Chapter 3: The Bloodhound
Behind the falling Ratbeak is an old man in what looks like a cowboy hat, jeans, and a white cotton shirt holding a bow and arrow. He walks up to me with a grim smile beneath his blue eyes and silver hair.
"Aye, boy, what yur' name?"
The old man asks with a long drawl, his face scrunching as he looks me up and down. I reply, trying to be respectful to the old man. His ambiance is evident based on how he so quickly felled the Ratbeak. This man is strong. As I speak, I see a brief light of dark red within his pupils, the occurrence is odd, but I ignore it for now.
"Wyatt Graves, sir. Thank you for the help with that, Ratbeak."
The old man chuckles and moves a bit closer to me, putting his bow on his back.
"Ratbeak? Haha. That's a funny name for an Enfield. I think I'm gonna use that from now on. And aren't you a few years late, boy? Yur mother asked me years ago to train ya. Where is she anyway?"
He continues his questioning with little concern for the corpses around him.
"She… She passed away a few days ago and sent me here before she passed. Are you Edmund Dudley?"
I mumble out my response with some grief before switching the subject as fast as possible.
"Still raw, aye? It looks as though it will get worse before it gets better. And yes, that'd be me."
Edmund nods to me as he reaches out his hand and nods toward where I left Butter before the fight.
I take it, and he pulls me to my feet.
"We oughta wrap you up before ya bleed to death, aye? I got bandages in my cabin, but you should check on your horse."
Edmund asks as he puts one of my arms around his shoulder and helps me walk to where I left Butter near some bushes. I don't see Butter standing as we approach, and my heart drops.
Walking closer to where he last was, I notice the horse that has been a part of my family for nearly half my life lying on his side, struggling to breathe with a massive gash trailing along his side. I can immediately see that Butter won't survive, and my knees go weak, but Edmund holds me up with an arm around my shoulder.
Not another one.
My breathing becomes erratic, and my vision blurs as I cannot get enough air.
Why do they all leave me? First, my father when I was young, then Ma just a bit ago, and now Butter. Maybe it's me that causes all this. If it weren't for me, Butter would certainly not be lying here bleeding out, and Ma-
Interrupting my rapidly descending train of thought, Edmund pats my shoulder, and I feel a burst of energy flow through me like a shot of pure coffee.
"What was his name?"
I can barely speak with my irregular breaths but squeeze out one word.
"Butter."
Edmund taps my shoulder emphatically as he looks at the dying horse with me.
"You'll be fine, lad, just breathe. You should spend a few moments with Butter before he goes."
After a second or two, Edmund helps me sit beside Butter as I cradle his head in my lap. I comfort Butter as his breathing slows. Every heartbeat of his I feel sends a tang of pain through my body.
Eventually, both the breaths and the beats stop. The slow death in my arms almost makes my heart join him in grief as my heart beats aimlessly in pain. Then, taking a deep breath, I stand up with the help of Edmund. I look up at him and start to ask him to help bury Butter, but he cuts me off.
"Can you-"
"Yeah, don't worry, I will bury him later, but for now, let's get you to my cabin to rest a bit."
Trying to control my breathing, I nod, and we walk through the forest together. Thankfully, the pain in my leg distracts me, at least partially, from the loss of another loved one. And to further distract me, I try to focus on other things by pushing Butter's death to the back of my mind. Then, finally, I ask a burning question with a slight shudder in my voice.
"How did you find me in the woods?"
He speaks simply while continuing to help me walk.
"Smelled blood."
Okay, that's not weird at all. As he's a retired Hunter, I guess he's got some crazy abilities, like that shot of energy he gave me.
"My cabin is only ten or so minutes away. So you should be fine until then, but let me know if you start feeling woozy."
Edmund pushes me along with some concern in his voice.
I move forward with only a little conversation between us towards Edmund's cabin, and we reach it in under ten minutes. It's a small cabin nestled just outside the forest, surrounded by what looks like training equipment on every side. One portion looks like an arena, another like a firing range, and many more. The thing I notice, though, is that most of it seems rundown or unused for a long time. My confusion is evident as Edmund answers a question before I even ask it.
