Tyler stared at Grone, intently listening as he described this strange new world. Finally, Grone paused, saying, "Okay, where do I even begin? I suppose we should start with how the world became like this. At first, it wasn't like this at all. There weren't any Hunters, levels, or the monsters you see now. It all began about 200 years ago when a demon god appeared and started creating creatures to rule the world and torment humanity. The goddess, creator of humankind, didn't take kindly to this. A conflict ensued, and both the demon god and the goddess chose champions. The goddess chose a hero, and the demon god chose his own—a being known as the Demon King. When the Demon King and the human hero clashed, the Demon King was defeated."

"But that wasn't the end of it," Grone continued, his voice low. "The demon god and the goddess had made a deal: whichever champion lost would relinquish their claim to the world. If the hero won, the goddess would rule; if the Demon King won, the demon god would rule. But the demon god broke the agreement. He went on a rampage, appearing on Earth and slaughtering millions. The goddess then sent the hero and his party to confront him. The hero was granted immense power to fight the raging god. Some old tales claim he was the strongest being the goddess had ever created, even stronger than the goddess herself. But that's all hearsay; I only heard it from old stories... It was two hundred years ago, so who really knows…"

"So what happened next?" Tyler asked.

"The hero won," Grone replied. "That's what they say, anyway. But even though the hero won, something else happened. The demon god's aura spread across the planet, and from that aura, creatures emerged—out of nowhere. These creatures were unlike anything humans had ever seen, incredibly dangerous. Humans couldn't handle them. The hero, having finished his task, vanished. They say he disappeared after defeating the demon god. The goddess, however, stepped in to help the humans she'd created. She gave humanity magic, a way to control and measure it. That's how we were able to fight back, that's where the Hunters came from."

"You see," Grone explained, "from the day the goddess gave humans magic, every child is born with mana. We can measure that mana, and we've ranked it—that's why everyone in this world has a level and skills. If it weren't for the demon god, none of this would exist, but it's necessary for humanity's survival. We've been fighting back against these monsters ever since, but they never seem to end. Every night, it feels like new ones appear—the same species, over and over. However, we've managed to clear some areas. You see those barren places where there are no monsters? Hunters, and especially Hunter Majes, cleared those areas. Some hunter Majes possess a powerful skill called Purification Magic."

That magic can be used to cleanse an entire area of monsters, preventing them from ever reappearing," Grone explained. "We call it Holy Magic, and those who wield it are considered very special—some are even called 'Chosen Ones,' though I'm not sure why. But the truly special ones are the descendants of the hero," Grone added.

"Descendants?" Tyler asked.

"Yes," Grone confirmed. "Turns out the hero had many wives... or concubines, if you prefer. And his descendants have been born with immense power ever since. Some are even born as C-ranks—can you believe it?" Grone said calmly.

"C-ranks?" Tyler asked, surprised. "From what you said earlier, babies are born as G-ranks," he added.

"That's right," Grone confirmed. "Which is why people were so surprised to learn you're a G-rank. It's practically impossible for a grown man to be a G-rank. Remember what I said about people automatically leveling up until they reach eighteen? Hypothetically, you should be around E-rank or higher by now. But some people level up more than others, and training from a young age can help. However, after eighteen, leveling up through training alone becomes much harder, unless you undertake extremely rigorous training."

"You also level up by killing monsters," Grone continued. "Being a Hunter is dangerous; you could be killed at any time on a quest. Speaking of quests, humans have found ways to utilize these creatures. Some have valuable scales, hides, and other materials. Some parts can even be used to create magical items. We also use their meat, and sell it. But the most uncommon use is in weapon-making. It's difficult, but these monster materials make weapons significantly stronger. However, you need a skilled blacksmith or craftsman to create armor and weapons using these materials."

Oh, and you should know that these creatures aren't the only things you need to be aware of," Grone said. "There are kingdoms in the east that used to worship the demon god and the Demon King. That's how the Demon King raised such a large army, capable of killing so many humans. Those kingdoms are in the east, though. You're in the south, so there's no immediate need to worry."

Tyler's eyes widened. He felt a prickle of unease despite Grone's attempt at reassurance. The monsters weren't the only threat; there were also those who had actively served the demon god—and who knew what other dangers lurked, perhaps even among seemingly ordinary people: bandits, criminals, or worse. He pushed the unsettling thought aside and focused on what Grone would say next.

