Nemira had barely exhaled when a roar rolled across the slope—low, raspy, full of barely restrained fury.

  She spun round.

  Between the rocks moved a shadow—massive, angular, clearly belonging to a large predator. Bony growths jutted from its back and flanks in jagged spikes. An elongated snout with rows of crooked teeth tested the air, catching the scent of fresh blood.

  The troll woman's yellow eyes widened. Above the beast's head floated a bright designation:

  [Grun'jak (955/955)

  Level 24

  Rank: E]

  Nemira stepped back, feeling a wave of cold roll down her spine. Her own level had barely reached two. A twenty-two-level difference plus an entire rank—this wasn't a fight. This was suicide.

  The creature lunged forward, gathering speed between boulders. Powerful clawed paws kicked up dust. A spiked tail cut through the air, leaving a trail of crumbling pebbles.

  Nemira turned and ran.

  Thoughts raced through her head, forming a chain of cold logic. Fighting was impossible—one blow would tear her in half. But simply fleeing wouldn't work either—the beast was faster, tougher, knew the terrain better. That left only one option: exploit its weaknesses.

  The grun'jak charged after her. The ground shook beneath the weight of its paws. Growls shifted to howls—the creature had entered hunting frenzy.

  The troll woman weaved between rocks, staying just at the edge of reach. Instinct guided her route—towards where boulders stood closer together, where the beast would have to slow on turns.

  The grun'jak leapt. Nemira dove right, feeling claws whistle past centimetres from her shoulder. The creature slammed into stone, leaving deep furrows. The roar grew fiercer.

  It's angry, the girl noted, rounding another boulder. I can use that.

  She slowed her run—just slightly, precisely enough for the grun'jak to sense: prey within reach. The creature roared and accelerated, closing the distance.

  The troll woman swerved sharply left. The beast flew past, crashing sideways into cliff. Bony growths scraped a line across stone with a screech.

  Nemira's yellow eyes darted side to side, scanning the terrain, seeking escape routes.

  Run to the village? No. That would demonstrate weakness she couldn't afford. Besides, if the creature she'd led killed one of the inhabitants, her reputation amongst the locals would plummet.

  At first she'd simply fled without looking back, weaving between boulders in panic. But then, tearing away from the pursuer for a split second, she spotted salvation—there, about three hundred metres away, gaped a chasm between rocks. A narrow crevasse, deep enough to hide its bottom in darkness.

  A plan formed instantly, and she set about executing it.

  Livien ran in an arc, describing a wide circle round the chasm. The grun'jak pursued her, blind with rage. Saliva flew in clumps, settling on stones. The tail thrashed side to side, knocking aside small boulders.

  Round and round. Nemira led the beast along the crevasse's edge, forcing it to grow accustomed to the trajectory. Leg muscles burnt—vigour melted with each step. Especially when she had to run uphill. But she couldn't stop. Just a bit more.

  The grun'jak leapt again. This time the girl barely managed to duck—claws caught her hair, shearing off several strands. The creature landed a metre away, already turning for the next attack.

  The troll woman sprang back, luring the beast closer to the chasm. Another step. And another.

  The crevasse lay very close—perhaps five metres to the edge.

  Nemira spun and ran straight towards it. The grun'jak roared triumphantly—prey had made a mistake, trapped itself, he'd exhausted her and now would savour such tempting flesh.

  Four metres.

  Three.

  Two.

  The troll woman could see the chasm's edge—stones crumbling into darkness, showing how deep the crevasse plunged.

  One metre.

  Livien pivoted sharply on her heels, pebbles flying from beneath her feet. The grun'jak failed to react—inertia carried the massive body forward, straight towards the chasm.

  The prolonged roar, full of fury and sudden animal terror, of the beast falling into the abyss sounded to the girl like victorious timpani beating a triumphal march. Her chest heaved with heavy breathing, heart pounded somewhere in her throat, but hot, intoxicating feeling spread through her entire body.

  She didn't hesitate to unleash her emotions—let no one but the mountains hear her cry in these desolate peaks. She flung her arms upward, clenching her fists, and exhaled a prolonged triumphant howl. Joy from her first true victory overflowed, displacing fear, exhaustion and muscle ache.

  Nemira sank onto the nearest boulder, feeling her legs turn to cotton. Vigour had dropped to critical levels—her body demanded energy replenishment.

  She ran her fingers across the ring on her hand, activating storage. Air distorted, materialising one of the rabbit carcasses—grey fur still held the warmth of recent death.

  Hunger proved sharper than the troll woman expected. Jaws clamped on meat, tearing fibres. Blood ran down her chin, dripping onto her chest, but Livien paid no attention—her entire being concentrated on replenishing spent strength.

  The taste of raw meat exploded on her tongue. Primal, wild, right. Teeth crushed bones, extracting marrow. Strong fingers dug into the carcass, gripping the prey.

  The vigour bar crept upward, filling. Muscles stopped trembling. Breathing steadied.

