The Pact: Bruno and the Crimson Veil

Outside the cave, Ignis and I watched the clear day unfold over the snow-covered forest.

My footsteps sank into the thick, icy layer, draining energy I no longer had. Worse: the noise gave away my position.

I had to ration my energy, trying to muffle my steps while keeping my guard up, ready for any attack.

The pressure was immense. So I decided to move through the trees, like a monkey.

The forest was dense, with trees close to one another, allowing me to move along the branches. It was still noisy, but now I had the advantage of height, vision, and valuable energy savings.

I began to circle the area around the cave to map the region:

East: the cave itself. Rocky, open terrain — far too dangerous to approach.

West: the heart of the forest.

Southwest: the enormous cliff. Even from inside the cave, it was clearly visible — the trees didn't block the view. I still couldn't figure out how those civilians managed to hit me with an arrow and flee that way.

North: a small lake, swarming with beasts and infested with crocodiles.

Northwest: near the river. I believed that was the direction of the Moon Wolves' base.

South: the simplest region. The beasts there barely reached level 1.

I gathered vines from the trees and placed them on Ignis's back. He didn't like it, but there wasn't much choice. It was necessary.

I already knew our next prey: a level 1 beast, resembling a goat.

It had thick black wool-like fur and a pair of massive horns — even larger than the branch that had pierced my leg days before.

But hunting it was vital. Nothing could be wasted.

The snow was relentless. It wasn't normal. Even as a vampire, my body was suffering.

After all, I wasn't an undead like in human stories — my body still functioned, and this extreme cold drained my energy, my vitae, and paralyzed my movements.

Determined, I began to plan.

I took the vines from Ignis's back and gave the command: he would face the goat head-on.

He agreed, excited, and dashed forward.

The goat reacted quickly, assuming a defensive stance.

Ignis didn't hesitate: he launched a fireball. The goat dodged, but that opened a gap for the wyvern to close in and engage in close combat — without having to face the horns directly.

I was amazed by my little companion's intelligence.

While they fought, I tied two vines to the spear's shaft, intertwining them and securing the weapon tightly to my arm.

I would only have one chance — a single shot — before the goat discovered my position.

I stayed hidden, watching like a predator.

Ignis bit, clawed, and rammed the beast with his body.

It thrashed violently, but he didn't let go.

He wasn't a dragon…

But he was, without a doubt, a true wyvern — the embodiment of persistence, of strength born from effort.

I watched, impressed, like a snake ready to strike.

My enhanced hearing picked up everything: the birds' calls, the wind slicing through the trees, the snow occasionally falling from branches.

Ignis flew up and fired another ball of flame at the goat.

The beast quickly reacted, placing its horns in front to shield itself.

Ignis was close but still airborne, which prevented him from attacking with full force — yet he remained confident.

That's when I saw the opportunity.

In a single motion, using all my strength and basic vitae manipulation, I hurled the spear.

By the time the goat noticed, it was too late — the spear pierced its neck.

Blood dripped from its mouth, and the fireball that struck its horns came as the finishing blow.

It collapsed, dead.

I leapt down from the tree, elated by the victory.

Ignis celebrated excitedly, and I told him to grab the vines.

I would carry the goat back to the cave.

About twenty minutes later, we were safely back inside the cave.

We smiled in our own way — happy with another successful hunt.

I picked up the improvised knife made of stone and bone and began skinning the goat.

I urgently needed something to cover myself.

My cuts were clumsy, so I preferred to leave chunks of meat attached to the skin and scrape them off later rather than risk tearing the hide.

It took time. Maybe over two hours.

After removing the skin, I drained all the blood from the goat.

It was still awful — just as bad as the monkey's.

Ignis, now spoiled, refused to eat raw meat.

I had to roast the goat.

While the meat cooked, I scraped the remaining flesh from the skin. This time, it went faster.

Once I finished, I slipped my arms through the holes in the back legs and wore the skin like a makeshift tunic.

I made three holes on each side to act like buttons and used a thin vine to tie it all together.

It was uncomfortable, but along with the campfire, it was enough to keep me warm.

And conserve energy.

Hours later, the meat was done.

Ignis ate, and so did the fire horse.

Because of his pride, I gave him a name: Astrell — like a fallen star, one that retains its dignity even when wounded.

He seemed to accept me, though he still acted hostile. I didn't dwell on it.

I just needed to survive.

Then came the question: what should I do with those goat horns?

They were long, curved, and extremely sharp.

I imagined something like my vine-whip with bone daggers.

But would the vines hold?

That's when the idea struck: braiding.

What if I braided the vines?

I could ask Ignis to use fire to mold the horns — turn them into hooks.

That way, I'd have two pieces of equipment:

– One with bone daggers, for combat.

– Another with horn hooks, ideal for escape or climbing.

If I could fill the hollow interior of the horns with something sturdy, they'd last even longer.

While Ignis slept after his meal, I stayed awake.

I began separating five of the strongest vines, all around the same length.

