The memories of the hunter known as Tinno Shade.
What was carved deepest among them was the scene after she finished her first few months of basic training and sparred with her master for the first time.
"Listen up, Tii."
Her master smiled warmly at her.
Unlike Tinno, who was sprawled on the ground gasping for breath in utter exhaustion, not a single bead of sweat graced that face.
Her pink-blond hair was tied loosely behind her, gleaming. She had pale peach irises, long eyelashes, and skin that was tanned yet perfectly smooth — not a scar, not a blemish. Anyone who saw that face would unanimously call it adorable.
In her ears hung red heart-shaped metal earrings. Her slender limbs carried no excess flesh, and her chest was modest even compared to Tinno's, which was not exactly well-endowed.
She was also shorter than Tinno, who was still growing. Standing side by side, people would often mistake Tinno for the older one.
That was — not the case anymore.
"Tii, if Kurai-chan says the crow is white — then it's white. Understand what I'm trying to say?"
A cloyingly sweet voice, carrying the weight of a child being lectured on right and wrong, was directed at Tinno.
That index finger, raised in the air. The force emanating from that small frame dwarfed anything Tinno had ever known.
It was impossible to believe their ages were only a handful of years apart.
There had once been those who scaled the ladder of glory faster than anyone else. Monsters who blazed through high-difficulty Treasure Halls that had repelled countless Hunters with ease.
Tinno and the others — the so-called "second generation," praised for their excellence — were merely chasing in their footsteps.
That was why Tinno had never once boasted of her own talent.
The girl she ended up serving as master was one of those very beings.
Divine speed that left not even a shadow behind. Hence the epithet: "Peerless Shadow."
Liliz Smart, the Peerless Shadow.
Like the wind, like a shadow — her figure, surging overwhelmingly ahead of everyone across the earth and sky, was both an object of admiration and one of terror.
She wore a smile, but her eyes alone blazed with an almost physical energy leaking out from the body within.
"Loyalty, devotion, that sort of thing — it's not about that. What I want from you, Tii, is 'absolute obedience.'"
Something that would drive any short-tempered Hunter into a rage just hearing it.
Yet Liliz's voice was entirely serious.
"From you, Kurai-chan —"
After a single breath, words tumbled from her lips one after another. Tinno was transfixed, pinned in place by those eyes boring into her.
"I don't want you to voice an opinion. Not ever. Not on the smallest matter."
"Even if someone tells you some absurd joke, even if you receive an incomprehensible, unjustified order, even if your life is in danger — I want you to obey that will faithfully without a single thought."
"If there's an enemy who defies Kurai-chan, I want you to crush every last one of them. No exceptions. I don't care if they're some great noble, some renowned Hunter, or whoever wields the most power in this Zeburdia — none of that matters."
"I can't stand the thought of anyone who bears ill will toward us living for even a single second longer than necessary. That's — why I took you as my disciple. When I'm around, I'll slaughter them all myself, but it's a problem when I'm not, isn't it?"
"Tii's smart, so you understand, right?"
"Hah… hah… y-yes, Big Sister."
Sometimes, a talented Hunter was called a monster.
Not that Tinno was saying every Hunter was like that.
But her master was, without question, a monster who made even fellow Hunters tremble in fear.
The words were spoken in an almost casual tone, yet they carried an intensity that brooked no resistance whatsoever.
She was serious. So serious that there was no gap to exploit, hostility radiating from every fiber of her being toward everything around her. If Tinno had harbored even a shred of hostility toward Kurai in this very instant, her master would have killed her as casually as snapping a flower.
She stood shorter than Tinno, her frame more delicate. At first glance, she looked like an ordinary person.
But the only thing still keeping the shape of a human was the exterior.
And Tinno only grasped that after the "hunter known as Tinno Shade" had improved her skills a fair bit.
§ The abnormality was obvious without even searching for it.
Deep within the dense, overgrown forest. They walked cautiously along the barely-visible path leading to the "White Wolf's Den."
The formation had Tinno at the front, Gilbert behind her, then Gregg, and finally Rooda covering the rear.
In the case of this ad hoc Party, there was no mage skilled in wide-area annihilation, nor a Healing Technician effective for treating serious wounds.
Gregg and Gilbert were the frontline.
Gregg was a warrior proficient with a variety of weapons, and Gilbert was a swordsman who excelled in one-on-one combat with his greatsword.
The balance was extremely poor, but on the other hand, they had two Thieves skilled at scouting.
Rooda possessed the cautious awareness unique to one who operated Solo, and even in poor visibility, there was no way she would miss a Phantom approaching with hostile intent.
Even before they reached the Treasure Hall, the forest carried an unmistakable, unsettling air.
