell is this guy?
I push forward. Almost there. I spot a steep hill ahead, sloping downward into a dried riverbed. If I time it right, I can use the drop to—
Something whistles through the air.
MOVE.
I throw myself forward just as something massive tears through the space I occupied.
I hit the ground, rolling to break the fall.
Dirt and leaves scatter around me as I twist my body, spear raised—
The Butcher’s cleaver is lodged into a tree.
He threw it.
I barely have time to process that before he lunges.
Even without his weapon, his speed is unreal. He closes the gap in an instant, his fist rocketing toward my face.
I block with my spear—
CRACK.
Pain explodes through my arms as my weapon absorbs the hit, the force nearly throwing me off balance. The impact alone is enough to send a shockwave through my body.
He’s that strong.
I stagger back, arms aching. He doesn’t give me time to recover. His other hand lashes out in a brutal palm strike aimed for my chest.
I dodge left, barely. His strike grazes me, and even that small contact burns.
I thrust my spear forward, aiming for his stomach.
He sidesteps effortlessly.
Then his hand shoots out.
Fingers clamp around the shaft of my weapon.
For a moment, we struggle, locked in place. His grip is like iron.
Then he tilts his head, almost… amused.
"You’re not bad," he murmurs.
And then he rips the spear from my hands.
The force sends me stumbling back. Before I can react, he swings my own weapon at me.
I duck, but the spear clips my shoulder.
Pain lances through me, but I grit my teeth, ignoring it. I need a new weapon. Now.
I flick my fingers—transmute.
The spear collapses, shifts, reshapes.
A dagger appears in my hand just as The Butcher lunges again.
This time, I don’t back off.
I step forward.
He doesn’t expect it.
My dagger slashes upward, aimed for his neck.
At the last second, he jerks back, avoiding a fatal wound, but the blade nicks his hood, slicing through fabric.
For the first time, I see his face.
A jagged scar runs down his left cheek, disappearing beneath his jaw. His eyes—dark, sunken, and hungry—lock onto mine.
He licks his lips.
"You should’ve run."
He moves faster than before, a blur of motion.
I barely get my dagger up to block as his palm slams into my chest.
Air leaves my lungs as my body rockets backward.
I crash into a tree with enough force to shake the branches.
Pain explodes through me, but I don’t stop.
I hit the ground and roll, barely avoiding his foot slamming down where my head was. The earth cracks beneath his heel.
If that hit had landed—
No time to think.
I flick my fingers, shifting my dagger into a sword.
I need a new plan.
Because right now?
I’m outmatched.
And The Butcher is just getting started.
My lungs burn. Every muscle in my body screams at me to run, but I already know there’s no escaping him.
Not now.
The Butcher rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms as if warming up. His hood is gone, revealing his face in full—deep-set eyes that gleam with something twisted, something… entertained. His lips curl into a smirk, the scar on his cheek stretching.
"Not bad," he says again, cracking his knuckles. "Most don't last this long."
I don’t respond. Talking won’t save me.
I shift my stance, gripping my sword tightly. My mind races, searching for options. His speed and power are overwhelming. He toys with his opponents before killing them. If I try to outlast him in a battle of endurance, I’ll lose.
I need a way to end this fast.
He tilts his head, watching me. Then—without warning—he moves.
I barely react in time.
I bring my sword up as he closes the gap instantly, his fist lashing out in a brutal punch aimed for my ribs. I block—barely—but the impact rattles my bones. My feet skid back, dirt kicking up beneath me.
He’s still holding back.
A shiver runs through me. If he stops playing around, I’m dead.
He doesn’t give me time to breathe.
A second strike—this time, a downward punch. If it lands, it’ll shatter my skull.
I sidestep, twisting away. The punch misses, slamming into the ground. A crater forms.
A damn crater.
I slash at his exposed side, aiming for the gap in his defenses—
But he moves faster than I can react.
His hand shoots up, catching my sword mid-swing.
I freeze.
His grip tightens.
Then, with one sharp movement, he snaps the blade in half.
My heart drops.
He throws the broken sword aside like trash. I stumble back, desperately flicking my fingers—transmute.
My weapon reshapes, forming into twin daggers. I go low, slashing at his legs—
He kicks.
The force sends me flying.
I crash into another tree, gasping as the air is forced from my lungs.
My vision blurs. My ribs ache, maybe even cracked.
I can’t win like this.
The Butcher approaches, slow, deliberate. He’s in no rush.
Because he knows.
I’m done.
"You remind me of someone," he muses. "That stubbornness. That fire." He chuckles. "I killed him, too."
