Kyle was enraged. How could he not be? The damned nobles were back to make their lives harder for no reason. He detested them—every single one. Greed was their heart, and indifference their soul. All they knew how to do was take and never give. Unless you were their capable child or their loyal dog, your existence was merely to fatten their pockets.
As Roland confronted the tax collector, Kyle gripped his dagger tighter, his knuckles going white as blood drained from them. He hated everything about nobles. All he had ever seen them do was ruin what was precious to him—and always with those disgusting smirks on their faces. He could have tried. He felt the urge to lunge at that subordinate and slash his throat, rip out his tongue. The blonde? Oh, he wanted nothing more than to rip out his heart and carve that smirk off his face.
But alas, Kyle couldn't do such a thing. The last thing he wanted was to complicate life for the chief and Aunt Esmeralda. So he calmed himself, steeling his nerves as he watched them leave. Then he heard them—those words, that threat.
"Watch yourself, chief. It won't be pretty next time."
He couldn't hold himself back. He left, heading straight for the hunting grounds. There was still enough meat for a few more days, but right now, all rationale was lost on him. The boars would just need to understand—the actions to follow were a last resort.
As Kyle entered the grounds—the large expanse of land outside the village—he found the first boar and immediately set off to hunt. Following tracks, he expertly stayed downwind to avoid being scented and kept quiet to ensure a successful ambush.
After half an hour of tracking, he found the boars—a group of three. Assuming the fourth was the one he had killed earlier, he felt confident he could cover several months without needing to hunt again.So he began setting traps. He couldn't take all three at once, but picking them off one by one was well within his abilities.
He moved away and laid out mixed patches of herbs and dead birds a good distance from the main burrow. Due to their evolution, boars could now almost be classified as carnivores, especially in the absence of vegetation and the presence of wildlife like birds. With this knowledge, Kyle successfully set traps in a way that allowed him to isolate and take down each boar.
The first was a clean kill—an arrow straight to the heart. It died in a heartbeat. He moved on. The second was near the burrow. Staying downwind, he managed to sneak up to its side and lunged to cut its jugular vein. He missed the mark by a hair, but left a deep cut that slowly bled, agitating the beast enough for it to decide Kyle needed to die.
Kyle leapt out of the way as the boar charged with terrifying vigor, as if it hadn't just been nearly killed. In the chaos, Kyle landed several nicks and slashes across its body, but he wasn't unscathed either. Though he hadn't been rammed yet, the constant dodging and rolling strained his muscles, slowing him down.
Then it happened.
He was just slow enough to realize he wouldn't be able to dodge the incoming charge. Instinctively, Kyle crossed his arms over his chest and shut his eyes.
BAM!!
"GEUGHH!"
He was slammed so hard he flew into a tree. Dazed, he opened his eyes and felt something strange. Expecting to see broken arms, he looked down—they were fine. His arms weren't broken. And there was something else… a barrier?
It made no sense. Kyle had always lived in a deadzone. He shouldn't have been able to use mana here.
Why is there a mana construct here? he thought. But there was no time to think. The boar was charging again.
He rolled to the side just as it rammed the tree trunk. The wood groaned.
CREEEAK—
The tree 'screeched' as it fell on the boar, stunning it as it collapsed under the weight.
Seeing the opportunity, Kyle lunged.
He stabbed.And stabbed.And stabbed.And stabbed.And stabbed.
He didn't stop. Why would he? It tried to kill him—no, it almost killed him. He couldn't let it live. He couldn't be weak.
So he stabbed and sliced, stabbed and sliced. Blood splattered as the boar's rough hide gave way.
It's bleeding. It's dying.
And finally—
SPLAT!
He drove his blade into its heart, ending its life. The damned boar was dead.
Kyle was soaked in blood—not the kind that came from slaughtering and draining a kill, but the kind you got when you bathed in it.
CREEE—
Kyle heard the cry of the third boar, but something about it was different. It wasn't agitated or angry. It was scared. It felt fear.
Kyle turned to look at it, eyes cold and emotionless. He reached for his bow, but the boar didn't wait. It bolted.
"It ran? Weird," he muttered.
Still drenched in blood, he tied up the dead boar and dragged it to the body of the first. Then he dragged both across the land for nearly a kilometer, back to the village.
What greeted him wasn't warm applause or admiration. It was shallow gasps and murmurs. Kyle ignored it all. He dropped the carcasses behind the chief's cabin and walked to the front, where Roland was waiting.
"Where were you?"
"The hunting grounds," Kyle replied, with an "isn't it obvious" tone.
"A better question is, why are you so damn bloody?" Roland asked, concern thick in his voice.
"The fight got bad. The boar attacked me. I almost died. But I won, so it had to die," Kyle said, locking eyes with Roland. There was a tired look in them—one that held something like sadness. Roland understood.
"I see. Go take a bath and rest. You need it. Someone, please handle the boars—we should have enough for some weeks now," Roland said as he walked off.
Kyle only nodded, heading toward the river to wash the blood off his body.
The villagers watched in awe, but deep within them, they all subconsciously wondered—
Was the boy truly one of their own?
Or a bad day waiting to happen?