The party members' expressions were tight — a peculiar atmosphere that only Hunters who fought Monsters and Phantoms ceaselessly could recognize.
A howl-like cry echoed from somewhere in the distance. Gregg scanned the surroundings and spoke with a groan.
"Something's off… I can smell trouble thick in the air. And we haven't even reached the Treasure Hall yet —"
"That's why I wrote a will."
Tinno replied while narrowing her eyes to scrutinize the line of trees, each as thick as a man could embrace.
"To be precise, I was made to write one, but…"
A Hunter's bad premonitions were often correct. A Hunter's senses, strengthened by Mana Material to a degree beyond what the brain could fully process, served as an instinct that sounded an alarm.
If you valued your life, and you felt a bad premonition — turn back immediately. That was the most widely known creed among Treasure Hunters.
But this time, that creed did not apply.
Because they had already known things would reach this state long ago, and they were here with that knowledge accepted.
And that had been communicated in advance, even though this was a临时 Party. Whether it was believed at the time was another matter.
Rooda, who had been following at the very end with careful steps, blinked.
"You're saying… Kurai knew about this situation and still sent us in?"
"Additionally… this party composition was probably no coincidence either."
"Huh? Hey, come on — even that's a bit —"
Two scouts, plus two members specialized in physical combat.
True, the Master had made it seem like pure chance when assigning members to Tinno. But from the eyes of Tinno — a Master of Masters — that was obviously a bluff.
Tinno was a long-standing member of Footprints. Before that, she'd had many opportunities to interact with the "Mourning Specter" her master belonged to.
Tinno's career as a Hunter could be described as hellish training followed by trials thrown at her on that basis.
This was not the first time she'd taken on a commission from Kurai.
At first, even Tinno had found it hard to believe, but now she understood.
"The Master read through every abnormality in the Treasure Hall and everything happening within it, then lured the necessary personnel to assemble this party. Gilbert — your test of arms and its result were no exception."
Gilbert, who had been considerably more docile since the test of arms, widened his eyes at Tinno's words.
Rooda interjected in a panic.
"Wait — wait! Necessary — personnel? No matter how you look at it, me joining the Footprints recruitment was pure coincidence — and besides, if you were going to send someone, you had plenty of more capable Hunters under you, didn't you?!"
"Y-yeah. And for that matter, my first time meeting Thousand Transformations was that time —"
They couldn't believe it. They didn't want to believe it.
Tinno let out a small sigh at the expressions on her party members' faces, and spoke.
Even though they weren't at the Treasure Hall yet, making a commotion this close would almost certainly draw Phantoms or Monsters.
Maybe even that was part of the plan, but Tinno wanted to get this over with and head back.
Of course, alive — not as a corpse.
To do that, she needed to make them understand this was no accident.
"The Master — has information on every Hunter in the capital, every Treasure Hall. Even if they've never met, reading someone's behavior is trivial for the Master."
That was something anyone from Footprints already knew, let alone Tinno.
A Hunter with a Level 8 certification would not show up late to a member recruitment without reason, then stir up the crowd and cause a scene that nearly destroyed the bar, then redirect Gilbert's fury into a test of arms against Tinno. That would just be an idiot.
It was acting. It hadn't looked like acting at all, but it was an elaborate lie that Tinno's skills were not enough to see through.
Gilbert swallowed whatever further words he'd had in response to Tinno's slightly irritated tone.
She could pull off something like that easily. The Thousand Transformations he'd seen at the training ground had that same unsettling enigma.
The weight of the Purgatory Sword strapped to his back suddenly bothered him.
Among the spells that mages used, there were techniques that enveloped weapons in water, flames, or other elements to enhance power and reach.
The "Attribute Infusion" ability commonly found in weapon-type Treasure Weapons achieved the same effect without constructing a spell.
The fire infusion possessed by the Purgatory Sword was a power that dramatically boosted offensive capability by cloaking the blade in searing heat, allowing it to cut and incinerate simultaneously.
In every Treasure Hall they'd tackled so far, there had been no opponent against whom it failed.
But what about this time?
The flame manipulation Thousand Transformations had pulled off exceeded Gilbert's understanding of the Purgatory Sword's capabilities. If that was what the Purgatory Sword was truly meant to do, then he had only been scratching the absolute surface of its power.
Gilbert had conquered many Treasure Halls before, but this one gave him a far worse premonition than any of those.
Seeing the three looking anxious, Tinno spoke in a light tone.
"Relax. The Master has everything figured out. They wouldn't hand out a hopeless commission on a whim. As long as we're prepared to die, we can clear it. No matter what happens, we're not turning back. I already wrote a will."
"O-oh… right."
The Hunter's standard play would be to retreat, but how much was he staking his life just to collect someone's bones?