"It's been several years since I taught anyone. You can only handle so many youngins dying before it begins to haunt you. Had you been anyone else, Wyatt, I would have turned you down, but I'd be a terrible Hunter if I turned down the opportunity to teach a Graves."
He opens the gate and guides me through as I digest his words. I've never heard that my family is anything special besides the odd statement from my Ma or that my dad was a mighty Hunter. I bring it up to him.
"What do you mean? Is my family special or something?"
"You don't know what you are, boy? There are few renowned Hunter families, Estates if you will, in the world, and yur is one of them. Though, yur's is a bit different."
Edmund answers with his back to me as he closes the gate with a bang. I ask him some more questions as I walk toward the cabin.
"What do you mean my family is different?"
The old man laughs a short chuckle as if what I asked is some kind of joke.
"All other Hunter families I know of have at least a few dozen Hunters in them, and they pass down techniques, knowledge, and experience directly through the family. However, yur family, the Graves, only ever has one Hunter at a time in the family. Before yur Father became a Hunter, yur Grandmother was the previous Hunter in your family. Hunters in yur family never get training or much aid from their family and must get it all from others or on their own. The biggest thing that sets your family apart, though, is you all are not known to have any shared skills or passed down Sigils. But you all have one thing in common, something legendarily unique: you all are hard as hell to put in a grave. Apparently, that's where your name comes from."
Edmund finishes as he sits me on a chair beside a table and gets some bandages. I laugh at his statement. I've come close to dying more than twice in the past week, but another thought pushes that one away. He mentioned that word again, Sigil. What is that?
I begin to ask him, but I am interrupted by Edmund cutting my pant leg with a knife and beginning to wrap the long gash on my leg. He wraps it so tightly I gasp in pain. Then, he consoles me with a voice full of so much confidence it calms my heart.
"You'll be fine, lad. You'll probably heal completely in a week with just a little scratch here or there. These bandages have a lil' something special in them to aid healing."
After cleaning my wound, bandaging me, and reassuring me of its efficacy, Edmund sits on the chair across from me. I try to ask again, but he starts talking before I can.
"I know you're here to become a Hunter, so we'll begin right away, and I'll do what I can to prepare you, boy. But seeing as you're injured, now is a good time to tell you what it means to be a Hunter instead of starting training."
As Edmund speaks, he visibly becomes graver, looking me directly in the eye.
I nod, signaling him to continue. I need to know more about Hunters. I also realize at this moment, in a small back-of-the-mind type of thought, that he is distracting me from Butter's death with information. I make a reminder to thank him one day.
"Being a Hunter is incredibly dangerous. Half of the recruits die in their first year, and only one in twenty makes it to their fifth. Even lower if there is a war. We have to enter the wilds or what's better known to us as the Borderlands and hunt down whatever creature attacks the outskirts of humanity while at the same time trying to clear more space for man. Our job is to proactively protect the people. We are roughly a hundred miles from the beginning of the Borderlands with very few major cities nearby, so it is common to find Hunters in this area."
Edmund takes a deep breath before continuing, the suspense building.
"So, Wyatt, are you willing to follow this path knowing the hardships you must weather?"
The question comes with such a tone that it makes me not immediately say yes. So instead, I wait a moment before formulating a few questions.
"I am, sir, but I have a question."
He nods at me and gives me the go-ahead.
"Good, ask away. Never be afraid to look for information. As a Hunter, most monsters, demons, and aberrations will be much stronger than you, and your greatest weapon will be your mind and the ideas that come from within it."
I ask my question that's been burning curiously, leaning further across the table between us.
"I saw you mention Sigils in your letter to Ma, and you mentioned it earlier; what are they?"
Edmund breathes out of his nose angrily as his palm smacks the table. His frustration is evident, but that doesn't stop him from teaching me.
"Damn, yur parents! I figured they at least taught you that much. Sigils are the foundation of power in this world. They are obtained only through the death of others with Sigils or through sporadic phenomena, and they grant their holder power. I'll tell you more later, but just know the basics for now; they create Ether and are why the threats around us are so terrifying."
I end with even more questions than I just had previously. He's only making it worse. There is so much I need to know. What is Ether? Why are Sigils obtained through others' deaths? What kind of power do they grant? However, I just say one word as I see him getting ready to speak some more.
