The Nameless Extra: I Proofread This World-Chapter 95: Elsewhere on the Island (2)

[Loden’s POV]
[Grid Location: C3 — Loden Armand]
Loden Armand stood at the edge of the rocky outcrop, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the land below. The hills stretched in uneven ridges, sloping downward toward a sparse woodland that lined the banks of a small river to the north.
Beyond that, further southwest, the glint of a much larger river shimmered beneath the dimmed sun. It would be their best chance at securing a steady water source before nightfall. He tightened his grip around his spear, the faint hum of magic coursing through the weapon.
“Something isn't right…”
A shadow passed overhead.
His eyes snapped upward.
“Stay alert,” he warned, voice firm. “We're being watched.”
The wind carried a sharp cry, distant but growing closer. Then, from above the craggy peaks, a massive form hovered above them.
A Skyhunter Vulture.
A wretched-rank voidspawn that had wings wide enough to blot out the sun, its deep-black feathers edged with violet magicules. Its hooked beak gleamed like sharpened steel, and its talons, large enough to carry a grown man, flexed in anticipation. It circled lazily, scanning them with piercing, predatory eyes.
Vanessa stood a few paces behind Loden, let out a quiet breath. She wasn’t panicking, just calm. Her amethyst eyes followed the beast’s movements before she turned to Loden.
“We shouldn’t engage,” she said, voice calm.
“Skyhunters are patient predators. They don’t attack unless they sense weakness.”
Loden didn’t immediately respond, but he didn’t lower his spear either.
Endrick adjusted his gauntlets, frowning. “So it’s waiting for us to drop our guard?”
“Sort of,” Vanessa confirmed. “As long as we stay strong and keep moving, it won’t risk a fight.”
Rhena crossed her arms and gave a slow nod.
“Avoiding a battle saves stamina. No point wasting energy on something that won’t even attack unless provoked. Furthermore, we're at a disadvantage. Let's avoid fighting on these sloppy hills.”
‘Rhena is right. We're at a disadvantage fighting in this geography.’
Wale, usually the quietest of the group, exhaled and glanced toward the descending hills.
“Then we should get moving before it decides we’re worth the trouble.”
Loden finally relented, rolling his shoulders as he shifted his grip on his spear.
“Alright. We’ll move fast. The southwest river is our goal. We’ll climb down first and make sure we don't stay in the open.”
No one argued with him. With the Skyhunter still circling high above, they began their descent, carefully navigating the rocky slope.
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[Silvena’s POV]
[Grid Location: J9 — Silvena D’Elvoire]
The evening air carried the scent of raw meat and damp earth as Silvena D’Elvoire wiped the last streaks of blood from her whip.
Around her, the team worked methodically, securing the results of their hunt. The Crestbeak Fowl they had taken down earlier now lay in neat, skinned portions, ready for cooking.
Beside them, another prize—a Duskback Horned, a swift and burly Voidspawn known for its tender meat—had also been carefully butchered, its edible parts separated and wrapped securely in layers of dried leaves and cloth before being stowed into reinforced leather pouches.
Without access to magic storage, they had to rely on simple yet effective methods, keeping their rations well-preserved for the coming days.
‘That guy's right… our starting location is J9.’
The sky above had deepened into hues of burnt orange and violet, a stark reminder that night was fast approaching. The land around them, vast and quiet, stretched into the dense forest beyond. It was the kind of silence that set one’s instincts on edge.
Corwin Dunley exhaled sharply as he secured the last cut of meat, adjusting his grip on the small, bloodied hunting knife. His movements were rough, and his shoulders were tense. “The sun’s fading,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward the darkening horizon. “We should set up the camp before it’s too late.”
Diel Thorg, with his large frame hunched over their supplies, let out a low grunt. “Not a fan of the dark, are you?”
Corwin gave him a confused look. “I’m not afraid of the dark,” he corrected. “I’m just wary of what it brings.”
Neyla, crouched nearby, finished tightening the straps on her pack before rising to her feet. Her eyes scanned the treetops, where the last rays of daylight filtered through tangled branches.
“Corwin’s got a point,” she said, brushing her hands against her thighs. “We don’t know what roams these woods at night, and I’d rather not find out.”
Owen adjusted the bow slung across his back, his usual easygoing demeanor edged with caution. “Then let’s not waste time,” he said.
“We camp near the rock formations just ahead. Good cover, enough space to keep watch, and not too close to the river where something bigger might be lurking.” Silvena finally strapped back her whip at her belt. She met each of their gazes with a smug.
“Let's move. Now.” she ordered calmly. “And stay sharp.”
With their supplies secured, they left behind the remnants of their hunt and melted into the approaching twilight.
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[Julian’s POV]
[Grid Location: H4 — Julian Rozenberg]
Julian Rozenberg stood silently, around him, the land was a blackened sprawl of ruin, the soil cracked and steaming where his fire had burned. Brittle silhouettes collapsed at the faintest stir of wind. The last of the dark flame curled lazily, dimming against the horizon’s dying light.
Above, the sky bore the unsettling hue unique to this cursed island—an eternal twilight smeared with ink-black clouds, their edges tinged in an unnatural orange, as though the horizon itself bled slowly into the void.
The acrid scent of burnt flesh curled through the heat-haze, a stench that might have sickened lesser men. But Julian neither flinched nor frowned. His gaze was steady, detached—an executioner already past the moment of killing.
Beneath the smoldering ash, faint glimmers of green and blue pulsed weakly; the voidshards, still resonating with the mana of the Lesser’s creatures he had just erased.
He crouched without hurry. Fingers brushed aside brittle bones and melted chitin, plucking the shards from their shallow graves. Cold against his skin, they throbbed faintly, as if protesting him.
“One… Two… Three…” By the time he reached six, his tone carried the faintest curl of amusement. He straightened, before brushing a fleck of soot from his sleeve.
His gaze drifted toward the treeline where the others lingered, watching him in silence.
“They're so weak,” Julian said at last.
He turned, dark eyes glinting faintly in the half-light, the last flicker of his flame dying at his back. “Come,” he added, not looking to see if they followed. “Let’s not waste daylight on prey unworthy of the hunt.”
“Done,” Dorian announced, tossing a small, cloth-wrapped bundle onto a flat rock. “Skimmed what we could from a few beasts—including a couple of Crestbeak Fowl. Should last us through tomorrow.”
Another set of footsteps broke the quiet. Marwen emerged from the shadows, his expression flat, the fire’s dying glow painting his features in red and gold.
“We spotted a group,” he said. “To the north, just at the end of a small river. A team is camped there.”
Julian’s gaze shifted toward the north, to where the island’s strange sky bled its dying light into the horizon. A faint hum rose as he slipped the last voidshard into the metal bracelet on his wrist. The artifact drank the shards greedily.
“Good,” Julian murmured with a slow, wicked grin.
“At dawn,” he said, eyes narrowing on the distant horizon.
“We take everything they have…”