Always two.
Etzel stared at Maerin’s message. Then at the spear in his hand. Then back at the message.
“I just bought one weapon.”
From the Soul Space, DK answered: Then use it twice.
Etzel slowly lowered the communicator. “That is not how weapons work.”
No answer. Etzel waited. Still nothing.
“You say something ridiculous and then hide in another dimension. Cowardly.”
Recover first.
Etzel frowned. “That was an impressive change of subject.”
Unfortunately, DK was right. More unfortunately, so was Ismera.
Etzel did not go hunting that day. His ribs needed another day. So he spent it doing something almost as painful: training.
DK kept the session light. At least that was what he called it. Etzel suspected the knight had developed an unusual definition of the word.
Grip. Thrust. Recover. Step. Turn. Reset. Again. Again. Again.
No complicated techniques. No clever tricks. Just repetition until the spear stopped feeling like an object Etzel happened to be holding and began, very slowly, to feel like something connected to his movement.
He still made mistakes. Many. His rear hand occasionally overworked. His feet became too narrow when retreating. He watched the spearhead when he should have watched his opponent.
DK corrected everything. “Again.”
Etzel reset his stance. “You know other words.”
“Yes.”
“Use one.”
“Again.”
Etzel sighed. By evening, his ribs hurt less. His arms hurt more. He considered that progress.
The next morning, Maerin sent the complete hunting-zone report. Etzel read it over breakfast.
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [E-RANK HUNTING ZONE — SECTOR 14] │
│ Primary Threat: Mirrorjaw Stalker │
│ Observed Levels: 6–8 │
│ Behavior: Paired Hunting │
│ Terrain: Sparse woodland / rock ridges │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
Below it was a message from Maerin:
Maerin: Do not engage if there are more than two.
Etzel typed:
Etzel: You said they always hunt in pairs.
The answer came quickly:
Maerin: Pairs can stand next to other pairs.
Etzel stared at the screen.
Etzel: I dislike mathematics again.
A few seconds passed.
Sivenne: You liked mathematics before?
Etzel narrowed his eyes.
Etzel: Why are you here?
Sivenne: Emotional support.
Etzel almost laughed. Apparently that phrase was following him now.
Tessa sent the next message:
Tessa: How are your ribs?
Etzel considered several possible answers. Maerin interrupted before he could choose one:
Maerin: The truthful answer.
Etzel sighed.
Etzel: Better.
Tessa replied:
Tessa: Better enough?
Etzel looked toward the doorway. Then rotated his torso carefully. A little stiffness. A little pain. Nothing like yesterday.
Etzel: Better enough.
Maerin: That is not medically meaningful.
Etzel: Neither is friendship apparently.
Sivenne: Good luck!
Tessa: Be careful.
Maerin: Two. Not four.
Etzel put the communicator away. “They have so much faith in me.”
DK, sitting across the room where no one else could currently see him, looked at Etzel. “They expect you to make bad decisions.”
“That is a different kind of faith.”
Sector 14 lay far enough from populated areas that the roads became dirt before Etzel reached the boundary. The terrain beyond was open compared to the forest where he had spent much of his early hunting. Sparse trees. Tall grass. Gray stone formations rising from the earth. Good visibility. Mostly.
Etzel preferred that. He adjusted the spear in his hands.
DK walked several meters behind him. That was deliberate. Etzel had noticed.
“You’re staying back.”
“Yes.”
“That feels ominous.”
“You need experience.”
“I have experience.”
“You have survived several dangerous situations.”
Etzel glanced over his shoulder. “That sounded like experience.”
“It is not the same thing.”
Etzel turned forward again. Annoyingly reasonable. “What exactly are you doing, then?”
“Watching.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
“I intervene.”
“How wrong?”
“If you are going to die.”
Etzel considered that. “Slightly reassuring.”
DK said nothing. Etzel looked back. “Only slightly.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
They continued.
The first sign appeared twelve minutes later. Tracks.
Etzel crouched beside them. Long. Narrow. Three forward toes. One smaller rear impression. Bipedal. He looked around. No movement.
DK stopped several steps away. Etzel pointed toward the tracks. “Mirrorjaw?”
