Over marshy hills, hiking boots stomped on grass.

Two pairs of footsteps marked the hunters' trudge. One a seasoned adult man's, the other a teenage girl's. They kept hunched, slow, and quiet. While the huntsman's poise was impeccable and his build was stout, his baggage was light. The girl carried a hunting bayonet and backpack, a weight that was far less than comfortable. Her heavier breaths passed into mist, but she had to keep them quiet.

Good prey lived here. Today they would kill it.

For the life of him, he couldn't understand why this girl was here. Despite the climate, her long blue hair wasn't tied up. Until he told her to walk like a hunter, she walked like a lady. Aside from some coarseness in her hands, her skin was so soft. This kind of girl spent her spring break vacations in the city, with her rich friends, wasting their rich parents' money on luxuries. He didn't ask questions of the people - servants? Parents? - who put her in touch with him. He just took their money and promised she'd get her hands dirty. All they mentioned of this kid was her name. "Orie."

He wasn't curious then. After hiking with her, talking with her, and seeing her move, he became so. That's why he made her carry the weight she did. Either she was a brat who deserved to know some real hardship for once in her life, or she wasn't. The latter was far more baffling.

Finally, through leaf-bare trees, they saw their first deer.

Deer. Not wolf or boar. A boar would be too dangerous. A wolf might scare her sensibilities. Deer.

"This one's yours."

With a wary glimmer in her eye, she nodded. Lying down prone. Rifle balanced against her shoulder. Sight aimed. Steady breath. So steady, she was in a meditation.

This poise was the same as when they took practice potshots at his range. Her score wasn't stellar, but promising. Especially for her first time holding a gun. Especially if she kept this stance in a real shot, like the one she was about to make. With enough practice, she'd be a respectable huntress.

All she had to do was fire.

Even when the wind died, and the crows stopped cawing, and the deer paused between licks of water from the pond, and even when all these things stopped at once, you could not hear the girl breathe. This had been a long meditation. Too long.

"Go on."

Soon the doe would have had its fill. There's no way the girl didn't know; she'd had her sights centered on the thing's head the entire time.

"Go on." He chided, as sharply as he could under his breath.

BANG!

Shot the dirt next to the doe. Of course it ran away. Orie fumbled the reload, and let it freely sprint into the safety of the woods.

"What a waste of a good bullet." His grumbles haunted her the rest of the way.

Evening was rolling in. Time to set up camp and boil pasta at the fireplace. No venison to roast tonight, though. With a sigh, after sorting out his tent, the huntsman sat down besides Orie at the campfire, hands on one knee.

"Why?"

"Why what?" She asked warily.

"You had the hard part done. All the hard parts. Everything except clenching one finger. That was a great first kill begging to be made. So why did you miss?"

"People don't choose to miss."

"You did."

At that, she let a guilty silence linger. Watching the steam rise from the pot, Orie pensively rolled her thoughts about in her head. These were not easy conversations to have with anyone. Not even herself. Eventually she gave up trying to phrase it gently.

"...It felt wrong."

"Wrong?" He chuckled. "I appreciate you calling me and my job evil, that's really nice."

"You're not. I don't mean to, I just..." An exasperated sighed. "When a hunter kills, it can be for many good reasons. Food. Warmth. Survival. The ecosystem. But if I were to have killed it, it would have been for only one reason. To see its blood spill."

"So what? Is sport not a good reason either?"

"I don't mean an act of sport. I mean an act of..."

Whiter than ice did her knuckles turn when she clenched her hands.

"It wouldn't have been just."

Raising a bushy eyebrow, the huntsman tried to process that - and snorted. "Just? Have I got to find out how terrible a criminal each animal I hunt is now?"

"It's hard to have this conversation if you take my answers personally."

"Oh no, I'm not offended, kid. I've long since stopped caring what anyone thinks about me. That's why I took a job that lets me stay in the countryside: so I don't have to deal with the nonsense of city folk. So let's keep this about you, see if you haven't tricked yourself into thinking something silly."

