Morning came quietly.
The mist drifted across the Black Marsh.
Everything appeared…
Normal.
Yet no one noticed…
One hunter had failed to return.
…
“He should have been back before dawn.”
A search party immediately formed.
Grandmother Wu chose only the tribe’s most experienced trackers.
As they prepared to leave…
A young hunter asked,
“Should Zhao Long come?”
Grandmother Wu looked toward the boy, who was sharpening a small hunting knife.
She shook her head.
“Not today.”
…
Hours passed.
The sun climbed high.
Then…
The search party returned.
Only half of them.
One man leaned against another.
His shoulder was stained red with blood.
The villagers rushed forward.
“What happened?”
The hunter slowly removed an arrow from his pack.
The entire village fell silent.
Its shaft was black.
Its feathers were dark gray.
Its iron head was narrow and perfectly forged.
An elder whispered,
“This wasn’t made by any tribe.”
…
Grandmother Wu examined the arrow.
She frowned.
“There is no poison.”
Another elder looked confused.
“Isn’t that good?”
She slowly shook her head.
“No.”
“It means…”
“They don’t need poison.”
The words sent a chill through everyone.
…
The wounded hunter finally spoke.
“We found him.”
His voice trembled.
“He never saw the arrow.”
Silence.
“We searched for tracks.”
“There were almost none.”
“We searched for broken branches.”
“Nothing.”
“It was as though…”
“The forest itself killed him.”
… This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
That evening…
No fires were lit outside the houses.
No children played.
The village had become quieter than ever before.
Even the insects seemed to know…
Something had entered the Black Marsh.
…
Zhao Long sat beside Grandmother Wu.
He looked at the black arrow resting across her knees.
“Can they be beaten?”
She remained silent for a long time.
Finally…
She answered.
“Every hunter can be killed.”
He looked up hopefully.
She met his eyes.
“But never underestimate the hunter…”
“…who lets you see only one arrow.”
…
Far beyond the marsh…
A company of armored riders stopped before a cliff.
Their captain looked toward the endless sea of trees.
One mercenary asked,
“When do we attack?”
The captain smiled.
“When they stop looking for us…”
“They’ll start looking for each other.”
The mercenaries laughed.
None of them realized…
A six-year-old boy in the Black Marsh would one day become the greatest enemy they had ever known.