"Igor, you're here... Where were you all this time?"
Barefoot's rough voice reached him as Igaris hurried toward the group.
"Umm, I was battling an Undead Knight nearby," Igaris answered, keeping his response vague.
"Is it?" Barefoot's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
The hunters were already busy securing the freshly acquired carcasses, binding them tightly to sturdy wooden logs with thick rope. Some worked in pairs, lifting the heavy loads, while others stood guard, weapons drawn, their gazes sweeping the ruins for any lingering threats.
Blaze, who had been overseeing the process, turned to Igaris and gestured toward one of the carcasses. It was a massive boar-like beast, its fur matted with dried blood, its tusks broken. A thick log had been run through its legs to make transportation easier.
"Igor, come here," Blaze ordered, pointing at the log. "Lift it up!"
Igaris didn't complain.
Without hesitation, Igaris crouched low, gripping the rough wood with both hands. His muscles tensed as he heaved the back end of the log onto his shoulder. Opposite him, another hunter did the same, steadying the weight.
"Quick, everyone! We need to move now," Blaze called out, his sharp gaze flickering toward the ruined buildings surrounding them. "The sun won't last forever. We have to reach our hideout before nightfall."
Despite carrying no load himself, Blaze stayed at the rear, his sword still crackling faintly with residual embers from the battle. His role was clear—to guard the group as they retreated.
Ahead of them, the rest of the hunters carried the remaining carcasses, their movements efficient and practiced.
Some bore a single beast, while the stronger ones managed two. Their boots crunched against the debris-strewn ground as they moved in a swift but cautious formation, keeping their senses alert for any signs of pursuit.
Igaris adjusted his grip, feeling the strain in his shoulders. As the group moved out, he cast one last glance at the ancient summoning site behind them. Whatever ritual had been in progress had been disrupted, but something told him this wasn't over.
Blaze remained at the rear, cutting down the few persistent Undead Knights that continued to pursue them. His blade, still wreathed in faint embers, sliced through decayed flesh and rusted armor with precise, practiced movements.
The rest of the group remained tense but focused, gripping the logs tightly. If the situation worsened, they wouldn't hesitate to drop their burdens and draw their weapons.
Fortunately, that moment never came.
As they finally crossed the periphery of the Ruined Citadel, a collective sigh of relief passed through the hunters.
Blaze slowed his pace, giving one last wary glance over his shoulder before letting his stance relax.
Thier muscles, stiff from battle, loosened as they continued along the worn sand path, the fading sunlight casting long shadows behind them.
The crumbling towers of the Citadel loomed in the distance, dark and foreboding against the twilight sky.
Yet, unseen to the departing hunters, within the depths of the ruins, figures lurked in the growing darkness. Their eyes glowed with a sinister red light, locked onto the leaving silhouettes of those who had dared to disturb their domain. Silent and unmoving, they just watched, and waiting.
As the hunters caught sight of their settlement in the distance, a wave of relief washed over them.
Despite their wounds and exhaustion, the thought of their victory lifted their spirits. Smiles broke across their faces, and murmurs of excitement filled the air.
Before long, they arrived at a small marketplace—the very spot where they had gathered in the morning. Now, however, it was alive with activity.
Dozens of other groups were also present, tending to their own hauls.
Igaris's eyes flickered across the unfamiliar faces. He had assumed their hunting party was among the strongest, but the sheer number of other survivors forced him to reconsider.
He had underestimated the Forsaken Land.
If so many people thrived in this harsh world, then surely there were crouching tigers and hidden dragons—waiting in the shadows.
He would need to tread carefully.
Right now, he only had one summon. It wasn't enough to draw attention. But soon?
If he continued to grow stronger, if the number of his summons increased…
His power might become too great to hide.
While Igaris was deep in thought, the others were busy dividing the carcasses based on their contributions.
"Igor, here's yours!"
Igaris's eyes drifted to the scene as his share was handed to him.
His gaze narrowed into a frown as he looked at his portion.
To call it a share would be an overstatement. It was just a single piece of a boar's leg.
"Leader... this..." Igaris muttered, looking at Blaze in disbelief. He felt the injustice deep in his core.
While others were given more than half of a carcass each, he was given just a leg.
Judging by the size, It wouldn't even last two days for his family.
Igaris felt It was unfair.
Blaze frowned and his eyes narrowed at Igaris. "What's wrong? You think it's not enough? You need to understand that I divided everything according to each person's contribution, Igor. There was no bias or favoritism involved. Tell me... am I wrong, everyone?"
Blaze's eyes scanned the group, seeking confirmation.
All of them, including Osama, Barefoot, and Nagi, nodded.
"Yes, the leader is right. Igor's contribution was minimal today."
"Yeah, even his bad luck lightning didn't do any damage this time."
"And I even saw him fleeing in the middle of the battle."
The group murmured in agreement, dismissing Igaris's role as insignificant.
Igor clenched his fists, barely holding back the rage boiling inside him.
It was them who had pushed him into minor duties, keeping him away from real combat. And now, they blamed him for not contributing enough.
They were selfish. Every single one of them.
His gaze flickered to Osama, Barefoot, and Nagi. These three people who could have spoken up for him. But they remained silent, avoiding his eyes.
They had chosen to side with Blaze.
Igaris felt a deep sense of betrayal. Just the thought of it made him sick.
But he didn't let it show.
He stood still, watching as the others laughed, feasted, and celebrated.
Arguing would be pointless. Worse, it could be dangerous.
Without another word, he slung the leg piece over his shoulder and turned away, heading home.
Osama, Barefoot, and Nagi watched his lonely figure disappear into the distance.
Their battle-hardened faces held a flicker of guilt and shame.
But they, too, were powerless.
In this land, whoever had the most strength was always right.