The Last Rule of Death

The Mirrorjaws had been hunting in pairs.

Etzel was beginning to suspect they hadn’t been the only hunters in the valley.

He looked once more toward the narrow disturbance in the grass. North. Whatever had made it had gone north. The dead creature lay behind him, its throat opened by one clean wound. Etzel wanted to follow the trail.

That was the problem. He really wanted to follow it.

DK stood beside the corpse. “We leave.”

Etzel tightened his grip on the spear. “Yes.”

Then he turned away.

They walked. Twenty steps passed before Etzel glanced back. Nothing moved. Thirty. Still nothing. At fifty, the dead creature disappeared behind the rocks.

Etzel exhaled. “Aren’t you going to stop me?”

DK looked at him. “Are you going back?”

“No.”

“Then why would I stop you?”

Etzel frowned. “You’re becoming annoyingly reasonable.”

“I have always been reasonable.”

“You have amnesia. You can’t prove that.”

DK considered this. “Neither can you.”

Etzel opened his mouth. Closed it. “I preferred you when your arguments were worse.”

They continued toward the boundary. Etzel did not look back again. But he remembered the wound. One strike. Clean. Deep. Whatever had killed that creature had not fought it for long. Perhaps not at all.

Etzel waited until they were safely outside Sector 14 before contacting Maerin. He sent the location first, then a description of the corpse.

Her reply came quickly:

Maerin: Species?

Etzel: Unknown.

Maerin: Estimated time of death?

Etzel glanced at DK. “Hours.”

Etzel typed it:

Etzel: DK estimated a few hours.

A pause.

Maerin: Core removed?

Etzel stopped walking. He thought back. The body. The wound. The surrounding ground. “No.”

DK looked at him. “No.”

Etzel typed:

Etzel: Core was still there.

Another pause. Longer this time. Then Sivenne appeared in the conversation.

Sivenne: So not a Hunter.

Maerin answered before Etzel could:

Maerin: We don’t know that.

Sivenne: Why would a Hunter leave a Core?

Maerin: Why would every Hunter take one?

Sivenne: Money.

Maerin: Usually.

Etzel smiled faintly:

Etzel: I’m enjoying watching someone else get corrected for once.

Sivenne: Leave.

Tessa joined:

Tessa: Was the body eaten?

Etzel’s smile disappeared. He pictured it. “No.”

He typed:

Etzel: No.

Tessa: Harvested?

Etzel: No.

Maerin: Signs of a fight?

Etzel looked at DK again. The knight shook his head.

Etzel: Almost none.

Silence followed. Etzel continued walking. Then Tessa sent another message:

Tessa: Maybe it wasn’t hunting.

Etzel stopped. DK turned. “What?”

Etzel showed him the message. The knight read it. Etzel looked back toward the distant valley.

The Mirrorjaws had hunted. They had maneuvered prey. Coordinated. Attacked. Fed. But the dead creature they had found? One wound. Nothing taken. Nothing eaten. Nothing harvested.

Etzel typed slowly:

Etzel: Then why kill it?

Nobody answered immediately. That was answer enough.

Maerin checked the available Sector 14 reports while Etzel continued home. There had been no confirmed high-threat migration, no abnormal population collapse, no registered incident matching what Etzel had described, and no known reason for the kill.

Etzel read the summary:

Etzel: “No known reason” is becoming one of my least favorite phrases.

Sivenne: You liked it before?

Etzel stared at the message:

Etzel: I’m beginning to question your purpose in this group.

Sivenne: Emotional support.

Etzel stopped walking. DK looked at him. “What?”

“She did it again.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Another message appeared:

Maerin: Do not return to Sector 14 today.

Etzel typed immediately:

Etzel: I wasn’t planning to.

Nothing came back for several seconds. Then:

Maerin: Really?

Etzel frowned:

Etzel: Why does everyone sound surprised when I make good decisions?

Sivenne: Historical evidence.

Tessa: I’m glad you left.

Etzel’s expression softened slightly:

Etzel: Me too.

He put the communicator away. That last part was true. Curiosity still pulled at him, but curiosity was not an instruction. He was beginning to understand the difference.

On the way home, Etzel checked what he had gained from the Mirrorjaws: two reflective plates and one E-Rank Core.

He could almost hear money. Unfortunately, the law could not. Until he entered the official Hunter Registry, none of it could legally be sold through the recognized Hunter economy.

Stolen from NovelPhoenix, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Etzel adjusted the bag. “Technically, I’m carrying money.”

DK glanced at him. “You cannot sell it.”

“Legally, I’m carrying heavy rocks.”

“You could use them.”

Etzel looked at him. Then his eyes drifted downward. Toward DK’s shield. The damage from the dungeon remained visible.

DK noticed immediately. “No.”

Etzel raised his hands. “I said nothing.”

“You looked.”

“I’m allowed to look.”

“No.”

Etzel glanced at the bag, then at the shield again. DK shifted the shield away.

Etzel smiled. “We’ll revisit this.”