“Yes.”
“You know?”
“I read the report.”
Etzel looked at him. “That was disappointingly normal.”
DK’s expression remained still. Etzel stood. The tracks disappeared between two low rock formations. He tightened his grip on the spear. “Let’s find two.”
They found one.
That was worse.
The creature stood partially concealed behind a pale stone ridge. Tall enough that, fully upright, it would have looked down slightly at Etzel. Its body was lean. Too lean. Dark gray hide stretched over long limbs built more for sudden movement than strength. Its legs bent strangely beneath it, the joints angled backward. Two narrow arms ended in hooked fingers.
But the head drew Etzel’s attention. There was no visible mouth. Instead, two polished bone plates covered the lower half of its face—one above, one below. They overlapped slightly. The surface caught the morning light. And reflected it.
Etzel could see distorted fragments of grass and stone moving across the plates.
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [SURVEY RECORD: SPECIMEN IDENTIFIED]│
│ Target: Mirrorjaw Stalker │
│ Estimated Level: 7 │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
Etzel did not move. The Stalker did not move either. He looked left: rock, grass, sparse trees. Right: more open ground. Nothing.
Etzel’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the second?”
Behind him, DK said: “Good.”
Etzel glanced back. “That wasn’t an answer.”
“It was the correct question.”
Etzel returned his attention to the creature. One Mirrorjaw. Always two. Which means the dangerous one was probably the one he couldn’t see.
“Wonderful.”
Etzel did not attack. That seemed to bother the Stalker. Its head tilted. The mirrored jaw plates shifted slightly apart, revealing darkness between them. No teeth Etzel could see.
The creature stepped sideways. Etzel followed with the spearhead. Another step. The point followed.
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The Stalker lowered its body. Etzel remembered DK’s lesson: A weapon decides where the enemy is allowed to stand.
The creature moved left. Etzel didn’t chase it. He adjusted the line. The spearhead occupied the space between them.
The Stalker suddenly lunged.
Etzel almost thrust. Almost. Instead, he held the point where the creature needed to go.
The Stalker twisted mid-charge. Its body folded sideways with disturbing flexibility. The spear missed flesh—but the creature had been forced away.
Etzel felt something small and satisfying settle into place. He hadn’t hit it. He hadn’t needed to.
The Stalker circled again. Etzel smiled. “I understand why you like this now.”
DK said nothing.
“Some encouragement would be appropriate.”
Still nothing. Etzel sighed.
Then the grass behind him moved. Barely. He did not hear footsteps. Did not hear breathing. Nothing.
But through the Soul Link—something changed. Not words. Not a warning. DK’s attention sharpened. Instantly.
Etzel turned. Too late.
The second Mirrorjaw was already there.
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [SURVEY RECORD: SPECIMEN IDENTIFIED]│
│ Target: Mirrorjaw Stalker │
│ Estimated Level: 8 │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
“Of course you’re the bigger one.”
Its arm came down. Etzel couldn’t bring the spearhead around in time. Too long. Too slow at this distance. He raised the middle of the shaft.
Impact. The reinforced wood caught the hooked limb. Pain drove through Etzel’s arms. Then his ribs.
He staggered sideways. The Stalker followed. Etzel shoved with the shaft, creating half a meter. Not enough.
The first Stalker moved. Etzel saw it from the corner of his eye. “Bad.”
He retreated. The second Stalker lunged. Etzel swung the rear of the spear around and forced it to hesitate.
The first attacked. Etzel turned. Thrust. It withdrew.
Second. Turn. Block.
First. Turn. Threaten.
Second. Turn.
Again. Again. Again.
Etzel’s breathing changed. They weren’t attacking together. Not exactly. One entered. The other waited. Etzel responded. Then the other entered from the angle his response had exposed.
He backed toward open ground. One Stalker moved right. Etzel adjusted. The other shifted left. He adjusted again.
Another attack. Another retreat. His heel struck stone. Etzel caught himself.
The realization came cold: They’re moving me.
DK remained where he was. Watching. Etzel hated how useful that silence was.
