The night air turned icy with tension as the circle of would-be predators dissolved into panic.

The hooded men shifted their weight, their boots scraping the dirt road, their eyes darting to the treeline as if the forest itself might swallow them whole.

The oppressive silence that followed Vonjo's devouring of the shadows was louder than any battle cry, and in that silence, fear bloomed like a virus.

"You… y-you idiot!" one of the assassins snarled, rounding on the tax collector. His voice cracked, and his hands trembled as he gripped his dagger. "You said he was just some spoiled rich brat! You said he only looked confident!"

"I—I didn't know—how was I supposed to—" the tax collector stammered, his voice rising with hysteria. "He threw around money like he didn't care! He was just—just flaunting it! How the hell was I supposed to know he'd—" He cut himself off, glancing at Vonjo, who was casually standing in the center of the road, hands loose at his sides, his coat rustling faintly in the breeze.

The remaining ambushers, now scattered in a loose half-circle, exchanged nervous glances, their bravado crumbling into desperation. "We—we can't fight him without the shadows," one whispered hoarsely. "Our weapons are useless without them—he devoured them all, every last one. He took our edge, our—"

Another spat at the ground in frustration. "Damn it! He's a freak! We should've never touched him. He's not some merchant or traveler, he's—he's a monster."

Vonjo's voice cut through their panic like a cold knife. "Enough with the whining." He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing across his lips, his eyes reflecting a strange amusement. "If you came to kill me, then try. Or…" His tone dipped into something almost bored, laced with disdain. "…hurry up and run. I don't have all night to watch you squirm."

The weight of his words pressed on them like the darkness he had swallowed, and it was as if some invisible signal snapped their last threads of courage.

One man bolted first, spinning on his heel and sprinting into the woods.

His footsteps thudded wildly, the sound echoing across the empty road.

Then two more followed, abandoning all thought of honor or loyalty. The rest, caught between terror and instinct, stumbled over themselves in their rush to flee.

The tax collector cursed under his breath, his face twisted in panic. "W-wait! We can regroup! We can—"

"Too late," Vonjo murmured.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he extended his hand toward the three-headed frog at his side.

The frog's rightmost head croaked, throat ballooning, and with a slick, wet sound, a sleek black archery bow emerged from its mouth, glistening faintly under the moonlight.

A single arrow followed, dripping with faint tendrils of his own curse energy, hissing softly like a serpent eager to strike.

Vonjo's grip was casual, almost lazy, as he raised the bow and nocked the arrow. His blood hummed with a familiar thrill.

He didn't even need to aim in the traditional sense—his senses stretched outward, the taste of the fleeing men's fear guiding his every movement.

"Swoosh," he whispered playfully as he released.

The arrow tore through the night air like a living streak of darkness. A heartbeat later, a distant, wet thunk echoed from the treeline, followed by a strangled scream cut short. One down.

Vonjo's movements were fluid, almost artistic, as he reached for the next arrow.

Another head of the frog opened, and another sleek projectile slid into his waiting fingers. He drew, released—swoosh—and the air sang with lethal precision.

Another body fell in the distance, crashing through underbrush.

The remaining assassins, hearing their companions' abrupt ends, screamed in blind terror. "He's hunting us! He's—he's a demon!"

Vonjo tilted his head back and laughed, the sound low and cold. "You came to rob me, to bleed me dry, to threaten the only people who ever showed me kindness… and you thought you'd walk away?" His voice carried across the night like a curse, his words making the leaves tremble. "I told you… I devour everything."

Another arrow sang.

Thwip.

Another scream. Another thud.

The tax collector, who had collapsed to his knees on the road, trembled violently as he watched the scene unfold.

His hands clawed at the dirt, and he muttered incoherently, his mind breaking under the weight of what he'd provoked.

The last of the runners tried zig-zagging between trees, hoping to avoid the inevitable.

Vonjo hummed a cheerful tune, his bow moving with unhurried precision. His curse energy flared along the arrow's shaft, wrapping it in a faint aura of darkness.

"Run faster," he whispered. "It won't save you."

The arrow left the bowstring with a sharp, satisfying hiss. A distant gasp, then silence.

Vonjo exhaled, the bow lowering to his side.

Around him, the road was empty now, except for the kneeling tax collector, the stink of fear clinging to him like sweat.

The frog gave a proud triple ribbit, each head bobbing in satisfaction at their part in the hunt.

"See?" Vonjo said lightly to his companion. "Sometimes, the world hands you entertainment." He crouched slightly to meet the tax collector's wide, tear-filled eyes. "And sometimes… the world hands you a lesson."

The man opened his mouth to beg, but Vonjo only smiled, the moon casting a sharp gleam over his teeth. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

He stood, letting the man collapse into the dirt, his sobs muffled against the earth. Vonjo didn't need to finish him. The fear alone was enough punishment.

The night was quiet again, the bodies of the fallen strewn somewhere in the trees, their blood mixing with soil and shadow. The road stretched ahead, endless and inviting.

