I sighed, my breath fogging in the cold morning air. I should have expected this sooner or later.
How could I get out of this?
Hunting somewhere else wasn't an option. The only alternative was the rice fields far from the city—full of nothing but frogs and the occasional snake.
That wouldn't work.
The supervisor sank onto the rooms only wooden chair, its legs creaking under his weight. His stomach spilled over his belt, stretching the fabric of his tunic tighter than the last time I saw him.
Grease stained his cuffs, a leftover mark of a meal he hadn't bothered to finish wiping away. His cronies flanked him, silent.
"You've been doing well for yourself, kid. But you've been cutting me out."
He leaned forward, bits of meat and oil in his teeth, "When exactly were you planning to cut me in?" The tone of his voice made me think it was a question that wasn't a question.
Henley, standing beside me, spoke up, "We already made a deal, sir. And those weren't hunted on the fields, he was contrac—"
"I don't remember asking for your opinion. Hunchback."
Henley flinched, lowering his head, and looking away.
"Supervisor," I said, keeping my voice steady, "he's right. I was contracted by Azul. You have no say in this."
"Hah!" The supervisor grinned, his teeth yellowed from chewing leaves. "You think throwing names around is going to help you? I run these fields. My word is law.
His men grinned too, sharp and ugly, like wolves baring their teeth.
"Now, you can divvy up or you can just stop hunting." He let the words settle in the air, eyes fixed on me. I was glad Henley had made Charlotte leave earlier.
I kept my expression unreadable, while on the inside, my mind raced.
If I refused I was sure I wouldn't just lose hunting rights, or be forced to make a living in the rice paddies. If that was all he planned to do, he wouldn't have brought his muscle.
No–he'd make sure I lost much more.
Maybe I'd wake up to find no one in the district wanted to work with me, or my traps and equipment broken, or maybe I'd be the one losing a few teeth.
"Smart men pay their dues, kid." The man added casually. "Stupid ones stop showing up to work."
The room felt smaller, his men angling themselves to look more menacing, bigger. Henley swallowed but said nothing.
I met the supervisor's gaze.
"I already gave you a cut." My voice was flat. I looked him up and down, "Look at you—you're not starving. Anything more, and I'd be working for free."
He laughed and swiped a greasy thumb across his lips, crusty, bits of things I didn't want to know off at the corners of his mouth.
"So?" His eyes gleamed. He wiped his thumb clean on his tunic. "I want more."
I didn't break eye contact, checking for any weakness. It was weird, humans were like animals that way, how much of them you could know by just watching.
He didn't give anything away, this wasn't his first time doing something like this.
"Fine, what do you want."
He broke into an even larger grin, this one more sincere, but somehow still predatory, "Aah, my boy, you had sense in you after all." His men chuckled in agreement as he smacked his thick hand on my shoulder.
"Those beavers fetch a pretty silver. I want ten of them. Same quality you give that cocky tanner."
"Ten!" Was this guy mad? I was already spreading myself thin with Azul and Big Randy, now he asks for ten!
"Ten is too much, I canno-"
"I wasn't asking." His grin had been replaced with a serious facade… right, I wasn't the one with the upper hand.
One Week Later…
My world had shrunk to exhaustion. Raw hands. Aching arms. Burning legs.
Hunt. Haul. Skin. Trade. Sleep was a luxury.
But I met the quota. Every. Single. Day.
I barely felt the cold anymore. My breath still fogged in the early morning air, but the chill didn't bite like it used to. Maybe because I was too damn tired to notice.
Too little sleep. Too many demands. Too much at stake.
Azul wanted his usual supply. Big Randy expected his share. And now the supervisor had forced his way in.
I had managed—barely.
But something had been off.
*******
Even as the sun rose, I could already feel the exhaustion creeping in, the unrelenting need to push myself that bit further, just to meet the quotas. Just to get ahead.
I hadn't had a full night's sleep in days. I kept pushing through, hunting, setting traps, dealing with Big Randy, and fulfilling the supervisor's new demands. At first, I thought I could keep things going, balance it all somehow—but the cracks were starting to show.
I had a list of things to check this morning: traps to reset, hides to clean, a stockpile of beavers to inspect.
I made my way toward one of my hidden caches, praying that this time, everything would be intact. But as I neared, a bad feeling twisted my gut.
At first, I thought it was just the usual problems—traps failing, animals slipping away. But then the patterns didn't make sense. Traps weren't just empty. They were wrecked. Snapped wood, chewed ropes, scattered bait.
