The Last Sanctuary

As Solvyr made his way through the dense forest, searching for two more beasts to hunt, a desperate cry shattered the silence.

"Help!"

His body tensed as he instinctively hid behind the thick trunk of a tree, his sharp eyes scanning the clearing ahead.

There, surrounded by towering roots and dense foliage, stood a young woman—her delicate features marred by fear. Facing her were two men, clearly seasoned hunters. Their confident stances and worn gear spoke of years of experience, and the way they carried themselves suggested they were not to be trifled with.

Solvyr narrowed his eyes. These men were dangerous.

Stepping out from his hiding place, he spoke.

"You. Both of you."

The hunters turned, their expressions shifting from amusement to annoyance. One of them smirked.

"Ohh, Mr. Prince Charming is here," he sneered.

The other hunter, who had a more grizzled look, waved him off dismissively. "You have no business here, kid. Go home." His voice carried the expectation that Solvyr would cower and leave.

Solvyr sighed. "Well, I would love to," he said, his tone light. Then, his eyes turned cold. "But you're in my territory."

"Your territory, huh?" The grizzled hunter scoffed, his hand reaching for his weapon. With a swift motion, he unsheathed a pair of deadly daggers.

The smirking hunter patted his partner's back. "Keep the princess in check," he ordered. "I'll take care of this kid."

Solvyr's lips curled into a smirk as he unsheathed his blade. "Take good care of me, then."

The moment his sword gleamed in the light, the two hunters stiffened.

"The Unkillable Explorer Sword!"

The one guarding the princess turned sharply. "Well, well… looks like he's here."

"Kid, I am Ivar, and he's Drago," the dagger-wielding hunter introduced himself, his tone laced with curiosity and hostility. "How did you get that sword?"

Solvyr twirled his blade lazily. "Oh, this?" He feigned nonchalance. "He let me borrow it because I'm his student."

Their expressions darkened instantly.

Without another word, they unsheathed their weapons. Ivar's daggers gleamed like fangs, while Drago drew a massive blade, easily capable of felling a tree with a single swing.

"Before you die," Ivar said, eyes burning with intent, "what's your name?"

Solvyr smirked. "The ruler of this forest."

And then they clashed.

Ivar moved like a phantom, his speed overwhelming. Drago, on the other hand, was a wall of raw strength, his every strike sending shockwaves through the ground.

But Solvyr was neither weak nor predictable. Every soul he had consumed added to his instincts, granting him an ever-evolving fighting style. The two hunters soon realized—he was impossible to read.

'What is this kid's ability?' Ivar gritted his teeth, pushing harder against Solvyr's defenses.

Then, suddenly, all three combatants leaped back, reassessing the battlefield.

Ivar and Drago exchanged a glance.

"Kid, we admit it," Ivar said, catching his breath. "Your style is unpredictable."

Drago cracked his neck. "But as a sign of respect… we'll stop holding back."

The air around them shifted.

"May the storm be with me," Ivar intoned, his body suddenly engulfed in a raging tempest.

"May the wind obey me," Drago whispered, and though his aura was subtle, the very air around him seemed to bend to his will.

Solvyr exhaled, adjusting his stance. To them, his posture looked unorthodox—yet somehow, it carried an eerie sense of mastery.

Then, the second clash began.

Ivar's movements were now even faster, his daggers leaving trails of electrified air as he slashed at Solvyr from all directions. Meanwhile, Drago manipulated the wind itself, launching razor-sharp gusts that forced Solvyr to stay on the move.

Solvyr dodged relentlessly, relying on the instincts of the countless souls he had absorbed. Still, without an "Art" of his own, he was at a clear disadvantage.

'Tch. She better be someone famous,' he thought bitterly, casting a glance at the princess.

She wasn't just standing there anymore—she was meditating.

Solvyr's instincts screamed at him.

That girl… was dangerous.

'Good,' he thought. 'At least help me out.'

A sudden blast of wind sent him flying back. His body crashed into the dirt, pain flaring through his wounds.

"The princess, Drago!" Ivar suddenly shouted, eyes widening in alarm.

"What?" Drago turned—only to see the girl dashing straight at him.

"Damn it, Ivar!" he cursed. "She's healed!"

Ivar moved to help, but before he could—

SHNK.

A blade buried itself into his back.

Solvyr's voice was calm. "Well, aren't you forgetting me?"

He twisted the sword before yanking it out.

Ivar staggered, fury igniting in his eyes.

"You bastard…!"

Rage consumed him. He lunged, throwing everything he had into his final attacks. Solvyr met him head-on, both fighters now battling not just for victory, but for survival.

Blood splattered across the ground as steel met steel. Ivar's relentless strikes grew weaker, his vision dimming from the blood loss.

And then, at last—

Ivar collapsed.

[You have successfully hunted a human.]

+2 Souls.

(Soul detected.)

Solvyr barely registered the System's message. His breath was ragged, his body screaming in pain from the wounds he'd sustained.

And yet, he was still alive.

For now.