Deep within the inky shadows of a moonlit night, the hunters of Mt. Logan gathered around a roaring bonfire. The acrid scent of burning wood filled the air as the young men and women, clad in vests, moved with a fervor that matched the crackling flames. They had gathered to train under the watchful eye of Iris, their leader, on this frigid night.

Iris, a formidable figure, stood on a raised platform, her voice carrying over the sounds of combat with relentless orders. Her words were as sharp as the weapons her companions wielded, and she spared no one her piercing commands. In the dance of firelight and shadows, her presence was unyielding, and the hunters followed her lead.

Not far from the combatants, a smaller group honed their skills with a variety of weapons. Crossbows, silver daggers, axes, shotguns—all gleamed with deadly potential under the dim moonlight. The training area, surrounded by a worn but sturdy wall, allowed the trainers to observe every move with an eagle eye. The night air bore witness to the sweat and determination that filled every strike, parry, and shot.

Iris's commands cut through the silence, each order a promise of excellence. Her voice held a note of urgency, for they were hunters, wielders of extraordinary abilities, destined to stand as the protectors of the human world against the supernatural forces that lurked in the shadows. But they were to use these abilities judiciously, only when there was no other option.

"With that pace, you couldn't even hit my late grandmother!" Iris shouted, her voice carried by the wind. She pointed toward a young hunter named Raymond. "You must be mindful of your movements. You're hunters, I understand that; you possess abilities, I acknowledge that. However, you must learn to use them judiciously, only when there's no other option. Raymond, remember to use your legs for stability after a kick, and pick up the pace!"

Iris's words hung in the air, and her pupils took her words to heart. They knew that these grueling training sessions were essential, for they were the last line of defense against the supernatural forces that threatened the world.

As the night wore on, Iris's orders became increasingly specific and demanding. She walked among the trainees, offering impromptu assistance, never giving them a moment's rest. Their breaths mingled with the cold air as they practiced their moves repeatedly.

Iris's leadership was unwavering, but the young hunters did not falter. They were driven by a deep sense of duty and a shared purpose that bound them together.

After a while, Iris mounted her black sports motorcycle, its engine roaring to life. With a final piercing look, she sped away into the darkness, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. Her absence did nothing to quell the training, as the hunters pressed on, their determination unwavering.

Noel Richardson, second in command after Iris, took the reins in her absence. His role was not only to ensure the hunters' training but also to oversee the distribution of an essential antidote that had recently arrived. The antidote was a crucial lifeline, a defense against the supernatural threats they faced in their line of duty. A single scratch or bite from one of these creatures could lead to a fate worse than death.

Noel addressed the trainers, his voice laced with urgency. "Ensure everyone on the field today receives the antidote that arrived. We can't afford anyone falling ill or worse during battles." His gaze swept over the group, his unspoken words a reminder of the risks they faced daily. "Training resumes tomorrow at dusk. See to it they eat early and get adequate rest. You know what I mean by 'adequate sleep.'"

The trainers nodded in understanding. They knew that their work was as vital as that of the combatants on the field. Without the proper training and preparation, the hunters would be vulnerable to the supernatural forces that sought to harm them.

Members of the combat group began to pack their gear, their breath forming misty plumes in the cold night air. They knew that each training session brought them closer to the day when they would confront their most formidable foes.

Noel turned his attention to the group training with weapons, standing on a platform. He observed their movements with a discerning eye, knowing that their skills would be put to the test in the battles that lay ahead.

"Listen up, everyone," Noel called out, his voice carrying a mixture of anger, frustration, and determination. "I need you to continue practicing for one more hour."

Groans filled the air as the tired trainees expressed their fatigue, but Noel's resolve was unwavering. "I understand," he continued, "but remember, we're going after our official leaders, Iris's parents. And some of you have lost loved ones to this menace."

The mention of lost loved ones hung heavy in the night air, a reminder of the personal stakes they all had in this battle. Noel's words were a rallying cry, a call to arms.

