As Oliver stepped into the small tavern, laden with his bountiful catch, an awed hush fell over the patrons.

Gavin, the tavern keeper, was the first to react, a broad smile spreading across his face.

"Well, Oliver, quite the haul you've got there!"

"This is your catch for today? I've seen seasoned hunters fail to match your skill!"

A townsman approached, playfully pinching the thigh of a doe, unable to hide his admiration.

"Did you catch all of this by yourself?"

The disbelief was palpable; after all, Oliver had once been a mere farmer, nearly starving, and everyone in town knew it. When he declared his intention to become a hunter, no one believed in him.

They thought he would soon become a feast for the wolves. Yet here he was, returning with such an impressive trove!

"Look at that—a bearded ram! Not an easy catch; it runs like the wind. You've got some talent, lad!"

A hunter stepped forward, astonished. "It seems we have another skilled hunter in town!"

"Impressive, truly. A mere orphan rising to such heights, unlike my own son, who at seventeen is still a lazy good-for-nothing."

Admiration and envy mingled in the air as Oliver became the center of attention, all eyes fixated on him, the tavern buzzing with conversation.

Gavin counted the bounty with a serious expression.

"I'll take all of this off your hands. How does 17 silver coins plus 50 copper sound?"

His tavern was known for offering generous prices for game, and hunters often preferred selling their spoils to him.

Soon, a servant appeared, presenting Oliver with a pouch of coins. Oliver opened it and counted, the glint of silver coins drawing another round of awed murmurs from the crowd.

Most of the excitement came from farmers and fellow hunters; the townsfolk remained more composed.

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Hunters occasionally struck it rich, but misfortune could leave them penniless for months, which was a stark reality as winter approached.

Would they still find game then?

The life of a hunter was fraught with danger; perhaps tomorrow, this very boy might meet his end at the jaws of a beast. In contrast, the townspeople enjoyed stable, respectable jobs, living in far more comfort.

Seventeen silver coins!

Added to the 10 he already possessed, Oliver now held 27 coins in total.

He was that much closer to the 120 needed to enter Oakridge Academy. If he could bring in more than 15 silver coins each day, he’d achieve his goal in no time.

Yet, he knew this sudden fortune might attract too much attention. Caution was essential; he couldn't let the secret of his incredible magical core slip out. Today’s stroke of luck would simply be a testament to his good fortune.

"Speaking of which, tax season is just around the corner, and I have many expenses," he mused. Hunters had to pay taxes, and theirs were often higher than those of farmers and townsfolk.

Failure to pay could result in conscription or forced labor on the frontier to build defensive walls.

With his future plans in mind, Oliver purchased a variety of treats: a few clean loaves of bread, a bottle of sweet wine, and a platter of fruit.

He refrained from buying meat; the roasted chicken and burgers smelled delicious but were far too pricey.

With a large tiger as a pet, he could easily procure his own meat in the forest, where he could cook for himself. One day, he hoped to eat whatever he desired, but for now, he was still too poor and too weak.

"Catching that little kitten secured my hunting income, but to truly enhance my strength or earn significant coin, I need to seek out more magical plants or even capture a magical creature..." he pondered.

The woods beyond his village were known to harbor magical beings.

Rumor had it that someone had once caught a slime and sold it for an astounding 100 silver coins.

Despite being one of the lowest-tier magical creatures, slimes had numerous uses; some mages even consumed them to boost their mana. Oliver speculated that capturing one would surely yield a bounty of life essence.

Lost in thought, Oliver made his way back to the village. The night was deep, the moon hanging high, casting a cool glow over the tranquil, beautiful village.

However, just as he was about to push open the door to his home, he heard soft, muffled sobs from next door.

"Is that little Isabella?"

He had made some money and intended to give her a silver coin as a gift. But the Alstans had been away for days.

Asking around, he learned they had traveled far to attend a funeral—Isabella’s aunt had passed away. His intended gift still remained undelivered.

Now they were finally back, but Isabella was crying. Had her father struck her again?

Fists clenched, Oliver felt anger boil within him. Giles was intolerable; drunk and violent, he had no right to treat such a kind girl so poorly.

“Little Isabella!”

he called softly from his garden wall.

His voice coaxed silence from her tears. Then, a hesitant voice emerged from the shadows, “Oliver, what is it? Are you still hungry? I can—”

“No, I have food. You wouldn’t believe it, but I’m now—”

Before he could finish, an enraged shout pierced the stillness of the night.

“Bella, what are you doing? Don’t you dare associate with that useless rascal next door, or I’ll break your legs!”

Oliver heard the man’s voice rise as he stormed into the yard.

Isabella quickly assured him she wouldn’t do it again, rushing back inside at her father’s command.

With a sigh, Oliver remained by the wall, wishing he could confront that drunken scoundrel. But with the silence that fell over the Alstans' home, he hesitated, deciding instead to head inside and sleep.

Tomorrow, when Giles was gone, he’d find a way to deliver his gift to little Isabella.