"Right and wrong are things I think a lot about. That we can care about such things is what separates a human from an animal. If I take a life, that's no light thing. It's major. I'm killing something. Even if it's justified, I'm carrying that blood with me wherever I go - I have to know it's not a mistake to."

He just rolled his eyes. "You should be more worried of overthinking. The world is rarely kind to the likes of you. Especially the wild. They don't care about justice: they just do what they please."

"I don't say this for them."

Stubborn little kid. With a weary lean backwards, he tugged his beard. "Right. Do what you like. But I'm being paid to make sure you build character or have a fun story or whatever, so can you help me make your parents happy?"

"I'm not here for them either." Orie twitched, finally sounding agitated. "And those weren't my parents."

He silently shrugged. Hated stepping on twigs.

By now, the night wind was nipping at their noses. They could stare intensely all they wanted, but eventually they had to sleep.

"Tomorrow, just shoot the animal. No one's going to cry over it."

The dead of night. A harsh wind blew through his tent, rustling the huntsman awake with a frigid chill.

Winds can't do that.

"Wha..."

A muddy hoof stomped on his chest, and he screamed the last of his air out with the impact. Hacking coughs followed afterward, and the man tried to thrust himself free. He couldn't.

It took a moment for his fear to crystallise, and realise that coldness was not of the tent roof being torn off, but his own spine freezing up.

An ebony boar. No, not a real boar, only big like one, with tribal paintings streaming down its mane. Two steep tusks, that with each heaving breath curled back into its mouth like giant fangs. One giant eye glared, as white as a full moon yet with none of the brightness. Staring into it was gazing into something devoid of passion or purpose. To feel more of his own anxieties than of the beast's intent.

He was staring into the void.

There was just little enough pressure on his chest that he could wail deliriously. A nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. But the pain was so real his adrenaline was spiking, dizzying his head with shouts to wake up and act, before this thing decided what to do with him. This was no mouse here to pilfer leftovers: this was an abomination eager for a feast, and that was all he knew.

It was also pulling its head back to hammer him into a pulp.

In a flash, the huntsman reached for his rifle, and brought it up just in time to crack against the boar's head. Blocking the attack, the gun's wood began to splinter, as the beast's large tusks scraped the ground by his ears. With a fierce stubbornness, its strong head grinded further and further against his defence, fracturing the metal, pressing into his hands, peeling his fingers' skin and cracking their bones. Scream and wish for death though he did, the huntsman didn't let go. He couldn't. Mustn't.

But all the void had to do was pull his head back and try again, and he'd have no defence.

He was going to die. To all the things, in all the ways, he never thought much about his death. But he'd figured there'd be at least time to think up regrets.

BANG!

A burst of black blood splattered the tent, as the animal lurched out in anger. Not pain: anger.

BANG!

With a heave it turned around to face its attacker, the far greater threat. The huntsman scurried backwards, just out of range to avoid his legs being broken by the beast's stomp as it began to charge the marksman who'd saved his life.

"Kid?"

BANG!

Without a word, Orie fired again. He only saw a glimpse of her. Steeled eyes, unflinching as the animal readied itself. That same marksman poise as before, and she didn't waste it.

But he'd avoided hunting boars with her for a good reason: those hunts can go terribly wrong in a heartbeat.

With a rampaging speed, the tusks engorged, and a blow stronger than fatal was upon her. "Get out of the way!"

Hurriedly the huntsman checked his own gun. Could it fire? No. Broken after the attack. Even if it wasn't, his fingers could scarcely pull the trigger. Damn it! At least the blade at the front still worked - but what was he to do with that using one good arm? Really, all he could do was just watch as Orie leapt high into the air to dodge the charge—

"What!?"

Cleanly did even those massive tusks whiff past her. An impossible leap for an impossible foe. Starlight shining above her, hair streaking after her, the hunter came back down with a blade: a dagger. Not the survival knife he'd given her, this was much sharper. Sharp enough to puncture the void's flesh! One clean gash through its upper hide!