"So, now that I've told you how it all began and how things are now, what else do you need to know? I can't tell you everything about this world right now—I don't think you could handle it, and I'm exhausted and want to sleep," Grone said, yawning slightly.

Tyler reached into his pocket, pulling out the two copper coins Grone had given him. "I want to know a bit about the money. How does it work here?"

A small smile appeared on Grone's weary face. "Ah, of course," he said.

"Okay, so here's how it works," Grone began. "The copper coins are the lowest denomination—like the ones I gave you. Then there are silver coins, and finally, gold coins. It's a simple system: ten copper coins make one silver coin, and ten silver coins make one gold coin."

He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye. "For example, if an apple costs one copper coin—and it does—how many apples could you buy with one gold coin? Take a guess."

"One hundred?" Tyler ventured.

"Exactly," Grone confirmed, a hint of amusement in his voice. Tyler was surprised; gold coins were clearly valuable. "Gold is rare, mostly held by wealthy nobles. And you might have noticed I paid at the restaurant with gold. I've been eating there for a while and haven't paid yet. I've built up a bit of a tab, and the owner trusts me."

"I hope that explains it," Grone said, looking tired.

"Yeah, I guess," Tyler replied, his voice uncertain.

Grone frowned, then stood. "Alright, kid, time for me to sleep. I brought some blankets; they're over in the corner," he said, pointing.

Tyler looked and saw a pile of blankets. It wasn't cold, but he went over, made a small bed, and covered himself with a blanket. "Goodnight," he mumbled. There was no reply. He looked over at Grone, who was already fast asleep. *That was quick,* he thought, staring at the ceiling. He thought about this strange new world, his heart beating a little faster, but the fear was lessened. He felt more prepared, more informed.

He then began to think about tomorrow, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. This was only his second day in this strange new world, and the disorientation was a physical weight. A wave of homesickness washed over him, sharp and sudden. He pictured his family, the familiar faces blurring into a hazy memory. His mother, his brothers—would they even notice he was gone? The thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. He’d never been important to them, never truly mattered. He was just… there. He hadn't brought anything to the table, hadn't contributed anything meaningful to their lives. The familiar bitterness of this truth settled over him, a heavy cloak of despair. This was just another reason he felt so pathetic. He thought of his life before, a life of quiet nothingness— The weight of it all pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating, until finally, exhaustion claimed him, and he fell into a troubled sleep.

Through the slightly warm night, Tyler twisted and turned, even in his sleep. The stars slowly faded as the sun began its ascent, signaling the end of night. Tyler's eyes fluttered open to the sound of boots and the clink of metal. Grone was moving around, clearly preparing for something. Tyler, still groggy from sleep, couldn't quite make out what was happening. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, groaned, and sat up. "Good morning," he mumbled to Grone.

"Oh, you're up. That's good. I told you we'd be heading to town this morning. I'm going to see my family there," Grone said, sheathing his sword.

"Right," Tyler thought, a wave of guilt washing over him. "He has a family. How could I forget? This is happening again, isn't it? I'm burdening someone. I can barely manage living alone, and now I'm going to town with him to see his family." The memory of Grone's kindness—the food, the money—brought back a flood of memories. He thought of those times back in the apartment with Mike, struggling to pay rent, jobless and desperate, relying on Mike to cover the shortfall more often than not. Even when he did manage to find a low-end job, the meager wages barely covered his share of the rent, let alone the debt he'd accumulated from relying on Mike's generosity. Those times when he'd barely scraped by, feeling the crushing weight of his own inadequacy.

"Grone," Tyler said, his voice firm and resolved. "I don't want to be a burden. I want to pay you back. I don't understand why you're helping me, a stranger, but I can't keep accepting your kindness."

"You've been helping me since I got here. I really want to pay you back," Tyler said, his voice sincere. "But I don't know how."

"I know," Grone said, his tone softening slightly. "This is the last thing I'm doing for you. I'm going with you to town so you can try to find a job. After all, as you said, I can't keep supporting you. I have a family to care for. You'll need a stable income if you want to return to your world eventually, am I right?"

A stable income. Tyler felt a fresh wave of anxiety. Finding a job was one of his biggest weaknesses. He wasn't good at many things, but this was among the worst. He lacked what most people had: luck.

"Come on, let's get moving," Grone said, already heading for the door.

"Come on, let's get moving," Grone said, already heading for the door.

