The air above the crystal-clear lake shimmered with heat, though the water itself was cool, dark, and inviting. Its surface reflected the red-tinged sky, a natural beauty marred only by the ominous presence of the crimson fish that lurked beneath. Their massive forms—ten meters long, sleek, and deadly—moved just under the surface. Occasionally, one would break the water, revealing sharp, serrated fins and a brief flash of crimson scales that shimmered like molten metal.
I stared at the lake, my jaw slack. "You want me to catch *how many*?"
Pyre leaned against a boulder, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "One hundred," he said casually, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.
"One hundred of those monsters? Without tearing their flesh? That's insane!"
Pyre shrugged. "It's a delicate task. You can't brute force your way through everything, Ash. Precision and control are just as important as strength. Besides…" He tilted his head, watching one of the fish leap into the air before crashing back into the lake with a deafening splash. "…they're faster than they look. This should be fun to watch."
I glared at him, clenching my fists. Fun for him, maybe. For me, it sounded like hell.
The wolf padded to my side, its head tilting as it peered into the water. It growled softly, clearly sharing my disdain for the task ahead.
"How exactly am I supposed to catch them?" I asked, gesturing at the lake. "Do I just dive in and hope for the best?"
Pyre smirked. "Oh no. If you dive in, they'll tear you apart before you even touch one. Crimson fish don't take kindly to intruders." He reached into a bag slung over his shoulder and tossed me a coil of rope. "Use this."
I caught the rope, examining it. It was strong but lightweight, the fibers shimmering faintly with a silvery sheen. "This is supposed to help me catch a ten-meter fish?"
"Use your brain, Ash," Pyre said, rolling his eyes. "You're not wrestling them out of the water. You're luring them, binding them, and pulling them out gently. Think of it as a test of patience and finesse."
Patience and finesse. Two things I'd never been particularly good at.
I stood at the edge of the lake, the rope coiled in my hands, my wolf sitting beside me, watching curiously. I scanned the water, spotting the faint outline of a crimson fish swimming near the surface.
"Alright," I muttered. "Let's see how this goes."
I swung the rope, letting it fly over the water, aiming for the fish's tail. The moment the rope hit the water, the fish vanished in a blur of movement.
"Too slow," Pyre called from behind me, laughing. "Try again."
I grit my teeth, reeling the rope back in. This wasn't going to be easy.
Hours passed. The sun rose higher, its heat beating down on me as I tried again and again to catch the elusive fish. Each attempt ended in failure.
The fish were too fast, darting away the moment the rope touched the water. I tried different angles, different speeds, even wading into the shallows, but nothing worked.
At one point, I managed to loop the rope around a fish's tail, only for it to thrash violently, snapping the rope clean in two before disappearing into the depths.
"Better," Pyre said, though his smirk told me he was still thoroughly entertained by my struggles.
I shot him a glare, wiping the sweat from my brow. My muscles ached, my patience was wearing thin, but I wasn't going to give up.
The wolf nudged me, its ears twitching as it stared at the water. I followed its gaze, noticing a small group of crimson fish circling near the shore. They moved in perfect synchronization, their bodies gliding through the water with an almost hypnotic grace.
I crouched down, watching them carefully. They weren't just fast—they were intelligent. They moved together, reacting to each other's movements, anticipating danger before it even reached them.
"You're not going to outmuscle them," Pyre said, his tone softer now. "You need to think like them. Watch. Learn. Feel."
Feel. That word echoed in my mind as I turned my attention back to the water.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I let the sounds of the forest fade away, focusing solely on the ripples in the water, the faint movements beneath the surface. I pictured the fish in my mind, their patterns, their rhythms.
When I opened my eyes, I felt… different. Calmer. More focused.
I swung the rope again, this time letting it glide across the water with a gentler touch. The fish didn't scatter. They hesitated, watching.
I moved slowly, guiding the rope toward one of them, matching its movements. When I looped the rope around its tail, it thrashed, but not violently. It was as if the fish sensed my intent.
With a careful pull, I brought it to the shore, its massive body glistening in the sunlight.
"One," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.
The days that followed were grueling but rewarding.
Each morning, I woke before sunrise, standing at the edge of the lake with the rope in hand. The wolf stayed by my side, occasionally growling at the fish but mostly watching with quiet curiosity.
With each passing day, I grew more attuned to the fish's movements, learning to anticipate their reactions and adjust my approach.
By the end of the first week, I had caught twenty. By the end of the second week, I had reached ninety-nine.
The last fish was the largest of them all.
It surfaced near the center of the lake, its crimson scales shimmering like molten lava. Its eyes glowed faintly, a challenge in their depths.
I steadied my breath, gripping the rope tightly.
"Take your time," Pyre said, his voice unusually serious. "This one won't make it easy."
I nodded, stepping into the water. The fish didn't move, its gaze locked on mine.
I swung the rope, letting it glide across the surface. The fish darted to the side, and I followed, keeping my movements smooth and deliberate.
For what felt like an eternity, we danced—me with the rope, the fish with its speed and cunning. But finally, I saw my chance.
With a swift, precise motion, I looped the rope around its tail and pulled.
The fish thrashed violently, dragging me into the water, but I held on, my muscles burning with the effort.
"Don't let go!" Pyre shouted.
I gritted my teeth, using every ounce of strength I had to pull the fish toward the shore. It flailed and thrashed, but I didn't give up.
With one final heave, I brought it onto the shore, collapsing beside it in exhaustion.
"One hundred," I gasped, a triumphant smile on my face.
Pyre chuckled, clapping me on the back. "Not bad, Ash. Not bad at all."
As the sun set over the lake, I sat beside the wolf, watching the water ripple in the fading light. My body ached, my hands were raw, but I felt… accomplished.
This was more than just a challenge. It was a lesson—a test of patience, focus, and determination.
And as I stared at the shimmering lake, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.
I was getting stronger.