The Hollowroot Custodian flashed through his mind. The cuts—shoulder, flank, leg. Not trying to break armor. Steering.
The Mirrorjaws were doing the same thing. Not with overwhelming skill. With two bodies.
Etzel looked behind him. Open ground. Exactly where they wanted him. No cover. No obstacle. Nothing to interfere with the flanks.
“Right.”
The Level 7 Stalker lunged. Etzel thrust. It withdrew. He didn’t chase. Instead, Etzel moved sideways, toward the rocks.
The Level 8 creature adjusted to cut him off. Etzel changed direction. Not retreating. Repositioning.
One large rock formation rose to his left. Too steep for an immediate climb, but wide enough to matter. Etzel put it beside him.
The Stalkers spread. Tried to surround him. One succeeded. The other didn’t. Rock blocked the line.
Etzel smiled. “One side is mine.”
The Level 8 Stalker attacked. Etzel kept the spear between them. The Level 7 tried to circle behind the rock. It had farther to travel now.
For the first time—they couldn’t alternate perfectly. Etzel had bought time. Not much. Enough.
Now he watched.
The Level 8 Stalker shifted. Its jaw plates reflected Etzel’s spear. He saw the distorted silver point moving across the bone. The creature lunged. Etzel denied the line. It stopped.
The Level 7 appeared around the rock. Etzel turned.
Something caught his eye. The reflection. Not his own. On the Level 7 Stalker’s polished jaw—the other creature appeared. Small. Distorted. Moving.
Etzel frowned. The Level 8 shifted. The Level 7 reacted before looking toward it.
Etzel’s attention sharpened. Again. He raised the spear. The first Stalker changed position. The second adjusted. Too clean.
Etzel tested it. He moved right. The Level 8 tracked him. The reflection on its jaw changed. The Level 7 shifted almost immediately.
“They’re not watching me.”
DK spoke for the first time in several exchanges. “No?”
Etzel’s eyes stayed on the creatures. “They’re watching each other.”
The Mirrorjaws moved again. Etzel watched the plates. Each one reflected a broad slice of the battlefield. Not perfectly. Distorted. But enough. When one creature faced Etzel, the other could read movement through the reflection. Not telepathy. Not some invisible bond. A hunting adaptation.
Etzel felt excitement rise. “Clever.”
The Stalkers attacked. Etzel barely blocked the first. The second hooked at his shoulder. He ducked. Too slow. A claw cut his outer sleeve. Not deep. Enough to remind him this was not a puzzle.
Etzel retreated against the rock. “Fine.”
He understood the idea. Probably.
Witness said nothing. Etzel waited. Nothing. He almost laughed. “Of course.”
Theory. Not understanding. Again.
Etzel raised the spear high. Deliberately. The Level 8 Stalker saw it. More importantly—the Level 7 saw the reflection.
Etzel shifted his shoulders as though preparing a high thrust toward the larger creature. The Level 7 moved. Not randomly. It moved to the angle that would punish Etzel after the expected attack.
Etzel did not attack. He dropped the spear line.
The Level 7 hesitated. Small. But real.
Etzel’s eyes narrowed. Again. He showed one movement. Watched the reflection. Watched the partner. Response.
Again. Different angle. Response.
They weren’t simply using the reflections to know where he was. They depended on them to maintain the timing of the pair.
Etzel understood. Break the information—break the coordination.
Etzel smiled. “Got you.”
He waited. Nothing else appeared. His smile slowly faded. “That’s it?”
DK looked at him. “You already know what to do.”
Etzel sighed. “I miss abilities with customer service.”
The Level 8 Stalker lunged. Etzel moved. This time he wasn’t trying to hit it. He was trying to lie to its partner.
Etzel raised the spear toward the Level 8 creature’s upper body. Its jaw reflected the motion. The Level 7 reacted. Exactly as before. It shifted into position for the expected follow-up.
Etzel changed. His hands dropped. The spear rotated. The Level 8 creature withdrew from an attack Etzel never intended to complete.
The Level 7 emerged—into the wrong space.
Etzel was waiting. He thrust. The spearhead cut into its side.
The Stalker screamed. The sound came from somewhere behind the mirrored plates. Etzel recoiled. Not dead. The wound was deep. But not enough.