Vonjo slung the bow over his shoulder, feeling a pleasant buzz of satisfaction hum through his veins. He could already imagine the bullet comments exploding in excitement, the faceless audience whispering his name in awe and terror.

And for the first time in a while, he felt that familiar rush—the thrill of being alive in a brutal story, untouchable and yet completely immersed in the chaos he'd chosen to embrace.

The night air was thick with the scent of fear, sweat, and soil as the surviving ambushers huddled together, shivering under the pale light of the moon. Their eyes darted to Vonjo and then to each other, every man silently calculating the best way to escape the nightmare they had willingly walked into. Finally, the first one broke the fragile silence, his voice shaking like brittle glass.

"P-please," he stammered, lifting trembling hands to show he carried no weapon anymore. "We… we only wanted to rob you! Th-that's all! We weren't gonna kill you! We just… we just wanted some coin, that's it! S-so… please… let us go."

The others joined in, a chorus of pitiful pleading, their voices overlapping with desperation.

"Y-yeah, we didn't mean anything!"

"We'll never touch you again!"

"Please… we got families, we just—times are hard…"

The three-headed frog beside Vonjo croaked in perfect rhythm, the left head letting out a low, guttural ribbit, as though amused by the display. Vonjo remained silent, his shadowed face unreadable, and the longer he said nothing, the more the men's voices cracked with panic.

Finally, Vonjo tilted his head slightly, letting his eyes drift across the trembling group. His lips moved, and his voice emerged soft, almost thoughtful. "Alright…"

Relief exploded among the ambushers. Shoulders sagged. A few even sobbed, collapsing to their knees and muttering prayers to whatever spirits would listen. The tension that had coiled around their spines seemed to break all at once.

But then, Vonjo's tone shifted, playful yet chilling. "…Leave behind the things that matter to you the most."

The men froze.

"W-what…?" one stuttered, his teeth chattering as he stared at Vonjo's faint smile.

"This time," Vonjo said, taking a step forward, his boots crunching on the dirt, "I am the one robbing you." His voice was calm, almost amused, but the weight in it pressed on their chests like an iron grip. "Everything. Weapons. Gold. Charms. Even the clothes that hide the last bits of your pride. You tried to take from me—you should know how it feels to be stripped of everything."

A wave of hesitation rippled through the men. Their hands twitched toward belts, pouches, and the few remaining blades they still carried. The idea of giving up the only things that kept them alive in this brutal world was unthinkable, yet the oppressive aura radiating from Vonjo made defiance feel suicidal.

"Now," Vonjo continued, letting the word drag like the scrape of a blade. "Drop it all. Or I'll take more than your belongings."

The first man to surrender was the youngest, barely older than a boy, his lips quivering as he unclipped the dagger at his waist and let it fall to the dirt. The metallic clink echoed loudly in the quiet forest, and he quickly followed it with a small pouch of copper coins, then the thin cloak on his shoulders.

One by one, the others followed, their movements jerky and hesitant. The air was filled with the sounds of armor buckles snapping, weapons hitting the dirt, and coins spilling across the cold ground. Vonjo watched, his arms crossed, while the three-headed frog hopped forward to sniff and nudge at the pile, letting out amused croak-ribbit-ribbit noises as if inspecting their offerings.

"You can do better than that," Vonjo said when he noticed two of the men still clutching small charms close to their chests. "Those too. Don't think I don't notice what you're hiding."

The men flinched, their faces pale. "B-but… these are family heirlooms…"

Vonjo's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Then it's perfect. The most important things are the sweetest to take."

Tears welled up in their eyes as they slowly, reluctantly set the charms onto the pile. Rings, necklaces, enchanted trinkets—all glinted under the moonlight, forming a little hill of desperation and regret.

Soon, the men were nearly stripped bare, standing in the cold night in only their underclothes. Their breath came out in ragged puffs, and shame burned hotter than the night's chill.

Vonjo let out a hearty laugh, clapping his hands once. "Ahahahaha! Look at you all—mighty robbers reduced to quivering mice! This is perfect. Consider it a lesson: the world always has a bigger predator waiting for you."

The frog croaked three times in agreement, the middle head bouncing with glee.

Vonjo strolled to the pile, crouching to sift through the spoils. His fingers brushed over the coins, charms, and weapons, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and detached amusement. "Not bad. You were more prepared than I thought. I might keep that spear. And this bowstring—ooh, that's nice craftsmanship."

The men dared not move, their dignity shattered, as Vonjo sorted through their lives' worth of possessions.

"Now," he said after a long, heavy pause, standing tall again, "run along. Naked and humiliated. Let the world see what happens to hyenas that try to bite a lion."

They needed no further instruction. One by one, the former predators turned into pitiful shadows, scampering barefoot into the night, clutching themselves against the cold, their shame trailing behind them like a second skin.

Vonjo watched them go, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. His voice was low, almost to himself, but the frog heard and croaked in agreement: "Another day, another hunt. And I never even had to break a sweat."

The road was his again, silent and empty, except for the pile of loot glinting at his feet, trophies of a night where the hunter had reminded the world of his nature.