Hero Hunter: The Glitch in the God System

Chapter 7

The scout lunged, his movements fluid and unnervingly fast. Freecs barely dodged the first strike, the blade whistling past his ear and carving a deep gouge into the cave wall.

"Stay back, Vivina!" Freecs yelled, parrying a second, bone-jarring blow.

"I’m not a statue, Freecs! I’m helping!" She slid beneath the scout’s guard, her own blade flashing like sunlight in the dark.

"That's his blind spot!" Freecs shouted, spotting the flicker of purple energy around the scout's ribs. "Strike now!"

Vivina didn't hesitate. She drove her sword home, but the scout laughed—a dry, raspy sound—as he twisted his body, absorbing the hit. He kicked Freecs squarely in the chest, sending him flying back into the stone floor.

"You’re fighting like a pair of amateurs," the scout sneered, his voice distorting with that unnatural, layered hiss. "The Council sends their regards. And they specifically asked for your heads."

Freecs gasped for air, his vision blurring. "The Council? Since when do they send scouts out to hunt their own saints?"

"Since the Saint started playing with glitches," the scout retorted, closing in on Freecs. "Your location was sold. Someone close to her had a change of heart. Or maybe just a change of currency."

Vivina froze, her grip on her sword trembling. "Someone close to me? That’s impossible. I only reported to my mentor."

"Old man Valerius? No, he’s too busy rotting," the scout taunted, stepping over Freecs. "Think, girl. Who knew about this grotto? Who knew about your little rendezvous?"

Freecs gritted his teeth, his hand finding his hidden dagger. "Vivina, don't listen to him! It's a ploy to rattle you!"

"Is it?" the scout laughed, turning toward her. "Ask yourself why the tracker is keyed to your own personal mana signature."

Vivina’s face went white. She lunged, not waiting for another word, her movements fueled by a terrifying, cold fury. She drove the scout back, raining down strikes until he collapsed, his armor shattered.

"Who told you?" she demanded, pinning him to the ground with her blade. "Was it High Priest Elian?"

The scout coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. "He doesn't just know... he’s the one who authorized the cleanup."

Freecs pulled himself up, wiping blood from his mouth. "Elian? Your mentor? The man who raised you?"

"He told me I was going to be the next Matriarch," she whispered, her voice hollow. "He taught me everything."

"He taught you how to be a puppet," Freecs said, walking over to stand beside her. "And when the puppet started cutting its own strings, he decided to burn the whole theater down."

She looked at the scout, her eyes hardening. "Is he coming here?"

"He's already in the city," the scout gasped, his eyes beginning to dim as the purple light drained away. "He's waiting for you to walk right into the Capital... into the trap."

The scout went limp. The silence in the cave was sudden and suffocating.

"He betrayed me," she said, her voice barely audible. "Everything I did—the missions, the sacrifices—it was all just to keep his secret safe."

Freecs reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We stop playing by his rules."

"He’s waiting for me, Freecs. He’s going to execute me in the public square. He’ll call it a purification."

"Then we don't go to the square," Freecs said, his eyes glowing with that familiar, predatory blue. "We go to his office. We catch him while he’s still feeling smug."

She looked up at him, her vulnerability replaced by a sharp, dangerous resolve. "You’re talking about invading the High Council’s inner sanctum. That’s suicide."

"We’ve already died once. What’s a little treason on top of that?"

"I like the way you think, you twisted rat." She sheathed her sword, her posture straightening. "If we're going to do this, we do it right. No more running."

"I've got the map of the service tunnels," Freecs said, pulling a scrap of parchment from his cloak. "We bypass the gate entirely. We come in from the floorboards."

"And if he’s waiting?"

"Then we make him regret ever picking up a pen to sign your death warrant."

She grabbed his hand, her grip firm and icy. "Let's go. I want to see the look on his face when he realizes I’m not coming alone."

Freecs looked at the cave exit. The path to the capital was long, and the threat of the System loomed over every step, but for the first time, he felt a strange, dark sense of control.

"One more thing, Vivina," he said, turning back to her. "When we get there, don't hold back. I want to see the 'Saint' in action."

"Oh, you won't be disappointed," she replied with a cold, serrated smile. "I’ve been practicing."

As they emerged into the cool night air, the Capital’s spires rose in the distance, glowing like poisoned needles against the black sky. Freecs felt the System pulse once—a heavy, rhythmic warning—but he dismissed it with a mental flick.

They were no longer prey. They were the storm.

"Do you hear that?" Freecs whispered, stopping near the edge of the forest.

"Hear what?"

"The silence. It's too quiet. He knows we’re coming."

"Let him know," she said, stepping forward. "It’s time he learned that the weapon he forged has finally developed an edge."

They vanished into the shadows, the hunt for the Architect now secondary to the assassination of the man who started it all. Just as they reached the city outskirts, the sky erupted. A massive, purple-lit sigil burned in the air above the Council's tower, a beacon that signaled their arrival.

"Well," Freecs muttered, drawing his blade as the city guards began to swarm, "I guess the party started early."

Vivina didn't even slow down. "Then let's make sure they remember who crashed it."