While inwardly cursing the mess he'd gotten caught up in, Gregg forced himself to maintain some dignity as the eldest and managed a strained smile.
At that moment, a shadow fell across his vision.
A shadow that blotted out the sun.
Tinno, who noticed it first, shoved Gregg aside. A second ago, where his neck had been, something with a dull gray sheen swept past.
A heartbeat later, Gilbert and Rooda leaped back and entered combat stances. Gregg, sent tumbling by the shove, reflexively rolled into a defensive posture.
His eyes locked onto the target. That shadow that had crept up without scent or sound.
Rooda's eyes went wide, and she let out a hoarse voice toward the crimson beast crouching there motionless.
"…W-wait… the Phantoms here aren't — they're not wolves?!"
Gilbert glared back at the luminous golden eyes aimed at him. He leveled the drawn tip of his Purgatory Sword toward it.
The crimson beast, having dodged the preemptive strike, rose with what could only be called a leisurely motion.
On two legs.
Crimson fur like needle wire, with the pointed ears characteristic of a canine species. A thick tail of the same color extended from its hindquarters, and its nose twitched slightly as though assessing the situation.
However, the majority of the beast was covered in blood-red armor. Its gauntleted hands — the ones that protected its hands — swayed slowly, holding its weapon in a way that seemed to suppress any advance.
"It's… wearing armor?! That's not what I heard at all!!"
"It's got a sword… Mastaa… Mastaa is always a step ahead of my expectations…"
The "Phantoms" that appeared in the "White Wolf's Den" were supposed to be enormous wolves.
But the opponent that now stood before them was different from expectations in every way except color and face.
As if to drown out Tinno's somewhat sorrowful words, the wolf warrior let out a roar.
§ § § "Ugh, I'm gonna puke. I wanna quit being a Hunter already."
He muttered complaints to himself as he wandered aimlessly through the empty Clan Master's office. If Eva had been there, she would have given him a cold stare.
Honestly, if Tinno had just refused with a proper explanation, I would have —.
Nothing but unproductive grumbling surfaced in his mind.
Liliz's disciple was far more important than a rescue target whose survival was uncertain.
She was Level 4, after all. She should know the Hunter's standard playbook. If things got dangerous, she would come back.
But the members of Footprints were all reckless. No matter how powerful the enemy, they would not withdraw easily.
Tinno had been influenced by that too. Or rather — the most reckless ones were the members of the "Mourning Specter," so that was the master's bad influence. Terrible.
If Tinno died on his orders, what would happen to her short-tempered master, Liliz?
"Ugh, worst case, I could use Gilbert and Gregg as shields and —"
They would probably consider it an honor to be sacrificed for Tinno, surely.
He had been too careless with the member selection. He should have assigned Footprints members at the very least.
That bastard Gaark — he should have warned him in advance — no, useless. No matter how you looked at it, he was the one most at fault. There was no excuse.
I'm so sorryyyyyyyyyyy!!!
She would surely be fine. Tinno knew that what appeared in the "White Wolf's Den" was a giant wolf, so her countermeasures must be airtight. He kept telling himself that, yet he couldn't find peace of mind at all.
Outside was already pitch black. Inside the capital, there were streetlights, but none beyond the walls.
Night was when Monsters and beasts became most active, so night marches were shunned by everyone. Besides, even if he dispatched the members currently in the lounge right now, they would never catch up to Tinno.
I really can't do anything without Ark, can I?
Half-escaping from reality, he steeled himself and approached the bookshelf mounted on the wall of the Clan Master's office.
A heavy, imposing shelf lined with books on clan management and the history of the capital. He gripped the conspicuously placed handle and pulled hard.
The bookshelf swung inward without a single sound. Beyond it, a staircase descended into the ground.
Behind the hidden door was his private quarters. He hurried down the stairs and groped in the darkness for the switch.
When he flipped it on, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated a Western-style room two sizes larger than the Clan Master's office.
A windowless room. A large bed that could sleep many. Bookshelves. A table. A desk. A sofa. On the walls hung an indecipherable painting — a gift — and a paper bearing the clan's three guiding rules.
But what caught the eye above all else was — the Treasure Weapons filling every inch of the room.
Swords. Spears. Armor. Cloaks. Chains. Rings. Every type, every shape.
Some had been purchased, some had been gifted, and some had been obtained by venturing into Treasure Halls.
It was, in a sense, the culmination of their work — the "Mourning Specter" — as Treasure Hunters.
If they sold every last one of these Treasure Weapons at fair market price, they could probably live comfortably through their teenage years without working.
But their goal had not yet been achieved.
Clutching his churning stomach, he set about searching for a Treasure Weapon that might break the current impasse.