The canyon clearing was a brutal tableau of death, steeped in the suffocating silence that follows a one-sided slaughter.

The Ogre Chieftain lay on its side, a four-meter mountain of defeated flesh, its massive chest heaving in ragged, shuddering breaths. Its howls of agony had subsided into wet, desperate groans.

The severed tendon on its left leg, courtesy of Marcus's frighteningly precise strike, had immobilized it. It was a C-Rank titan, trapped and helpless.

My team, panting and spattered in the dark, viscous blood of the pack, stood in a loose, stunned circle.

Riker and Kael, the rogue twins, stared at my brother with a mixture of awe and raw terror.

Sila's bow was still drawn, but her sharp, analytical gaze was fixed on Marcus, her mind clearly struggling to reconcile the laid-back C+ hunter with the master swordsman who had just moved like a phantom.

Marcus himself was a picture of unnatural calm. He was methodically wiping his guild-issue sword clean on a patch of grass, his breathing perfectly even, as if he had just completed a simple training form.

He felt my gaze and looked up, his expression unreadable, his eyes holding a depth that did not belong to an eighteen-year-old from Selorn City.

'He knows I saw,' my mind raced. That wasn't a Hunter's skill. That was a cultivator's burst-step, a Qi-infused severing art. He wasn't just a reincarnator; he was lethal.

"It's... it's still alive," Kael stammered, his dagger trembling.

The Chieftain groaned, its one good hand clawing uselessly at the stone, trying to drag its immense, broken body. Its single, blinded eye rolled madly in its socket, searching for a foe it could no longer see or reach.

I stepped forward, breaking the stunned silence. The time for analyzing Marcus was later. The time for command was now. My voice, amplified by the faint hum of my Aura Dominion, cut through the clearing.

"It's not a threat. It's a target," I stated, my tone leaving no room for argument.

"It's crippled. We don't give it time to rest. We don't give it a chance to try a desperation move. We end this. Cleanly."

I pointed Draken at the downed beast. The dark blade was already thrumming, a new, volatile energy gathering as I drew on my affinities.

"Sila, on the ridge! Put an arrow in its remaining arm joint. I want it pinned."

"Twins! You see its club? It's still trying to reach it. When Sila fires, you move in. Cut the tendons in its right arm. I want it disarmed."

"Marcus! You and I are the executioners. When its arms are neutralized, we take the head."

The team, galvanized by the clarity of the commands, snapped from their stupor. Sila scrambled back up the rocks, her movements swift.

The twins crouched, daggers flashing, their eyes fixed on the target. Marcus just nodded, a flicker of something—approval? respect?—in his deep gaze.

"Garth!" I yelled back towards the pass entrance. "Stay clear! This is the execution!"

From the distance, I heard a faint, pained shout. "Do it, kid! Make it pay for my arm!"

TWANG!

Sila's arrow flew, a perfect, whistling arc of steel. It struck the Chieftain's massive, club-wielding shoulder. The C-Rank beast roared, its arm spasming as the arrow buried itself deep into the joint, but it wasn't a crippling blow.

"It's too thick!" Sila yelled. "My arrows can't penetrate the C-Rank muscle!"

"It doesn't matter!"

I roared back. "It's distracted! Twins, now!"

Riker and Kael exploded from the shadows. They moved as one, a blur of dark leather, darting under the beast's clumsy, pained swing.

They were inside its guard, daggers flashing as they slashed at the massive tendons in its wrist and elbow.

The Chieftain howled, dropping its tree-trunk club with a ground-shaking THUD as its grip failed. It was now disarmed, blinded, and hamstrung. A C-Rank behemoth, rendered utterly powerless by strategy.

"Marcus!"

My brother was already moving, his form a graceful, deadly blur. He took the left side of the beast's thick neck.

I took the right.

The team watched, breathless.

Marcus's blade shimmered, his cultivator's Qi condensing into a needle-sharp edge. He didn't just slash; he severed.

I, on the other hand, poured everything I had left into Draken. Ice. Lightning. And the subtle, tearing warp of my Space affinity. The blade ignited in a silver-blue corona of unstable energy.

"Siekie Ryoku Arts: Form Three," I whispered, the power surging. "Heaven Splitter!"

We struck at the same instant.