Tyler quickly pulled on his dirty shoes and stepped outside, surprised to see many hunters already bustling about, even though it was still early. He followed Grone to where Grone circled a tent before stopping behind it. There, Tyler saw two horses and four wagons. A man was asleep on a bench at the front of one, idly chewing on a piece of straw. Grone approached him.

"Oh, looking for a ride?" the man asked, yawning.

"Yes," Grone replied. "Headed for Veridia."

"Veridia? That'll be eight copper coins," the man said.

Grone paid him one silver coin and six copper coins.

"Oh, so you're traveling with this young man?" the man asked, sitting up quickly.

"Yeah," Grone replied.

"Well then, hop in the back," the man said, gesturing.

Grone climbed into the back of the wagon, and Tyler followed, climbing into the somewhat enclosed space. He heard a thwack—the sound of the reins as the driver urged the horses forward—and then the wagon started moving.

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"So," Grone said, "since I've told you about my world, I'm curious about yours. How were things where you're from? You said this world is strange."

Tyler looked at Grone. "I'm from Earth. It's a place where most of the things here don't exist. We used to have wagons and horses like this, but that was a very long time ago. We progressed technologically."

Tyler then described his world to Grone—the cars and planes, the currency, the way of life. He didn't tell him everything; he wasn't sure how to explain it all, how to find the right words. Grone listened intently, which surprised Tyler. He expected Grone to show some surprise, but Grone's expression rarely changed. He realized that Grone's stoic demeanor was almost always the same.

"Oh," Grone finally said, a hint of wonder in his voice. "So your world really is different from ours. I can see why you're surprised, but don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Right now, we just need to rest until we get to town," Grone said, closing his eye and leaning back against the bench. The wagon bumped along, and Tyler watched as the forest and the base they'd left behind slowly disappeared in the distance. He was surprised; the base had been near the forest, but now they were traveling across a grassy plain. From what he could tell, they were heading southeast or southwest—he wasn't sure which. The forest and the base receded, swallowed by the horizon. The thought of reaching town, of meeting new people and learning more about this world, filled him with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

He watched as the wagon picked up speed, the horses now running, the increased pace causing the wagon to vibrate more intensely. He glanced at Grone, who remained unfazed, one eye closed, the other, injured. Tyler hesitated; he wanted to ask about the injury, but decided against it. It wasn't his place to pry into Grone's personal affairs. He turned his attention back to the road, noticing another forest in the distance to their side. It was far away, but it seemed to stretch parallel to their route, running alongside the road as they traveled.

He saw a cluster of houses to their right, far in the distance. A village? A town? He wasn't sure. He should probably wake Grone. Maybe this was their destination. He gently shook Grone's knee.

"What is it?" Grone mumbled, waking up.

Tyler pointed towards the distant houses. "Is that the place we're supposed to go?"

Grone looked, then leaned back against the bench. "No. That's Lyria. It's one of the villages near the Crossroads base. It just means we're close. Don't worry, we're be going straight to town, Just rest up. We're getting close." Grone closed his eyes again. Tyler looked down, lost in thought.

His clothes were dirty, and he thought about his crafting skills. He had crafted armor once—chest armor, to be precise—though the system classified it as regular clothing. That was when he first arrived in this world. Given his ability to craft weapons and armor, why wouldn't he make shoes? He wasn't sure. He looked up and quietly muttered, "Status."

SPECIES: Human

NAME: Tyler Evans

RANK: G LVL: 4

CLASS: Craftsman

HP: 37/37 MP: 33/33

STR: 22 AGI: 15 DEF: 39

STATUS: Healthy

Skills: Armour Craft, Weapon Craft

He hadn't checked his status in a while. Seeing it now, he considered becoming a hunter like Grone. Then he shook his head. He almost died fighting two rabbits once. Hunting was definitely out of the question. He'd have to find something else.

Tyler then realized something: his MP was full. He wasn't sure why—perhaps from resting?—but it was. He looked at Grone, and his level appeared: Level 50: James Grone. Tyler was surprised. He'd thought Grone was level 49. Level 50 meant Grone was now C-rank. Grone clearly wanted that rank, and now he had it. Why hadn't Grone mentioned it yesterday? Tyler realized the system only showed levels when he was actively focusing on someone. Yesterday, leaving the inn, he hadn't seen anyone's level because he hadn't been paying attention to their stats. But Grone, at level 50, clearly held his attention.

