The forest whispered.
Not with wind.
Not with insects.
But with violence.
Ajin followed the sound—the deep, rhythmic pounding that vibrated in his bones.
DHUUM.
DHUUM.
DHUUM.
Each impact was heavy, primal, and savage.
Not the strike of steel.
Not the clash of trained warriors.
It was raw force.
Bare hands crushing the earth.
Ajin tightened the charred red scarf around his arm.
Loka's last trace.
It pulsed in the wind, as if urging him forward.
He walked.
Not as the frail instructor the world once mocked.
Not as the gentle man who taught children to stand properly.
He walked like a corpse made of iron.
A monster in the making.
Even wounded—limping, stiff, ribs aching—
his steps were heavy, far heavier than they should've been.
The trees around him changed.
The deeper he went, the more evident the destruction became.
Broken trunks.
Splintered branches.
Entire saplings crushed into pulp.
Not cut.
Not burned.
Not slashed.
Smashed.
Ajin knelt beside a shattered tree trunk.
The wood fibers bent inward.
"Something pushed it," he murmured.
A strike?
A tackle?
A body large enough to crush timber by weight alone?
Ajin rose and continued.
The air thickened with the smell he hated most.
Burnt meat.
His breathing sharpened.
That scent was seared into his memory—the scent of his students, the children of Rogo.
He quickened his pace, ignoring his protesting muscles.
The trees parted—revealing a clearing.
And carnage.
Fifteen government soldiers lay scattered like broken dolls.
But their deaths…
Ajin's eye narrowed.
He'd never seen bodies like these.
One man's chest was crushed inward—ribs snapping inwards like paper.
Another had no head—only a stump seared at the edge.
Two more were split cleanly in half, intestines steaming in the morning air.
Ajin crouched beside a corpse.
The ribs protruded outward—charred black at the tips.
"Fire…" Ajin whispered.
Not wildfire.
Not torches.
Controlled flames.
Directed heat.
A technique.
A martial technique.
Ajin's lips tightened into a thin line.
"…Dahana."
The name left his mouth like poison.
Like bile.
The dying tracker's voice returned to him:
"Dahana… they're looking for you."
"They're experts in fire."
"They led the burning."
Ajin stood and scanned the ground.
Footprints.
Huge footprints.
Deep enough to pool with water.
Heavy enough to crack the earth.
Something—someone with monstrous strength—had caused this.
Ajin followed the trail.
It led down a slope, toward a thin river that cut through the forest.
As he approached the bank, he heard it.
A sound that didn't belong in nature—
A roar.
Not a battle cry.
Not an angry shout.
A roar of pain.
Ajin froze and crouched behind a thicket of fern.
He peeked.
And there he saw it.
A man—or what resembled one—kneeling by the riverbank.
He was massive.
Broad as a buffalo.
Muscles knotted and bulging like tree roots.
A back wider than a doorframe.
Each breath made his shoulders rise like cliffs shifting.
Arrows protruded from his back—seven of them—buried deep in thick muscle.
The giant grunted, gripping one arrow with his massive hand.
"RRRAGH!"
He tore it out.
Blood sprayed onto the riverstones.
Ajin's hand drifted instinctively toward his waist—
where a sword would have hung if he'd ever been a real warrior.
He had nothing now but his hardened fists.
The giant stood halfway—staggering—
eyes glowing faintly from beneath a curtain of matted hair.
His skin was burnt in patches—
as if he had been in the same inferno that consumed Rogo.
His breath was a furnace.
His presence heavy.
This was no ordinary fighter.
This was someone awakened.
Or cursed.
Ajin tightened his stance.
He felt the danger instantly.
But then—
Something in the air changed.
Ajin wasn't the hunter.
He was being hunted.
INSTINCT SCREAMED.
BEHIND YOU!
Ajin spun around—
Too late.
A massive shadow loomed over him.
The giant was already behind him.
How?
How did something that big move so fast?
