CHAPTER 204: STRATEGIC RELOCATION HUB

Dylan’s POV

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The wind whistled in his ears like a warning that came too late. His feet pounded the uneven ground, slipped on the pebbles, caught on roots. Dylan no longer knew exactly how long he’d been running—only that the air he gasped with each breath burned his throat. Behind him, the sounds of the hunt were still there—muffled by distance, but steady.

As if the Net of Death didn’t even need to hurry to catch him.

The light rain from earlier had left a treacherous sheen on the ground, a slick dampness where his steps faltered. Every misstep cost him. Every ragged breath stretched the seconds he didn’t have to spare. And his legs, already gnawed by exhaustion and hunger, were beginning to protest, muscles locking under the strain.

He cleared a rocky outcrop and pressed himself against the stone, watching.

For now, there was nothing in sight. No silhouettes. No glint of metal in the gloom. But he knew they were there. These weren’t ordinary hunters. They could wait, sense through the ambient spiritual essence. Time wasn’t on his side.

He started running again, but then his gaze caught something—a shadow darker than the rest, a slit in the rock face, nearly invisible unless seen at an angle. A fissure barely wide enough for two shoulders, tall as a crouching man.

Dylan stopped short, panting.

It wasn’t an ideal hiding place. It wasn’t safe shelter. But it was... there.

And there was better than out in the open.

He squeezed inside. The rock scraped his bare skin, wrenching a groan from him. The passage descended in uneven tiers, twisted like a poorly healed wound. The air inside was colder, thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient dust. The walls oozed moisture in places, dark veins tracing through the faint light still filtering from the entrance.

He stopped about ten meters in, far enough for the shadows to swallow him whole. His breath hammered against his eardrums. His hands, pressed to the stone, felt the icy bite of the rock.

Then... he waited.

The sounds returned. Not rushed, but assured. Voices mingled, low, carrying the confidence of predators. He didn’t recognize any of them, but their tones had that sharp edge—the kind that belonged to people who already knew they had their prey cornered.

"He couldn’t have gone far..."

And another voice, deeper, answered something he couldn’t quite make out.

Dylan closed his eyes, trying to make himself smaller, even more still. His heart pounded so hard he feared the sound would echo through the stone. Every second stretched the dread, twisted his breathing.

A silhouette passed the opening, then another. But neither stopped.

Their footsteps faded. Not fast enough for his liking, but fading all the same.

He stayed frozen another minute. Or three. Just to be sure. To really know.

He crouched in the gloom, pressed his forehead to the cold stone. His sweat-drenched skin clung to his shoulders, his thighs. Everything hurt. But he was still alive.

He caught himself smiling. Not a real smile. More like a grimace, a nervous reflex. The kind of smile you wear when you’ve just slipped through Death’s cold teeth.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. The fissure widened slightly deeper in, forming a small alcove. Nothing more than a recess, but enough to stay out of sight. A trickle of water ran down the wall, dripping into a dark puddle at his feet. He dipped his hands in, brought a palmful to his lips. The water was icy, but it soothed the fire in his throat.

He thought of Julius, wondering if that muscle-bound bastard had made it after plunging into that chasm from such a height. Almost admiring the guts it took to make that desperate leap.

Finally, he stood. His legs trembled, but he forced his body to obey. At the back of the fissure, a narrow tunnel branched off, half-blocked by a pile of collapsed rocks. He ran his hands over them, searching for a way through.

A faint, cold breath of air brushed his fingers.

"Perfect."

He squeezed in, nearly crawling. The passage scraped his shoulders, his back, but he pushed forward, drawn by the fresh air like a castaway to a glimmer of light. The echoes of the hunt had faded behind him. Every extra meter piled another layer of stone between them and him.

He finally emerged outside, higher up the slope. The gray light of dawn filtered through a curtain of low branches. The forest stretched before him—vast, dark, full of paths he’d have to invent.

He took a deep breath.

He hadn’t won. But he’d slipped through the first net.

And that was enough for today.

The forest welcomed him like a silent maw.

No cacophony of birds or insects. Just the quiet rustle of leaves in the wind, and, in the distance, a dull rumble—maybe a stream, or maybe just his blood still pounding too hard.

Dylan took a few steps forward, enough to clear the underbrush. The air smelled of damp moss and turned earth. He didn’t feel any safer than before, but at least he could walk straight now, breathe something other than stone.

The terrain sloped down in uneven steps, cluttered with fallen trunks and brambles. Every step was a choice: move fast and risk noise, or move slow and risk being caught. He settled for something in between, an unsteady rhythm that let him freeze at any moment.

His ears strained for sounds behind him, but the woods swallowed noise, muffled it. He might’ve almost believed he’d lost his pursuers... if Julius hadn’t told him the Net of Death wasn’t known for having the patience of stones.

As he pressed on, a veil of mist began rising from the ground. It didn’t obscure much, but it gave every shape a blurred outline. Twice, he thought he saw shadows moving between the trees—and twice, he had to convince himself it was just his imagination. Or his instincts refusing to settle.

He reached a small ledge, dominated by a lichen-covered outcrop. The spot offered a clear view of the slope below, where a thin stream wound between the rocks. He crouched, drank a long draft of the icy water, and watched.

No one was in sight.

But absence wasn’t respite. It was an invitation to hurry.

And Dylan wasn’t the type to need asking twice.