The field smelled of burnt iron and dry leaves.

  The distant flames of the city flickered, reflecting on Sarya’s blade as if the fire itself were watching her.

  She didn’t blink.

  Her amber eyes stayed locked on Fabrício’s chest — on the glowing “1” burning inside his pupils, pulsing in perfect sync with his heart.

  Every throb made the air shiver.

  It wasn’t just flesh — it was condensed mana trying to imitate something living.

  But the rhythm was flawed.

  And nothing bothered an Autumn huntress more than a heartbeat out of tempo.

  Sarya spun her spear between her fingers.

  The whisper of the blade cutting through air marked the first beat of her new movement.

  She didn’t need speed.

  She needed timing.

  Fabrício charged.

  The ground cracked under his steps, each one deeper than the last.

  Mana leaked from his body like vapor; the earth melted beneath him.

  He swung his claw — a sweep that could split a horse in half.

  Sarya stepped back half a pace, lowered her spear, and slashed horizontally in the exact instant of the next heartbeat.

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  Blood spilled —

  dark, thick —

  but the sound came late.

  His heart missed the rhythm.

  She noticed and whispered to herself:

  “Here…”

  Fabrício growled, his voice warping the air.

  “You feel it, elf?”

  The mana inside him burned like smoldering coal,

  his veins expanding,

  his chest heaving in uneven pulses.

  “I feel the mistake,” Sarya answered calmly.

  Her red hair danced in the wind,

  and her face showed no fear —

  only focus.

  She moved.

  Three steps, each measured in silence,

  and she attacked on the third pulse — the moment his heart faltered for a single tenth of a second.

  The spear struck his shoulder, grazing muscle.

  Another cut followed, diagonal, slicing through the air and his muffled snarl.

  It was like a dance —

  each strike timed to the flaw in his heartbeat,

  each motion born from the gaps between the beats.

  Fabrício roared again and slammed his feet into the ground, shaking the entire field.

  Runes across his body lit up.

  The “1” in his eyes flared scarlet.

  “You think the heart controls me?”

  “I am the heart!”

  His hand opened.

  Black veins shot out like living roots, trying to bind her.

  She jumped back, but one brushed her leg.

  The impact didn’t cut — it pulled.

  Her body felt weightless, as if gravity flipped for an instant.

  Her leg buckled.

  The ground cracked, dust rising.

  He lunged forward, claw arcing toward her neck.

  Sarya twisted her spear on instinct, blocking the strike; red sparks scattered as metal scraped corrupted mana.

  The blow pushed her back.

  Even so, she planted her feet and pushed right back.

  Then she heard it again —

  his heartbeat.

  One, two heavy thumps… followed by silence.

  She used the void.

  Her body spun with feline precision, and she stabbed into his abdomen.

  A shallow cut, but precise.

  Black blood splattered as Fabrício staggered.

  Sarya didn’t celebrate.

  She didn’t blink.

  She just observed.

  “It’s not blood,” she whispered.

  “It’s fuel.”

  “…You’re burning yourself dry.”

  Fabrício lifted his head, steam pouring from his nose.

  “And you’re getting too full of courage, little huntress.”

  He slammed his fist against his chest.

  The sound echoed — hollow, deep.

  The number in his eyes trembled, pulsing with fury.

  His heartbeat sped up,

  but now it sounded wrong —

  like a cracked drum.

  The more he forced it, the more mana burned.

  His skin began to split, red light leaking through the cracks.

  Sarya rotated her spear and inhaled.

  The wind carried leaves down from the top of the walls.

  Autumn’s shadows swirled around her; the tips of the leaves spun like invisible blades.

  “You still don’t understand, Fabrício…”

  “Hunters don’t run from monsters.”

  “They wait for the moment the monster starts to fall.”

  The Semi-Disaster lunged —

  but his roar broke halfway through.

  Blood dripped, his heart stuttered,

  his own power betraying him.

  Sarya stepped forward, spear low, gaze steady.

  His heart beat three times.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  …

  The fourth never came.

  She smiled for the first time.

  “The hunt begins.”

  And then she struck.

  End of Chapter 46