Chapter 57: The Basin Shelter
"Welcome," Krag said, turning back to look at them as he pulled aside the stone slab and the logs blocking the entrance. "This will be your home for the next few days. You’ll learn to love it... or wish you had never left the village."
The party slipped inside the subterranean shelter. The air within was warmer, shielded from the freezing gusts outside and rich with the scent of dried moss, packed earth, and rancid animal fat preserved from past expeditions.
Wasting no time, the veteran hunters began unpacking with a tribal discipline honed by years of survival. Each man claimed a corner of the cave: untying the leather bindings of their packs, placing their rations of dried meat onto natural stone ledges, and preparing their bedding by dusting off old mammoth and mountain wolf pelts stored in the hideout.
Kellar, meanwhile, collapsed back against the rock wall, dropping his mallet and letting his pack slide to the floor. His chest heaved rhythmically as he gulped in air, feeling the bite of the cold lingering in his lungs. Despite the impressive strength and stamina boost granted by the shaman’s blessing, the relentless twenty-four-hour sprint through deep snow and mountain slopes had pushed his body to its limits of exhaustion.
Barely as Kellar closed his eyes trying to catch his breath, the leader’s booming voice shattered the little peace left in the cave.
"We aren’t on vacation, on your feet!" said Krag.
Without a second’s hesitation, all the hunters stood at attention and grabbed their weapons. The discipline was absolute. The entire party consisted of just twelve people; only the best of the best were allowed to take part in the dangerous year-end hunt. The mortality rate in the basin was far too high to allow just anyone to come along to die.
They slipped out in a silent single file, sticking close to the shadows of the rocks as they ventured into the first hunting sector.
"We will move from zone to zone combing the territory," said Krag.
"And when will we know it’s time to head back?" asked Kellar.
"As soon as we fill the packs and finish off our assigned prey, we can return home," said Krag.
They pushed forward with steady strides, staying low in the snow. The expert hunters scanned the horizon, searching for fresh tracks, footprints in the ice, or snapped branches that would reveal the presence of the beasts inhabiting the basin.
The party branched off toward the first sector: a rocky ravine where freezing winds whistled through the crevices. The ground here wasn’t just snow, but a layer of brittle ice over jagged rocks.
"Eyes open, everyone, this is fang-bison territory," said Krag, raising a hand to halt the march.
Kellar crouched beside one of the veterans, watching as Krag leaned down near a stone overhang. There were deep tracks, as if a multi-ton animal had stomped down with brutal force, shattering the icy crust.
"The tracks haven’t been covered by the light snow yet," said Kellar.
"That means they are close," said Krag.
The leader made a series of quick hand signals. The twelve hunters split into three squads of four, fanning out in a semicircle to flank the ravine. Kellar tightened his grip on the handle of his mallet; the air grew thick, and the acrid stench of a beast began drifting down with the breeze.
Suddenly, a low snort echoed from the depths of the ravine, making the stones beneath their feet vibrate.
Kellar held his breath as the creature emerged from between the rocks. The bison was the largest thing he had ever seen in his life: standing nearly four meters tall and ten meters long, a true colossus with thick fur and curved tusks scraping the frozen ground. To make matters worse, it wasn’t alone; it moved in a herd.
"Be careful, watch where you step, and don’t get lost," said Krag in a barely audible whisper. "This is also the hunting ground of the two-tailed black tiger."
The veterans instantly showed why they were the tribe’s elite. Without a single hesitation or false step, they vanished into the shadows of the rocks and deployed with flawless coordination, surrounding the beast without making the slightest sound on the brittle snow.
Kellar watched in fascination at the coldness and precision with which they positioned themselves.
"You take the left leg, you take the right leg, I take the head," said Krag, instructing his men with hand gestures.
Kellar simply watched in silence, understanding that before landed a single blow, they had to bring the giant down.
The three hunters dropped to their knees at the same time on the frozen snow, pressing their hands tightly against their chests before raising their arms toward the gray sky.
"Bear god, grant us your strength," said all three in unison.
"Red Bear Fury!" shouted Krag.
In an instant, the ritual skill activated. An aura of blood-red light burst forth, burning brightly around their fists and legs, swelling their muscles and emanating a suffocating heat that melted the snow around them.
The three of them shot forward at breakneck speed. The first hunter slammed a fist dripping with red light straight into the joint of the colossus’s left leg. The snap was deafening, the bone and muscle shattered from within, throwing the giant off balance. Right after, the second hunter struck the right leg with the same brutal violence, crushing the limb and forcing the four-meter bison down to its knees against the ground.
Before the herd could react or the creature could even let out a roar of pain, Krag appeared in midair right above the beast’s head. With his fists glowing in a blinding crimson, he brought down a descending double-axe handle with all his might onto the animal’s skull.
The impact was devastating. The destructive force pulverized the skull bones in a fraction of a second, crushing the colossus’s head against the rocks and extinguishing the giant’s life instantly without giving it time to even twitch.