All these thoughts vanished as the wagon passed through a large gate—a massive, imposing structure of stone. He couldn't see the front, only the back, as the gate closed with a heavy clunk, large sliding gates descending from above. It was exactly like something from a historical movie he'd seen. Sounds of activity—voices, movement—reached him as the wagon entered. Houses and people came into view, and Tyler was astonished. The buildings were a strange mix of medieval and modern, their painted facades lining a wide, central road. The road itself was rough-hewn gravel, and as they moved further into the town, he saw people bustling about: women in long dresses, men in various attire—some simple, some more elaborate. The scene was a vibrant mix of the familiar and the utterly foreign, a blend of eras and styles that left him breathless. He shook Grone's knee.

"We're here," Grone said, waking with a start. He reached into his bag and produced an eye patch—black. This was the first time Tyler had seen Grone put it on. Grone hesitated, a slight grimace on his face. "I don't like wearing this; it makes me feel uncomfortable," he muttered, before securing the patch over his eye. "But my wife insists." The wagon stopped. Grone jumped down, and Tyler followed.

As Tyler's feet met the cobblestones, a gasp escaped his lips. The confined space of the wagon had distorted his perception; the world, previously glimpsed in fragmented pieces, now unfolded in breathtaking detail. The town was a vibrant tapestry woven from the familiar and the utterly bizarre. Buildings, a chaotic blend of architectural styles—some hinting at a medieval past, others surprisingly ornate and elaborate—rose on either side of a wide, central road. This road wasn't paved in the usual sense; instead, large, uneven stones were embedded in the packed earth, creating a rough, textured surface. The air hummed with activity. People bustled past, their clothing a kaleidoscope of colors and styles: flowing silks and sturdy linens, intricate embroidery and simple weaves. He saw faces both familiar and alien—people with fiery red hair, others with hair as white as winter snow, and then, a figure that stole his breath, with hair the color of a summer twilight sky. A cool wind, carrying the scent of unfamiliar spices and woodsmoke, ruffled his hair. He wondered, almost instinctively, about their levels. Then, a sharp ping resonated in his mind, and the world shimmered as levels materialized everywhere he looked.

"Don't fall behind," Grone said, his voice low. Tyler hurried to keep pace, weaving carefully through the crowd, doing his best not to bump into anyone. He saw beautiful faces—all utterly foreign—and men in armor. Most wore steel, the same style of armor, suggesting they might belong to some kind of group or organization; a few wore leather. He continued to follow Grone, noticing that they seemed to be heading towards a marketplace. Vendors called out, their words unfamiliar, advertising goods Tyler couldn't identify: purple fruits, green fruits, a riot of colors and unfamiliar foods.

Tyler noticed shops lining the streets: some displayed a hammer and anvil, others the familiar image of a goose holding a fork and knife, and still others showed a woman's dress, indicating clothing stores. They moved past the marketplace, and the scene shifted to more residential areas—houses that seemed more lived-in and less ostentatious than those near the market square. Grone turned down a side street, and Tyler followed. The road split into three paths, and Grone chose the leftmost one. Then, something unexpected happened: Grone's expression shifted, a look of genuine surprise crossing his features—a rare occurrence. A woman ran towards them, her eyes fixed on Grone. "James," she said, her voice filled with relief, "I'm so glad you're back."

She hugged Grone tightly, and he returned the embrace. Tyler remembered Grone mentioning a wife and daughter; could this be his wife? She did bear a resemblance, though it was hard to say for certain. She was strikingly beautiful. He offered a greeting, but she seemed not to notice him at all. Stepping back from Grone, she smiled warmly. "Oh, we have a guest," she said, gesturing towards the house. "Let's not wait outside. Come in." Tyler realized they were close to a house, one of many tightly packed together, with little or no space between them, separated only by fences. The woman opened the door and stepped inside, Grone and Tyler following close behind. "Where's Heather?" Grone asked.

"Oh, she's sleeping. Should I go get her?" Lisa asked, glancing towards another room.

"Yeah," Grone replied. "By the way, this is Tyler. Tyler, this is Lisa, my wife."

Tyler extended a hand, and Lisa grasped it warmly with both of hers. "It's very nice to meet you," she said, her smile genuine. "It's not often my husband brings guests home. You must be special." She released his hand and went to fetch her daughter. Grone removed a small bag from his shoulder and placed it on the living room table. Tyler noticed the floor wasn't carpeted, but covered in smooth, flat stones set into the earth, almost like tiles. The walls were surprisingly well-crafted; it was a comfortable, well-maintained home.