The air shook as a massive fist swung—
A fist the size of Ajin's head—
coming straight at his temple.
Ajin's pupils shrank.
He raised his arms purely on instinct—
BOOOOM!!
The punch collided with Ajin's forearms.
The force blasted him off his feet.
He crashed through a small tree—splinters exploding around him—and rolled across the forest floor, stopping only when he smashed into a mound of dirt.
Ajin spat blood.
He tasted metal.
His arm throbbed violently.
But it didn't break.
His bones had hardened enough to withstand that strike.
Barely.
He staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his lips.
The giant approached slowly, step by thundering step.
The earth trembled.
Ajin had fought soldiers last night—
but this man…
This man was something else.
The giant spoke.
His voice was gravel.
Deep.
Rumbling.
"You…"
A breath.
A growl.
"…smell like fire."
Ajin straightened slightly, eye locked on the monster of a man.
"…And you smell like death."
The giant stopped.
Then he snarled—
"Are you… Dahana's creature?"
Ajin spit to the side.
"I'm looking for Dahana."
A pause.
A long, heavy pause.
The giant's expression twisted.
Not in anger.
In recognition.
"You… seek them too."
Ajin's eye narrowed.
"Too?"
The giant grunted, huge chest heaving as he tried to stand straight.
"Dahana…"
He spat blood into the river.
"…betrayed us."
Ajin's entire body tensed.
Us?
Who is 'us'?
Before he could ask—
The giant suddenly fell onto one knee, gripping his wounded shoulder.
Knees sinking into mud.
He was weakening.
He was dying.
Ajin stepped back, unsure whether to approach or remain wary.
But then—
The giant raised his head, locking eyes with Ajin.
Eyes burning—not with rage, but with the same thing Ajin carried—
HATRED.
"Help me… remove the arrows," the giant growled. "Then I tell you… where to find the ones you seek."
Ajin hesitated.
Just for a heartbeat.
Was this a trap?
Another assassin?
Another monster tied to Dahana?
But then Ajin remembered the fifteen dead soldiers.
He remembered the broken trees.
He remembered the roars of pain.
Whatever this thing was—
he was not aligned with the government.
And not with Dahana.
Ajin approached.
The giant turned his massive back toward him.
"Pull."
Ajin grasped the shaft of one arrow.
The muscles beneath pulsed like coiled ropes under his fingers.
He pulled.
The giant grunted—
blood running down his torso.
Ajin grabbed the second.
Then the third.
One by one, he tore them free.
The giant panted, breath hot.
Ajin stepped back once he finished.
The massive man slowly rose to his full height.
Towering over Ajin like a mountain given flesh.
He cracked his neck.
Then said,
voice low and murderous:
"My name is Gagendra."
Ajin waited.
"And I," Gagendra continued,
"…am the last survivor of Padepokan Guntur Bumi."
Ajin froze.
Guntur Bumi—
One of the Twelve Legendary Pavilions.
A pavilion known for producing warriors with monstrous physical strength.
But they had vanished years ago.
Everyone thought they had dissolved.
But the truth—
"Dahana destroyed us," Gagendra growled. "They burned our home. Just like yours."
Ajin's heart pounded.
Not with fear.
With recognition.
With fury.
Two pavilions—
Rogo and Guntur Bumi—
both wiped out by the same enemy.
Gagendra clenched a massive fist.
His next words shook the forest:
"Let us hunt them.
Together."
Ajin looked into the eyes of the giant—
eyes filled with grief, rage, and the promise of violence.
For the first time since Rogo fell—
Ajin was not alone.
He nodded.
Slowly.
Firmly.
"Lead me to them."
And so began a brutal alliance—
between a broken teacher forged by pain
and a giant warrior forged by fire.
Two survivors.
Two weapons.
Two monsters.
Walking toward the same enemy.
Toward Dahana Satria.
Toward the Fire Court.
Toward vengeance.
The forest wind howled—
as if warning the world:
Their hunt has begun.