The Hunter's Odyssey-Chapter 61: Point Blank

Rain slid down her wrist and traced a cold line across his blood-soaked chest.

Her palm rested flat over his sternum, fingers spread, light pressure only. No wind-up. No dramatic motion. She did not need it. Jagger could still feel the echo of the first strike vibrating through his ribcage, a phantom tremor buried in bone and marrow. Every breath rasped against ribs that had only just knit themselves back together. His lungs dragged air in with a wet, scraping sound.

Beyond them, the battlefield raged without pause.

The Troll King roared again, a cavernous bellow that rolled down the street like collapsing stone. The ground trembled under its weight as its massive club crushed a section of asphalt into a crater. Fire hissed violently in the rain where Bastion’s flame arrows struck exposed flesh. Wind howled in spirals where Porpo’s magic carved apart goblins mid-leap. Somewhere to the left, a Bloodclaw screamed in manic laughter before the sound cut off abruptly into a wet choke.

"You killed him," she said again, her voice quiet and certain, as if stating a law of nature. "Now I will kill you."

Her hand pressed slightly harder.

He felt it begin. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

There was no visible aura. No blazing light. Yet the air between her palm and his chest thickened. It was a silent threat. Pressure gathered there was that of deep water. Subtle at first, then steadily mounting. His sternum ached in anticipation, nerves screaming in warning before the impact even came.

"What are you waiting for?" Jagger snarled through a throat clogged with blood. His voice came out raw and broken, but the defiance inside it was sharp. "Getting... cold feet?"

The faintest twitch touched the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile. Not quite contempt. Something clinical.

Inside his skull, Ophilia’s voice struck like ice splintering across glass.

’You have to move. Now. She is toying with you. The next strike will not launch you. It will liquefy all your organs.’

Every instinct in his body begged him to flinch, to brace, to twist away. But he could not move. His shoulders had only just slid back into their sockets. His ribs still felt like fragile scaffolding. Her presence pinned him more effectively than her grip. It was not weight alone. It was dominance.

"The only reason you’re not killing me now is that you have a skill cooldown," he rasped, forcing air through copper and rain. "Why not use another skill and finish the job?"

"Because I like watching things break slowly. And one more of Detonating Palm will cause you so much agony that you’d beg for it to finish you faster."

Jagger tried to shift his body, but it only caused him intense pain.

"That is nice... as my death is imminent, might as well know who my killer is. I’m Jagger."

Her fingers curled faintly against his chest.

The question unsettled her more than the insult. She studied him as if he were a specimen behaving outside expected parameters. There was no begging in his eyes. No trembling. Only a stubborn calm wrapped around pain.

"The dead don’t need names," she said.

She increased the pressure a fraction. His newly healed ribs protested with a dull, internal crunch. He swallowed a groan.

"How is that... f-fair?" he forced out, lips pulling into something that might have been a smirk if not for the blood. "If you don’t tell me, I’ll hunt you when I die."

Ophilia shrieked through his thoughts.

’What are you doing? Stop provoking her. This is not the time for your pathetic attempts at wit.’

’Then instead of complaining, tell me something useful,’ he shot back internally, splitting his focus between the woman and the ancient presence coiled around his mind.

’Her skill is not merely explosive force. It is compression. She gathers mana before releasing it outward. The closer the contact, the greater the devastation.’

’I know that. I felt it.’

His mind raced beneath the pain. He could not outrun her. He could not take another hit. He needed something else.

For the first time, her gaze shifted, not with fear, but with curiosity.

Rain clung to her lashes and slid down her cheek in a thin silver line. She leaned closer, her face inches from his. He could see the scar now in detail. A thin, deliberate line that ran from the corner of her left eye down along her jaw. Clean. Precise. A wound given by someone skilled.

"Yuki," she said.

The name fell between them like a blade placed on a table.

He repeated it softly, tasting it through blood. "Yuki... I’m sorry for killing your brother."

The effect was immediate.

Her control faltered.

