The wagon rumbled along, and George, the driver, leaned back, a curious expression on his face. "You don't really know about pets?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "Where have you been living all this time?"

Tyler shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "I... I had some memory loss the other day," he stammered, "so I'm trying to remember everything now."

George raised a skeptical eyebrow, clearly not buying the explanation, but he continued anyway.

"Well, you see, tamers are highly skilled in this world," George said, his voice dropping slightly as if sharing a secret. "They're the people who have the skill to turn demon god spawn into pets. It's a sort of binding, you see, binding the creature to the person with the skill. Or they can bind it to someone else. But tamers are rare. I actually got this one from my cousin. He's a tamer. Because he's a tamer, they're always needed in the military or to serve the kingdom."

Tyler then said, "What do you mean by 'binding'?"

George explained, "Binding? It's like taming a beast, but for you. You see, if a tamer tames a beast, it becomes their servant. But they can also tame the beast and then bind it to you, so the beast will listen to both of you. If the tamer leaves the beast with you, the beast is in your care, just like Java here. That's what I call him. He's a Craven, and I think he's a Level 6."

"Level 7," Tyler corrected him on impulse.

George blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"Did you say he's a Level 7?" Tyler clarified.

"No, I said he's a Level 6," George insisted. "Anyway," he continued, changing the subject, "you said you lost your memory. When did that happen?"

"I'm not really sure," Tyler admitted, the lie already feeling heavy on his tongue. "All I know is that's how I ran into Gron, and that's how I'm starting to get my memories back." The deception felt painful, a forced act. He'd never been a fan of lying, and the blatant falsehood rankled him. It felt like he was force-feeding himself a bitter pill.

"All right then," George said, "are you planning to be a hunter?"

"Oh, yeah," Tyler replied, surprised by the question. "What made you ask that?"

George shrugged. "Well, you've been mentioning training lately. Last time you and Gron were here, and now you're here by yourself, saying you're going to training. You trained last time, right?"

Tyler admitted, "Yes, we did."

"That's why I thought you wanted to become a hunter," George concluded. "What rank are you?"

Tyler hesitated. "F," he said, then quickly corrected himself. He lied again, blurting out, "E." The lie felt slick and uncomfortable in his mouth.

George raised an eyebrow. "You're rank E, huh?" George said, considering this. "Well, there are more E-rank hunters than any other rank. There are so many E-ranks that it's very hard to get an E-rank quest and actually complete it. You'll often find someone completed the quest before you, or there are simply no more quests available. Being an E-rank is really hard; there's a lot of competition. Are you sure you want to become a hunter?"

Tyler nodded firmly. "Yes. Well, I can become a D-rank, right?"

"Yeah, you can become a D-rank," George agreed, "but with this much competition, becoming a D-rank is going to be pretty hard, though."

"And ranking up with just training alone? Well, that's almost impossible, especially if you want to go to D-rank," George continued. "Unless you undertake some very rigorous training. And finding that kind of training equipment is mostly found in the big capital, in the kingdom of Aerlion."

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Tyler fell silent, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. He questioned himself. "Is it really going to be that hard to level up?" He'd been relying on his training. The reality of the situation, as George described it, was far more daunting than he'd anticipated.

Tyler then said, "But you say, tamers tame pets for people, but I haven't seen any pets in town." Returning back to the subject.

George nodded. "Yeah, that's because they're prohibited. The new Lord who governs our town doesn't really allow pets. That's why I have to let Java go back to the crossroads base, since it can fly. It can stay there for me, but I can't bring it inside."

George raised his hand, and the craven spread its dark blue wings, landing on his hand. The craven looked like a bizarre mix of chicken and owl, a strange hybrid of the two. Except for its dark blue wings and light blue feathers, it didn't look particularly monstrous. It was about the size of a chicken, or perhaps a big owl."Return to the crossroads base," George said, and the craven launched itself into the air, flying back in the direction they'd come from, towards the crossroads base. Tyler was surprised; the monster really did understand him. George continued, "plus, just like I said, monsters tamers are rare, so it's rare to see pets, you know."

Tyler then said, "Oh, Right, I understand it now."

The man replied, "I'm glad you do."

Silence enveloped them as the wagon moved.

They reached the town, passing through the open gate. The carriage pulled up to the marketplace, conveniently located near the entrance. Tyler hopped out, said goodbye to the driver, and headed home. Night had fallen by the time he opened his door, finding Gron already seated in the sitting room, eating. "Hey," Gron greeted him. "Where were you?"

"I went to training, alone," Tyler replied.

"Wow," Grone said, impressed. "Seems like you're getting better at handling yourself in this world. You didn't get lost?"

"No," Tyler said. "It's an open plain; as I said, it's almost impossible to get lost."

