Herbert Driver built his new home and business. He settled into his new life but needed a lot of hand-holding. Occasionally, I had to send McGregor to teach or threaten him when needed. But he finally understood what he needed to do. It was a bit of an irony that his business was sort of doing well. Having a place to shoe horses along this road was a service that many took advantage of. The road's poor condition of being a track caused many horses to throw their shoes. Herbert even cultivated a small section of the land to help with the bills. Thirty-five acres left him with plenty of space to use.

  Winter rolled through, and then spring followed. I made sure that Herbert did not send anyone my way yet, as I wanted him to be established before that. I had to make sure that the townspeople's suspicions were not raised.

  The summer of 1878 was a fairly pleasant one. There were plenty of warm, cloud-free days, and the local wildlife freely roamed. Herbet was supplied with a rifle, and I saw him hunting now and again. I had plenty of ammunition, and getting rid of some of it was good.

  On one of these days, I got my first visitor of the year.

  A rider was working their way up the path to the Dungeon. I spotted them when they were close and shifted down to the gates. The rider entered the clearing at the gate entrance, and I got a better look.

  At first, I thought it was a man but instead found myself looking at a Native American woman. She wore a man's clothes and had her hair arranged into two long braids. She was armed and had a bowler-type hat on.

  I watched her tie her horse up and remove her gun belt, which she attached to the horse's saddle. She walked to the gates and entered the courtyard when this was done. She then walked up to the plinth and read the inscription on it. Nodding to herself, she then looked around the Dungeon that could be seen.

  "Looks like we might have a challenger."

  She returned to the horse, pulling things from the saddle and bags. It was late, but sunset was still a few hours away. I watched her take her hat off and leave it on the saddle. Next, she hung a satchel diagonally across her body from shoulder to hip. Then she took a second belt out and wrapped it around her waist, securing it with a buckle. The belt had two knives and two tomahawks attached. Finally, she lifted out a lantern.

  She then sat on a nearby fallen tree and waited.

  As the sunset came, she got up and walked into the Dungeon. She stood again at the plinth and looked north and south. She chose to go south and walk along the path. She pulled both tomahawks from her belt as she walked and carried one in each hand.

  [A Challenger has entered your Dungeon.]

  "Here we go."

  I sensed my Hunters stirring. They would be fully active in a few minutes. I decided to follow the woman as she walked through the Dungeon. The growing darkness forced her to stop to light the lantern she had. She connected it to her belt, and she continued.

  She was in McGregor's hunting grounds, and he would fist against her. I could not see him yet. Was he close by? I could go out and find him, but I was interested in seeing this from a challenger's perspective. I remembered reading somewhere that the best hunters knew how to think like their prey. I had decided that with the next challenger, I would follow them instead of my hunters to see if I could gleam some new insight.

  She was moving along the path and made a wrong turn. She backtracked and continued along the path towards the church. I found this strange, as every true challenger had followed the path through the maze to the church when cutting straight through was faster.

  My thoughts were interrupted by McGregor's attack.

  He came in low, aiming to tackle her and dominate the fight. He was using speed and his greater mass to knock her down.

  That was the plan I assumed. The woman had other ideas.

  A tomahawk was thrown and embedded into his shoulder as he closed. This caused him to yell in pain and stop. The wound had caused him to drop his knife, blood staining his clothing. He reached over and pulled the blade out of his shoulder. That gave her enough time to close with him.

  She dropped close in and used her momentum to travel the last part of the distance, skidding on her knees. The second tomahawk was swung at McGregor's knee from the side and connected. The blade dug in deep, causing a howl of pain as he collapsed, dropping the tomahawk he was holding. She ripped the blade out as he fell. The angle of his fall meant he came down well within striking range of another attack.

  The woman did not give him the chance even to try to recover. The tomahawk blade was introduced to the back of his skull. The sickly crack came with impact, and McGregor groaned as he collapsed onto his face.

  [Hunter: Charles McGregor. Has died he and will be resurrected in 100:00:00.]

  The red text rolled along the bottom of my view. I was shocked at just how fast he had been taken out. The woman stood and retrieved her second tomahawk before putting her foot on his back and using it to help pull the axe from his head. With a loud grunt, she pulled it free, then wiped the blade on his back. McGregor's bloody body was left as she walked away.

  "Well, I am shocked by that turn of events!"

