Chapter 1: The Little Hunter (Part 1)

The slanting sun dipped toward the west as a cold wind rose, sweeping debris into the air and sending it whirling in wild eddies. The sky, shrouded in gray, bore thick, ragged clouds amassed like clumps of rotten cotton, oppressive and decayed—just like the desolate wasteland of this junkyard.

Ever since that man-made catastrophe decades ago, this planet had withered away in the hands of its former masters, or perhaps it was merely eking out its last breaths. Once-prosperous streets and cities had been destroyed by the very weapons humanity once boasted of, while the national pride so fervently touted by politicians was trampled and violated by outsiders, leaving behind nothing but a rotting shell.

It was only in the aftermath of disaster that survivors seemed to truly grasp the value of life. Survival became paramount, above all else. They forgot their race, their faith, relinquished dignity and freedom, and moved under the “Dome”—becoming reserve slaves to the mighty Empire. From that moment onward, the free planet knew freedom no more, everything sealed beneath the towering, impenetrable ceiling.

Within and without the Dome, two worlds existed. Outside, radiation was ever-present, dust never ceased its storm, and the temperature difference between day and night reached nearly thirty degrees. Yet inside, it was tranquil as a painted dream, resplendent with blossoms and overflowing with advanced technology of a kind never seen before, the development of society outstripping even the world before the disaster by a hundredfold. For this was the domain built by the Empire’s powerful elite—the planet’s new masters.

The gale swept up gravel, exposing the pitted, uneven road. The temperature had already dropped below freezing, and though it was midsummer, the cold bit sharply. In such weather, at such an hour, even the lowest slave in the city would not willingly leave his meager warmth.

“Professor, it’s getting dark. We should go back now. We’ve already passed through Zone A and entered the dangerous Zone B. Once night falls here, it’s extremely perilous; we can’t guarantee your safety.” Amid the windblown valley of refuse, three figures moved. In the middle was a man in a suit, wearing glasses—the very picture of an intellectual. On either side were mercenaries, evident by their automatic rifles and the tension etched into their faces; no one knew better than they how terrifying the wilds became at night.

Unlike the frailty of humans, animals seemed born as nature’s favored children, always adapting best to new environments. Radiation had killed off most creatures, but a rare few had evolved, and with greedy human hunters mostly gone, these animals now bred at terrifying rates. Some said that inside the Dome was the world of man; outside, the realm of mutant beasts.

Though armed with powerful weapons, the two mercenaries felt uneasy. As the professor ventured deeper, they could no longer keep silent.

The professor appeared about fifty, somewhat anemic, his face pale, but his eyes shone with remarkable vitality. Gazing at the valley before him with excitement, he said, “Do you think a hundred War Wolf coins are so easily earned? But don’t worry—we’ve reached our destination. Wait here for me, I’ll just go take a look ahead.”

The two mercenaries exchanged glances, managing wry smiles. Who could blame them? A hundred War Wolf coins was a small fortune, enough to keep them comfortable for half a year. For a reward like that, any risk was worth it. Still, they couldn’t fathom what could possibly make this dump of a valley worth risking the professor’s life.

The professor glanced at the dimming sky and quickened his pace. His hands trembled slightly; outwardly calm, he was inwardly tense.

The mercenaries, adopting standard stances, scanned their surroundings with vigilance. The valley seemed tranquil, but who could say what dangers lurked within? That creeping sense of dread kept them rigidly alert; their soldier’s instincts only grew sharper since becoming mercenaries.

Outside the Dome, junkyards were scattered everywhere. What else could a forsaken planet be used for but as a dumping ground and to raise a few slaves? Yet those who survived out here were not always slaves in truth. Some fighters, unwilling to lose their freedom, would rather eke out a wretched existence amid radiation than enter the city to become slaves deprived of dignity.

Nature selects the fittest. However harsh the environment, indomitable life could always spring forth. Outside the Dome, there existed something even more fearsome than mutant beasts—humans.

They were true warriors, yet also true beasts.

“Who’s there? Show yourself! I see you—come out, or I’ll shoot!” Perhaps it was bluster, or perhaps he really had spotted something, but one mercenary aimed his rifle at a spot and barked his warning. His knuckles stood out white with tension, betraying his anxiety. The terror of the Wildlanders was no secret to them; those lurking beyond the Dome were like mutant predators—fierce, brutal, utterly cold.

Suddenly, a piercing whistle sliced through the howling wind—a sound that made the soul shudder as if it would be torn asunder.

The mercenary stared in disbelief at the steel-tipped arrow protruding through his protective suit, a length of shaft still visible from his back. Confusion and incomprehension flickered in his eyes as their color rapidly faded, leaving nothing but lifeless grey. His knees buckled, and his strong body hit the ground with a heavy thud, motionless.

The arrow had pierced his heart with deadly precision.

A burst of gunfire rang out. “Professor, watch out!” The other mercenary’s eyes flashed with a savage glint, but he saw no sign of the enemy. He fired wildly in the direction he guessed the attack had come from, metal shards flying, sparks leaping—yet not so much as a hair on the enemy’s head was touched. As he fired, he ran toward the professor, shooting as he went. But the enemy, like a lurking predator, waited for the perfect moment to strike.

The feverish gleam in the professor’s eyes dimmed slightly, but he showed little fear. He was already hiding among a pile of scrap metal, his intelligent gaze now laced with puzzlement and annoyance.

Suddenly, more arrows sliced through the air. As the mercenary neared the professor, the hidden enemy struck again. The arrows flew with incredible speed, but unlike the first, these were less precise—the mercenary was in motion, a difficult target. Still, one arrow found its mark, piercing his right arm with a dull thud. His assault rifle flew from his grasp, and the force sent him sprawling heavily to the ground like a broken sack.

The professor watched in shock, words dying on his lips, unable to form a single coherent sentence—only meaningless syllables escaped him.