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Chapter 11 – Frog

“Damn it.”

Rem spat on the ground and twirled his axe skillfully, spinning it in his hand like a toy.

He had just lost track of that “Hawk Talons” or “Sharp Eyes,” whatever the bastard was called.

It felt as irritating as not wiping after finishing a big job.

‘I can’t even remember the last time I failed a hunt.’

The archer had been quick-witted and even quicker on his feet.

The moment the guy sensed Rem’s presence, he bolted.

And as he fled, the arrows he fired had been sharp and relentless.

Rem touched the faint mark on his left side where one of those arrows had grazed him.

There was no wound—just the irritation of failing to completely evade it.

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