Early in the morning, a middle-aged woman stood in front of the butcher’s stall. She had just placed her order, and the butcher was preparing the cut of meat she wanted.
“So, I hear you’ve got another strange one staying at your inn,” the butcher said, his tone even as he worked the blade through the meat.
“Hmm? Oh, that. Yeah, and this one takes the cake. Been there almost two weeks now, and I still haven’t seen his face. Always wears that hooded cloak and cloth mask, no matter where he goes. I don’t think anyone’s ever gotten a proper look at him.” The innkeeper leaned in slightly, her voice full of exasperated curiosity.
“He doesn’t eat in your dining hall?” the butcher asked, keeping his focus on the meat.
“Oh, he eats my food, all right, but only ever in his room. I figure that’s the only place he takes off that mask of his.”
“Well, sounds like he just values his privacy. That’s not too odd,” the butcher replied.
“That’s not what makes him weird.” She glanced around and stepped closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He talks to himself.”
The butcher stopped cutting for a moment and looked up. “Wait. What?”
“Yup. And it’s not like he’s praying or chanting a spell or something. No, it’s... different. Quiet whispers, like he’s having a private conversation. Yesterday, I even caught him giggling to himself while he was coming down the stairs.”
“If it bothers you that much, you could just ask him to leave,” the butcher said, moving on to the next cut of meat.
“What? No way. He paid upfront for a whole month—and extra for room service.” She made a coin gesture with her hand, grinning. The butcher gave her a flat look and rolled his eyes.
“He’s an awakened, right? Has he caused any trouble?”
“Not really. He mostly keeps to himself when he’s around. I checked with the city guards—they said he’s not on any list. He did have some kind of spat with the gatekeepers when he arrived, but since then, nothing. The guards are keeping an eye on him, but for now, they’re letting him be.”
“Hmm. Well, that’s good enough, I suppose. He’s been coming here every day, selling his hunts,” the butcher replied as he began wrapping the meat.
“Oh, so it’s true he’s been hunting daily?”
“Yeah. He sells the animals to me, and Matt takes care of the magic beasts.”
“He hunts magic beasts?” Her voice rose slightly in surprise.
“Yup. He’s been going deep into the west forest. None of our hunters dare to go near that area. Yesterday, he hauled in a dire wolf, just slung it over his shoulders like it was nothing, then walked straight to Matt’s shop. Arrow, dead center between the eyes.”
“Hooo. My pops used to hunt. He always said wolves are some of the hardest to hit because of how nimble they are. Is a dire wolf slower?”
“Much faster, actually. Bigger, too. And smarter. I’ve even heard they can climb trees,” the butcher replied.
“Ugh, that sounds terrifying. Arrow between the eyes, you said? So, he’s some kind of archer, then?”
“Seems like it. Probably one of those advanced archer classes.” The butcher handed the wrapped meat to the innkeeper. “Whatever he is, he’s definitely a master bowman,” he added, casting a glance toward the west.
____________________________________
–You really have no idea how to use a bow, huh?–
Alistair stared at the arrow wobbling midair before it fell unceremoniously to the ground.
He had just pulled the bowstring when the arrow started shifting away from the arrow rest, slipping to the side. Confused, he loosened his grip on the string by accident, sending the arrow flying awkwardly into the air.
Alistair stood beside the unconscious dire boar, his bare torso slick with sweat, wearing only trousers and no shoes. The dense forest around him was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves.
He had been using hunting as an excuse to train daily in this remote part of the forest. With the presence of magic beasts, townsfolk rarely ventured this far, leaving him undisturbed.
“Nope, never bothered to learn how,” Alistair said, shifting his attention to the bow in his left hand. He frowned at it. “Shouldn’t they etch the bow or something? How do they keep the arrow in place?”
–This is a simple, cheap bow. They don’t usually etch or notch the body for an arrow rest—that would compromise the bow’s integrity. You should’ve bought the other one in the town’s weapon shop. It had a natural arrow shelf.–
“With that pricing? No way. It’s probably made for nobles who don’t even know how to use a bow.”
