NOVEL NEXT Chapter 68: The Hunter in the Dark
Scene 1 – Into the Dark
The iron door sealed behind them with a deep, echoing clang. The sound rolled down the corridor like thunder, then was devoured by the suffocating silence that followed.
Darkness. Not the soft kind of a moonless night, but a complete and oppressive void. Jemil lifted his hand instinctively, expecting to see his fingers in front of his face, but there was nothing—just an endless black that seemed to swallow all form and meaning.
The torches they had carried from the last chamber had sputtered and died the instant they stepped through the archway. It wasn't the draft or moisture. The flames had been stolen, as though fire itself was forbidden here.
The air was damp, thick, and heavy. A drop of water fell from above and struck the stone near Jemil's boot. Then another, then another. The rhythm was irregular, like the heart of a sick beast—enough to set his nerves jangling.
The swordmaster moved beside him, every step balanced and cautious. Even in the dark, Jemil could feel the precision of her stance, the tension of her breath. Her sword was already half-drawn, gleaming faintly with the aura she summoned to guide her.
"This place…" she murmured, her voice low, almost reverent, but laced with disdain. "It's not a battlefield. It's a hunting ground."
Jemil's pulse quickened. Hunting ground. That meant they weren't the hunters here.
Scene 2 – The First Signs
The silence broke.
A faint rush of air swept across Jemil's cheek, cold as the breath of something immense. He froze. That wasn't a breeze. That was deliberate.
Then came the sound—low and steady, deep enough to rattle his ribs. Breathing. Not his. Not hers. Something else. Something huge.
No… not just one.
Another exhale followed. Then another. Until the chamber pulsed with the sound of unseen lungs, filling and emptying, a symphony of beasts breathing in unison.
The swordmaster's knuckles tightened around her blade. "They're here."
Jemil swallowed, trying not to let the sound choke him. His instincts screamed danger, yet there was no movement he could see, no shape to strike at. The void wasn't empty. It was watching.
Scene 3 – The Eyes in the Dark
A faint glimmer. At first Jemil thought his mind was playing tricks. But no—the glimmer sharpened into a pair of eyes.
Not the wild glow of an animal, but angular, deliberate, like lanterns cut into slits. Intelligent. Calculating.
Another pair appeared. Then another. Until the chamber blossomed with dozens of unblinking lights. Some hovered at ground level. Others clung high above, embedded in the cavernous ceiling like spiders. All fixed on them.
Jemil's breath grew shallow. His system interface flickered, attempting to quantify what it saw. [Warning: Hostile entities detected.] But the numbers scrambled, refusing to stabilize.
"They're masking their presence," Jemil muttered, realization striking.
The swordmaster's aura thickened around her like steel woven from resolve. "They're hunting us like wolves," she said, voice steady, though her shoulders twitched with restrained tension. "Cutting angles. Measuring how we move."
Jemil nodded grimly. "Testing prey."
That was when the laugh came.
It slithered through the dark, low and guttural, rolling like a growl yet formed into something human. It wasn't loud—it didn't need to be. It filled the chamber without force, as if the stones themselves bent to carry the sound.
"Prey that resists," the voice purred, mocking, savoring each word. "Good. The hunt will be sweeter."
Scene 4 – The Predator's Pressure
The hunters moved.
Shadows peeled themselves from the walls, sleek and long-limbed, moving with liquid silence. They didn't emerge fully; their outlines flickered just enough to give Jemil the impression of claws, of sinew, of too many teeth.
Every motion was deliberate. Not attacks, not yet. They were circling, pressing in, controlling the flow of space the way a pack controls a herd.
The swordmaster planted her feet, blade angled forward, tip unwavering. Her aura sharpened into a cutting edge. "So it's not one. It's a pack."
Jemil could feel it too. These weren't wild beasts. They moved like soldiers drilled into formation. One drew breath, the others mirrored it. One shifted, the others adjusted seamlessly.
The leader's presence grew closer. Its eyes gleamed brighter than the rest, burning with cruel amusement.
"Run," it whispered, voice brushing across Jemil's skin like cold silk. "Run, so the pack may taste your fear."
The swordmaster stiffened. Her muscles screamed for release—for a strike, for motion, for anything to break the coiled stillness. But before she could spring, Jemil touched her arm.
"No." His voice was steady, though his pulse thundered. "We don't run. Not this time."
For a heartbeat, her eyes darted to his. In that glance, she saw the reflection of herself—the woman who once turned her back, who once betrayed for survival. And the woman who swore the Iron Oath never to retreat again.
Her lips parted, silent words forming only for herself: Not this time. Never again.
Scene 5 – The First Clash
The air split.
A hunter sprang from the void, faster than Jemil's eyes could track. Its claws gleamed like curved blades, scything straight toward his throat.
Steel rang. Sparks ignited.
The swordmaster moved before instinct caught up. Her blade intercepted the strike in a blur of precision, cutting the angle perfectly. The impact jarred the cavern, the screech of claw on steel echoing through the dark like the scream of tortured metal.
The beast snarled, a guttural cry, and melted back into the shadows before Jemil could even swing.
Then came the chorus. The pack stirred all at once—low growls, claws scraping stone in rhythm. The sound was deliberate, unified, like war drums announcing the charge.
The leader purred with laughter again. "Prey with fangs. Good."
The swordmaster's aura surged, swelling into a cutting gale that rattled droplets from the cavern ceiling. She leveled her blade, her stance flawless, her voice unyielding.
"I am no prey," she spat, each syllable like steel driven into stone. "Neither is he."
Jemil raised his weapon beside her. His chest burned—not from fear, but from the vow tethering them together, glowing unseen between their souls.
The leader's whisper came like a promise of blood. "Then prove it."
The shadows erupted. The pack descended.
🌑 Next Chapter Preview – Chapter 69: The Pack's Trial
The shadows won't wait any longer.
As the pack erupts from the dark, Jemil and the swordmaster are forced into perfect synchronicity—or death. Every strike tests her precision, every dodge tests his instincts, and every breath feels stolen from a predator's maw. But this is no ordinary fight. The leader of the hunters moves not like a beast, but like a mirror to the swordmaster's own style—every strike mocking her, every feint forcing her to confront the guilt of her past betrayal.
The battlefield isn't just stone and shadow. It's her heart. To stand with Jemil, she must finally decide: will she fight as a lone blade scarred by regret, or as a partner bound by unbreakable trust?
And as the curse on Jemil burns hotter, even the hunters seem to sense it… hungering for what he carries.
The pack doesn't just want blood. They want submission.
The trial has begun.
⚔️ Call to Action
The hunt has started, and the shadows close in—do you think Jemil and the swordmaster can carve a path through the pack, or will the predators drag them down into the dark? 🌑🔥 Drop your theories, your favorite swordmaster moments so far, and what you think the pack's leader really is!
The next chapter is going to be blade against claw, vow against instinct, trust against fear—don't miss it! 🚀