Chapter 59: Chapter 59: Time To Hunt (part 1)

He kept his senses sharp.

Part of him was searching for bandits.

The other part was looking for an exit.

If his memory was correct, this forest bordered a trade route on one side and rough hills on the other. If he walked blindly in the wrong direction, he could end up deeper inside instead of getting out.

Through the thin mental threads, he felt one skeleton stumble over uneven ground. Another paused briefly, then continued moving.

No signal yet.

Aiden stepped over a fallen log and climbed a small rise, using the higher ground to scan the area. From here, he could see treetops stretching endlessly, broken only by faint trails where animals or people had passed repeatedly.

Bandits wouldn’t build their base too close to the forest’s edge. Too exposed. They’d want cover, but still access to paths where prey passed.

Which meant somewhere in the middle.

—-

It took him almost two hours before he felt it.

A faint tug in his mind.

One of the skeletons had found something.

Aiden stopped mid-step. The connection sharpened, turning from a dull thread into a steady pulse. Not a beast. Not random movement.

People.

He changed direction immediately, moving faster now despite the protest in his ribs. Branches scraped against his arms as he pushed through thick brush. The signal grew stronger the closer he got.

Then he smelled it.

Smoke.

Cooked meat.

Voices.

Aiden slowed down as he approached, crouching behind a cluster of bushes near a small clearing.

There it was.

A crude bandit camp.

Rough wooden huts built from uneven logs. A fire pit at the center. Weapons scattered carelessly, blades, spears, even a bow leaning against a crate. Clothes hung on a line between two trees.

Ten men.

Some were sitting around the fire laughing. One was sharpening a blade. Two stood guard lazily near the edge of the camp, though their posture said they weren’t expecting trouble.

They looked relaxed.

Too relaxed.

Aiden watched them for only a few seconds.

No deep plan formed in his mind. No complicated strategy.

They were ten ordinary fighters. From what he could sense, none of them had stepped the Body Tempering Stage.

He stepped out of the bushes.

At first, no one noticed him.

Then one of the guards frowned. “Hey—who the hell are you?”

Aiden didn’t answer.

He lifted his hand.

And summoned everything.

Three bronze-grade undead burst from the ground behind him, Bonefist emerging first, its heavy skeletal frame towering slightly above the rest. Skullbreaker rose next, then Vayne followed.

Then the remaining basic-grade skeletons clawed their way out in a wave of rattling bones.

The camp froze.

“What the—”

“Enemies!”

“Kill them!”

Too late.

Aiden activated Fear Pulse.

A wave of cold pressure exploded outward from him, invisible but suffocating. The air turned heavy. The laughter died instantly. Several bandits staggered, eyes widening as a primal chill gripped their hearts.

One dropped his sword.

Another took a step back, breathing uneven.

Bonefist moved first.

It crossed the distance in seconds, its reinforced skeletal arm swinging down like a hammer. The first bandit’s skull cracked on impact, the sound sickening and sharp. The body dropped without a second breath.

Skullbreaker followed.

The bronze undead lumbered forward with terrifying momentum, the spiked club dragging for half a second before it came up in a brutal arc. The weapon smashed into a bandit’s shoulder, crushing bone and tearing flesh. The spikes tore free with a spray of blood as the man screamed, only for the next swing to cave in his skull completely.

Vayne didn’t rush.

He walked.

Calm. Silent. Sword in hand.

One bandit, shaking off the effects of Fear Pulse, charged at Aiden with a desperate yell. Vayne stepped between them in a single smooth motion. Steel flashed. The sword sliced cleanly across the man’s throat. The scream turned into a wet gurgle as he collapsed, clutching at blood he couldn’t stop.

The camp descended into chaos.

“Run!”

Two tried to flee toward the trees. Aiden’s basic-grade skeletons intercepted them. Though weaker, they were relentless. One skeleton latched onto a man’s leg, dragging him down. Another stabbed forward with a rusted blade, over and over, until the struggling stopped.

Aiden stood in the middle of it all, calm, watching.

One bandit managed to gather enough courage to charge Bonefist from the side. His blade struck with a sharp clang, barely leaving a mark on the skin.

Bonefist turned its head slowly.

Then punched.

The man’s chest caved inward as if struck by a battering ram. He flew back, crashing into a wooden hut.

Within seconds, it was no longer a fight.

It was slaughter.

Fear Pulse had shattered their will. None of them could form a proper defense. Their formation never existed to begin with.

One last bandit dropped to his knees, weapon falling from trembling hands. “P-Please—”

Vayne’s sword ended it before he could finish.

Silence fell over the clearing.

The fire still crackled softly in the center of camp. Smoke drifted upward as if nothing had happened.

Ten bodies lay scattered across the ground.

Aiden slowly walked forward, boots stepping over blood-soaked dirt. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t feel triumphant. He didn’t feel guilty.

He felt… nothing.

He stood there for a moment after the last body stopped moving.

The clearing was quiet again. Only the fire in the middle of the camp continued to crackle, as if nothing had happened. The smell of blood mixed with smoke and damp earth.

He looked at the corpses scattered around.

Ten of them.

For a second, the thought crossed his mind.

But he shook his head.

“Not worth it.”

Basic-grade at best. Maybe not even that. Turning them into undead would only waste his summon slots. He had limited space, and he wasn’t going to fill it with trash.

With a thought, he began unsummoning his undead.

The basic skeletons collapsed first, bones clattering softly before dissolving into dark particles that faded into the air. Skullbreaker lowered its spiked club before its heavy frame broke apart into dust-like fragments. Bonefist followed, its reinforced arms cracking apart as it vanished.

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