"Okay," Grone replied. Tyler then asked, "Where's your wife?"

Grone sighed. " Lisa took Heather and went to her mother's house. Seems like she wanted to go get something but decided to stay the night there."

Tyler sat down beside Gron. "Is there any food left?" he asked.

Gron nodded. "Oh yeah, she left some food for us in that pot. I didn't take it all. You can go get some."

Tyler saw the pearled grains again, and somehow, they'd become a favorite. The taste was so delicious. He went to the kitchen, put some on his wooden plate, and came back to the sitting room. He started eating. Gron finished before him and went straight to bed. After Tyler finished his meal, he went to his own room and went to bed.

The exhaustion of the day claimed Tyler quickly, and he fell into a deep sleep almost instantly. Meanwhile, across the town, the usual ruckus of the marketplace had subsided into the quiet of the night. In the dimly lit bar, however, a few stragglers remained, their laughter and conversation muted compared to the earlier bustle. The clinking of tankards was less frequent, the rhythmic thud of the bartender's movements as he drew pints from the barrels now more deliberate. He was currently serving a young woman, a female D-rank hunter in her early twenties with striking silver hair and a scattering of freckles across her nose. She looked up at the bartender with an air of quiet intensity. Then, a sudden commotion near a shadowed corner table sliced through the bar's relative quiet. A sharp, metallic clink followed by a muffled shout drew the bartender's attention, and even the low hum of conversation ceased.

A man with shriveled hair, clad in chest plate armor and sporting a prominent A-ranked silver necklace, was holding another man by the collar. "Do you wanna die?" he snarled, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "I told you to give me some money as penance for your disrespect!"

The man he held struggled, sputtering, "But I don't have any money!"

The young silver-haired woman, the D-rank hunter, stepped between them. "Sir, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice calm but firm. The dim light of the bar glinted faintly off her D-rank necklace.

The A-rank man's eyes widened fractionally as he noticed her necklace. He visibly fought to control his anger, his grip on the other man loosening slightly. "This isn't your business, little girl," he said, his tone still harsh but lacking its previous menace.

The bartender approached cautiously. "Sir," he said, his voice carefully neutral, "if you want to fight, can you please take it outside? I don't want any trouble in here."

The A-rank man scoffed. "I'm not leaving until this fricking bastard pays me."

The bartender and the young woman exchanged a look. She stepped forward. "How much does he owe you?" she asked, her voice even.

The A-rank man smirked, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "He owes me a silver."

Without a word, the D-rank hunter produced a silver coin from her pocket and offered it to him. "Here," she said.

The A-rank man took the coin, a grudging smile spreading across his face. "Good girl," he said, then turned and strode out of the bar, leaving the tense atmosphere behind him.

The young woman watched the A-rank hunter leave, a frown furrowing her brow. "What kind of A-rank hunter is he?" she wondered. "Why was he shouting at that man for just one silver coin? Is he a false ranker?" Her thoughts were interrupted by the bartender's voice. "Thank you," he said, his relief palpable. "I don't know what I would have done."

A smile touched her lips. "You can give me a free beer," she said, her tone light.

The bartender was visibly taken aback; a crimson blush crept up his neck. He stammered, "Ah, yes, of course. I should repay you for your help."

He went behind the counter and poured her a mug of ale; the cup was made of wood. "Aren't A-rank hunters rare?" he asked, leaning against the bar. "What's an A-rank hunter doing in a town like this? Shouldn't A-rank hunters be, I don't know, running guilds?"

The woman took a long draught of her ale, then with a final gulp, said, "That's what I was asking myself. If anything, I think he's a false ranker."

The bartender looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I think he's a false ranker," she explained.

The bartender, leaning against the counter, said, "A false ranker? Really? But isn't that illegal? He could get himself into serious trouble."

The girl nodded, swirling the remaining ale in her wooden mug. "Yeah, but you can't always tell with false rankers. He might be an A-rank, he might not be. Since I don't have the Uncover skill, I can't really tell for sure."

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "So, why did you help that stranger? You just gave up a silver coin for him."

The girl looked at the now-empty space where the harassed man had been sitting, a wave of disappointment washing over her features. "That," she said quietly, "was actually my uncle."

"Your uncle? You mean that man, Jim, is your uncle?" the bartender asked, surprised.

She nodded, a look of disappointment still etched on her face. "Ah, yeah," she sighed. "I don't really like talking about this."

"Alright," the bartender said understandingly.

She gulped down the rest of her beer in one go, placed the empty mug on the counter, and said, "Thank you, but I'm going to leave now." She then walked out of the bar.

Meanwhile, Tyler remained asleep. A text box appeared above his head, displaying the message: Level up! Level up!