Ethan stood in silence, his hands clenched into fists as he processed what had just happened.
He had just been manhandled by a rabbit.
A damn rabbit!!!
Sure, it had a horn and unnatural speed, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been impaled and discarded like a rookie on his first hunt.
He exhaled sharply, frustration and embarrassment boiling inside him.
At least nobody was around to see this.
Still, his pride stung. He had underestimated the creature, believing that just because death wasn't permanent in this space, he could afford to let his guard down.
That was a mistake.
Ethan straightened his back, shaking off the shame. This wasn't the time to sulk.
"I have all the time in the world," he muttered to himself. "No matter how many times I fail, I will still achieve my goal."
And with that, he left the altar once more.
Ethan moved through the flatlands, heading in the same direction as before.
Just as expected, the Horned Skervel was there, grazing lazily as if it hadn't just skewered him moments ago.
This time, Ethan was calm.
He crouched low, watching its movements carefully, making sure not to rush in blindly. He controlled his breathing, moving at a steady pace, dagger in hand.
When he finally struck, the Skervel didn't dodge backward like last time.
Instead, it leaped sideways, spinning midair before kicking him square in the face with its powerful hind legs.
CRACK!
Ethan felt his nose break, stars exploding in his vision before he collapsed backward, and the world turned black again.
Ethan materialized at the altar, groaning as he instinctively touched his now fully healed nose.
"What the fuck? I thought I had it that time!"
Yet, the Skervel had noticed him again.
No matter how careful he had been, the damn thing was one step ahead.
His frustration flared, but he forced himself to remain focused.
Failure doesn't break a man.
Refusing to try again after failing—that's what breaks a man.
With renewed determination, he set out again.
Each time Ethan went after the Horned Skervel, it adapted.
Each time, it defeated him.
He tried a feint, but the Skervel saw through it, dodging low and sweeping his legs out from under him before impaling him.
He aimed for its legs to stop its mobility, but it jumped over his attack and slammed its weight onto his chest, crushing his ribs.
He threw a rock to distract it—it dodged the rock and countered his lunge with a devastating headbutt.
Ethan circled behind it, only for it to rear up and kick backward, launching him down the hill.
He climbed onto a rock for an aerial strike, but the Skervel rammed the rock, knocking him off-balance before goring him mid-fall.
He moved as slowly and quietly as possible. The Skervel acted unaware, then suddenly turned and impaled him without hesitation.
Ethan tried different tactics, each ending in failure, leading him to die ten more times, but despite that, he kept going, never giving up. And it paid off because now he was adapting.
Ethan materialized at the altar for the eighteenth time, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists.
Then suddenly—he froze.
Something clicked in his mind.
Every time, the Skervel had used a different evasion method.
That's why he kept failing.
But now, after dying eighteen times, he finally understood.
The patterns weren't random.
They were structured, deliberate reactions to his own movements.
And now that he knew how it reacted—he could finally beat it.
Ethan exhaled slowly, his golden eyes gleaming with something new.
This time, it would be different.
This time, the hunt truly began.
Ethan stood before the Horned Skervel once more.
The creature's eyes regarded him with the same blatant disregard as before.
There was no recognition, no caution—only mild curiosity as if it were seeing yet another foolish intruder stumbling to his death.
Ethan smirked.
It didn't recognize him.
To the Horned Skervel, all those times it had impaled, trampled, and outmaneuvered him, it had simply been killing a different idiot each time.
That mistake would be its downfall.
It never once saw him as a threat, and Ethan would use that to his advantage.
Ethan wasn't stronger than the Skervel.
He wasn't faster than the Skervel.
But he had something the beast didn't—intelligence.
Through his many deaths, he had studied it.
Every time he fought, every time he failed, he had noticed something:
The Skervel's attacks followed a strict pattern.
If it started with a specific movement, the next attack was always predictable—if you paid close attention.
And Ethan had been paying attention.
He had also noticed that the Skervel always attacked the area that was not in his line of site and he was going to use that against it.
This time, Ethan didn't charge blindly.
He didn't lunge forward like he had before.
Instead, he turned his back to the beast—and ran.
To the Skervel, it was instinct.
The moment Ethan's back was exposed, the creature lunged—aiming to impale him once more.
But Ethan was waiting for this exact reaction.
Just as the Skervel pounced, Ethan heard the telltale rush of movement behind him.
His golden eyes snapped open.
He turned instantly, locking onto the Skervel mid-air.
His continuous deaths had steeled his mind against the fear of death so he didn't falter when he saw the Skervel attacking him.
The beast flinched, instinctively adjusting its attack to avoid his gaze, shifting its horn to strike his right side instead.
That was its biggest mistake.
The Skervel was so focused on avoiding Ethan's gaze that it failed to notice his right hand—the one already gripping his dagger, held low and waiting.
Like a moth to a flame, the Skervel dove straight into Ethan's trap.
With a single, precise motion, Ethan thrust his dagger forward—plunging it deep into the creature's neck.
A wet gurgle escaped from the Skervel as warm blood splattered against Ethan's hand.
At the last second, Ethan sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the horn meant to skewer him once more.
The Skervel collapsed, its body twitching before finally going still.
The hunt was over.
A notification flashed before Ethan's eyes.
[You have obtained 0.001 Ability Fragment.]
Another message followed.
[You have obtained 50 Points.]
Ethan's smirk widened.
He had gotten his revenge.
And he had gotten rewards as well.
Ethan exhaled sharply, the rush of victory still thrumming through his veins.
But as he stared down at the dead Horned Skervel, he felt a new realization settle in—
This was only the beginning.
If a single Skervel had forced him to die eighteen times, then what about the stronger creatures lurking in this world?
He needed to adapt. He needed to become a true hunter.
And a good hunter always had good gear.
With that thought, Ethan retraced his steps, making his way back to the Rebirth Altar—his personal checkpoint in this strange new realm.
The altar pulsed faintly, its eerie glow reflecting in his golden eyes.
Taking a deep breath, he summoned the shop interface.
A transparent menu appeared before him, filled with lists of items, weapons, armor, and tools.
His fingers instinctively swiped through the options, scanning for anything useful.
He didn't have a lot of points yet, so he had to be smart about what he bought.
Weapons? His dagger was still usable, but maybe an upgrade would help.
Armor? He had nothing protecting him. Even a light chest guard could prevent him from getting instantly impaled again.
Consumables? Healing items could keep him in the fight longer.
His gaze flickered to his current balance—50 Points.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Now, he just had to spend wisely.