–You are a noble who doesn’t know how to use a bow.–
“…”
Ameera’s remark silenced him. After a moment, he sighed and decided to let it slide. Turning away, he walked over to the fallen arrow, sliding the bow into his inventory as he went. Retrieving the arrow from the dirt, he returned to the unconscious dire boar.
Crouching beside the massive beast, he pointed the arrow at its side. Concentrating, he infused mana into the arrowhead, watching as it glowed faintly. With a single, decisive motion, he drove the arrow into the boar.
It sliced through the thick hide effortlessly and pierced the heart.
–That’s cheating. On so many levels.– Ameera quipped.
Ignoring her, Alistair watched as the boar bled out, dying silently.
–I still can’t believe you managed to put a boar in a chokehold. Couldn’t you just hit it? Or kick it? You’ve been training martial arts for a while now.–
“Nope. I’m a ranger now, remember? Can’t leave any marks on the hunts—only arrows.”
–Can you remind me why we’re doing this again?–
“Besides giving me a reason to train out here every day? I also need to contribute to the town’s economy to keep my name on the registry. If we’re staying for at least a month, we need to stay registered.”
–We already pay that nosy innkeeper a small fortune, though.–
“It helps, sure. But we still need to contribute to the town as a whole, not just pad one innkeeper’s pockets. Hunting is the easiest way.”
–I see. So, if we don’t contribute, they’ll kick us out?–
“No. If we’re not registered, we can’t move in and out of the town freely. We’d have to pay the entrance fee every time.”
–…So this is all about avoiding a few copper coins a day?–
“…No, it’s not just that. This way is better. We’re staying here for a month—it’s better to integrate ourselves.”
–Sure, if you say so…
–Do we really have to stay in this place for a whole month?–
“Nothing we can do about it. We can’t buy a horse—most were taken for the war, and the few that remain definitely aren’t for sale. Our only option is to hitch a ride with a merchant caravan, and the earliest one leaves in a month.”
–Can’t we just walk?–
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“I’d rather not spend too much time on the road. Any place we can reach on foot in a reasonable time is still within this kingdom. And the plan is to get out of Kotan’s reach.”
-And how do we get the merchants to take us?-
“We’ll apply as an escort guard. Traveling merchants like these usually hire local help to escort them to their next destination.”
-How does that work? Don’t they already have guards? And wouldn’t they need escorts on the way here? Why would they hire more?-
“Private guards are expensive. They’re paid regularly, whether they’re working or not. So for most sizeable merchant caravans, they hire local adventurers who are already heading in the same direction. It’s cheaper for the merchants since they only pay for the duration of the trip, and the adventurers benefit by earning a little extra for a journey they were already planning to make.”
He paused for a moment, giving Ameera a chance to process before continuing.
“And that’s why merchants need new escort guards at each stop. Some—if not all—of the previous guards would’ve reached their destination and stopped working for them.”
-What if they somehow can’t find enough people to escort them?-
“They always find someone. If the numbers are short, they just increase the compensation until people take the job.”
-But what if, like, nobody wants to do it?-
Alistair heaved a sigh. “Then they just don’t go there. Maybe they’ll choose a different destination that’s more popular, or they’ll just go home. Either way, no sizeable merchant caravan would travel without sufficient protection.”
-You haven’t registered at the Adventurer’s Guild, though?-
“No, I haven’t. The adventurer registry requirements are much stricter than entering a town. I’d have to at least provide my name, class, and level. So, the plan has always been to register as Alistair the Monk.”
-Yeah, but you just said merchants usually hire adventurers. So, if enough adventurers apply for the escort job, they wouldn’t pick us, would they?-
“Nah, that’s fine. They also consider strength. My level’s still pretty low, but for a small border town, it should be more than enough. As long as they see I’m not a troublemaker, they should pick me...”
Alistair paused for a moment before continuing.
“And that’s why we’re hunting like this too. If we can build enough of a reputation, the merchants will factor that in as well.”