  Now I know what happened to a hunter when they died. So far, I have been lucky that no hunter has been killed. Plenty had been wounded, but this was the first death. McGregor had a single kill listed and would now have lost it.

  I followed her as she continued to walk the paths of my Dungeon. With McGregor's death, the border of the hunting grounds would shift until his resurrection. Rodriguez would be next up if she stayed on her path. The church was close. Would she get there before he found her?

  By now, the sun had set, and the Dungeon was in darkness. The cloud cover was light, and the half-moon provided some light. The woman then did another unexpected thing: she extinguished her lantern.

  The area was suddenly plunged into darkness. My vision was hardly affected. I knew it was dark, but I was not hampered like a human. The woman was now using the darkness to her advantage. She moved from patch to patch of darkness, spending as little time as possible in the weak moonlight.

  The church was in sight.

  She went around the west side, looking for the doors. She found them on the north side of the building and entered. The same feeling of suspension of violence came with her closing the doors.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  I watched from the altar as she walked down the central aisle to it. As she walked, she reached into the satchel and pulled something out—a folded piece of material—which she placed on the altar.

  Images and feelings bombarded me. They were both fragmented and suddenly intense. It was her wedding dress. On her wedding day, she and her husband were attacked. He was killed and she was raped repeatedly. Her attackers thought her dead after a savage beating, but she survived.

  The visual and emotional assault ended as suddenly as it started, leaving me a bit scattershot as I recovered my faculties. The woman had sat on one of the benches and was waiting. Like Augustus before her, she waited out the majority of the night.

  I had looked beyond the building and knew Rodriguez was waiting nearby for her to emerge.

  Just over an hour before dawn, she roused herself. She had been dozing on the bench but knew she was getting ready to leave. A flask of water and some jerky were in the satchel. She ate and drank before opening the doors and leaving. I expected her to head back south, but she went north. As she went, she used the darkness to her advantage.

  "Well, that's a mistake."

  Rodriguez is out. He, too, expected her to come out and head south. He noticed her and was forced to reposition. She was moving faster than before but still used the darkness to hide herself.

  My Hunter was behind her but was trying to get into position to attack. Her speed was making this difficult. There was a path out using the northern walkways, but it took you into the hateful spirits' hunting grounds, which she was fast approaching.

  She crossed the line and was now in the spirit's hunting grounds.

  "This will be over soon."

  The spirit did not take long to appear. The figure of a woman in a long, flowing white dress was walking between the gravestones. The native woman spotted her straight away, dropping to one knee watching. The spirit gave off a faint light, enough to convince the other woman to avoid her. Instead of approaching, she turned and went eastward, trying to avoid this strange figure before her.

  The spirit realised it was being avoided, turned in her direction and changed with a scream. The light around her turned from white to red, and her hair flew around. The native woman saw this and did the only sensible thing and ran. The spirit crossed the distance, following her, screaming as she went. The woman had to move around the gravestones and occasional tree while the spirit passed right through them. This closed the gap between them faster than the running woman liked. She was glancing back regularly, tracking the spirit's approach.

  The spirit got close and swiped at her back. As the spirit did, the woman dodged to the left to avoid the strike. She was not fast enough and was caught on her right shoulder. Her heavy coat took most of the blow, but it cut through and drew blood. The woman hissed loudly in pain as she was knocked forward. She fell and started rolling just to keep moving. The spirit was right after her.

  Then, the spirit suddenly stopped and screamed even louder in frustration. Confused, I looked around and realised the reason. The woman had just made it out of the spirits hunting grounds.

  "Well, that was fortunate for you."

  The woman stood and moved again, looking back to ensure the spirit was not following her. She lost sight of it amongst the gravestones, statues, and mausoleums. Here, she stopped to try to tend to her wound; sitting down, she looked over her shoulder to try to see it. The wound was not deep but was bleeding. The native woman looked around and factored her location against that of the gate.

  With a grunt, she got up and started walking again. It was not far.

  She did not see Rodriguez.

  He attacked when she was close to the gate. It was not far, and she could make it out. Some instinct saved her as she turned just in time to see him coming. She managed to block his tomahawk with one of her own. As it was the right one, she screamed from the impact travelling up her arm to the wound. This caused her to stagger back, dropping it to the ground.