"Okay,"
Edmund then goes into an entire monologue while I just listen to him.
"Before you do anything else, boy, let me tell you how I teach my recruits. There are three things that you will need to be a Hunter. The first is the grit to withstand madness, the second is the knowledge required so that you do not get yourself killed in the wild, and the third is the skills of a professional."
This old man really likes to talk. But I need the information, so I'm not gonna complain. So, instead, I endure his monologue some more before he finishes it with a question.
"We can begin your training now that you know the basics, and you will learn more along the way. I prefer teaching through experience to any other way, and I hope you grow to appreciate it. Still, before you can gain any experience, I need to know why you want to be a Hunter.
Near immediately, I answer.
"To adventure and protect people."
He retorts while shaking his head.
"Try again."
Confused, I challenge his response.
"What do you mean?"
Edmund shakes his head and stands to walk out of the building.
"With a resolve like that, you'll die within a week of acquiring a Sigil. It requires an unshakeable mettle to withstand a Sigil and gain its strength. Especially the ones to truly make a difference. So, I'll give you a bit to think about it. But, we will not move forward from this until I receive a heartfelt and firm answer."
I call out to him as he steps out.
"What are you going to do?"
He turns his head and declares his actions as he exits my sight.
"Go and bury yur horse, then set up equipment for when yur leg recovers,"
Left with my own thoughts, I ponder deeply. Why do I want to be a Hunter? Growing up with stories of my father, I always wished I could be like him. Able to save people, hunt terrifying monsters, and explore the Borderlands while having fun doing it all. But do I want to be just like him? No, I'm sure the only things I know of him are romanticized, and I don't wish to go missing like him. So then, what do I want to do as a Hunter? Save people? I'm not against it, but I'm no saint; I doubt I could do that my whole life. Hunt monsters, demons, and aberrations? I don't think living to fight is a great way to keep yourself alive. Explore the Borderlands? That sounds fun, but I don't know what it fully entails.
I don't know.
There is too much I don't know to decide on what I want with my life. I'll choose after Edmund teaches me more about being a Hunter and what lies within that world. Hopefully, he takes that as a "heartfelt and firm answer."
I spend several minutes deep in thought to reach this conclusion. After, I stand up wobbly with my bandaged leg and walk to the cabin door. I open the door after bracing myself on the doorway, and outside, I see Edmund placing a circular fence a few hundred feet away from the cabin. I watch him for nearly half an hour as he can place over ten feet of the fence every minute. Then, with a single hit, Edmund can set a wood plank on the ground and slam it into the dirt a couple of inches. Astonished by the old man's power, I stay quiet while he works.
Once he is done setting up a fence of about 50ft by 50ft, Edmund walks back to the cabin with his hammer. Following him placing his hammer on a table on the cabin's porch, I inquire how he assembled the fence so quickly.
"How did you slam the fence so easily? That's gotta take crazy strength."
Edmund replies as he cleans his tools without even looking at me.
"Ether Infusion. A type of it is called Physical Enhancement. Once you gain a Sigil, you can manipulate and control Ether. It can do various things, and the simplest is enhancing your body. Most are limited by the Sigil acquired, but some things are universal. For example, it allows even an old man like me to swing like a strongman."
Ether Infusion? I can't wait to see what kind of stuff I can do with that.
"That sounds amazing. Can I control Ether before I get a Sigil? Or when can I get a Sigil?"
The old man shakes his head at me, his hat shining in the sun.
"For yur first question, as far as I know, no. A Sigil is required as the human body does not normally produce Ether. Once you have shown enough skill to hunt a creature with a single Sigil, I will take you to get your first, but it's up to your luck what type you get. But enough of that. What was your answer to my previous question before I left?"
While listening to him speak about Sigils, I grow enraptured. So there are different types of Sigils? How many? But the second he mentions his previous question, I freeze.
"Uh. I don't have an answer, sir."
Edmund looks away from tending to his tools to look at me in surprise.
"You have nothing you fight for?"
I shake my head with a bit of depressiveness in my motion.
"Besides myself, sir, not really. My Ma is gone, and I don't care to find my father too much. So it's just me."