  Nemira bit off another chunk, chewing greedily. The world narrowed to a simple cycle: bite, chew, swallow. Repeat. Mountain sounds—wind rustling between stones, distant echoes of crumbling pebbles—became white noise, unworthy of attention.

  The rabbit carcass shrank in her hands. The troll woman was already planning to retrieve a second, calculating how much meat full recovery would require.

  The crash of collapsing rocks shattered the silence.

  Nemira jerked, beginning to turn, but too late. The grun'jak burst from the chasm—hide scraped, bony growths cracked in several places, but fury in the yellow eyes burnt brighter than before.

  A massive clawed paw descended on the girl's back.

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  Pain. Pure, blinding, filling every cell of her body. Claws sliced through skin, tearing flesh to the ribs. The blow hurled the troll woman forward, throwing her from the boulder. She tumbled across rocky ground, leaving a bloody trail.

  You have taken damage: -50 health points

  The girl collapsed to her knees, clutching her back. Fingers slid across torn skin, sinking into ragged wound edges. Blood gushed between her fingers, staining stones beneath her feet.

  The grun'jak landed three metres away, turning. Its maw gaped, displaying rows of crooked teeth. The spiked tail struck the ground, raising a dust cloud.

  The health bar flashed yellow warning in peripheral vision. Only seventy-five units remained. Just under half her reserve had vanished from one blow.

  The troll woman lunged aside, ignoring pain flashing through her back. The grun'jak leapt where she'd been a second before. Claws struck sparks from stone.

  Thoughts raced through her head, trying to form a plan. The beast had escaped. The chasm hadn't killed it—only enraged it further. Run? With such a wound she couldn't flee quickly—back muscles were damaged, every movement resonated with glass shards of pain.

  Fight? The level difference hadn't disappeared. Plus now she was wounded.

  The grun'jak turned, preparing for a new attack. Saliva dripped from fangs, mixing with the girl's blood on its muzzle. Yellow eyes burnt with triumph—prey wounded, weakened, doomed.

  Nemira backed away, searching with her gaze for escape routes. Blood continued flowing down her back, soaking her clothes, leaving wet prints on stones.

  Her hand darted to the storage ring, and a dagger materialised in her palm. She'd put it there during the flight so as not to lose it. The cold hilt dug into her skin as the troll woman gripped the weapon with desperate force.

  The girl held the dagger before her, gripping it with both hands. The blade trembled in the air—not from fear but from pain lancing through her back with every muscle tension. The weapon became a pitiful shield between her and the predator. Twenty centimetres of steel against three metres of fury, fangs and claws.

  Utterly unafraid of the pathetic weapon, the grun'jak leapt, throwing all its bestial might into the lunge. Nemira tried to dodge aside, but her wounded body failed to respond with its former speed—back muscles answered with sharp agony, slowing movement by a fraction of a second. That proved sufficient.

  The beast crashed down upon her with its full weight, massive forepaws striking her shoulders, crushing the troll woman beneath it and driving her into stony earth. Air tore from her lungs from the impact. The dagger she'd held with both hands before her plunged somewhere towards the predator's belly—the blade sank into flesh but didn't stop the assault.

  The girl's hands instinctively flew upward, seizing the beast by the throat. Fingers dug into hide covered with bony growths, keeping the elongated muzzle at distance from her own neck. The grun'jak snarled, writhing, trying to reach prey with its jaws. Saliva mixed with blood, dripping on the troll woman's face. Fetid breath seared her skin.

  Then the hind legs began working. Claws tore into legs and flanks, shredding flesh methodically, again and again. Pain crashed over her in a wave so fierce and all-consuming that the world whitened at the edges. Each claw strike resonated with a fresh explosion of agony. Blood gushed in a torrent, soaking the earth beneath her back.

  Nemira was already thinking of surrender—simply let go, allow jaws to close on her throat and end this unbearable torture. Her hands trembled, grip weakening.

  Then something swept the grun'jak off her like a feather—hurling the three-metre carcass aside with one sharp movement.

  Immediately a sphere of blood formed before her. Her own blood, which gathered into an orb from all sides in thick crimson streams—flowing from torn legs, rising from the ground, drawn from the air where seconds before it had sprayed in droplets. The clot pulsed in the air as though alive, then rushed back into her body in the area of shredded thighs and shins.

  Immediately after, pain receded—didn't vanish completely, but dulled to a bearable level. Ragged wounds closed with a thin pink film of new flesh, and health climbed from the red zone back into yellow. Death was postponed. At least for the next few minutes.

  When the fog in her head cleared, when her vision stopped swimming with red spots, she saw the beast lying several paces away. The grun'jak whimpered—pitifully and raspingly, trying to rise on front paws whilst dragging hind legs. Something had clearly broken in its spine.

  Crawling to it on all fours—her legs still wouldn't hold properly—she yanked her dagger from the creature's flank. The blade emerged with a disgusting squelch, and the predator jerked, howling. Nemira didn't hesitate. She fell upon it from above and began desperately, methodically driving the weapon into the few places where the grun'jak lacked bony growths.