They were already tough on their own — capable of supporting about 70 kg. Maybe due to the influence of vitae, or maybe it was just the nature of Tenebris.

Five tightly braided could support over 400 kg.

I began braiding.

I failed countless times.

Each flawed attempt ruined the entire structure, and I had to start over.

I lost track of time.

Still, I kept going — until my broken arm, exhausted and racked with pain, finally gave out.

In overwhelming agony…

…I fell asleep.

The next day, Ignis woke me again.

It was time to hunt.

He was as eager as ever.

But me…

I knew it was impossible to survive by hunting just one creature a day.

I was seriously injured. There was still an open wound in my leg, and my right arm remained broken.

I lacked the blood to speed up regeneration — and even if I had it, I couldn't just go around attacking everything in unfamiliar territory.

Besides, the goat meat wasn't enough to restore Astrell.

Without his strength, climbing the cliff was impossible — not even with the makeshift hook.

Damn it.

I grabbed my basic spear, the improvised knife, and the vine whip with bone daggers.

Before leaving, I tied vines to the spear and fastened them to my arm — any extra security could mean the difference between life and death.

I headed south again.

It was the weakest area of the forest, and my goal was to hunt two beasts today.

Risky, yes. But necessary.

My expenditure was outpacing my gain.

Also, the end of the Neophyte Period was approaching.

And when that moment came, I would need a lot of blood.

I had to feed enough before then — enough so I wouldn't lose control from hunger.

Because losing control here...

Meant death.

No second chances. No other option.

Only death.

Deeper into the southern forest, I began analyzing my options.

Low-level demonic beasts spread out in all directions.

At a glance, I counted hundreds of creatures almost at level 1… and about fifty actually at level 1.

Some caught my attention, but I stayed focused.

Two options:

— Hunt two small or medium beasts.

— Or risk everything on one large beast.

Among the large ones, one stood out.

A gigantic bison.

It was alone, old, far from any herd, feeding on the local vegetation.

Its body carried enough food to keep Ignis and Astrell fed for two days, maybe more.

But being old didn't mean being weak.

It was level 1 and seemed experienced — its posture, the way it moved, the care it took feeding.

I thought about repeating the tactic used against the goat.

But I didn't think my spear would pierce its skin easily.

And prolonging a fight of that size would be suicide.

We needed a lethal and quick strike.

If it ignored Ignis and charged me directly...

I would die.

And my current situation didn't help:

— An open wound in my leg.

— A broken arm.

— Low vitae.

— No guarantee of escape.

It wasn't the moment.

As if fate wanted to confirm it, a huge tiger appeared among the trees and attacked the bison.

I hid, and without thinking twice, I retreated. I couldn't afford to watch the battle.

I kept searching.

Then I found a buffalo — enormous, but smaller than the bison.

It looked like a young adult, probably weighing no more than 600 kilos.

It lay under a tree, hunched over its legs, protecting its vital organs.

It had a pair of long, curved, terrifying horns.

Seeing it, I knew immediately: I needed those horns.

If I attached them to my spear, its piercing power would skyrocket.

Ignis moved forward, but I held him back.

I had a plan.

I wanted to use the vine to tie its horns to the tree — only then would we have a chance.

I explained to Ignis:

— When I secure the horn, unleash a continuous stream of flames and fireballs. Burn the buffalo's skin, open space for me to pierce it with the spear.

Ignis nodded. He understood the seriousness of each fight.

It was time.

He nodded. He knew the gravity of each battle.

I began slowly spinning the vine whip with daggers, and in one motion, I threw it.

The loop passed around the horn, crossed the tree — and one of the daggers embedded in the buffalo's back.

It rose in panic, but when trying to stand, the horns tied to the tree unbalanced it.

And in the jungle, any mistake is fatal.

Ignis appeared flying, unleashing a continuous flame against its skin.

Irritated, the buffalo used all its strength to try to uproot the tree — the base began to give way, roots lifted from the soil.

But it was too late.

The flame was already melting its skin.

Overwhelmed by pain, it failed to uproot the tree... and fell.

Before it could try to rise again, a deathly presence hung in the air — like a lurking serpent.

A simple wooden spear cut through the wind and pierced it.

Its roar of pain echoed through the forest.

The spear had pierced its organs.

Its skin, charred by the flames, smoked.

Its eyes overflowed with terror.

I approached, steady.

An improvised knife finished off what life remained in that beast.

Victory.

Happiness lingered between Ignis and me. We were becoming skilled hunters.

But there was no time to celebrate.

Nature doesn't forgive mistakes. Much less delays.

Without removing the spear, I wrapped the vine around the buffalo's legs and paws, and asked Ignis for help.

He soared into the skies, holding the vine with all his strength.

Meanwhile, I lifted it from the ground and rested it on my shoulder.

Together, we carried the weight back to the cave.

If any beast appeared... it would be the end.

I bet everything on that.

But luckily, nothing happened.

The hunt was a success.