I force myself to stand. Every inch of my body protests.
He shakes his head. "You can barely move. Just stay down. Makes it easier for both of us."
I wipe blood from my lip. My breath is ragged. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
Then—
A notification flickers across my vision.
[Level 10 Bonus Unlocked: Last Stand]
A chill rushes through me.
I don’t question it.
Power surges through my veins. My body feels lighter. Stronger. Faster.
The Butcher notices. His smirk fades, replaced by curiosity.
"Oh?"
I flick my wrist—my daggers reshape into a spear.
I grip it tightly, exhaling slowly.
"Let’s try this again."
And then I move.
Faster than ever before.
I lunge, spear in hand, faster than I ever thought possible.
The Butcher’s smirk vanishes as I close the gap instantly. His eyes widen in genuine surprise—he wasn’t expecting this.
I thrust.
The tip of my spear pierces his side.
For the first time since the fight began, he bleeds.
His body twists, barely dodging a fatal strike, but I feel the resistance—the spear has gone through. A clean wound.
He growls, staggering back, but I don’t give him time to recover.
I press forward.
A downward swipe—he blocks with his arm. My spear carves into his flesh, but doesn’t break.
A sweeping thrust—he dodges, but slower than before.
A feint—then I twist the spear mid-motion, catching him in the shoulder.
He’s on the defensive.
And I’m winning.
The Butcher grits his teeth, leaping backward, putting distance between us. He grips his bleeding side, eyes narrowing.
“…What did you do?”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t fully understand it either.
The Level 10 Bonus—Last Stand. It’s activated, and the effects are undeniable.
My body feels weightless. Every movement is sharper, faster. It’s as if the limits that bound me before are gone.
The Butcher’s gaze shifts—to my spear.
His fingers twitch, remembering how he broke my sword like it was nothing. But this?
This weapon didn’t even bend.
Because it can’t.
Infinite durability.
No matter how strong he is—he can’t break my weapon.
He realizes this. And for the first time…
He looks annoyed.
“Tch.” He exhales, rolling his shoulders. "Guess I’ll have to take you seriously."
Then—he vanishes.
MOVE.
I barely react in time. I twist my body, dodging an unseen strike. His fist brushes past my ribs, grazing them, but the sheer force blows me backward.
He’s gotten faster.
No—he was always this fast. He was just holding back before.
I barely land on my feet before he’s on me again. A kick aimed for my head—I duck. His follow-up elbow strike—I parry with my spear.
Our movements blur. Strike, counter, dodge, feint.
He grins now—he’s enjoying this.
I don’t let it shake me.
I lock my grip, twisting my spear, aiming for his chest—
He catches it mid-thrust.
Then, with raw strength, he pulls me toward him.
I have no time to react before his knee slams into my stomach.
Pain explodes through my body.
My vision darkens.
I gasp, but no air enters my lungs. My insides feel like they’ve collapsed.
Before I can recover, he slams his fist into my face.
The world tilts.
I’m flying.
I crash into the ground, skidding across the dirt.
Everything hurts. My mind spins.
I force myself up—no time to stay down.
The Butcher cracks his knuckles, exhaling. "There it is." He grins. "Thought you were getting cocky for a second."
Blood drips from my lips. My arms shake.
But I refuse to fall.
I tighten my grip on my spear.
I’m not done.
He chuckles. "Good. You’re still standing." His grin widens. "Now let’s really fight."
I stagger backward, barely able to stand. My weapon trembles in my grip, my body battered and broken. The Butcher watches me with a sick grin, rolling his shoulders as if this fight is nothing more than entertainment.
“You put up a decent fight,” he muses, stepping forward. “But let’s be real—” His foot crushes a piece of shattered stone beneath him. “You were never going to win.”
I grit my teeth.
He’s right.
I’m out of strength, out of options. Every attack I’ve landed barely slowed him down. My so-called “infinite durability” means nothing if I can’t land a finishing blow.
This isn’t a fight. It’s a slow execution.
The Butcher raises his weapon—an axe so massive it could split me in two.
I try to move. I have to move—
Then the wind howls.
A blur of movement cuts between us, too fast for my eyes to follow.
And suddenly—the Butcher is sent flying.
He slams through three trees, his massive frame crashing into the dirt with a deafening boom.
I barely have time to process what happened before I hear a familiar voice.
“You look like hell, Kelvin.”
I turn.
Gale stands there, arms crossed, his usual confident smirk tugging at his lips. His black cloak flutters in the wind, and his S-rank adventurer badge glints under the fading sunlight.