-…You literally just came up with that, didn’t you?-
“…No... And either way, it’s true.”
Alistair placed a hand on the dire boar and stored it in his inventory. He had spotted the beast in the middle of his training, and now that the hunt was dealt with, he could resume.
-You’re still going to train martial arts?-
“Martial arts… you mean unarmed combat? Yes. Monks do use weapons, but most of the time, they fight barehanded. I’m just familiarizing myself with it—it’s been way too long since I last practiced.”
He settled into his stance, feet shoulder-width apart, his back straight and steady. For a moment, he was motionless, his breathing calm and deliberate. Then, without warning, his muscles came alive. His left foot shot forward as his right arm delivered a straight punch, the movement precise and forceful.
-Did your father teach you this?-
“No, my father only taught me the spear. After my awakening, the church handled my training. The place they sent me to was near a monastery, so I ended up making friends with some of the monks there.”
Alistair returned to his initial stance, repeating the movement with alternating punches, left and right, each as measured as the last.
“Monks aren’t officially part of the church, but they still worship the goddess. Because of that, they considered me, a Hero, very highly. Those monks were the ones who taught me unarmed combat.”
-Why Monk, though? Wouldn’t it be easier to pick a class that uses weapons?-
“Easier at the beginning, sure. But at the top level, it doesn’t matter much whether you use a weapon or what kind of weapon it is. Besides, I also want to be able to use Heal spells in front of people. So, it was either this or one of the dedicated healer classes, like Priest.”
-And you’d rather use a fighting class. Got it. Was that what you used against that bandit? The kick to the head?-
“Yup. Unarmed combat is one of the best ways to fight in close quarters like that.”
-How did you pull that off, though? I remember you said the bandit was stronger.-
“Stronger and faster. Pulled what off? The kick?”
-Yeah. If he was stronger and faster, how did he miss while you connected your attacks? You haven’t really grown your DEX stat much.-
“It’s the difference in knowledge and experience. Fighting is about more than just strength and speed. At his level, that guy had to think before every action. That hesitation, combined with the fact that I knew exactly when he’d bring his sword down, made beating him easier than it looked.”
-You can tell when he’s going to attack?-
“Yeah, it’s easy to notice those kinds of things if you’ve had a lot of experience in battle. A certain muscle twitch, the way someone shifts their weight, their eye movements—little details like that. And beyond that, I can also sense how he moves his mana. My mana sense isn’t as sensitive as it used to be, but it’s more than enough to notice shifts in mana movement.”
-What did you mean when you said the guy had to think before attacking? You don’t think while fighting?-
Alistair paused his punching exercise, standing still for a moment. He pulled out a waterskin, took a long sip, and wiped his mouth before continuing.
“At the most basic level, we can separate how people fight into three levels: react, plan, and adapt.
“That guy was definitely at the ‘react’ level. He relied on his favorite moves. He’d pick one, attack, then observe the result—whether he landed the hit or his opponent countered. Afterward, he’d have to think about what to do next and react to the situation.
“The next level is ‘plan.’ Fighters at this level plan their attack sequences before the battle even begins. They have different scenarios in mind depending on their opponent, their condition, and the environment. They also plan their responses in advance—what to do if an attack fails or succeeds. Because of this, they spend less time thinking during the fight.
“And then there’s the last level: ‘adapt.’ This is what top fighters do. They don’t plan their attacks or think about their next move. They just act, using the most efficient method at every moment. It doesn’t matter what their opponent does—they’ll always respond with the best move for the situation.”
-So you’re at level three, adapt?-
“Nope, I’m at level 100—a level of my own.”
-Oi! You said there are only three levels!-
“Hahaha!” Alistair laughed, resuming his training without answering.
____________________________________
The sun hovered low in the sky, an hour away from setting, when Alistair wrapped up his training for the day. He had already donned his full ranger gear by the time he retrieved the dire boar from his inventory.
Alistair stood over the dire boar’s carcass; its massive form sprawled on the ground. It was far too large to simply hoist onto his shoulder or back—not that he couldn’t manage it, but for now, he was a ranger, not a warrior with high strength.