The creature twisted away with terrifying speed. Etzel reset.
“Understanding is not skill.”
From behind him: “Correct.”
Etzel glanced toward DK. “I wasn’t asking.”
The Level 8 attacked. Etzel returned his attention to the fight.
He stopped trying to force the kill. Jab. Recover. Step. Watch. The new spear felt different now. Still not natural. But useful. Every thrust asked a question. Every retreat created space. Every angle forced a choice.
The Mirrorjaws continued trying to coordinate. Etzel continued interfering.
Sometimes he failed. A claw opened a shallow line along his forearm. Another attack struck the spear shaft hard enough to numb his fingers. But the rock remained at his side. One angle protected. One less variable.
Etzel breathed. Watched.
The wounded Level 7 Stalker became impatient. Good. It entered early. The Level 8 wasn’t ready. Their reflections misaligned.
Etzel saw it. He showed the larger creature a high line. The wounded one reacted to the reflected threat. Wrong.
Etzel pivoted. The spear moved low—then rose. The point entered beneath the Level 7 Stalker’s upper chest.
Resistance. Then release. Etzel drove forward. The point punched deeper.
The Mirrorjaw’s hands closed around the shaft. Etzel kept pushing. One step. Another. The creature weakened. Then collapsed. Etzel stumbled with it.
For several seconds, neither moved. Then the System appeared:
Warmth moved through Etzel. Experience. More than the weaker creatures he had hunted before. A lot more.
But he had no time to enjoy it. Because the second Mirrorjaw screamed.
The sound changed. Not louder. Worse.
The polished jaw plates spread wide. Dark tissue pulled between them. Its body lowered.
Etzel raised the spear. “Of course.”
The Level 8 Stalker charged. No circling. No coordination. No measured movement. Just violence.
Etzel thrust into the line it should have avoided. It didn’t. The creature knocked the spear aside with one arm and entered his reach.
Too close. Etzel’s eyes widened.
The flaw he had understood—was gone. Not literally. The jaw plates still reflected. But there was no partner left to receive the information. No coordination to disrupt. No dependence to exploit.
The behavior had changed. The fight had changed. And Witness did not solve the new one for him.
The Stalker struck. Etzel blocked with the shaft. Pain exploded through his hands.
Another strike. He retreated. The creature followed. Too fast.
Etzel tried to extend the spear. No room. The Stalker crashed into him.
Etzel hit the ground. His ribs screamed. The spear remained in his hands. Barely.
The Mirrorjaw rose above him. Behind it—DK moved. One step.
Etzel saw him. “No!”
DK stopped.
The Stalker came down. Etzel changed his grip, both hands closer together. Not a spear now. Not really. A short staff with a blade somewhere beyond the creature’s body.
Etzel struck sideways with the shaft. Wood slammed into the Mirrorjaw’s lower plate. Its head snapped aside.
Etzel rolled. A claw struck dirt where his throat had been.
He forced himself up. The creature turned. Etzel backed away. One step. Two. Space. That was all he needed.
The spear extended again. The Mirrorjaw charged.
Etzel did not search for a flaw. Did not wait for Witness. Did not try to understand the creature’s entire hunting behavior.
Footwork. Distance. Timing.
DK’s voice from yesterday lived in his muscles now. Rear foot. Etzel adjusted. Grip. Looser. Recover.
The Mirrorjaw entered. Etzel threatened the center. It knocked the spear aside.
Etzel recovered faster this time. Not fast enough. A claw grazed his shoulder. He turned with it. Created space.
Again. The creature attacked. Etzel retreated at an angle instead of straight back.
The Mirrorjaw corrected. Too hard. Its weight shifted. Not a Witnessed flaw. Just movement. Just combat.
Etzel planted his rear foot. Thrust.
The spearhead entered beneath one mirrored jaw plate. The creature jerked. Etzel drove forward. The point punched deeper.
The Mirrorjaw’s hands closed around the shaft. Etzel kept pushing. One step. Another.
The creature weakened. Then collapsed. Etzel stumbled with it.