"Have a seat," Grone offered, settling onto a wooden chair near the table. Tyler sat as well. Lisa was still approaching, carrying a baby. Grone noticed the look of utter astonishment on Tyler's face. Before he could speak, however, a message appeared above the baby's head—Level 4. The baby was the same level as him?

Grone stood and went to meet Lisa, who was now close enough for him to take the baby. A soft laugh escaped him; he looked genuinely happy to be reunited with his family. "You missed me, didn't you?" he murmured to the baby, who gurgled happily in response. Tyler watched, struck by the scene: Grone, Lisa, and the baby—a picture of domestic bliss, almost too perfect, too movie-like. Yet, it was real, and the unsettling part was the baby's level: a Level 4, just like him. Grone then turned to Tyler. "Tyler, this is my daughter, Heather." The baby simply stared at him. Lisa smiled. "How about I whip up something to eat? I just got back from the market," she said, disappearing into another room.

Grone sat down, and the baby, Heather, continued playing with something on him. She pulled out a small, silver pendant—a square piece of metal with the letter "C" etched into it in green. It was attached to a necklace. Tyler stared, then looked at Grone. "You never told me you were C-rank," he said.

Grone said, "Oh, right. I completely forgot. I was so beat after that last quest. I fought a bunch of Hex Horns—took down a level 32 one, it was enormous!—and that's when I leveled up. Honestly, I barely noticed it at first."

"Does every Hunter have a necklace like that?" Tyler asked.

"Yeah," Grone replied. "It shows you're a Hunter. They don't just hand them out. Anyone seen carrying one who isn't a Hunter? That's a crime. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't just give one to you."

"No, it's not that," Tyler said. "It's just... I didn't notice it before. Yesterday, the whole day, I didn't see this necklace."

Grone explained, "I keep it inside my armor during battles. Wearing it out actually makes me a bit uneasy, so I usually keep it hidden."

Heather, the baby, began tugging at the necklace, but it seemed securely fastened.

Grone's wife, Lisa, emerged from the other room. "James, darling," she said, "it seems we're out of salt. Since you've just arrived, you must be tired. Could you give me some money so I can go get some?"

Grone shook his head. "No, it's okay. Tyler can go get it for us."

Tyler was taken aback by the suggestion. Grone, sensing his surprise, added, "You can, can't you?"

Tyler shrugged. "Yeah, I can go get it. I won't get lost, right? The road to the marketplace is pretty straightforward."

"Just ask one of the vendors where they sell salt," Grone confirmed.

"Yes," Lisa added.

Grone reached into his bag, producing three copper coins. "Go buy us some salt," he said, handing them to Tyler. "You can find it in some of the vendors in the market."

Tyler took the copper coins, rose from his chair, and opened the door. "Try not to get lost," Grone called out as Tyler stepped outside.

"I won't," Tyler replied, closing the door behind him. He headed straight for the marketplace. "Man, that wagon ride seemed to take forever,"he thought, looking up at the sun, high in the midday sky. "It must be past one o'clock." He remembered he didn't have his phone. The thought of Sarah popped into his head; he considered how embarrassing it would have been if she had agreed to give him her number back home. He'd have had to resort to writing it down on a scrap of paper, or even worse, his arm! Now, here, it was a completely moot point. Lost in thought, someone bumped into him from behind.

"Watch where you're going," the man growled, his voice raspy. He wore worn leather pants, a dented breastplate of dark metal, and a knife at his hip. His bloodshot eyes glared.

Tyler, startled, said, "You bumped into me."

The man spun around, blocking Tyler's path. He snarled, "What the hell did you just say to me? People in this town don't show me enough respect." He paused, then added, "I might let this slide... if you give me the money you have right now."

Tyler stared, silently shook his head, and tried to edge past him.

The man's hand shot out, a meaty fist that clamped around Tyler's collar, halting his escape. A predatory grin stretched across the his face. Tyler then saw a necklace around his neck, It had the latter A. "You think I'm joking, right?" he purred, his voice a low growl that vibrated in Tyler's chest. He leaned in close.

Before Tyler could react, a fist the size of a small rock connected with his nose. The impact sent white-hot pain exploding behind his eyes. A sickening crack split the silence, the sound of bone giving way under brutal force. Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision. He tasted blood, metallic and coppery on his tongue.

"Think this is a fucking joke?" the man snarled, his voice thick with cruel amusement. Another punch landed, this time on his jaw, sending a jolt of agony through his head. And then again, and again, a relentless barrage of blows that left him gasping for breath, his body a bruised and battered mess. He tried to scream, to call for help, but the words caught in his throat, choked by pain and fear. The man finally hurled him to the cobblestones, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. Lying there, dazed and disoriented, Tyler saw the man casually pocketing the five copper coins—his only possession.