After a moment of consideration, he retrieved a large tarp from his inventory, one big enough to cover the boar’s bulk. Spreading it on the ground, he rolled the carcass onto it. Next, he searched the surrounding area until he found a sturdy, short branch. Once he had it, he tied each of the boar’s back legs to opposite corners of the tarp, using the branch as a connecting brace to maintain the form. Finally, he tied the tarp's corners together with a single rope, creating a loop he could pull over his shoulder.
With the makeshift sled ready, Alistair adjusted the rope across his body and began the trek back to town.
When he reached the town gate, one of the guards, Oswin, noticed him and waved.
“Hey, Ronan, back from the hunt? What’d you—HOLY SHIT!” Oswin’s jaw dropped as his eyes locked onto the massive boar Alistair was dragging behind him. “That’s a big boar!”
The guard took a step back, wide-eyed. “Is that… is that a magic beast?” he asked, pointing at the carcass.
“Hi, Oswin. Yup, it’s a dire boar. The blasted thing almost skewered me back there. If you don’t mind, I’m heading straight to Matt.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Oswin stammered, still staring at the beast as Alistair dragged it into town.
As Alistair passed, another guard approached Oswin, a curious look on his face.
“What level do you think Ronan is?” the second guard asked.
“Higher than any awakened I’ve ever met! Did you see the size of that thing?” Oswin exclaimed.
The other guard chuckled. “Yes, Oswin. I was standing right here.”
The two guards continued talking excitedly about the dire boar. Even as Alistair walked far enough away, he could still hear their voices, thanks to his heightened stats. He smirked at their enthusiasm.
Oswin had been the lead guard at the gate when Alistair first arrived in town. The next morning, Alistair sought him out and offered a bottle of ale as an apology, blaming his abrasive attitude on the stress of travel.
That suggestion had come from Ameera—and she had been quite insistent about it. At the time, Alistair didn’t see the point, but now he was glad he’d listened. He had expected to be followed and observed for days because of the incident at the gate, but no such thing happened. Instead, Oswin had been friendly ever since. One less thing to worry about.
As Alistair made his way through the town, every person he passed reacted the same way when they saw the dire boar: wide eyes and shocked expressions. When he finally reached Matt, the specialized butcher who worked for the Adventurer’s Guild, the man was initially at a loss for words. But his stunned silence quickly turned into a broad smile.
Matt offered Alistair a good price for the entire dire boar, including the mana stone. The extra coins were a welcome reward and put Alistair in a good mood as he made his way back to the inn.
At the inn, just as Alistair was about to climb the stairs, the innkeeper called out to him.
“Ronan. You have a guest waiting for you.”
Alistair paused, turning back to look at her. She gestured toward a girl sitting in the corner of the dining hall.
“She’s been waiting there since noon,” the innkeeper added.
“Who is she, and what does she want with me?” Alistair asked, his tone wary.
The innkeeper shrugged. “No idea.”
He sighed, glancing toward the girl. She looked young—not older than fourteen. Her appearance was rough; her skin was tanned from long hours outdoors, and dirt smudged her clothes and face. She sat stiffly at the corner table, her hands resting awkwardly on her knees as though she were afraid to touch the furniture. Her eyes never left the floor.
“Are you sure she’s looking for me?” Alistair asked.
“Of course I’m sure. She asked for you by name.”
Another sigh escaped him. “You said she’s been here since noon. Did she eat anything?”
The innkeeper shook her head. Alistair stared at the girl, considering his options.
-What do you think this is about?-
+No idea.+
-Are you going to ignore her?-
+I really want to, but I can’t. We’re trying to build a reputation here.+
-I guess that settles it, then.-
Alistair placed a few copper coins on the counter. “Get the girl something to eat.”
The innkeeper took the coins with a smile and disappeared into the kitchen. Alistair took a deep breath before heading toward the girl.
If only he had known what kind of trouble she was about to bring. His mood was about to take a sharp turn for the worse.