  Rodriguez did not relent and attacked again, swinging his tomahawk in an attempt to connect. The woman dodged away. Even wounded, she was still fast on her feet. Rodriguez outweighed her, so she avoided a direct fight.

  His strikes were fast and sharp. He did not overextend but stayed close, as he could not give her a chance to think of a way to beat him. He was using the gravestones to hinder her movements, as she could not see the ones behind her. My hunters were getting over their natural arrogance. Being wounded, even with the ability to recover or resurrect, taught them hard lessons.

  This, in turn, made them better hunters as they became more skilled in the role. I was seeing it here. Before, Rodriguez would have used his mass and speed to overwhelm his opponent, leaving him open to counters. Now, he was being more measured and controlled.

  He darted forward to close the distance again, but the native woman was ready. As he went forward, so did she. Lashing out with her leg, she was close enough to catch him in the testicles. With a loud cry of pain, he staggered back, colliding with a gravestone that he used to stay standing. His face was contorted with rage and pain.

  I expected the native woman to turn and run for the gates, but she surprised me by continuing to attack Rodriguez. He was the one trying to get space between them as he avoided her tomahawk. Now, the gravestones were hindering him.

  He managed to avoid her, but there were a few close calls. This gave him the time he needed to recover. He was stable on his feet again and was defending himself better. I think the native woman understood her advantage was now gone. She was backing away, increasing the space between them. She was favouring her right arm now. The wound was now impacting the fight as she was weakening.

  Rodriguez smelled blood and advanced with an evil smile.

  I was unsure if he could smell it. My hunters changed with every level gained, and I had no idea what they entailed. I only knew what their character sheets told me. Whatever other changes were happening to them were not showing up on them yet.

  The woman was not done yet. I had to admire her fighting spirit. As Rodriguez moved in to attack again, she darted forward. It appeared she had been playing up the wound. Like McGregor, she fell to her knees as she came in close. Rodriguez had swung his tomahawk at her, but it went over her head. She introduced hers to his knee. The blade cut deep, and he fell back with a cry of pain. She had swung in from the side again, but it was not as bad due to this being her off-hand.

  Rodriguez could steady himself as he caught on to a gravestone, not entirely collapsing. The native woman was soon back to her feet, swinging again at this head. His arm took the blow and the blade cut deep and may have even broken the bone. He cried out in pain again, sacrificing his left arm to prevent a worse injury. He still carried the tomahawk in his right hand.

  The native woman could see he was wounded but not out of the fight as, with a snarl of rage, he pulled himself back up. Her look of surprise said it all, and she tried to strike him again. He blocked the attack this time and countered, cutting her across her bicep. The impact caused her to twist away, avoiding any follow-up as his knee injury slowed him down. Her coat again deflected most of the blow, but blood was soon staining the area.

  She turned around to face him again and moved to keep her distance. After looking him over, she made a decision. She turned and ran for the gates.

  We were both surprised. Dawn had arrived and was lighting the area now. It seemed she was taking the final gamble and avoiding further bloodshed by running.

  Rodriguez was too wounded to follow her, as his leg injury was slowing him down. Within a few minutes, she reached the gates, running as fast as she could and left the Dungeon.

  She had made it. I closed the gates behind her. Across the Dungeon, the bell in the church rang out once more, signalling that there was a new victor.

  "It's over."

  I spoke to Rodriguez, who swore up a storm in Spanish. He was still some distance from the gates. I formed my avatar near him.

  "Lean on me. Let's get you back to your lair."

  He only nods, and I help him back to the mausoleum he called home. He thanked me and disappeared inside. The timer appeared above the building. I went to McGregor's corpse but found it was gone. A blood stain was left, but no sign of the body. I went to his lair and found the timer was now running.

  "How did his body get back here?"

  A question for another day.

  Returning to the church, I moved the offering down underground to my money vault and went to the wooden board off to the side of the altar.

  Talulah. August 4th, 1878, A.D. She came in memory of her love and to find the strength to punish the guilty.

  "Two challengers made it in two years. Is that good or bad?"

  No answer came. I was not surprised.

  "I might need somewhere a bit more secure for my gold and the offerings of successful challengers."

  I left a strong bond with those items. It was more substantial than my connection to the coins. Giving up the silver had hurt, but it was all for the long-term good, but I would be damned to give up the gold.

  "Well, that was enough excitement for one day."