"We'll hunt them until not a trace remains in history," Noel declared, his voice resonating with unwavering determination. "We'll hunt them until our blades are drenched in their blood, until their cries echo from every corner of the world. We'll hunt them to their last breath!"

The trainees felt the weight of Noel's words, and their groans were replaced by resolute nods. The training session resumed with a renewed sense of purpose, as each hunter understood the importance of honing their skills to a razor's edge.

Noel gathered the trainers aside, their faces marked by exhaustion but determination. "Ensure the marksmen practice with the silver-tipped arrows that arrived last night," he instructed, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "Order sufficient weapons for the next two months. Ensure everyone has mastered their skills. We're counting on you."

The trainers acknowledged the orders, knowing that their role was as crucial as that of the combatants. Without their expertise, the hunters would be ill-equipped to face the supernatural threats that loomed on the horizon.

"Archers," Noel continued, "practice in the forest with the horses. We need to increase our sniper count to thirty. Alaska's teams join us in two weeks, and we must prove ourselves as the elite unit."

The archers nodded, ready to take on the challenge of increasing their skills. They understood that their role as snipers was essential in targeting their supernatural foes from a distance.

Noel turned away from the trainers, his thoughts consumed by the impending battles. He knew that the days ahead would test their mettle like never before. But he was determined to lead his fellow hunters to victory.

Noel made his way to the weapons master's tent, a spacious area illuminated by a generator humming outside. The tent was a treasure trove of deadly armaments, each one carefully crafted for the battles that lay ahead.

Inside the tent, Noel found Hugh, the weapons master, examining a gleaming silver blade under the bright lights. Hugh was a large Caucasian man with long, ponytailed hair, his hands deftly testing the blade's sharpness.

"Hugh, what have you discovered?" Noel inquired, his voice tinged with anticipation.

Hugh turned to face Noel, his expression serious. "I've found a way to coat the blades with deadly wolfsbane for the werewolves," he explained. "

However, we face a challenge. Darrell has a skilled witch developing a wolfsbane cure that will weaken our weapons temporarily."

Noel absorbed this information, knowing that their battle against the werewolves would require strategic planning. The revelation of a potential cure added a layer of complexity to their already perilous mission.

"We'll strike when they're vulnerable," Noel declared, his mind already formulating a plan. "We'll aim to incapacitate as many as possible with our blades, taking advantage of their weakness. Hugh, if possible, create a bomb using wolfsbane; it could be a potent weapon."

Hugh nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. The development of a wolfsbane bomb could provide them with a significant advantage in their battles.

"As for vampires," Noel continued, his thoughts moving from one threat to another, "besides wooden stakes, what do you have in mind?"

"I'm working on crafting bullets infused with vervain, lethal to vampires," Hugh responded, showcasing bullets in a glass container on a shelf. "They won't know what hit them."

Noel pondered this, recognizing the importance of having a diverse arsenal to combat the different supernatural threats they faced. The weapons master's expertise was a valuable asset, and Noel knew they needed every advantage they could get.

Satisfied with the progress in the weapons tent, Noel rushed out of the camp on his motorcycle, the same black sports motorcycle that Iris rode. The engine roared to life, echoing through the night as he sped in the direction Iris had taken earlier.

His motorcycle, adorned with two red stripes on each side, cut through the darkness as Noel ventured into the unknown. The night held its secrets, and Noel was determined to uncover them. The fate of the hunters rested on their shoulders, and with every twist of the throttle, he embraced the challenges that awaited him.

The night on Mt. Logan continued, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of determination. The hunters, united in purpose, pressed forward into the darkness. As the moon cast its glow upon the slopes, the fantasy world of hunters and mythical creatures unfolded, revealing a tapestry of secrets, alliances, and battles yet to be fought.

This was their world, a realm where shadows danced with the echoes of ancient prophecies, and the hunters stood as the last line of defense against the supernatural forces that sought to tip the delicate balance between realms. The night unfurled, teeming with shadows and secrets, as the fantasy novel of hunters and mythical creatures came to life on the cold slopes of Mt. Logan.