Mostly relying on lower-tier manual reconnaissance gear, Korren and the gang, therefore, had long depended on instinct and fragmented reports from scouts. Yet no matter how often they tracked the scavengers of this settlement, unlike the others who go in flock, this group however, something always felt off. They moved in small groups—two or three at most—venturing out before dusk and returning by dawn. But every time, their routes were different, unpredictable, and impossible to follow to their point of origin.

This wasn’t a forest full of secret paths; it was a wasteland of concrete ruins, shattered towers, and twisted steel. Still, their trails vanished as if swallowed by the earth itself. It was enough to make Korren suspect there was something more—something advanced, perhaps even unnatural, defying common sense.

Among his circle of rough men and stolen women, Korren hid his doubts behind cold laughter and commanding gestures. But Nyla, the young untamed-girl-turned-rifle-sniper-prodigy he had taken into train after Talgat was brought into the group, could read him too well. She was unshaken by morality, guided only by survival.

“You once told stories about people lost in the old woods,” she said one evening, stepping forward while the others feasted. “Kids who vanished, then came back saying they saw others calling for them but couldn’t be reached—as if they were ghosts. What if that sort of magic is real?”

Korren gave a dismissive snort. “There’s no magic—only science. And when science grows too far beyond our understanding, people call it magic.” Then, almost teasingly, he added, “But if something existed beyond what you can explain… how would you define it?”

Nyla tilted her head, pondering, her childlike curiosity twisting through the haze of her brutal upbringing. “Then shouldn’t we send someone to learn how it works? To join them… or kill from the inside?”

Korren smirked faintly. “Not bad. But we’ll see soon enough. Talgat’s already out there.”

Talgat had been observing the scavengers for days, tracing their faint trails through the outskirts. One evening, hidden among the shadows of a collapsed warehouse, he overheard two of them speaking—a pair of weary scavengers discussing a new route recently opened near the ruins, one that would bring them closer to the settlement’s hidden entrance.

He returned to Korren under cover of darkness, mud and ash clinging to his face. His report was concise but crucial.

Korren listened in silence, his mind already shaping a plan.

“A new route, near the warehouse…” he muttered, pacing slowly. Then, turning to his lieutenants, he gave the order:

“Prepare the mock-up lair. Use the debris, the wreckage—make it look like another scavenger camp. We’ll bait them into using that path. Once they take it, we’ll know which direction leads to their nest.”

But that wasn’t all. Korren wanted more than just observation—he wanted a connection.

“Talgat,” he said, fixing the young man with a cold stare, “you’ll act like a stray victim—someone chased by our men. Run toward that area. If they’re the type to help, you’ll earn their trust. If not… we’ll still learn how they move.”

Talgat bowed his head, concealing a flicker of hesitation.

Later — just before dawn

The sky hung low and bruised, veiled in drifting ash.

Talgat crouched beside a cracked concrete barrier, tightening the strap that hid his retractable blade. Every motion was precise—measured.

The hunter’s calm before a storm.

Behind him, Nyla adjusted her rifle again—checking the scope, chambering a round, rechecking.

“Still tuning?” Talgat asked without looking up.

She scoffed. “Still pretending you’re not scared?”

He smiled faintly, eyes on the blade’s polished edge. “You always talk too much before a job.”

“And you always act like you’re already dead.”

The air between them trembled with unspoken tension. Nyla looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. She hated how calm he always was—how he could stand still in chaos, while her heart never stopped racing.

He slid the blade home with a quiet click. “Stay behind the ridge once it starts. It’s bait, not war.”

“I’ll decide that,” she snapped. “You run. I’ll cover. That’s the plan.”

“It’s bait,” he repeated, glancing at her. “I need to look like I’m running for my life.”

Nyla smirked, hiding a flicker of worry behind her eyes. “You’re good at pretending.”

For a brief moment, they stood in silence—two figures caught between dusk and dust, the ruins humming with a low wind.

Then, as if afraid of her own softness, she stepped closer, her voice lowering.

“You get caught out there,” she whispered, “and I’ll shoot whoever touches you. Then I’ll kill you myself for being stupid.”

He looked at her—really looked—and said quietly,

“That’s why I trust you.”

Her face flushed. She turned away fast. “Idiot,” she muttered, slinging her rifle and heading for her vantage point.