“No.”

“That sounds like fear.”

“It is judgment.”

“Very similar from this side.”

Getting home without Ismera noticing his injuries would have been easier if Etzel had possessed any talent whatsoever for getting home without Ismera noticing his injuries.

He entered quietly. Closed the door. Took three steps. His mother appeared.

Etzel stopped. Ismera looked at him, then at his sleeve. The fabric had been cut where the Mirrorjaw claw had caught him. Etzel looked at it too. He had forgotten about that.

Ismera folded her arms. “What happened?”

Etzel considered his options. There were not many good ones. “Training.”

Her eyes moved to the scratch on his forearm. “What kind of training?”

“Enthusiastic?”

“Etzel.”

“Physical.” That was technically true.

Neris appeared behind their mother. She looked at his arm, then his shoulder, then at him. “Did a tree attack you while you were running?”

Etzel pointed at her. “Aggressive tree.”

Neris nodded seriously. “Looks like you lost.”

“I’m alive.”

“The tree probably is too.”

Etzel lowered his hand. “That argument became hostile surprisingly quickly.”

Ismera was not amused. That was more dangerous. She stepped closer and checked his arm. The cut was shallow and cleaned already. Nothing serious. That helped. A little.

“You’re doing too much.”

Etzel smiled. “I’m young.”

“That is not protection from stupidity.”

Neris nodded. “She’s right.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“The winning one.”

Etzel looked between them. “I feel unsupported in my own home.”

Neris smiled. “Emotional support?”

Etzel froze. “No.”

“What?”

“Never say that again.”

Now Neris looked genuinely confused. Etzel walked past her. “Long story.”

“About a tree?”

“Especially about the tree.”

That evening, Etzel sat alone in his room. Mostly alone. DK occupied the chair near the window.

Etzel opened his System records. Level Five. Still.

He looked through the recent progression notifications. Weak creatures: small gains. Dungeon creatures: more meaningful. Boss: Level Five. Then the Mirrorjaws:

Etzel read the first line again. Solo.

Not entirely, obviously. DK had been there, close enough to save him. But DK had not killed either Stalker. Neither had Sivenne, Maerin, or Tessa. No one had created the opening for him. No one had finished the enemy after he understood it.

Etzel had done it.

He looked toward DK. “That was the first time.”

DK looked up. “What?”

“I fought something genuinely dangerous with you there and still did it myself.”

“I was beside you.”

“Emotionally, I was alone.”

DK stared at him. Etzel grimaced. “I’ve been talking to Sivenne too much.”

“Yes.”

“That answer came too quickly.”

“Yes.”

Etzel leaned back. Then another question occurred to him. “When were you going to intervene?”

DK remained silent for a moment. “With the second Mirrorjaw?”

“Yes.”

“When necessary.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“It tells you enough.”

“No, it sounds mysterious enough that you hope I stop asking.”

DK looked toward the window. Etzel narrowed his eyes. “That is absolutely what you were doing.”

“A little later.”

Etzel stopped. “What?”

“I would have intervened a little later.”

Etzel remembered lying on the ground, the Mirrorjaw above him, DK taking that first step. “You thought I was fine?”

“No.”

“That is significantly less comforting.”

“You still held the spear.”

Etzel waited.

“You were still watching the creature,” DK continued. “Still moving. Still deciding.”

“And if I made the wrong decision?”

“You did not.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

DK looked at him. Etzel held his gaze. “What if you calculated wrong?”

“I did not calculate.”

Etzel frowned. “Then what did you do?”

DK answered simply: “I trusted you.”

Etzel said nothing. For once, no joke arrived immediately. Something warm and uncomfortable settled in his chest. Not the System. Just him.

Eventually, Etzel cleared his throat. “You could have said that more dramatically.”

“No.”

There it was. Etzel smiled. “Ruined.”

Later, he thought about Witness.

The first Mirrorjaw pair had given him something real: a Flaw. Not weakness in the ordinary sense, but a dependency—their reflected coordination. Once Etzel understood it, Recognition had responded. And it had worked.

Until it didn’t.

The second Mirrorjaw had lost its partner. The jaw plates remained. The reflection remained. The physical structure remained. But the dependency that mattered was gone. The Flaw was still true of their paired hunting system; it simply no longer mattered to the fight in front of him.

Etzel stared at the ceiling. That distinction felt important. A Flaw could be real—and useless. A correct answer could stop being the relevant answer.

Witness had not warned him. It had not replaced the old notification. It had not said: Please select another weakness.

Etzel smiled faintly. “Terrible customer service.”

DK looked over. “What?”

“Nothing.”

No new System message appeared. No Principle unlocked. Good. Etzel did not need the System to congratulate him every time he thought. Probably. He still would have appreciated it.

The next morning, he did not return to Sector 14. That decision irritated him enough to prove it was probably correct.

Instead, Etzel chose another approved hunting area. Different sector. Different terrain. Different prey. More importantly—a solitary one.

