Igaris walked along the unfamiliar path, following the footprints left behind by countless travelers before him.
After being crippled for years, walking freely on his own feet once again made Igaris feel truly alive, just like in his healthy days.
Truly, there was nothing more comforting than the simple act of walking without relying on anyone else.
He glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.
Though his home had felt isolated, it was clear now that they were not alone.
On both side of the road, makeshift huts and crude houses stretched out, signs of life scattered across the Forsaken Land.
This was a land without order, without rulers.
A place abandoned by the Perfect Society. Here, people survived in scattered settlements, using whatever resources they could scavenge from the barren desert. Patches of vegetation occasionally dotted the landscape, but beyond that, the land was dry, harsh, and unforgiving.
Ahead of him, he spotted a few rugged men walking in the same direction. Their bodies were hardened by survival, their faces etched with experience. They carried hunting equipments like old rusted swords, stone axes, slung over their shoulders as they strode forward, seemingly unaffected by the relentless heat of the burning sun.
By comparison, Igaris had only one weapon. A thick wooden stick, roughly the size of a baseball bat.
It was heavy, solid, capable of dealing real damage if swung with enough force. But strangely, despite its weight, wielding it felt natural, effortless, as if his body already knew its grip, its balance, its purpose.
As if he had used it before.
Suddenly, one of the man noticed his presence with a random glance.
He paused and called out with a smile, "Hey Calamity boy, come here. Let's go together."
"Calamity? What kind of nickname was that?"
Igaris wondered inwardly as he picked up his pace, sprinting forward. The tone in which the name was spoken held no hostility, only familiarity.
Maybe they knew the Igor well.
Still, he remained cautious. Trusting others too easily in a place was a fool's mistake.
A heavy slap landed on his back, followed by a deep, hearty chuckle.
"Why are you so slow today, Igor?" one of the larger men asked, his grin wide.
Igaris should have felt a searing pain from the blow, but surprisingly, it barely registered. Maybe it was thanks to Igaris's trained body.
"Nothing, Just had an accident."
One of the three men raised an eyebrow. "An accident? You sound... different. What really happened?"
Igaris continued walking beside them, keeping his expression neutral.
"Some bastard tried to harm my little sister," he said casually.
"I got into a fight with their gang. Took a hit to the head. And lost some memories as result."
The bulky hunters exchanged glances.
Though they couldn't truly understand what it felt like to wake up in a body missing its past, they still felt a flicker of sympathy.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, firm but reassuring.
"It happens sometimes, Igor," one of them said. "But every man's gotta stay strong. You've got a family that relies on you."
Igaris nodded. "I know. That's why I'm here."
As they continued walking, their conversation drifted to hunting, survival, and the state of the Forsaken Land. Through their talk, Igaris learned the names of the three hunters:
Osama, Nagi, and Barefoot.
All three of them were built like giants, their bodies carved by hardship, their movements like those of primal hunters scavenging for survival.
And for now, they were his only guides in this unknown world.
It didn't mean he wasn't cautious.
The four of them soon merged with a larger gathering where about 20 men and women stood together, their appearances rough and battle-worn, much like Osama, Nagi, and Barefoot.
As soon as they noticed Igor, hearty chuckles rippled through the group.
"Barefoot, why'd you bring this Calamity along again?" A deep, rumbling voice boomed from the front.
A man, in the centre of attention like a leader, grinned as he spoke, "Did you already forget what happened last time?" he joked.
"Haha..." Barefoot laughed, scratching his head. "Come on, Leader Blaze. The boy's just unlucky, that's all." He smirked. "Besides, if I remember correctly, that bad luck of his has saved our backs more than once."
The man called Blaze, a towering figure with explosive red muscles, folded his arms, his faint smile revealing amusement.
"That's true," he admitted. "Igor's mysterious tendency to attract lightning at the worst possible moments has actually saved us more times than I can count. We owe him our lives. That's why I'm not against bringing him here."
"That settles it then, Leader," another middle-aged hunter chimed in, his expression kinder than the rest.
"Igor is a good hunter too. He's improved a lot since the first time he showed up, back when he was just a sheltered kid."
Igaris stood still, absorbing their words.
"Lightning? Bad luck? Saving lives?"
The more they spoke, the more questions piled up in his mind.
But for now, he chose silence.
His gaze scanned the hunters. They were stronger, more robust than any poor scavengers he had expected to find in a forsaken land .
These people weren't just desperate survivors.
They were battle hardened warriors.
And yet, Igaris still didn't know what they were hunting.
"Alright, now that everyone's here, let's move out."
With those words, Blaze took the lead, guiding them toward an unknown destination.
The hunters picked up their bags and equipments, making clanking sounds as they started moving.
As they marched, Igaris turned to Barefoot, who seemed the most approachable among them.
"Where exactly are we going today?"
Barefoot didn't even glance back as he answered simply,
"The Ruined Citadel. Stay alert. That place is filled with dangers beyond counting... and horrors you don't want to face unprepared."
"Ruined Citadel?" The name stirred nothing in Igaris's mind. No memories, no buried instincts.
"Hehe.. It is a crumbled fortress from the olden age, Igor." another voice cut in.
It was a woman's voice, hollow and sharp, like a whispering witch.
"In that place, terrifying Undeads wait, hungering for fresh prey..."
Igaris turned toward the speaker—a female hunter with cold, shadowed eyes, and rotten teeth.
Before he could react, Leader Blaze scoffed.
"Don't scare the kid, Gabriana," he said.
Then, flashing a confident smirk, he added,
"Because today...we're the ones hunting them."
"Yes, leader is right. Today we will have another feast."
The group rumbled with approval, their excitement barely restrained.
But Igaris wasn't so reassured.
He still didn't know their true strength. He didn't know what dangers lay ahead.
And time would not give him a chance to hesitate.
So, he braced himself for whatever was coming to the best he could.