Rusty's sudden outburst sent me flying.
One violent yank—
and I hit the ground hard.
Pain shot through my body.
But I forced myself up immediately, coughing, barely steady—
only to see Rusty still thrashing wildly.
He wasn't calming down.
Not even close.
His head slammed side to side.
His body twisted violently.
His legs kicked at the ground like he was fighting something invisible.
"Rusty!"
I rushed forward—
but before I could reach him—
Duracal exploded out of the blacksmith.
One look.
That was all he needed.
He grabbed Rusty's head with both arms—
pure strength.
No technique.
No hesitation.
Just force.
Rusty struggled.
Hard.
His legs tore into the dirt.
His body convulsed.
But Duracal didn't let go.
I reached them seconds later.
My hands moved frantically across Rusty's neck and body.
"It's okay…!"
"It's okay…!"
"Please—"
After what felt like forever—
Rusty finally slowed.
Then—
collapsed.
Not dead.
Sleeping.
Again.
His entire body was drenched in sweat.
Steam-like heat still radiated from him.
Duracal looked at me.
Sharp.
"What did you do?"
I froze.
"…Nothing."
A lie.
And maybe he knew it.
Duracal kept rubbing Rusty's neck, his voice lower now.
"I've only seen this twice."
My stomach dropped.
"Once—when a monster was overexposed to miasma."
"Too much."
"It went berserk."
He paused.
"The second…"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…was when a monster survived near death, absorbed massive amounts of miasma…"
"…and mutated."
My blood ran cold.
Duracal looked directly into my eyes.
"You should check yourself too."
But I barely heard him.
Because in that moment—
I already knew.
This was my fault.
Because I experimented.
Because I was curious.
Because I thought maybe.
And Rusty—
the one creature that had carried me, fought beside me, survived beside me—
was suffering because of me.
My knees gave out.
Tears hit before I could stop them.
"Why…?"
My hands gripped Rusty tighter.
My voice cracked.
"Why did I do that…?"
I kept blaming myself.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Just because I wanted answers—
I risked him.
My mount.
My companion.
My friend.
Duracal's hand landed on my shoulder.
Heavy.
Grounding.
"I don't know what happens next," he said.
"But remember this."
"Power without something to protect…"
"…is worthless."
That broke me even more.
I buried my face against Rusty's head.
"Please…"
"Please don't die…"
I stayed there—
until afternoon.
Eventually, Duracal returned with food.
He placed it beside me.
"Eat."
I didn't move.
He sighed.
"Even if you break down…"
"…if Rusty wakes up, you'll still need strength."
Slowly—
my grip loosened.
I ate.
Barely.
Every bite tasted like dust.
But my eyes never left Rusty.
Not once.
The moment I tried to return to him—
Duracal stopped me.
Hard.
"Then move."
I looked up.
His expression was firm.
"If your mind is breaking—"
"Use your body."
He threw me my gear.
"Go hunt."
"Bring back monster meat."
"Rusty will need it."
I didn't argue.
I couldn't.
So I moved.
Dazed.
Numb.
Until I reached Lavian Forest.
Then—
I saw one.
A Dung Rabbit.
The moment it crawled from its hole—
something inside me snapped.
No thought.
No hesitation.
My sword was already drawn.
Beast Footwork.
I surged forward.
Before it could even react—
one slash.
Clean.
Its head hit the ground before its body understood it was dead.
"RUSTY!"
I screamed.
Not at the rabbit.
At myself.
At everything.
Then—
another slight tremor.
A second rabbit.
This one was smarter.
It only exposed part of its head—
testing.
My sensory field caught it.
The instant it rose slightly higher—
I stepped in and slashed diagonally.
Not clean.
Not perfect.
It jerked back.
My blade tore through one eye—
not the head.
The creature shrieked and vanished underground.
Pain flared in my arm—
too much force.
Too much emotion.
Then—
my sensory field exploded with movement.
Multiple signatures.
Below me.
I jumped back—
just as claws erupted from beneath where I stood.
Too slow—
one claw tore across my calf.
Pain burned.
I nearly lost balance.
So that was their tactic.
Feint.
Distract.
Surround.
I gritted my teeth.
"Good."
My breathing sharpened.
This wasn't slaughter anymore.
This was a fight.
I moved constantly.
No standing still.
Each tremor—
a signal.
Each vibration—
a warning.
One rabbit burst early—
I sidestepped and pinned it with my spear.
Another used that opening—
nearly taking my shoulder.
A shallow cut.
Close.
Too close.
I adapted.
Used trees.
Forced narrower angles.
Reduced underground approach options.
One by one—
I killed.
Not elegantly.
Not perfectly.
But efficiently.
Eventually—
my breathing turned ragged.
My legs burned.
I was running out of stamina.
Bad.
I climbed a tree fast—
I sat on the branch, chest heaving.
Body shaking.
Hands bloody.
Then—
slowly—
I sheathed my sword.
Pulled out my bow.
Nocked an arrow.