The scent of old ink, damp wood, and smoke from the hearth filled the small room behind Cranewold Bar. Brack Cranewold's boisterous laughter echoed like a cracked bell as he rose from his heavy chair to welcome the Felhart family with arms as wide as a wild bear's.
"Elen! Grant! Haha! The winds of Hevald blew you all the way here, did they!" Brack bellowed, his heavy hand clapping Grant's shoulder so hard the hunter staggered slightly. His dark brown eyes shone with delight.
"Hello, Brack. You're as loud as ever," Grant said with a small smile. He was genuinely pleased by the reunion. It had been almost two years since they had last returned to Felnia.
"Elen, my sister, are you well?" Brack turned to greet his sister as well.
"I am well, brother. You look as strong as ever," Elen replied with a smile, returning Brack's warm, sibling embrace.
After greeting Elen, Brack's gaze fell upon his beloved niece. "Ann, my little girl, you've grown again."
"Of course I've grown. You're the only one getting older," Ann retorted, her eyes watchful.
"Haha! Just like my favorite niece," Brack declared and moved towards her as he always did. But just as he was about to snatch the young girl up in a familiar hug, the ever-cautious Ann took a deft step back, narrowly avoiding him.
"I'm grown up now, Uncle. You don't have to pick me up every time we meet. Besides," Ann said, her eyes glancing towards a corner of the room.
Hearing this, Brack paused for a moment before his eyes followed her gaze and landed on James, the strange young man standing quietly beside Grant. The delight in his eyes vanished, replaced instantly by suspicion. "And who's this? A stray from where?"
Brack was nearly two meters tall, built like a stone wall. His short, gray hair was dusted with grime, and his face was a roadmap of small scars from old battlefields. His eyes scrutinized James as if trying to bore into his very soul.
"His name is James. A survivor from Alvia," Grant answered, his voice firm but calm. "I've vouched for him, as has Elen."
Brack's brow furrowed, his face a mask of surprise. "Alvia? A survivor? What happened there? I've only heard rumors of a caravan gone missing near that town. No one said anything major!" He stepped closer to James, looking the boy up and down. "How does a boy like you survive something that causes a whole town to have problems?"
James stood still, his hands hidden in his old cloak, looking directly at Brack without averting his gaze. "The city… fell," he answered curtly, his voice trembling slightly with the fresh memory. "Demons… killed everyone. I was lucky… and I had help."
"Fell?" Brack boomed, his brows knitting even tighter. He turned to Grant and Elen. "Is this true? Alvia fell? Why didn't anyone in Felnia tell me!" His voice was filled with a mixture of disbelief and anger, as if a truth had been hidden from him.
Grant stepped forward, his expression grim. "He speaks the truth, Brack. I went back to Alvia after I saved him. The city is littered with corpses, the houses are rubble. I found no other survivors besides this boy." He paused, looking at James with a meaningful gaze. "I saw him stand his ground before that demon, with no ordinary courage."
Elen placed a gentle hand on Brack's arm to calm him. "The news hasn't reached Felnia yet, brother. Grant and I happened to meet him on our way here. This boy saw everything with his own eyes, and Grant can confirm it."
Brack sighed, rubbing the scruffy beard on his face. "A level-three demon with a noble bloodline… If that's true, Felnia could be the next target." He turned back to James. "Are you sure you're not hiding anything from me? A boy who survives a demon like that… is no ordinary person."
"He'll be helping out at the bar for a while," Elen cut in, her voice soft but firm. "Until he can find his own way. I'll need you to find a place for him to stay."
Brack grunted in his throat, looking at James one more time. "Fine. If you're sure." He turned to the corner where Ann stood quietly. "Ann, my favorite niece. Come tell your uncle, what do you make of this boy? The Cranewold bloodline never misses when it comes to judging people."
Ann walked forward, her steps steady, her intelligent eyes fixed on James. "He's interesting," she said simply, a smirk at the corner of her mouth. "If he's a problem, I'll handle it myself."
Brack let out a loud laugh, slapping the table so hard the liquor glasses rattled. "That's it! That's my Ann! Smart and tough, just like her uncle!" He turned back to James. "Alright, young lad. You can start today. You'll be Frey's assistant. If you don't know something, ask him."
James nodded silently, saying nothing more. He knew this wasn't the place for long-winded thanks.
…
In the kitchen of Cranewold Bar, the smell of hot oil mixed with smoked meat filled the air. Frey stood scrubbing a large wooden barrel, his thin hands moving with machine-like efficiency. "James, right?" he said without looking up. "These barrels have to be clean. Otherwise, Varena will throw you over the city wall."
James grabbed a rag and began scrubbing a barrel as Frey instructed. The memories of Lime, the boy from Alvia who used to help in the kitchen, allowed him to work without fumbling. "You're from Alvia?" Frey asked. "Brack just mentioned it… what happened there?"
"The city was breached," James answered curtly, his hands still scrubbing. "Demons… they came from the shadows. I… just survived. That's all."
Frey nodded, not pressing further. He went back to scrubbing his own barrel, as if understanding that some questions didn't need long answers.
Just then, Grant walked into the kitchen. His shadow stretched long under the dim light. The silver spear he always carried glinted as he leaned it against an old wooden table.
He turned to James, his calm eyes studying the young man who was still quietly scrubbing the barrel.
"Kitchen work isn't a bad new beginning," his voice was deep but held a warmth… and something deeper.
James looked up slightly. He knew Grant wasn't just talking about barrels or the bar.
Grant paused before continuing. "I know you have something in you… something more than just luck that let you survive a demon of that level."
James froze, his hands stopping for a moment, but he said nothing. He just lowered his head again, pretending not to understand.
Grant didn't expect an answer.
"I don't know what you're hiding, or what plans you have in mind," the middle-aged man said slowly, his eyes filled with the steady calm of one who has faced death countless times. "But I know power well. Power that will eat you from the inside out. If you don't control it, it will control you."
He moved the silver spear closer to the wall and turned back. "If you want to be more than just a survivor, if you want to grow stronger… I suggest you register as a hunter."
James frowned slightly.
"Brack used to be a skilled hunter, even if he's long since retired. If you're interested in this path, you could try asking him to teach you a few things," Grant said with a faint smile. "It might not be easy to ask something of Brack, but if you have enough determination… I believe he won't refuse."
James was silent for a moment. He thought of the second he used his Void-Born Apex Bloodline against the demon, the crimson eyes that stared at him with hatred, and the power he himself still didn't understand.
He slowly looked up.
"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
Grant nodded and turned to leave, leaving James with the smell of oil, meat, and barrels that still needed to be scrubbed.
But in his heart… a certain fire had begun to burn.
The wooden door Grant pushed open fell silent. All that was left was the heat from the stove, the scent of smoked meat, and the soft creak of the barrel as James's hands continued their work.
Frey was quiet for a moment after Grant left. The sound of his scrubbing slowed slightly before he spoke in a low voice.
"You know… when I was a kid, I wanted to be a hunter too."
James looked up but still said nothing.
Frey smiled faintly as he looked at his own wet hands. "Not because I wanted to be a hero or anything… but because hunters… are people who always have a 'choice'."
He put down his scrubbing brush and turned to face James.
"In this world, not everyone gets to choose how they live. But hunters… they can choose. Which quests to take, where to go, who to kill or who to save. They're different from us because they have power."
He walked over and leaned against the soot-stained wooden window frame by the stove.
"The Hunter's Association in Felnia is right over there. Just cross the stone bridge. They have all kinds of quests, from hunting wolves in the forest to hunting powerful creatures from the forbidden zones."
He laughed softly.
"I used to go watch those hunters come back from their missions. Some covered in blood, some riding strange beasts, some coming back alone when they had left in a group… a life just a thin line away from death, but it was fascinating."
James remained silent.
Frey turned to look at him, his pale eyes reflecting the firelight. "Many hunters are madmen, drunks, or war-crazed. They do as they please, following only the Association's rules, not even caring for the city's laws—but even so… they are pillars of this world in a way an ordinary person like me can never be."
The crackle of firewood filled the brief silence. Frey continued, his voice softer but serious.
"The Hunter's Association has two important rules… Don't cause trouble in the city, and don't interfere with the ruling powers. That's the agreement between the Association and the royal family. Beyond that… the world is their playground."
He picked up a dry cloth to wipe his hands, looking at James again. "I don't have a special bloodline, no ability to awaken. So I'm here—scrubbing barrels, washing dishes, waiting for my silver coin a day."
"But you, from what Sir Grant said, it sounds like you're different from me."
"If I were you… I'd try walking into the Hunter's Association just once. Even if I failed, I'd want to know… just how far my own courage could take me."
He laughed softly again, a small, trembling sound, not because it was funny… but because it was a truth that cut deep.
"But as you can see, I didn't try. I was afraid of knowing the answer too soon."
Frey's last words faded into the air, as if it were a sentence he had thought for a long time but never spoken to anyone.
James didn't reply immediately. He just looked down at the wooden barrel in his hands. Those hands were still stained with grease and bits of meat… but in his mind, the word "Hunter" was being carved into his soul.