The tapping of beer kegs, the sound of laughter, the clang of steel on steel, and the creak of old wood under the heavy boots of several hunters created a sound that was strange and complex... yet as harmonious as a kind of music.
Cranewold Bar at night was nothing like James had imagined. It wasn't bustling like a central market or unbearably loud... instead, it was like a refuge for those who carried something back with them from the darkness.
Torches on the stone walls flickered, casting long shadows of people across the wooden floor. Some leaned back in their chairs, exhausted. Some raised their mugs, clinking them together as if celebrating the life they still had. Some sat alone in silence, hands clasped tightly around their mugs, eyes staring vacantly into the fire in the middle of the room.
Amidst this moderate chaos, James caught sight of Ann helping Varena grab glass bottles from the shelf behind the bar. The girl, his own age, moved with a nimbleness that defied her years, her small frame weaving through the surrounding hunters without a hint of fear.
When she saw James standing awkwardly near a table with an empty tray, Ann approached him. She whispered softly, "Table four ordered bread and smoked meat. If you're any slower, he'll throw a knife at you instead of a complaint."
James nodded in acknowledgment. Ann gave a small smile before turning back to her duties.
"It's always like this the first time."
Another voice spoke from behind him. Elen stood there, holding a basket of wooden mugs. "Don't be afraid of anyone's gaze. Remember, these people respect those who can actually work, not those who act tough."
James met her eyes for a moment before nodding again. He knew her advice carried more weight than words from anyone else. It came from a true hunter who had survived in the same world as him.
"Thank you..." he said, his voice soft but clear.
He quickly headed to the kitchen to get the plate of food. His steps were a little steadier now. His gaze began to look at the people around him with more understanding than fear.
"Thanks, new kid," a middle-aged hunter said as he took a tankard. A faint scar ran across the man's face, from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, but his eyes weren't particularly fierce.
James nodded before turning away to take the next order. He walked past a table where four hunters were gathered, laughing loudly about something he couldn't quite hear. They all had hunter insignias hanging from their waists, a metal insignia depicting a bow crossed with arrows.
It was like Grant's, but James noticed that no one in this group had as many arrows as Grant did.
Perhaps the number of arrows signifies a hunter's rank.
As he walked past, the hunters stopped talking, glanced at James for a second, then went back to their laughter. No one greeted him, no one asked any questions.
But the look they gave him… it wasn't disgust, but caution.
The bar at night had its own story, and James… was just a supporting character who had just been added to the cast.
He returned behind the bar as soon as Varena shot him another look. The young woman didn't scold him, but simply nodded and tossed him an empty tray. "Take this away. Table three."
While passing a corner of the bar, James saw Frey carrying a small beer keg towards the storage room. His thin body still moved with the same stability as it did during the day.
The music from a wandering minstrel sitting near the hearth began to play, a slow, sad melody, but with a certain warmth woven into its notes, as if lulling everyone's pain into a temporary calm.
James stood by a table, watching the firelight reflect through a glass of liquor. He still felt unaccustomed to the clamor around him, but within that unfamiliarity… there was something called "life."
As time passed, the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floor came from behind the bar, followed by a powerful shout that echoed through the room.
"Time's up! The bar is closed for the night!" Brack Cranewold's voice was a thunderclap. The music stopped abruptly. Several hunters who were still laughing loudly fell silent at once.
There was no resistance, no protests. Even the drunkest hunter quickly put down his glass and stood up quietly, showing respect with his eyes to the large bar owner whose authority out-roared any din.
Brack walked straight to the door. He threw it wide open to let the smell of liquor out, along with the final sounds of the night. "Don't forget your things, don't leave corpses behind the bar. If anyone leaves anything, I'm throwing it in the river!"
A few dry laughs were heard before the crowd of hunters began to file out of the bar under the moonlight filtering through the wooden blinds.
The atmosphere returned to silence. The torchlight flickered on the walls as if the entire bar was letting out a collective sigh.
James stood behind the counter, still holding the empty tray. Frey walked up beside him with a small smile. "You didn't break any cups tonight. I'd say you passed. Welcome, new kid."
Brack walked back, threw a towel on the counter, and looked at James silently before nodding.
"You did well… didn't get in the way, didn't cause trouble. That's what I like." He took a few copper coins and placed them on James's tray. "A reward for the new kid."
James took it silently, but his eyes held a certain feeling. Perhaps the hard work tonight reminded him of the old world he had left behind.
"Come, I'll show you to your room," Frey said, turning to lead the way. He lit a dim oil lamp and led James past the back of the bar to a wooden staircase that went upstairs.
The room was a small space behind the bar, with a low ceiling and wooden walls, but it had a bed with a thick blanket and a small window that opened to the back alley.
"Not bad, right?" Frey said with a smile. "Besides the sounds of fighting some nights after closing, there's nothing you need to worry about."
James let out a soft chuckle before placing the tray on a small table and sitting down on the bed.
His first night was over.
But in his head… thoughts were still racing.
He thought of Grant's words, Frey's gaze, and Brack's stern expression.
"Hunter…"
The word surfaced quietly in his mind. Not out of ambition or a thirst for power, but because it might be the only way for him to understand what lay dormant within him.
The bloodline he had never known—the Void-Born Apex Bloodline.
And the system that had appeared with it—the Primeval Blood Craft System.
Both remained as silent as the first day he had woken up in this body. They didn't speak, didn't command, didn't guide. There was only the strange reaction when facing death, which assured him… they were still there.
But what he didn't understand at all was the strange ability the system had mentioned at first.
The ability to create bloodlines.
It was a concept beyond imagination. Not just using power, but 'giving birth' to new power. James didn't know the limits of such an ability, or what he would have to trade to get closer to it.
He didn't know how to call upon it, how to control it, or even how to begin to understand it.
The path of a hunter might not be an easy or safe answer.
But it was the only path he believed… would lead him closer to the truth.