For several seconds, neither moved. Then the System appeared:
Warmth spread through Etzel again. Stronger this time. He waited. Nothing.
Etzel remained bent over the spear. Waited another second. Still nothing.
He opened his status: Level 5.
Etzel stared. “Really?”
DK approached. “You expected Six.”
“I killed two things above my Level.”
“Yes.”
“I did most of it myself.”
“Yes.”
“I survived.”
“Yes.”
Etzel looked at him. “That sounds like it should be worth extra.”
DK looked at the dead Stalker. “You are alive.”
“That is not a currency.”
The System flickered. Etzel immediately looked: [Level Progression: Significant]
He stared at the words. Then sighed. “That feels deliberately vague.”
DK said: “You progressed.”
“I prefer numbers.”
“You have one.”
“Five.”
“Yes.”
“That is the problem.”
They rested before touching the bodies. Etzel needed it. His forearm was cut. His shoulder hurt. His ribs had upgraded their complaints to formal protest. But nothing felt seriously damaged. DK checked anyway.
Then they examined the Mirrorjaws. The polished jaw plates came free with considerably more difficulty than Etzel expected. He held one in both hands. Even detached, its surface reflected a warped version of his face.
Etzel frowned. “I look terrible.”
DK glanced at him. “That is not the material.”
Etzel slowly turned. “That was cruel.”
“I learned from you.”
Etzel stared. Then smiled despite himself. “That may be the most concerning thing you’ve ever said.”
The System identified the material:
The second creature also yielded one. From the Level 8 Stalker, Etzel found something else. A small Core.
Etzel held it up. “Money I legally cannot turn into money.”
DK looked at the Core. “You could use it.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Excellent financial advice.”
Etzel stored it carefully anyway. The materials would stay with him for now. Later—after registration—they would matter. Maybe sooner if he found a use for them.
He looked at DK’s damaged shield. Then at the reflective plate. A thought occurred.
DK noticed. “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked at my shield.”
“I am allowed to look.”
“No.”
Etzel smiled. “We’ll revisit this.”
Before leaving, DK looked at the two corpses. “Why did you win?”
Etzel adjusted the bundle of materials. “Natural talent.”
DK waited. Etzel waited longer. DK remained silent.
Etzel sighed. “Fine.” He looked at the first Stalker. “The first one because I understood them.”
Then the second. He thought about the moment Witness stopped being useful. The creature had changed. The pattern disappeared. Etzel had kept searching for an answer that no longer mattered. Until he stopped.
“The second because I stopped trying to.”
DK looked at him. “Better.”
Etzel frowned. “That was annoyingly short.”
“It was enough.”
Etzel picked up the spear. They started toward the edge of the hunting zone.
Then Etzel stopped.
Something lay between two patches of tall grass. At first he thought it was stone. Then he saw the leg.
“DK.”
The knight turned. They approached carefully.
Another creature. Dead. Smaller than the Mirrorjaws. Four-legged. Thick hide. Etzel didn’t recognize the species. Part of its side had been torn previously, probably old combat damage.
But that wasn’t what killed it.
Etzel crouched. One wound crossed the neck. Clean. Deep. Precise.
He looked toward the Mirrorjaw corpses behind them. “Mirrorjaws?”
DK crouched beside him. “No.”
Etzel’s fingers tightened around the spear. “How long?”
DK examined the body. Touched the ground beside it. Looked at the blood. “Recent.”
“How recent?”
“Hours.”
Etzel stood. The valley suddenly felt different. Quieter. He scanned the rocks. Trees. Grass. Nothing moved.
There should not have been another Hunter here. Not according to Maerin’s report. That did not mean there wasn’t one. Or something else.
Etzel saw a mark in the dirt. Not a footprint. More like a narrow disturbance where something had passed through the grass toward the northern ridge.
He looked at DK. For once, curiosity did not win.
DK stood. “テント—We leave.” [Correction: We leave.]
Etzel nodded. “Yes.”
No argument. No investigation. No following the trail. They started walking.
Etzel kept the spear ready. The Mirrorjaws had been hunting in pairs. Etzel was beginning to suspect they hadn’t been the only hunters in the valley.
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