The origins.

Kingdom of Morteluna, outskirts of the capital Sellafun, road to the village of Vilcormor. ... .. . The dying light of the sunset beat down on the cloaked man's face. Road mud clung to his boots, yet he didn’t stop. Just a little longer, and his mission would finally be complete. With each step, he drew closer to the village ahead. ??? "Perfect," the man’s voice was loud, dripping with disdain. "The last peasant shithole on the map… Now I’m certain they’re here. Stupid, really, not checking the closer settlements first. Fools, thinking they’d flee to the ass-end of nowhere." He glared at the village palisade looming on the horizon with utter contempt. "I’ll make you suffer… Just because they ordered me to bring you back alive doesn’t mean I can’t make you scream. And scream you will." His fists clenched violently, his single eye burning with anticipation. "I’ll make you choke on the same shit the Lord drowned me in because of you! Fifteen fucking years of my service! Wasted! Scouring every rotten corner of Morteluna!" Rage surged through him at the memories. He drew one of his daggers and hurled it with all his might at a dead tree. The force was enough to drive the blade deep into the wood and split the trunk wide open. A deafening crack echoed through the desolate silence, shattering the stillness. Malicious crows scattered in a chaotic flurry of panicked wings. ??? "FUCK!" His roar ripped through the air. "Gotta stop wrecking shit when I lose it. For fuck’s sake, get a grip! You’re a Hunter! A goddamn professional who served the Black Talon since you was a kid!" This time, his fist slammed into a large waystone boulder beside the road. His volatile temper betrayed him again – the boulder split clean in half. His knuckles were raw, bleeding, and coated in stone dust. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as the fury momentarily subsided. "Damn them all to hell… When did I become this fucking unhinged?" His question hung in the suffocating emptiness as his mind plunged into the distant past. Back to when he was the Baron’s right hand. His precision weapon. The image of his former self was painfully clear: a calm young man, renowned within the clan for his cunning, calculation, and dog-like loyalty. ??? "Enough!" The sharp word was followed by a hard slap to his own face, jolting him back. "Enough memories. That’s the past. Get a fucking grip." He muttered to himself, glancing towards Sellafun, hidden beyond the horizon. "Unlike the other shitholes, this one’s too close to the capital. Can’t paint the walls red like last time. Too much heat for the Lord… Maybe just kill the biggest fucker I see? Scare the piss out of the rest? ...No." He spat the word out like poison. "If I want back into the Clan, it’s time to learn some fucking self-control. They’re here. Nowhere left to run." The Hunter wrenched his dagger from the splintered wood and slammed it back into its sheath with a dull, final *click*. Step. Another step. And another. His pace quickened. The nightmare descended upon Vilcormor. Come morning, the village would never be the same. Broken beyond repair by his arrival.