Ryland Carter's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Ryland watched the third recruit lower her blade, chest heaving from the drill. They'd followed orders without complaint, striking the dummy for an hour straight. But following orders in an empty arena meant nothing compared to what waited in Deadville's darker corners. He needed to show them what they'd face—real undead territory, places where hunters earned their scars. Tomorrow's training at the fortified bunker would push them harder, but first they needed to understand the world they'd chosen. He dismissed them with a nod and locked the arena behind him. The streets outside held abandoned buildings where undead gathered, old factories where screams echoed at night, safe houses where experienced hunters traded information for coin. His recruits would learn every location that mattered, every place where loyalty got tested and the weak got buried. He pulled his coat tight and headed toward the hunter's quarter, already planning which dangerous sites to show them first. The hunter's quarter stretched across three blocks of converted buildings. Ryland stopped at a bronze statue planted in the main square—a hunter stood with boot pressed against a fallen zombie's chest, blade raised high. Fresh scorch marks scarred the undead's bronze face. Someone had carved names into the base, hunters who'd made their reputation here. This was what his squad could become. Victories that people remembered. Stories that drew the kind of fighters who wanted more than survival. He traced one of the names with his thumb, then moved on. Past the statue, light spilled from a pub's windows. The sign above the door showed faded paint and old wood. Ryland pushed inside. The pub smelled like smoke and ale. Hunters sat at worn tables, speaking low. A woman with a crossbow leaned against the bar. Two men near the door compared scars on their forearms. This was where the serious ones gathered after dark—not just to drink, but to find work and measure each other up. Ryland ordered nothing and watched. These were the people he needed. Experienced. Hard. Looking for something better than scraping by on bounties. He listened to their talk of undead sightings and failed contracts. When he left an hour later, he'd learned which hunters were available and which crews were falling apart. Tomorrow his recruits would see the bunker. But soon he'd bring them here, to show them what a real hunter looked like—and what they'd need to become to earn a place in his squad.