High up in the mountain, Aron and his special forces teams were pushing through the forest in full search mode.

The plan had been straightforward, three teams, triangle formation, each covering a section of the dense, wooded terrain. They were hunting for a single individual. A man known only by rumor.

Hercules.

The name alone was enough to make half the team uneasy.

The search had been going steady, until one of the squads radioed in.

They'd found something. A cabin. Hidden in the forest.

But minutes later, a scream broke through the channel.

Then… silence.

No static. No follow-up.

Just dead air.

Knowing the exact coordinates of that team, Aron had immediately rerouted, alerting the remaining squad as they raced through the woods at full speed.

"I thought you said we were after a person!" one of the squad captains snapped, panting as they dodged trees and vaulted over roots.

"We are," Aron replied flatly, not even winded. "But if they were ordinary, do you think I would've hired people like you?"

The captain gritted his teeth but said nothing.

And he wasn't the only one starting to worry. The squad members were remembering the rumors. The witness reports. The shredded thermal signatures. The bear.

The massive, dead bear.

That wasn't something you forgot.

And now, they were starting to believe it all might actually be true.

As they pressed deeper, the captain glanced sideways at Aron, really looked at him.

That snob of a man…

There was something strange about him.

He's not just keeping up. He's leading. And through this terrain?

The captain's legs were already starting to burn, and Aron hadn't even broken a sweat.

We've trained for this stuff. We've run drills in every climate, every altitude. We're supposed to be the elite. But right now… we're struggling to keep up with him.

The realization hit harder than he expected.

They finally reached the area.

It didn't take long to find the first body.

One of the mercenary men was slumped against the back of a thick tree trunk, his body limp, neck hanging forward at a crooked angle.

The bark behind him was cracked, splintered inward as if something had slammed into it with incredible force.

"He's alive," the captain said, crouching and checking the man's pulse. "But barely. He's not waking up anytime soon."

Aron crouched beside him, eyes scanning the damage.

"Was he thrown into the tree?" one of the squad members asked, stepping carefully around the scene. "But… look at the trunk. Part of it's actually broken."

"How strong would someone have to be to do that to a tree?"

No one answered. Because they were all starting to realize the same thing.

If Hercules was here, then they weren't chasing a man. They were chasing a force of nature.

The group had stopped running.

They moved more cautiously now, every step deliberate, every sound around them amplified. They were close. They could feel it, somewhere up ahead, the cabin was waiting.

That's when they found another body.

This one was lying face-up on the forest floor, groaning weakly. Both legs were crushed, completely shattered at the bone.

"Who did this to you?" the captain asked, dropping to his knees beside the wounded man.

The man's eyes fluttered, pain etched across every inch of his face. "A man… he got us all," he gasped. "None of it worked. The weapons, the gear… nothing worked on him. He's not human… he's a monster, "

He passed out mid-sentence, likely from the pain.

The captain clenched his jaw, but Aron knelt beside the man, calmly examining the injury.

"Did you notice the fracture?" Aron said, almost too calmly. "Look at where the bone is crushed, it's the shin. And only the shin."

"What about it?" the captain snapped, still tense.

"It's been broken in the cleanest possible way. The damage is precise. Controlled. This wasn't done to kill him, it was done to stop him. Disable him. As gently as possible."

The captain's face twisted in disbelief. "You're telling me that", he pointed at the mangled legs, "is gentle? Have you lost your mind?"

But Aron was already walking forward again.

One of the soldiers stayed behind to administer emergency aid. He'd catch up later. The rest of the squad moved on, stepping over roots and brushing through the thick underbrush with a new level of unease.

And then they found more.

One after another, mercenaries were discovered throughout the forest, some unconscious, others groaning. Bruised. Battered. But alive.

Every single one of them. The pattern was impossible to ignore. No one had been killed.

If they'd been left in their condition for a few more hours, maybe that would've changed. But for now… every injured man was breathing.

And that made Aron think even harder.

This wasn't a rampage. This was restraint.

Whoever they were dealing with had chosen not to kill anyone.

That level of control… Aron narrowed his eyes as the group pressed on.

To fight this many trained mercs and take them all down without a single death… Max, I know you want this person to be your teacher. But I'm starting to wonder if I can even get close enough to convince him.

Then, shouting.

Voices, not far off.

"GET HIM! GET HIM!" someone screamed in the distance.

They heard the noise instantly, and they knew what it meant.

Combat.

The other squad had engaged.

Without a word, Aron and his team rushed forward, weaving through the last stretch of forest until the trees thinned. The canopy opened, and just ahead, they saw it.

A cabin. Large, rugged, built from thick logs and stone, clearly meant to survive the wild. And in front of it, chaos.

Aron stepped out into the clearing just in time to see eight of the squad members surrounding a single man. Not just any man.

He had to be close to seven feet tall, towering over the others. The entire upper half of his body was bare, revealing a physique sculpted by nature and hardened by something more brutal than any gym could offer. His skin was dark and tanned, sun-worn and scarred, stretched over broad shoulders and a massive chest.

A wild, scruffy beard covered his face, grey streaking through it like weathered steel. And his hair, long, unkempt, and tangled, cascaded down his back, reaching the base of his spine.

It looked like it had been growing for years.

His eyes were the most unsettling part, narrow, sharp, almost square in shape. Focused. Not angry. Not frantic. Just precise. Deadly precise.

The squad had formed a circular perimeter around him. They'd already pulled their weapons, tazers, and had begun firing.

Electric prongs shot out, slamming into the man's torso.

Some didn't even pierce the skin. Others dug in, delivering maximum voltage.

But he didn't flinch. Not even a twitch.

Then, calmly, the man reached down, grabbed one of the wires connected to his chest, and yanked.

The entire tazer gun was ripped from the squad member's hands. And before anyone could react, the man hurled it, straight into the soldier's face.

CRACK.

The weapon shattered on impact.

"The tazers aren't working," the captain said, standing beside Aron, voice low and grim. "That means we'll have to take him down the old-fashioned way."

One of the soldiers took the cue and rushed in, yelling as he charged.

He didn't last a second.

The man swung one arm across his chest, just one arm, and it hit the soldier like a truck. The force lifted the man completely off the ground and launched him backward into the forest, where he vanished into the shadows between the trees.

The captain and the rest of the squad, still standing behind the line, froze in place, gulps audible, sweat visible.

One man had been launched like a ragdoll with a single swing.

"Do you have a gun?" Aron asked, holding out his hand without turning his gaze.

The captain blinked. "We've got sidearms that fire high-velocity rubber rounds. No lethal weapons. We're not authorized to use anything deadlier for a task like this."

"That'll be enough," Aron said calmly.

Something about the way he spoke, the stillness, the confidence, made the captain hesitate. Against his better judgment, he reached to his side, pulled his weapon, and handed it over.

"What are you planning to do?" he asked, voice dropping. "The other squad's been unloading rubber rounds. They just bounce off him. This mission… we can't win this."

Aron checked the gun, inspected the chamber, tested the weight.

"I'm doing my duty," he replied.

He pulled back the slide and clicked it into place, eyes focused.

"My task, as the Silver Ranger."