It was not dramatic. Her stance did not break. But something shifted behind her eyes. A flicker of shock. Disbelief.

Around them, the battlefield roared. The Troll King bellowed somewhere in the distance. Steel clashed. Fire hissed against rain. But in that narrow space between them, there was a silence that felt carved out of chaos.

Her voice lowered. "Why... are you apologizing?"

His vision swam. Regeneration crawled through his chest like molten wire, bone grinding into alignment beneath skin with wet internal pops. His shoulders throbbed as ligaments tightened and reseated themselves. The agony had dulled into a deep, nauseating pressure.

"Because I know the loss of family," he said, breath ragged. "The way it hurts. And if it means anything... he smiled before he died. No regret."

The tremor in her hand grew more noticeable now, just enough that he felt the shift in pressure.

In the distance, the Troll King stumbled as a flame arrow buried itself into its exposed flesh. Steam erupted violently where fire met regenerating muscle. The creature roared and swatted Bloodclaw and Bastion hunters from its path, sending their bodies tumbling through rain and debris like a discarded doll.

Inside his mind, a new thought formed.

’Can I direct it?’

’Direct what?’ Ophilia demanded.

’The regeneration. Can I focus it? Instead of letting it scatter everywhere, can I force it into a specific area? My arms.’

There was a pause.

’Your regeneration is tied to Vitality and the System. Not your will.’

’That’s not a no.’

’The System is not a toy. Your will is a candle in a hurricane. You cannot control-’

’Shut up. You’re not being helpful.’

Yuki’s hand remained on his chest. The distortion around her palm intensified. The air shimmered visibly now, bending light from distant fires. The compression built steadily, quietly, like a bomb counting down without a ticking clock.

"Before you kill me," he said, voice steadier than he felt, "can you let me pray?"

She studied him for a long moment.

There was no pleading in him. No frantic bargaining. Only acceptance, or something that looked dangerously close to it.

"Fine," she said at last. "Pray."

Her fingers spread wider. The pressure increased.

Jagger closed his eyes.

He did not pray.

He seized the pain.

Every broken nerve. Every stitch of bone grinding into place. Every tremor in his muscles. He imagined the regeneration not as healing but as raw current. A flood bursts through shattered gates. It surged through his torso, his legs, his skull in wild, unfocused waves.

He pictured the valves of his blood vessels.

He visualized himself closing pathways, shutting off the torrent to his legs, reducing the flow to his torso, dampening it in his head, and redirecting everything toward his arms.

The response was violent.

Agony exploded.

His arms ignited from within. Muscles swelled against skin. Tendons tightened like overdrawn cables. Newly set joints groaned as if they might tear apart again under the sudden influx. It felt as though molten lead had been poured directly into his limbs.

His fists clenched involuntarily.

Yuki’s eyes narrowed.

She sensed the shift.

Jagger’s eyes opened slowly.

"I’m done," he said quietly.

The rain streaked down his face in thin, clean lines through the blood. His gaze was clear now. Focused.

"I have one last question," he smiled, voice raspy but steady. "If I want to block your attack right now... what should I do?"

A smirk returned to her lips.

"Block? There is no blocking a point-blank compression blast."

The distortion around her palm intensified. The air seemed to collapse inward. Tiny fractures spiderwebbed through the surface of the car hood behind him as pressure mounted.

"Enough," she said softly. "Now die."

He did not answer her.

Inside, he made the decision.

’Add all of stat points into Strength.’

-

[Stat Allocation Confirmed]

+10 Strength Applied

Strength: 25 (+5)

-

The allocation registered like a phantom surge. His muscles did not visibly swell, but density settled into him. His forearms felt like forged steel. His shoulders anchored into place with a heavy, grounded certainty.

The rain struck metal, flesh, and broken asphalt in relentless rhythm.

Around them, the world was burning, screaming, and collapsing.

"Goodbye," Yuki whispered, her palm still barely touching his sternum.

The air between them compressed into silence.