He nods and moves closer to me.
"At least yur honest. But I ain't gonna let you ever go hunting alone until you find yur grit."
I take a breath of relief. I thought he'd kick me out for not having an answer.
"Okay. I was worried you'd kick me out for not having an answer."
Edmund repeats my words, then laughs loudly as he pats me on the shoulder.
"Kick you out? I wouldn't refuse to train a child for not having the grit of a man."
Surprised, I look at him with even more respect than I had previously. Inwardly, I thank Ma for sending me to such a kind man. After cleaning his tools, Edmund walks back into the cabin, motioning for me to follow him, and I do so, albeit slowly, with my beat-up leg.
Once in the cabin, Edmund walks to the kitchen and pulls ingredients from the cabinets. I sit at the same table from earlier, giving my leg a break. Edmund looks like a skilled chef as he quickly puts together food. He cuts chicken meat alongside beans and fresh apples before making a soup with all the parts. Following that, he fills two bowls of soup and brings both to the table before sitting down.
After he sets a bowl in front of me, I thank him.
"Thank you for the soup, Edmund."
He just responds matter-of-factly with a curt nod.
"You need food if yur gonna heal and get training. Just eat"
I focus on eating, taking his advice. But as I eat, he gives me more surprising news.
"And after you finish, I'll take you to my vault below the cabin and let you choose a weapon."
I raise my eyebrows, surprised he will give me a weapon so quickly. So he's only known me for less than a day and is willing to provide me with a weapon? I never answered his question, so why are we moving forward?
Edmund notices my surprise and comments on it.
"Don't look so stunned. I know you already have a Colt, but it's not suitable for the present. Best we get you a Colt or Claymore you can grow alongside."
I nod, seeing his point while I continue to eat his chicken bean soup. I wonder what he has down there. I already have a Colt, so should I choose a Claymore? Or would two Colts be better? I'll have to ask once we're down in his vault.
After we finish eating, Edmund takes the bowls. He sets them on the counter before walking to the edge of the cabin by his fireplace and placing his hand on the cabin wall. A second after he does so, the cabin floor in the corner slides away to reveal a ladder going downward. Edmund explains the situation to me briefly.
"The trapdoor is set to open to my Ether, so only I can open it. Follow behind me."
Edmund begins to climb down the ladder shortly following his explanation, and I try to track him down the ladder. It's an old wooden ladder that heads probably twenty feet deep down into the earth below the cabin. I doubt anyone could dig that deep without a large crew. There are lanterns on the sides within small alcoves down the pit that light up the rungs. It takes me nearly five minutes to make my way down with my messed up leg, and when I reach the bottom, I see Edmund twisting a steel wheel in front of a large iron door. Once Edmund turns the wheel all the way and the door opens with a loud click, he turns to me.
"Welcome to the Seventh Southwestern Vault."
Words leave my mouth before I recognize what I'm saying; the curiosity and freedom to ask come out without pause.
"There are Seven of these in the Southwest?"
He shakes his head with a bit of insecurity.
"No. There is probably closer to twenty; I just guard the Seventh. All guardians must have a certain level of power, and most are recruiters, so they can easily give their recruits armaments."
His words amaze me, and I can't help but praise the vault's grandeur.
"Wow… that's a lot."
Edmund stands proudly at me before opening the door.
"Just wait 'til yur inside. It's like standing in a king's treasury."
While Edmund opens the door, I get an opening view of the vault. It's even more impressive than he alluded to. The vault walls are filled with weapons from small revolvers to long rifles, crossbows to longbows, and daggers to greatswords. Even in one corner are dozens of boxes filled with ammunition. I stand still, absolutely amazed. I've never seen a room filled with so much, let alone expensive weaponry.
Edmund spreads his arms wide open and has a big smile on his weathered face as he welcomes me to the vault.
"Impressive, aye, boy? Look around. Find something that calls to you, for it will likely outlive you as it goes alongside you. Each Colt or Claymore within this vault has been forged with at least a single Sigil, which means they have their own traits and abilities, and those traits should be written on a tag attached to the weapon, so go find yur' pardner'."
I enter the vault, giddy with excitement for what will soon be mine.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone