Hunter's gaze met Lyra's with a mix of gratitude and unease. She looked at him as if he were a wounded creature. Every muscle twitch sent a searing blade of pain across his neck and shoulders.

"Easy there, love. Let me help." She gestured to his wounds. Her voice was a soothing balm to his battered body. Without waiting for his grunt of approval, she ripped off a piece of her undergarment and pressed it to the side of his head, soaking up the crimson tide.

Hunter winced as she worked on the gash on his head.

"Count yourself lucky your head's not split too bad, but we gotta pry those glass shards out of your shoulder. Pop a healing pill, slather on some salve, and you'll be right as rain."

Hunter bit his lip. He wasn’t about to mention he was as rich in healing pills as he was in coin. The barman, at least, knew Hunter had acted in self-defense. Blood trickled down his brow, and Lyra wiped it away with a frown of concern.

“Damn it, I don’t have time to bleed.” Hunter tensed his body.

Lyra chuckled. “Ah, bless you, love. You’d be screwed if you were a woman.” Her fingers worked meticulously to extract the glass shards from his shoulder.

“Can’t argue with that.” Hunter grunted in pain, but a wry smirk played on his lips at her bluntness.

The tavern staff began their cleanup routine while the remaining patrons finished their drinks and filed out. Ignoring the fiery sting, Hunter glanced out the broken window. The midday sun was long gone, swallowed by storm clouds as evening rolled in. He wondered if they'd ever thought of hiring a rune master to make the glass shatterproof.

Given the frequency of tavern brawls, it would be a sound investment.

Turning back to Lyra, he winced again as she pried a tiny shard from his shoulder.

"I could take better care of you upstairs. We rent rooms by the hour." She gestured behind her. "Just say the word, and I'll get a hot bath going. You’ll get that food and drink you ordered, soak those wounds, and I'll be more than able to get the glass out easier."

Hunter glanced at the stairs, his indecision obvious.

Lyra wrung out the blood-soaked cloth into an empty mug. "Might not be as fancy as those bathhouse pools you're used to, but we ain't never left a guest unsatisfied."

Hunter's gaze returned to Lyra, her smile warm and inviting.

He groaned inwardly, trying to remain composed.

That sounds so good right now.

He wanted so badly to say yes, but that felt like a selfish asshole move. He needed to warn his sister about the red-coated pirate and the leather-clad lady. They were clearly out-of-towners, and from their chatter, he knew they were on Xuthos' payroll. Worse still, they knew about his sister and her connection to Eratos.

The barman had them bound and gagged, but they glared venom at anyone who dared meet their gaze.

The wooden door slammed open and city guards stormed in, their spears echoing off the tavern floor.

The barman said nothing, just pointed at his captives.

"Sorry for the delay, Elijah. We've been dealing with some anti-tower vigilantes."

Elijah just gave them a grim nod.

The second guard shook his head, yanked the man in the red coat to his feet, and grinned at his muffled rant. "Save your breath for cooling your porridge, Nastes. Tonight, the drunk tank's your home. And the same goes for your lady friend, Aspa."

The first guard frowned. "Might be a bit longer than that. These two got booted from Delphare after their alleged involvement in the Red Tide Raid."

Nastes frowned at the bunched up creases in his fancy red coat. He tried to protest again, but his words were lost behind the gag. Aspa remained eerily still, until she rose to her feet without a word. But her eyes, those cold, inky pools, promised a storm of death.

Hunter scowled as they were led away. "If they're in Xuthos' pocket, they'll be out quicker than green grass goes through a goose."

"Oh, you don't know who owns this tavern then." Lyra arched her brow, eyes alive with untold secrets.

Hunter nodded in the direction of Elijah the barman, a towering figure still looming behind the bar long after the guards had carted off Nastes and Aspa. “Thought it was that red-bearded bruiser behind the counter, the one who wiped the floor with anyone foolish enough to get in his way.”

Lyra gave a tight nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Elijah Vacarro’s one of the few folks Magistratus Vassilus fears to cross.” She leaned in close, her breath warm on his ear. “I can tell you more about Vacarro in private, if you decide to stay for the night.”

A gust of wind howled through the open window, lashing Hunter with the icy sting of rain. A storm was brewing, one he didn't want to be caught in. He deflected the conversation back to Elijah. “Got the feeling there’s more to that guy than what meets the eye.”

The wind intensified, flinging more rain through the window, cold droplets prickling his skin, reminding him of his raw wounds. His gaze wandered to the back door leading upstairs.

If his sister was safe for now, what harm could a hot soak and a quick patch-up do? He didn't even have a bed in the tower, let alone time to eat. His stomach growled on cue, underscoring its emptiness.

Yeah, a little rest and recovery wouldn't hurt.

“About that offer,...” Hunter froze.

The stranger with yellow glasses appeared. A ghostly shimmer outlining his form. The barman and other staff bustling about didn’t seem to notice him.

The stranger met Hunter’s gaze, wagged his finger in a scolding gesture, then shook his head and mouthed, “No, no, no.”

Lyra watched him, a puzzled frown on her face. “You okay love? Don’t go drifting off on me now. Anyways, it sounded like you were smart enough to take me up on my invitation…”

Every time that stranger had shown up, it had spelled trouble for Hunter. Tossed off a cliff, ambushed by a cult, nearly killed at his Coming-of-Age Ceremony, flung off a land bridge into the ocean... The list went on.

Going upstairs with Lyra was a bad idea. Whether by her hand or someone else's, odds were high he'd wind up dead by dawn.

Hunter took a step back from Lyra, exhaling heavily. “Sorry, I just remembered I have to report to work. I'm part of the Roaming Cultivator’s Guild, so it's on me if I don't collect a bounty.”

Her brows furrowed. “I get it love, honestly I do. I’ve met plenty of lone wolves like you, they value their privacy. No prying from me. But before you go after that bounty, tend to those wounds properly and take a damn healing pill. A seasoned adventurer like you must have some in your inventory.”

Before he could reply, she darted off behind the counter, came back with a small cloth sack. “Some high-grade bread and cheese for you. Have you got water at least?”

Hunter was touched by the genuine concern in her voice. He’d met enough people to know when it was fake. “Thanks, Lyra.” He accepted the food sack and rested a hand on hers. “I won't forget what you tried to do, and I'm sure I'll be back this way soon. Until then, take care.”

She smiled warmly as he turned to leave.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stranger vanish. He pushed away the whirlwind of thoughts about the stranger. There would be time for that later. For now, he needed to clean up, grab supplies, and head back to the tower.

The day was far from over, and he had plenty of work to do.

***

Staggering back into the guild room of the tower, Hunter took a moment to survey his stash. Rule number one of survival: always be prepared for when things go south.

Picking out shards of glass in some grimy alleyway after bailing from the tavern hadn't been his idea of a good time, but at least he’d gained some decent fighting experience.

Gnawing on some dried white willow bark, he felt the bite of pain ease off. He applied a meadowsweet salve onto his wounds—by the time he'd dragged himself to a merchant's store for water-sealing resin and purity crystals, the healing process was already well underway.

Before entering the store, he'd borrowed a swath of red awning from a shuttered shop, turning it into a makeshift cloak to shield him from the icy rain, and more crucially, to conceal his salve-covered wounds. The sooner he got the bathhouse in the tower up and running, the better.

Although he might have to make a trip to the private bathhouse just to maintain the facade of his alias.

Bending down, he secured a strip of silver cloth around his big toe. Of course, he had forgotten to get boots. He got a painful reminder of his oversight on his way to the guild room.

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He hadn't stepped in a puddle. That didn’t stop those blood-thirsty leeches sniffing him out faster than a shark on a feeding frenzy. But he’d outrun the slimy little bastards, making it to the safety of the guild room.

Slapping a palm to his face, he groaned. "Shit, I forgot to circle back to Mercos for my rusty dagger. But at least time moves slower outside the tower, right? I'm sure he'll hold onto it, and Sabyllos and his band of adventurers will keep him busy with work."

Tower: Welcome back, First Initiate. Speaking of work, what would you like to do?

Hunter scratched his jaw. "I have so many things I need to do; I'm not sure where to start."

Tower: May I suggest you begin by training your aura sense? It will help you better identify weapons. A visit to the library wouldn't go amiss either. There's a heavy tome on beast habitats and behaviors that could prove beneficial. Given your past performance in the Refiner Gate, becoming more familiar with tower monsters and defenders would be wise before gaining more hands-on experience. Not to mention some crafting… Tower renovation. You're right, the list goes on and on.

Hunter's shoulders sagged under the weight of his responsibilities. "Thanks for the reminder." He mustered a grin. "It might be a long list, but I think I know where I want to start. I appreciate your input."

Tower: I’ve also sent you the blueprint for the plumbing system. From the way you look, I assume you will be in need of a bath.

“I’ve got it.” Hunter glanced at his inventory to find the blueprints. For now, he needed to prepare for his next adventure beyond the RefinerGate. Beast tutorials and crafting tutorials were his next priorities. Tower had given him a roadmap; now, all he had to do was follow it.

Hunter stood in the beast tutorial room, his goal clear: to learn about how these creatures had adapted and evolved to become tower monsters. “Tower, I'd like to gain insights into the unique adaptations and evolutions that have turned these beasts into tower monsters.”

Tower: Simulation initializing.

Hunter's eyebrows shot up, and he blinked in disbelief. In front of him, the holographic display presented information about corkscrew-shaped duck penises and female frogs faking their death to avoid mating frenzies.

"Wait, that's not what I asked for!" Hunter waved his hand at the holographic display. "I'm not here for a lesson on animal sex acts or frog deception. I want to know about the tower monsters' adaptations."

Tower remained unfazed, displaying more information on ducks and frogs mating behaviors. Hunter couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Alright, let’s try this again. I’m here to learn about defeating Tower Monsters. How about you enlighten me on strategies I can use to take down a certain, let’s say, monster bunny?”

Tower: Why didn’t you say so in the first place?

Hunter frowned.

The tower adjusted its display, now presenting information on how to counter the infamous Boomerang Bunny. Hunter nodded with satisfaction, eager to learn the information he needed for his next encounter in the Refiner Gate. As far as he could tell, the Boomerang Bunny wasn’t far off from Mistress Arista’s class pets who’d been separated from their burrows.

***

When it was time for a break, Hunter tore into the food Lyra had given him. The bread was a godsend, fluffy and soft on the inside, with a crust that crackled satisfyingly under his teeth. And the cheese, oh man, creamy and nutty with a kick of spice that danced on his tongue.

He washed it all down with a hearty swig from his water-skin, savoring the cool liquid as it soothed his parched throat. Gotta get the damn waterworks sorted in this tower.

He took a breather, letting the food settle while he retreated to the quiet sanctuary of the library. There, he slipped into his cultivation exercises, practicing his Wyld Stallyns Style techniques.

The chi in his surroundings was plentiful, a raw energy he could draw into his core using the Earth Strider breathing technique. He refined it using the Stallion’s River Run technique, maintaining a smooth flow through his energy channels.

As the energy circulated, it cleansed his channels and strengthened his body. During this process, he consciously drained the chi down to his reserves, ensuring a balanced flow and enhancing his vitality.

After nearly depleting his core, he entered his breathwork once more to refill it, drawing in external chi to replenish his reserves. One more round of breathwork and he was done, rising with a satisfied sigh.

Not as good as a long night's sleep, but it would do for now.

With renewed vigor, he dove back into his cultivation manual, pouring over the details of an aura sensing technique. The process involved numerous trial and errors, leaving him sweating and mentally drained.

Hunter wiped the sweat from his brow.

That had been much harder than he'd anticipated, but he knew it would get easier with practice. His brain ached like a fatigued muscle after a hard workout. He chewed on a guarana leaf, letting its natural stimulants give him a much-needed boost in energy and focus. He was going to need it for what came next.

Leaving the library, he returned to the guild room and went straight into the tutorial room, eager to get started on crafting.

"Tower, any ideas where I should start?" He pulled a heavy countertop from his inventory, laying it on the ground, and placed salvaged chair legs from the library beside it. "I'm thinking of a crafting table, like the one I had back on that island. I picked up a few extra supplies on my way back here." He produced twine, nails, and other components from his storage ring, items he'd used in traps on Death Island.

Tower: It looks like all you need is a little guidance.

Hunter nodded. "Got experience working with wood and scraps of metal, but armor and leather items? Not so much."

Tower: Understood. Let me know if you need any further assistance.

Hunter scratched his head. "Given the items I have are a little different from what I'd use back home, can you help with the schematic? I usually just picture it in my head and work from there, but this time, I'm aiming for something more ambitious.”

With the tower's help, they worked through his scroll interface to sketch out a clear picture of what the finished product would look like.

Together, they sketched a rough design for the drafting table, taking into account the dimensions of the worktop counter and the length of the chair legs, ensuring they aligned perfectly for stability. They also allowed for the use of tree vines to reinforce the table's legs if needed. It was crucial to ensure the weight was distributed evenly to prevent wobbling.

"Thanks, Tower. Can you list out the steps in order?" This was something Hunter used to do from memory, but after his aura sensing practice, his mind needed all the help it could get.

Once the list was available, Hunter gave it a quick scan, rubbing his hands together, eager to get started. He stood back, surveyed the pieces, then got to work cleaning off any dirt and grime. He inspected the broken chair legs, selecting pieces that were still structurally sound. With his mithril knife, he trimmed away splinters and rough edges, making the pieces safer to handle.

Tower: Well done. The preparation and cleaning phase is complete. Now time to move on to design and layout.

Hunter nodded, already picturing a spacious tabletop given the Ironwood counter's generous size. He needed enough surface area to accommodate scrolls, books, and various cultivation materials.

The table’s frame would be stable and durable with the chair legs he’d chosen. Plus, the fact that the countertop was made from near-indestructible Ironwood was a boon.

Using basic woodworking techniques he'd learned on Death Island, he affixed the chair legs to the underside of the countertop. Then he reinforced them with sturdy nails and Soulvines. Yet, even with these improvements, the table wobbled when upright.