Two figures, their faces obscured by the shadows of nearby buildings, passed by, their hushed whispers barely audible above the sounds of the approaching marketplace. They saw the attack, but continued on their way, offering no help.

The man looked down at Tyler, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "You lucky I didn't use any of my true strength," he sneered, spitting on Tyler's chest. "One punch would have blown your head off. What a cheap fucking person," he added, before turning and walking away towards the marketplace.

Tyler felt a burning humiliation, but more than that, a raw, physical pain. His face was a mess. Blood dripped onto the cobblestones. His nose was broken, his lip busted, and he was missing a tooth—one from the very back of his mouth. He stood, his body trembling. "Just my freaking luck," he muttered, wiping blood from his mouth. "This is how it always is. They give me money to buy something, and this happens. Of course it would."

Tyler’s mind drifted back to another time, a memory sharp with the sting of exhaustion and humiliation. He’d been walking home from his construction job, bone-tired after a grueling six AM to six PM shift. The money in his pocket, his hard-earned wages, felt heavy and inadequate against the crushing weight of fatigue. Then, it happened. Just like this. Robbers. A flurry of fists and feet, the sickening crunch of bone, the cold terror of helplessness. They’d left him bleeding in the gutter, his money gone, his pride shattered. And the taunts… the same sneering contempt, the same accusations of being cheap. He clenched his fists, the memory a fresh wound. "Here, in this new world," he thought, a bitter laugh catching in his throat, "it’s no different." He was still the same pathetic loser, the same parasite feeding off the kindness of others, just like with Mike. The thought burned, a brand of self-loathing seared into his soul. He was nothing but a burden, a failure in every world.

He started the slow walk back to Grone’s house, the faces of passersby blurring into a meaningless stream. Some were shocked, their eyes lingering on his battered face. Others were expressionless, their gazes sliding past him as if he were nothing more than a stray dog. He didn’t care. They didn’t have to care. He didn’t deserve help, not really. He’d never gotten much, except from Mike. His family… they’d barely lifted a finger. That one time, the money to go to another city, to find a job—it had been an excuse, a way to get rid of him. He knew it then, and he knew it now. He’d overheard his mother talking to one of his brothers, the words cutting him deeper than any fist: giving him food felt like a waste, since it yielded nothing in return.

He didn’t hate his mother for it. If anything, she’d been right. They hadn’t wanted to spoil him. His brothers, successful in their own lives, barely lived at home anymore. He was the only one left, a constant reminder of failure—failed school, failed jobs, a life spent clinging to the edges of existence. Their visits were infrequent, punctuated by the conversation he still replayed in his mind. He considered a way back home, but what was there to return to? The same life of being looked down upon, the same crushing weight of inadequacy? He was nothing, a pathetic person who’d achieved nothing. A short, humorless laugh escaped him—a self-mocking sound, devoid of mirth. He reached Grone’s house and opened the door.

Grone was meticulously wiping his blade with a cloth, the rhythmic motion a stark contrast to the chaos about to erupt. "That was quick," he began, without looking up, "Did you find the sal—" He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze snapping to Tyler. The sight that met his eyes halted the words on his tongue. Tyler’s nose was grotesquely twisted, his lip split and swollen, his cheeks bruised and puffy. His expression was grim, his eyes filled with a weary despair.

"What happened?" Grone asked, his voice low.

Grone's wife rushed in, her face a mask of alarm. "What happened to you? Did you get attacked?" she cried, her eyes darting to Grone. "I told you this might happen! You should have gone instead!"

A pang of guilt struck Grone. "Yeah," he muttered, "Come inside, quick. Sit down."

Tyler sank onto a chair, the pathetic weight of his injuries pressing down on him. Grone’s wife quickly fetched a bowl of water and a cloth, beginning to gently wipe the blood from his face.

"I was attacked," Tyler managed, the words catching in his throat. "On the way to the marketplace. He robbed me—took all my money. It was an A-rank Hunter," he added, his voice barely a whisper.

Grone was taken aback. "An A-rank Hunter did this to you?" He could take Tyler to the guards, get a description, but this was an A-rank. He knew those reports often got swept under the rug.

Tyler’s words were strained, each syllable a painful effort. "Grone… I… I want to be a hunter."