“Gale…” My voice is hoarse, my breath shaky.
He doesn’t look at me. His gaze is fixed on the crater where the Butcher landed.
“I was in the area,” he says casually. “Heard some noise. Figured you were up to something stupid.”
The Butcher groans, pushing himself out of the wreckage. His eyes burn with rage.
“You—” He spits blood onto the ground. “You’re that S-rank freak.”
Gale rolls his shoulders. “And you’re still standing. That’s annoying.”
The Butcher’s fury twists into something worse. Excitement.
“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he growls. His body shudders, veins bulging unnaturally. A twisted aura of power flares around him.
I recognize it.
He’s holding back even more power than before.
And yet—
Gale just sighs, cracking his knuckles.
“I’ll make this quick,” he says.
Then—he moves.
I don’t even see it.
One moment, Gale is standing beside me. The next—he’s behind the Butcher, a dagger buried in the man’s back.
The Butcher roars in agony. He swings wildly, but Gale is already gone, appearing at his side and slashing across his ribs.
Blood sprays into the air.
This isn’t even a fight.
Gale is toying with him.
Every attack lands with surgical precision. Every dodge is effortless.
I watch, stunned.
I knew Gale was strong. I knew he was S-rank.
But this?
This is something else.
The Butcher stumbles.
His breathing is ragged, his movements sluggish.
He lost.
Gale twirls his dagger between his fingers. “Disappointing.”
The Butcher grits his teeth. And then—he grins.
A surge of dark energy erupts from his body.
Gale steps back, eyes narrowing.
Something’s wrong.
The Butcher’s wounds close. His muscles bulge grotesquely. His skin turns an unnatural shade of red.
He activated something.
“…A berserker skill,” Gale mutters. “Tch. Should’ve killed you faster.”
The Butcher lunges.
Faster than before.
And this time—he lands a hit.
His fist collides with Gale’s side.
The impact is thunderous.
Gale is sent flying.
He crashes through the trees, his body slamming into the ground, unmoving.
My blood runs cold.
No.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
Gale is the S-rank adventurer.
He’s supposed to be untouchable.
And yet—he’s lying in the dirt, barely moving.
The Butcher laughs.
“Oh, that felt good,” he breathes, rolling his shoulders. “Guess even S-ranks bleed like the rest of us.”
I don’t think.
I don’t hesitate.
I move.
The Butcher doesn’t even see me coming.
Piercing Strike—
My weapon drives straight through his heart.
His eyes widen.
He chokes.
He tries to speak—but I twist the spear, and whatever words he was about to say die in his throat.
His body goes limp.
Then—he collapses.
I stand there, panting.
The Butcher is dead.
And I don’t feel relief.
I turn, rushing to Gale.
He’s still alive. Barely. Blood pools beneath him, his breathing shallow.
“Damn,” he mutters weakly. “Guess I… miscalculated.”
I press down on his wounds, panic clawing at my chest. “Shut up and save your strength.”
Gale smirks, even now. “Didn’t think you cared.”
I glare at him. “You saved my life.”
His eyes flicker—just for a second.
Then, his breathing slows.
And then—it stops.
I sit there, motionless.
Gale is dead.
The man who should have won. The one who was supposed to walk away.
Gone.
I stare at his lifeless body, hands shaking.
This world… is cruel.
I thought I was strong.
I thought I was climbing the ranks.
But this fight showed me the truth.
I’m nothing.
Not yet.
I clench my fists, eyes burning.
I will never let this happen again.
No matter what it takes—I will get stronger.
I stand there, staring at Gale’s lifeless body.
His face is frozen in that same cocky smirk, even in death. Blood pools around him, soaking into the dirt.
I sigh, stretching out my sore arms.
"Well… While it is sad, I really didn’t know him, so I don’t care."
I step over his body and rummage through his things. Money, potions, weapons. Waste not, want not.
He won’t need any of this where he’s going.
I sling his bag over my shoulder, making a mental note of what I’ve gained. A couple of gold coins, some high-grade potions, and his dagger—a well-crafted, enchanted blade. Not bad.
A notification pings in my vision.
[Major Enemy Defeated: The Butcher]
Rewards Calculated…
+3 Level Ups
+1 Skill Upgrade (Piercing Strike → Piercing Lance)
+Special Item: Bloodstained Badge
I smirk. Three level-ups? Not bad for a fight I nearly lost.
I roll my shoulders, testing out my new strength. There’s no use standing around here any longer.
Gale is dead.
The Butcher is dead.
And I?
I’m still alive.
I turn away from the scene without a second glance.
Time to find my next quest.