  When the girl had started, the creature had perhaps ten per cent of its health remaining, and judging by sluggish movements and raspy breathing, negative effects hung on it as well. But even so, she had to spend a good three minutes repeatedly plunging the blade into convulsing flesh before the massive body finally went limp. Such was the difference between their levels—even a dying predator proved too resilient for a novice.

  Finally she saw the notification.

  [You have killed:

  Grun'jak (0/955)

  Level 24

  Rank: E

  Gained: 55 experience points]

  Exhaling with a sob, she collapsed powerlessly onto the beast's massive carcass, feeling the last crumbs of energy leaving her body. Nemira's vigour had dropped nearly to zero—every muscle burnt with strain, hands trembled, and her temples throbbed as though someone methodically hammered from inside her skull.

  "Not good, ancient one! Very not good..." She heard a raspy voice from above.

  Vaaro stood over her, arms crossed on chest, and began tapping long fingers against tattoos. The movements were measured, almost ritualistic, but undisguised displeasure could be felt in them.

  "What?" Nemira lifted her head with difficulty, squinting at the troll's tall figure. "Piss off," the girl snapped and glared at him from below with fury, unable even to rise.

  "Not good to steal another's prey, ancient one. That's what!" The blood caster leant closer and stared at her with unblinking yellow eyes in which cold condemnation could be read. "Even worse—to ruin it. Can you not control yourself? Does blood rule you instead of reason?" A note of contempt mixed with genuine bewilderment sounded in his voice.

  "But your greatest mistake, ancient one, is insulting your own saviour!" Vaaro's voice sounded surprisingly calm, even with a shade of admonishment, as though he were lecturing a negligent student. The blood caster touched the massive carcass of the grun'jak with his palm—and the next moment the predator's body vanished, dissolving into air without a single sound.

  Livien, losing her support, crashed back onto stony ground. The impact knocked out her remaining air, and the girl simply lay for a second, gasping dusty air with her mouth, not believing what was happening.

  "Hey! What are you doing, you bastard?" The cry tore from her chest with desperation and powerless fury. She tried to rise, but her arms treacherously buckled, refusing to obey. "That's my prey! Give it back immediately!"

  Nemira still had strength enough to shout—her voice sounded hoarse but loud, echoing off surrounding cliffs. But she couldn't move—her body had filled with leaden heaviness, every muscle refused to obey. Vigour was at its limit, and her body simply physically couldn't squeeze out a single drop of energy.

  "You have three more minutes..." Vaaro pronounced in the same even tone, as though not noticing her indignation.

  "What three minutes? Did you even hear what I said?" The girl's voice broke into a rasp from outrage. She tried to rise on her elbows, but her arms buckled again treacherously. "Return my trophy immediately! The beast is mine!"

  "Before my blood gathering spell ends..." Vaaro was unusually verbose today. Realising this, he fell silent mid-sentence, as though catching himself.

  Nemira lay on the rocks, looking at the troll from below. Her brain feverishly sorted through options—how to rise, how to force him to return the prey, how to do anything in this situation. But her body refused to move. Vigour had dropped so low even her fingers barely twitched.

  "Blood gathering spell?" She forced the question out, voice sounding muffled. "What are you talking about?"

  Vaaro remained silent, studying her from above. Long fingers continued tapping tattoos on his arms—the rhythm of movements shifted, betraying irritation. The silver nose ring gleamed in the sun.

  "Speak!" Nemira tried to inject more force into her voice, but achieved only a pathetic semblance of a shout. "What spell? Why did my blood..."

  Memory surfaced—how crimson streams had gathered into a sphere, how pain had receded, how wounds had closed with new flesh.

  "Was that you?" The girl fixed her gaze on the caster. "You healed me?"

  The troll nodded—one short movement of his chin. No further explanation followed.

  "Then... thank you," the word emerged with difficulty, as though stuck in her throat. Nemira wasn't accustomed to giving thanks. Especially to those who'd just taken her rightful prey. But the fact remained—without Vaaro's intervention she'd be bleeding out on these stones right now.

  The caster continued his silence. Yellow eyes slid aside, studying the surrounding cliffs.

  "But the beast is still mine," the troll woman added stubbornly. "I killed it. You only..."

  "Only saved your hide," Vaaro interrupted. His voice sounded level, emotionless. "Twice today. First from the grun'jak when it was tearing you apart. Then from death when your blood was draining into the earth."

  Livien clenched her teeth. She had no strength to argue. And no arguments either. The truth cut her ears but remained truth.

  "What do you want?" She forced herself to exhale the question. "For the help?"

  The troll shifted his gaze back to her. But answered nothing.

  He turned his back to her—the long black braid swayed between shoulder blades—and moved unhurriedly towards his hut, completely ignoring the resumed furious shouts behind him.

  His massive figure retreated with measured steps, as though he had no interest whatsoever in what was happening with the girl left lying on the stony ground.