The creature he found was called a Stoneback Grazer. The name sounded peaceful. The creature was not. It stood on four thick legs with a broad ridge of hardened mineral growth running from its shoulders to its hips.

Etzel stared at it from thirty meters away. “Grazer.”

DK stood behind him. “Yes.”

“It looks angry.”

“It has seen you.”

“That does explain some things.”

The Stoneback scraped one foreleg against the dirt. Etzel lowered the spear. DK did not draw his sword. Good.

Etzel breathed. No complicated mechanism. No paired coordination. No dungeon puzzle. No obvious structural system for Witness to dissect. Just several hundred kilograms of angry muscle with natural armor.

Etzel smiled. “Simple.”

The Stoneback charged.

Etzel’s smile disappeared. “Fast.”

He moved sideways. The Stoneback thundered past. Etzel did not attack. Not yet. Turn. Reset.

The creature swung around. Etzel positioned the spear. It charged again. He threatened the center. The Stoneback lowered its armored head. Etzel stepped off-line. Thrust.

The spear scraped along hardened plating. Bad angle. He recovered—slow, but faster than yesterday.

The Stoneback turned. Etzel moved. Distance. That was the fight. Not strength against strength. Distance.

The creature wanted one thing: close, crush. Etzel wanted another: stay out, force the approach, punish it.

He did not ask Witness for an answer. He watched because watching was useful anyway.

The Stoneback charged. Etzel showed the spearpoint. It lowered its head. He moved.

Again. Same response. Not a Flaw. Just behavior. Enough.

Etzel began controlling the angle. A small step left. The Stoneback corrected. Etzel gave ground. It committed. He pivoted. Thrust.

This time the spear entered behind the front leg. Not deep enough. The creature roared. Etzel recovered, its rear body swinging toward him. He barely avoided the impact.

“Too close.”

DK said nothing.

Etzel reset. Again.

The Stoneback charged. Etzel did not move immediately. Wait. Wait. Now.

One step. Angle. The creature passed. Etzel thrust. Withdraw. Recover.

His hands knew more than they had two days ago. Not enough, but more.

The Stoneback slowed. Blood marked its side. Etzel breathed hard.

The creature turned one final time. It charged.

Etzel planted his rear foot. Loose grip. Point steady. At the last moment, he shifted. The Stoneback followed—exactly as expected.

Etzel stepped back into the line it had abandoned. The spear moved. Not hard. Not wildly. Straight.

The point entered through the softer tissue beneath the jaw and drove deep. The Stoneback stumbled. Momentum carried it several steps. Then its front legs collapsed. The rest followed. Dust rose.

Etzel stayed ready. One second. Two. The creature did not move.

Warmth entered Etzel. He smiled.

Then it intensified. Etzel’s eyes widened.

The sensation moved through his muscles. Bones. Breath. Not painful. Dense. Like something inside him had finally reached a line—and crossed it.

The System changed: [Level Increased.]

Etzel stopped breathing for half a second. Then: [Level 6 Reached.]

He stared. A grin slowly spread across his face. “Six.”

DK approached. “Yes.”

Etzel waited. DK looked at him. Etzel continued waiting. Nothing happened. He looked around, then back at the System. “Okay.”

Silence.

“Anything else?”

Nothing. Etzel waited another three seconds. Still nothing. “That’s it?”

DK looked at him. “You reached Level Six.”

“Five was much better.”

“Be Five.”

Etzel turned toward him. “I can’t lower my Level.”

“Then stop complaining.”

Etzel stared at DK. “You have become considerably less supportive since developing humor.”

DK walked past him.

Etzel looked at the Level notification again. Despite himself—he smiled. Six. He had earned that one.

His communicator vibrated. Etzel expected Sivenne, or perhaps Maerin asking whether he had followed instructions.

He opened it. Maerin.

An image filled the screen. Official Hunter Network formatting. Etzel’s smile vanished.

┌────────────────────────────────────────┐

│ [SECTOR 14 — TEMPORARY RESTRICTION]│

│ STATUS: Threat Classification Pending │

└────────────────────────────────────────┘

DK noticed his expression. “What?”

Etzel showed him. Another message arrived:

Maerin: They sent a patrol to the location you gave me.

Etzel typed:

Etzel: And?

The reply did not come immediately. Five seconds. Ten. Then:

Maerin: The body you found is gone.

Etzel frowned. Scavengers were possible. Another creature could have moved it. Maybe the patrol itself—

A second message appeared:

Maerin: Etzel.

Something about seeing his name alone made him stop.

Maerin: They found another one.

Etzel’s fingers went still.

Etzel: Same species?

The answer appeared:

Maerin: No.

An image loaded beneath it. Etzel opened it.

A different creature. Larger. Heavily built. Dead in the grass. No signs of feeding. No harvested materials.

And across its throat—one wound. Clean. Deep. Precise.

Etzel stared at the image. The excitement of Level Six disappeared. Whatever was moving through Sector 14—it wasn’t hunting for food.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!