Marcus's blade cut deep, a line of impossible finesse, severing muscle and artery.

My blade, infused with the power of three affinities and the conceptual edge of 'Sever', didn't just cut. It annihilated.

SHIIING!

The combined assault was overwhelming. The Chieftain's massive head, caught between two opposing forces of impossible sharpness, was shorn clean from its shoulders.

THUMP.

The head rolled once on the stone floor, its single eye staring blankly at the sky. The massive body spasmed, then went still, blood fountaining from the neck.

A heavy, profound silence fell over Grizzly Pass, broken only by the panting of the hunters and the drip... drip... of blood on stone.

[C-Rank Ogre Chieftain Defeated.]

[D-Rank Dungeon: Grizzly Pass – Cleared.]

[Team Kill Confirmed. Loot Rights Secured.]

I stood over the corpse, my chest heaving, the backlash from the fused Heaven Splitter sending a sharp ache through my arm. But we were alive. Zero casualties. One minor injury. Flawless.

I sheathed Draken and turned to my team.

Riker and Kael were staring at the Chieftain's head, then at me, then at Marcus, their faces pale. Sila slowly lowered her bow, her entire body trembling with the adrenaline crash.

And then Garth limped forward. He stopped in front of me, his one good arm clutching the mangled, useless ruin of his shield. His face was pale with pain, but his eyes, when he looked at me, were completely clear of the skepticism he'd held before.

He unsteadily dropped to one knee, a gesture of profound respect from a veteran hunter to his commander.

"Chief Inspector," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "No... Guild Leader."

"It's just Michael, Garth. Get up," I said, my voice softer now.

"No, sir," Garth insisted, shaking his head. "I've been a hunter for twenty years. I've followed barons, knights, and A-Rank 'prodigies'. They were all fools. They would have sent me to my death, told me to 'hold the line' until that thing turned me into paste." He looked up, his gaze unwavering.

"You... you used me as bait, yes, but you did it to save me. You had a plan that didn't treat me as disposable. I've never seen anything like it. From this day... my shield is yours."

Sila and the twins stepped forward, their expressions mirroring Garth's. The suspicion was gone, replaced by a fierce, hard-won loyalty.

"He's right, boss," Riker said, his voice shaking slightly. "That... was insane. We'll follow your lead. Anywhere."

I looked at their faces, at the genuine respect in their eyes. This was different from the fear-tinged awe of the Academy. This was real. This was the loyalty of comrades who had bled together.

"Get up, all of you," I said, my voice hardening slightly to hide the strange warmth in my chest.

"We don't pledge loyalty here. We earn our pay. Marcus, let's harvest the core. The rest of you, salvage what you can—teeth, claws, the club's core if it has one. We leave in ten. We have a victory to report."

"Aye, sir!" Garth barked, scrambling to his feet, the pain in his arm seemingly forgotten.

The return to Selorn City was a triumph.

----------------------------------------------------

Our wagon, laden with the grotesque, massive head of the Ogre Chieftain tied to the back, rolled through the market square. People stopped. They pointed. They gasped. The news spread faster than wildfire.

The Willson Guild… they won? They took the Grizzly Pass contract?

By the time we pulled up to the guild hall, a crowd had gathered. Our members, their faces anxious, burst through the doors, led by my father.

When Darius saw the Chieftain's head, he froze. His eyes went from the C-Rank trophy to Garth, who was being helped down by Kael, his broken arm in a sling. Darius's face fell, thinking the price of victory had been a crippling.

"Garth, your arm—"

"Is just fine, Guild Master!" Garth boomed, his face split in a massive grin. "A small price! This kid... your son... he's a damned genius! A tactical monster!"

Darius looked at me, stunned, as the rest of the team—Sila, Riker, Kael—all started talking at once, their voices overflowing with excitement.

"He blinded it! From the ridge!"

"...and the pack just froze! He knew they would!"

"...Lightning from his hands, I swear! Three of 'em, just like that!"

"...Marcus cut its leg, and then poof! The boss was on the ground!"

My father looked utterly bewildered, his gaze shifting from his excited members to Marcus, who just offered a calm, neutral shrug, and finally to me.

I simply stepped forward and placed the heavy, pulsating C-Rank Ogre Mana Core into his hand. It was the size of a cannonball, glowing with a deep, furious red light

.