Now it felt pain. Now it roared. And flailed around, wildly shaking to get her off. But as it whipped up a frenzy, the second stab came.

And a third.

And a fourth.

A bloody fifth.

A vicious sixth.

A merciless, loud seventh.

Deeper and deeper, until Orie lost sight and grip of the dagger altogether, as the void's frenzy finally shook her off. Her fall was rugged, but she bounced back, cartwheeling a clean distance away.

A cornered animal was at its deadliest, and even if this wind could be its last, this beast would growl. There was no need for emotion on its face: the very air bucked to its fury.

The bayonet was again in Orie's hands. But she didn't seem concerned about reloading it. Instead she adopted a sideways stance, facing front, her offhand feeling the wind and her main hand steadying the rifle. The dumbfounded huntsman blinked. "Shoot!"

Orie ignored him. He saw it in her eyes – some plan, some instinct he didn't understand.

The void had turned around. It saw the gun, and instincts took over. Heaving, raging, making the air tremor. Like before, it stomped its hind legs, charging up—

And was interrupted by a dagger in its eye.

The entire gap it prepared to charge, Orie had closed in a single thrust. Almost as fast as a bullet.

The huntsman did not believe his eyes. The boar's meagre whine, at its momentum being robbed in a single motion, was desperate. Orie just stabbed it again.

Its death was not a slow one, nor was it gentle. Orie did not wait for it to bleed out, she kept striking. Over and over. Throwing her whole body into each attack. Until its massive form, black as shadow, began to melt into an unsavory puddle. Lingering on the ground was the only proof it was ever there. But by an hour's time, that too would fade. Back to the void it came from.

Its bloodied killer just stared at the remains. Deep blue eyes unflinching. It would be a long time until they relaxed.

So the reports were right after all. There was enough EXS somewhere here for voids to emerge. Powerful ones. A scout team would identify the source very soon, and then a strike team to dispatch of it - but that was another mission.

Orie hadn't come here for that, truth be told. It was just one of many minor reconnaissance missions that had come up during briefing. She really was there for the hunt. At the time, it seemed very important to her. Perhaps it still was, though it was hard to say - the adrenaline of justice delivered still resonated in her veins.

There are many things which deserve punishment in this world. She can say they deserve it, because even if there are different views of justice, there is objective right and wrong. And people should enact it. They should uphold the good and punish those who do wrong. This was an important part of being human. That's what Orie believed. She has to be able to uphold it. Which meant not hesitating when something absolutely deserving of death came her way. An executor upheld justice, and did so without regret.

As for the huntsman, he was shaken. His wounds might heal, but it'd take a long time in the hospital: he did not have the EXS of an in-birth to aid him. There was something painfully nostalgic, about seeing her old pain reflected in a man stronger and older than her. Of being uplifted from your world and thrust into a new one. But not only did he live, the void did not bite him: he could still live a normal life if he could bring himself to. That was a question he had to answer himself. But at least he understood one thing about Orie now - she was not here to take any lessons from this weekend to a comfortable city life, but to somewhere much harsher. The world monsters like that came from.

Zenith seemed satisfied with Orie's handling of the situation. A surprise attack by a powerful void, and survived without casualty. The assessment read that if she'd had a more appropriate enchanted weapon than a dagger, the fight would have been noticeably less dramatic. Of course, a good weapon would be appreciated. Though that was enough for Orie to know that guns weren't for her. It's not that they didn't have their use: they just lacked a certain poise. A poise that she felt she could rely on to keep herself steady. Daggers lacked that, too.

For now, Orie took the scenic route back home. She had no idea when her duty would let her appreciate the outdoors again. Even if nature had its darker side, that didn't make walking its serene landscapes any less truthful. Its lush grass any less giving. The sound of its river streams any less nourishing.

As she approached that very river stream, she saw a doe on the other side. Stopping still, she just watched it drink its fill, until it skipped into the trees.