Chapitre 2: The Mercenaries' Apprentice
"Swing, swing, swing, and a miss! Come on, Orin, after twelve years I know you've gotten faster than this," Vince teased, his voice echoing across the clearing. He was light on his feet, dancing around Orin with ease, his skin already shifting into the golden hue of his beast traits.
Orin growled in frustration, sweat dripping down his face. His fists cut through the air, but Vince dodged each one effortlessly. *Too slow. Again.* "It would be easier if you deactivated your ability," Orin snapped, his voice sharp with frustration as he charged forward, throwing a barrage of wild punches.
"Excuses, excuses," Vince mocked, still grinning as he ducked under Orin's swinging arm. His features had fully shifted now—his muscles had thickened, his reflexes heightened. He moved like a golden-spined monkey, nimble and quick. "You're just throwing your arms about. You getting tired already? What happened to all that stamina?"
Orin didn't answer. He couldn't afford to. His breath came fast and ragged as he concentrated, trying to find the right moment. Each missed swing stung, not just physically but deeper, gnawing at his pride. The forest around them felt quieter than usual, the only sounds being the dull thuds of Orin's feet in the grass and the distant chatter of the others back at camp.
"I'm going to get you this time," Orin muttered under his breath, feeling a burning fire of determination rising inside him. He pushed forward, his strikes becoming more focused, faster. His muscles ached, but he pushed them harder.
The playful grin on Vince's face began to fade as Orin's attacks grew more intense. The air around them felt different now—thicker, charged. There was a look in Orin's eyes that made Vince falter for a brief second. His movements became more unpredictable, almost... animalistic.
"Whoa there, little brother," Vince said, a hint of respect creeping into his voice. "You might actually—"
Before Vince could finish, Orin's fist grazed his cheek, the contact barely a whisper, but enough to make Vince stop in his tracks. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
Orin grinned, his chest heaving with effort. "Got you."
For a heartbeat, everything was still. Then Vince's grin returned, more feral this time. "You're getting cocky," he said with a chuckle, but his body tensed, his muscles coiling as he prepared to counterattack. "Fine. If you're going to push me this hard, I'll push back."
In an instant, Vince dashed forward, moving faster than Orin's eyes could track. He grabbed Orin by the head, slamming him to the ground with a force that knocked the breath out of him. The world spun, but through the dizziness, Orin was still smiling.
"I did it," Orin gasped between breaths, still flat on his back but grinning like a madman. "I finally got you."
Vince released him and stepped back, panting lightly. "Don't get ahead of yourself, kid. Just because you grazed me doesn't mean you're ready to be a Blood Hunter. There's more to this life than fighting." Vince's voice was serious now, the playful tone gone. "You've got to understand what it means to carry this burden. It's not just strength—it's responsibility."
Orin sat up, his smile fading slightly, though the fire in his eyes still burned. "I know. I'm ready."
---
The walk back to camp was quieter than usual. Orin could feel the weight of Vince's words settling on his shoulders, but he wasn't sure what to make of them. Vince always talked about responsibility, but all Orin wanted was to prove himself—to become one of them.
As they reached the edge of the camp, the familiar warmth of the fire greeted them, casting flickering light on the faces of the others. Sonny looked up from his seat, a slow smile spreading across his weathered face. "Look who decided to show up," he said, his deep voice carrying the usual note of amusement.
Orin flopped down near the fire, his limbs still aching. "Vince was just scared I'd beat him if we kept going," he said, trying to keep his voice light.
Lisa laughed, her eyes twinkling in the firelight. "I'm sure that's exactly what happened," she teased, passing a piece of grilled meat to him. "Did you manage to land a hit?"
"Yeah," Orin replied, his voice betraying a hint of pride. "I did."
Vice snorted from his place near the fire, barely looking up from the blade he was sharpening. "You're not a punching bag anymore, then?"
"Not today," Orin shot back with a grin, taking the meat from Lisa and biting into it. The rich, smoky flavor filled his senses, easing some of the soreness in his muscles.
They settled into their usual rhythm—banter, shared stories, and the quiet understanding that only comes from years of living and fighting together. Orin glanced around at the group, feeling the familiar warmth that came from being part of something bigger than himself.
"Remember the time Orin tried to cook?" Sonny asked, his grin widening as he leaned back against a log. "Nearly burned down the entire forest."
Orin groaned. "That was one time."
"One time too many," Vice added, shaking his head.
"Good times," Lisa said, her voice softer now. "You've come a long way, Orin."
"Do you think I'm ready?" Orin asked quietly, meeting her gaze. There was a vulnerability in his voice he hadn't meant to show, but he couldn't help it. His 16th birthday was approaching, and with it, the promise of becoming a full-fledged Blood Hunter—if they thought he was ready.
Lisa smiled, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "You're getting there. Just keep working hard."
"Yeah," Sonny added, his tone more serious now. "You're almost ready. But being a Blood Hunter isn't just about strength, Orin. It's about knowing when to fight and when not to. It's about protecting people, even when it means making hard choices."
Orin nodded, though the weight of their words hung heavy in his chest. He wanted to prove himself, but there was a part of him that wondered if he truly understood what it meant to be one of them.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone