On the afternoon of the same day, the harsh sun beat down on the city of Felnia. James stood holding two buckets of water, his body damp with sweat that soaked through his clothes.
Frey followed behind with a large wooden basket. The smell of sun-drenched wet wood and dust from the sandy yard mixed with the faint scent of dried meat wafting from the kitchen. The surroundings were quiet but hot and exhausting, like the first test of the day.
"The horse tables outside, wipe them all down before the sun sets," Frey said, his voice flat but not rushing. "And wash those wooden barrels until they're clean. Varena is meticulous. If you leave any stains, watch out for her scolding."
James nodded in acceptance. He began the assigned tasks, his hands rough and damp from scrubbing, his breathing as steady as someone in meditation, while the faint sounds of the market crowd drifted to his ears.
Frey leaned against the door, pulled a piece of bread from his pocket, and chewed on it slowly while watching James work for a while.
"You know, when I first started working here, I scrubbed barrels until my hands bled," he said. "But because of that, I learned just how worthless a weak body is."
James didn't reply. He just gave a faint smile, sweat trickling down his temples and back, while his hands never stopped moving.
When the work was done and the sky began to change color, Frey led James out of the bar. The two crossed a short stone bridge into Felnia's market district.
A faint scent of blood hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of spices and smoke from grilled meat. The cries of street vendors blended with the hoarse laughter and rough curses of hunters mixed in with the crowd. James knew instantly that this was no ordinary market.
An old wooden table in front of an herb shop was adorned with strange-looking leaves. Some were as bright red as flames, others purple with patterns resembling pulsing veins. Glass vials contained a golden liquid that quivered as if alive, and iron flasks were sealed with strange talismans, which the merchant warned should not be opened unless you wanted 'it' to escape.
A stall sold weapons crafted from the remains of demons: a knife made from a glowing bull's horn, a short sword that hummed softly as if hungry for blood, and knuckles carved with runic patterns. Two older hunters were comparing the scars on their arms while demonstrating how to kill a corrupted-bloodline demon.
A white-haired girl dressed like a priestess stood selling hooked knives, her face pale, but her eyes seemed to see right through James's silence. Meanwhile, a group of hunters slammed their swords onto a wooden table before laughing loudly, talking about their latest mission where a 'teammate disappeared into the shadows' without a body left behind.
This was the world of hunters, those who walked the thin line between life and death.
Stalls selling low-priced mission documents to strange items from the borderlands were lined up like a hunter's arsenal.
James looked around, his eyes filled with interest. A man in a black leather cloak with a longsword on his back walked past, the sound of coins jingling in his pouch. Behind him was a tall woman, her hair a fiery red, and James could sense some kind of power from her eyes.
Frey spoke softly, "Those are Level-Two Hunters. Look at their insignia. Two silver arrows."
James nodded silently. He didn't dare stare too long, as a look could lead to unwanted trouble.
As they walked past the Hunter's Association, Frey slowed his pace, his eyes slightly downcast, but his voice remained steady.
The Hunter's Association building stood out from everything else in this district. It was constructed from black pine and granite. The pillars supporting the entrance were carved with various monsters that seemed to stare back at the observer. In front of the door, a large mission board was tacked to a rough wooden panel, covered in scratches from knives and claws. Beside the door, two giant hunters stood guard with greatswords on their backs, their sharp eyes scanning everyone who approached with a cold gaze.
The faint smell of blood wafted on the wind, like something clinging to the skin of hunters who had just returned from a mission. Each step closer to the door felt heavier, not because of the distance, but because of the pressure from a place filled with people who bet their lives every day.
"You were asking about hunters, right?"
James nodded. Frey sighed.
"Before you can take the test, you have to submit an application, have your bloodline assessed, undergo a physical fitness evaluation, and a field test. Remember, not everyone comes back alive. Not even from the Level-One test."
James stood still, staring at the dark wooden doors of the Association. Numerous notices were posted on the wall: wolf hunts, clearing out demon nests, and even warnings about 'forbidden zones.'
He clenched his fists, Frey's words echoing in his head.
He looked down, murmuring to himself that he still had much to prepare before he could face this world as someone with real power.
As the two were about to leave, James's eyes suddenly caught on a small stall tucked away in a corner behind a central pillar. It looked old and too plain to attract anyone, but some of the objects on the stall gave off a strange glint in the evening light.
He stopped walking, unconsciously. Frey paused before looking over. "What is it?"
On the old wooden table were small, dried bones in a cloth box, animal hides with magical engravings, and a glass vial filled with a black, ink-like liquid. Behind the stall sat a nomadic old man in a tattered, dull gray cloak. His cloudy eyes drifted past the crowd but stopped on James for a brief, profound moment.
He didn't say anything, but gave a slight nod, as if inviting him to come closer.
Frey frowned. "Don't get involved with him. These mysterious peddlers are sometimes just crazy, sometimes dangerous."
But James stepped closer, his eyes fixed on one of the glass vials. Inside was a dark red liquid that pulsed with a heartbeat-like rhythm.
"That's…" James murmured.
"A raw blood core of a low-level demi-beast," the old man said, his voice raspy. "Forbidden in some cities, but useful for those who know how to use it."
At that moment, the Primeval Blood Craft System flickered faintly in James's mind, as if it sensed an attraction to the object before him.
[Material Detected – Shadow Demon Blood Progenitor (0.4%) Silver - Grade 1]
[Bloodline compatibility: 12 bloodlines]
[Grade is determined by bloodline purity, starting from 1 to 5]
[Color is determined by bloodline sequence: Silver (Noble), Gold (Royal), Crimson (Divine)]
Frey gently pulled his arm. "James, let's go… don't forget we don't have the money for things like this."
James nodded, though his eyes didn't leave the vial. He knew that one day… he would be back.
The last light of day cast long shadows on the stone ground. That evening, he did not submit an application, but in his heart… he had already started down that path.
As James and Frey walked back from the market district, the sky above Felnia was dyed a deep blue. The smell of woodsmoke and spices from the street faded, but the image of the dark red vial on the old man's stall remained in James's mind. The words "demi-beast blood core" and the silver light from his System made him feel a power beginning to stir within.
"Don't space out, James," Frey said, patting his shoulder lightly as they neared Cranewold Bar. "Tonight's work is waiting. Get ready."
James nodded, pulling a rag from his pocket and following Frey into the bar.
Inside Cranewold Bar, the light from oil lamps cast a glow on rough wooden tables covered in scratches. The smells of rice liquor, roasted meat, and the sweat of hunters mingled in the air. Loud laughter mixed with boasts and the clinking of glasses like the rhythm of the night. Some hunters wore dust-stained clothes, some had short knives on their tables, while smoke from a pipe in the corner curled into spirals.
As soon as James stepped inside, Ann, the girl with the half-braided long hair who was helping behind the bar, gave him a small smile from across the room. She held an empty tray she had just cleared, weaving through the crowd of hunters with nimble grace before placing the tray near James.
"You're back, James?" Ann asked, her voice bright amidst the bar's chaos. "See anything strange at the market? I heard a merchant from the borderlands came today!"
James paused for a moment, the image of the Shadow Demon Blood Core flashing in his mind. "Yeah… a lot of strange things," he answered briefly. "Herbs, weapons, and… things I don't know what they're used for."
Ann laughed softly. "Sounds fun! I like looking at the herb stalls, the ones with the weirdly colored leaves. Sometimes I wonder what kind of medicine they can make." She tilted her head. "Are you interested in that stuff? Or just looking at strange things to kill time?"
James gave a small smile. "Just looking."
"Be careful," Ann whispered with a wink. "Some things in the market have a way of attracting the unwary." She picked up her tray and walked away, smiling before turning to serve the hunters at a nearby table.
James started working immediately. He carried used wooden barrels to the kitchen corner to wash, his rough hands scrubbing the liquor stains clean, while Frey went to check the liquor stock at the counter. Varena stood behind the bar, her long black hair, tied back loosely, reflecting the lamplight with a faint silver sheen. Her violet-gray eyes swept over the hunters in the bar, but James felt her gaze linger on him for a moment as he carried a barrel past.
"I'm telling you, I killed that raging blood-bear with a single knife!" a hunter at a central table yelled, his face flushed from liquor, pointing to a long scar on his arm. "If you don't believe me, go look at its carcass in the field!"
Another hunter scoffed. "A single knife? You just threw a spear and ran like a rabbit!"
Laughter erupted from the surrounding tables. Some slapped the table, some raised their glasses to drink. Varena glanced at the group with a cold expression but said nothing. She poured an amber liquor into a glass for the next customer, her movements swift, as if indifferent to the chaos.
James continued scrubbing the barrel. Sweat beaded on his temples, but he noticed that the hunter who had been boasting about the blood-bear was starting to stand up, his hand on the hilt of his knife, his bloodshot eyes glaring at his mocking friend. The other man put down his glass and stood up as well, his hand moving towards his iron knuckles.
"Want to prove who runs faster?" the first hunter growled.
Suddenly, the back room door opened, and Brack, the bar owner, stepped out. His large frame cast a giant's shadow on the wooden floor. The noise in the bar continued, but the brawling group froze instantly when they saw his sharp gaze.
"If you're going to draw knives," Brack said, his voice low but clear, "take it outside. This is not a place for you to kill each other."
The two hunters looked at each other for a moment, before one sighed and sat down. The other gave a dry laugh and picked up his glass to drink again. The tension eased, but James could feel the pressure from Brack's presence that commanded respect from everyone in the bar.
"Keep working, James," Frey called from the counter. "Don't waste your time watching drunks."
James nodded and turned back to scrubbing the barrel. But his mind was still on the silver Shadow Demon Blood Core he had seen at the market. The Primeval Blood Craft System seemed to whisper in his mind of a power waiting for him to seize.
He knew that becoming a hunter required more than just a strong body.
It required the power hidden within one's bloodline.
As the lamps in the bar began to dim and the hunters' voices softened, James placed the last barrel in the corner. His eyes swept over to Varena, who was wiping the counter with a calm demeanor, but her shadow on the wooden floor seemed to move a fraction slower, as if something was hidden in her silence.