Then, one night, I checked his hidden stockpile deep in the woods. The beavers I had set aside—gone.
And it was destroyed.
Not stolen. Ruined.
Fur and meat torn apart, eaten. Bones scattered like someone—or something—had deliberately gone out of its way to make sure he had nothing left.
I stood there, staring at the carnage, a slow dread settling in.
I ran my fingers over the ground, trying to make sense of what happened. It was clear now: this wasn't a human doing. No thief had the patience to tear a cache apart so meticulously. There was only one explanation. The spirit beast.
I stood there for a moment, letting the realization sink in. My first instinct was to avoid it, to keep hunting and let the problem fix itself somehow. But this wasn't something I could just walk away from. This wasn't something that could be ignored anymore.
I stood there for a moment, letting the realization sink in. My stomach twisted. This wasn't just bad luck. This wasn't some petty thief or random animal. This was deliberate.
I clenched my fists, trying to force down the frustration boiling in my chest. The beast wasn't just taking my kills—it was tearing them apart, making sure I had nothing left.
A sharp breath pushed through my teeth. At first, I wanted to ignore it, to keep my head down and just work around the problem. But this wasn't something I could out-hunt. This wasn't something I could fix with more traps, more effort.
The realization made my skin crawl.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my tired legs to move. Each step back toward camp felt heavier, like I was dragging the weight of those ruined carcasses with me. My breath came out in short bursts, the cold air doing nothing to cool the frustration simmering in my chest.
That afternoon, I found myself in the forest again. More traps to set. More beavers to catch. I fumbled with the trap, fingers numb despite the sweat slicking my palms. The knots that used to take seconds now felt like puzzles meant to break me.
The pressure was growing. The supervisor was breathing down my neck, wanting more. But it was hard to focus on anything with the gnawing feeling of failure hanging over me. The beast was out there, watching, waiting for me to slip.
I crouched beside a trap, my hands moving on instinct as I reset it for the third time. The night before, the beast had destroyed half my traps and taken another beaver. If it wasn't the creature itself tearing things apart, it was some new form of sabotage—broken stakes, torn nets, and now even the air seemed to thicken with the weight of it.
I heard a snap. My heart leapt into my throat. A trap had gone off, I raced of. But I didn't have time to rejoice. It was too late.
…Only to find nothing. No beaver, no creature. Just the remnants of a broken trap, a pile of leaves, and the scent of the spirit beast's presence still lingering. I cursed under my breath, frustration rising in my chest.
Every step I took forward, the beast took two back. I was always behind. Always losing.
As night fell, I set up an ambush near a clearing where I'd seen the beast's tracks earlier that day. It was a foolish decision, but I couldn't help myself. I needed to catch it. Needed to prove to myself I wasn't losing. I'd been hunting for hours, trying to stay alert, but sleep-deprivation was catching up with me. My eyelids grew heavier, my limbs more sluggish.
Suddenly, I heard it—a rustling, low and quick. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My heart raced.
The air smelled wrong—musky, damp, with a faint metallic tang that didn't belong. The usual night sounds were gone. No crickets. No wind rustling the leaves. Just stillness, thick and cloying.
I felt it before I saw it. A weight in the air. A presence. Then—a blur, cutting through the darkness, faster than my eyes could follow.
I barely had time to react. The spirit beast was upon me, its silhouette appearing out of the shadows, sleek and predatory. Before I could draw my weapon, it was gone, as if it had been a figment of my imagination.
My breath hitched. My muscles locked. My fingers itched for my weapon, but I knew—too slow. The thing was faster."
I couldn't track it. Couldn't see it. The damn thing was toying with me."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and sagged against the tree, my exhaustion threatening to take over completely.
I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going.
Later that night, as I dragged myself back to camp, I felt the weight of the last few days pressing down on me. The traps were ruined. The beavers were scarce. I was behind, and the supervisor wasn't going to care. Neither was Azul, especially not after the spat I had with him.
I'd lost count of how many times I had nearly caught the beast. How many times I'd thought I was close, only to fail again.
As I reached my tent, I stopped cold.
There, right outside, was a fresh carcass. Beheaded.
The blood hadn't even dried.
My fingers curled into a fist.
The bastard wasn't just ruining my traps anymore.
It was hunting me.
Enough. This had to end.
I was going to hunt it down.