"The Grizzly Pass is cleared, Guild Master," I said, using his formal title for the benefit of the crowd. "The contract is fulfilled. The toll rights are secured."

Darius stared at the core, his hands trembling. This single item was worth more than their entire guild hall.

He looked up at me, his son, his eyes shimmering with a profound, overwhelming pride that left him speechless. He didn't see the commoner student. He saw a leader. He saw the future of his guild.

The hall erupted. The celebration that night was deafening. Ale flowed, songs were sung, and the name "Michael Wilson" was toasted alongside "Willson Guild" until the two became synonymous.

----------------------------------------------------

Late that night, in the quiet of the back office, the numbers were laid bare. Victor Arkwright, having "coincidentally" arrived to check on his investment, had his holographic slate glowing.

"It's beautiful," Victor whispered, his eyes wide, looking at the new projections.

"The 4 million Ren contract payment clears our immediate operational costs. The 95 million from Aegis has erased the debt. The C-Rank core and salvaged materials? That's another 8-10 million in pure, liquid profit. And the toll rights..."

He ran a new calculation. "Over the next three months, that's a conservative estimate of 15 million Ren. Minimum."

He looked at Darius, his manic grin firmly in place. "Darius, you're not just stable. You're rich. The Willson Guild is officially the most profitable C-Rank guild in the entire region, and you haven't even started your partnership with the Dawn Guild yet."

Darius, my father, just sat there, head in his hands, laughing softly, the tears he'd held back all night finally tracing paths through the grime on his face. Lilly cried beside him, holding his hand.

Marcus stood by the window, watching the celebration outside. He glanced at me, his gaze thoughtful. 'You did this,' it seemed to say. 'All of it.'

I just nodded, my work here almost done.

But the shadows were not so easily banished.

-----------------------------------------------

Miles away, in a smoke-filled tavern on the other side of Selorn—the den of the Iron Vipers—the mood was the opposite of celebratory.

Gregor, the Viper's guild leader, smashed his ale mug against the wall, the ceramic exploding. "He what?! A fifteen-year-old brat?! With that washed-up squad?!"

A trembling Viper scout, his face bruised, nodded fearfully. "It's true, boss. They're back. The whole city's callin' 'em heroes. They... they brought the Chieftain's head."

Gregor roared, flipping the heavy table, sending cards and coins scattering. "He's ruined me! My patron... my funding... I was supposed to crush them! Not... not lose to a child!"

He was spiraling, his plan to bankrupt the Willsons now a smoking ruin. The Willsons didn't just survive; they were now stronger than him, richer than him.

A soft, synthesized voice cut through his rage from the darkest corner of the room, where a robed figure sat, untouched by the chaos.

"Your failure is... disappointing, Gregor. But not fatal."

Gregor spun, his eyes wild. "Not fatal?! They have the pass! They have the money! My patron in Arcadia will have my head for this!"

"Our mutual patron is indeed displeased," the robed figure corrected, his voice a cold, emotionless drone from behind a porcelain mask. "He finds this commoner, Michael Wilson, to be an escalating nuisance. His rise is... inconvenient."

The robed figure stood, gliding silently from the shadow. He placed a new, heavy pouch of gold on the up righted table. And next to it, a small, black-sheathed dagger. It wasn't just a weapon; it hummed with a faint, dark, demonic energy.

"This is your new funding," the robed figure said. "And this... is your new strategy. Our patron no longer wants a guild war. He wants a message. Since you cannot beat the boy in an open contract, you will break him from the shadows."

Gregor stared at the dagger, his eyes widening. He recognized the dark energy. This was a cursed blade.

"The boy's family is his strength," the robed figure continued, its head tilting. "His parents. That talented older brother. See to it that they become his weakness. Use the dagger. It will find its mark. Fail again... and my patron will send someone to collect your head, not just the Ogre's."

The robed figure turned and dissolved into the shadows, leaving Gregor alone with the gold and the cursed blade. A slow, venomous, and desperate smile spread across his face.

"Yes... yes, I understand," he whispered, his fingers closing around the cold hilt of the dagger. "A hero's welcome... let's see how heroic they feel when their caravans burn, and their family bleeds."

(To be continued in Chapter 172)

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