Undeterred, he revisited his previous trap designs, purchasing tension mechanisms to fortify the joints and connections of the table. This endeavor sparked a new idea, one that impressed Tower.

Tower: That’s a clever idea, incorporating trap mechanisms to create hidden compartments within the table. I like that they're only accessible through a specific trigger mechanism. Something like this would have been very useful when those awful ogres defiled my sacred spaces.

"Thanks, Tower." Hunter flashed a proud grin. "I’m pretty happy with the results… just one more thing before it’s done."

Using his knife, he etched two words in the lower corner for a finishing touch before a final polish:

Wyld Stallyn.

Pressing on the top, he tested for any faults in the table’s weight-bearing capacity. Satisfied, he stood back and admired his work. It wasn't perfect, but it was his. And it was a damn fine start.

Tower: Well, it looks like you’re making good progress on the crafting side of things. Your past experience on Death Island has served you well. I know you intend to enter the Refiner Gate soon. How did you get on with procuring healing elixirs from the alchemist in Delphare?

Hunter scowled at the memory. “Not as well as I hoped. Orcus is tighter than a camel's hole in a sandstorm. Since I have no coin yet, I planned on opening up a tab using my reputation with Helio’s permission token, but he wasn’t impressed.”

Tower: I’m sorry to hear that. What do you plan to do now?

Hunter looked around and scratched his head. The answer was he didn’t know, but he never let that stop him before. “I’ll think of a solution while I clean up here.”

His resources were limited, and he sure as hell wasn't an alchemist. He needed a potent ingredient and a simple extraction process. His tower options - leeches, slime molds, and the like—were a no-go. He couldn't harvest them without risking his hide or harming them. And even if he could, he lacked the skills to pull it off.

He'd probably end up worse off.

Scanning his inventory, his eyes landed on a golden blush apple. It was meant for training the Night Mare. While he could spare one apple for healing, it would be a waste of a precious resource to cut it up and eat it in chunks.

His gaze swept over the room, landing on the remnants of broken library chairs. The ones that remained hadn't held up as table legs, bending under any real weight. Clutching a discarded chair leg, his heart pounded.

An idea began to take shape.

Fueled by newfound purpose, he whittled down the chair legs into sturdy, flat slats. He measured and cut each piece, arranging them in a cylindrical pattern on the floor. It was a balancing act, ensuring each slat fit together with small gaps in between.

Using wood salvaged from his traps, he fashioned the lid with the handle. It was more than just a functional addition; it was his touch, a mark of his ingenuity.

As flexible as the wood was, Hunter couldn’t take any chances; there were no practice runs. His apples were too precious of a resource to waste; he had to get it right the first time.

Using metal scraps from his traps, he added reinforcement to the wooden slats. He placed them strategically, like bracers, to bear the brunt of the pressure.

Stepping back, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he surveyed his work.

From his inventory, he took out a precious golden blush apple. He placed the apple, the size of a honeydew melon, inside his new fruit press adapted to work on a single large fruit.

The moment of truth had arrived.

He grasped the handle firmly, his muscles tense with anticipation. Slowly, he applied pressure. As he turned the handle to trigger the tightening mechanism, the slats converged, gently squeezing the apple to extract its juice.

The clever design allowed for efficient juice extraction and made the most of the limited resources at Hunter's disposal. Juice began to trickle out, a promising sign. As he increased the pressure, the slats bowed, increasing the gaps, allowing pulp to dribble out along with the juice onto the metal serving dish he’d gotten from Xuthos’ stash.

Hunter acknowledged the imperfections with a resigned sigh. It wasn’t the clean extraction he’d hoped for, but it wasn’t a disaster either.

Tower: What an ingenious idea to extract the juice. It looks cloudy and a little on the thick side for a healing elixir, but I’m sure you could still drink it down once you pour it into a bottle to store it. On the upside, it also contains more fiber than a normal healing elixir to keep your bowels regular.

Hunter nodded, laughing to himself at Tower’s last observation.

Taking some scrap parchments, he made a makeshift funnel and poured the pulpy juice into a bottle taken from his inventory. The sediment would fall to the bottom.

“Well,” he paused as a wry smile played on his lips, "it may not be the perfect healing elixir, more like a pulpy mess with benefits. Fiber and survival, all in one.”

That would do nicely for now.

All he needed to do was survive long enough to grind away in the Refiner Gate, earn himself some coin and rewards, and then he could buy or earn healing potions as rewards.

A small step on the path to success.

He took one last glance at his crafting table to admire his handiwork. The mithril knife and unraveled twine laid side by side.

“Tower, I think it's a good time to train my reflexes and practice my aura sense so I don’t get knocked on my ass.”