The massive iron doors of the Hunter Association's Central Tower groaned as they opened, their weight a clear reminder of the centuries of authority this place held. Inside, the Meeting Room was a cavernous hall, dimly lit by high-hanging chandeliers whose light barely touched the edges of the obsidian floor. A massive round table, carved from a single slab of black stone, sat at the center. Around it, fifteen high-backed chairs awaited their occupants, though only eleven were currently filled.
The air was thick with chatter, the kind that only seasoned hunters could sustain—loud voices debating missions, recounting past battles, and indulging in the subtle satisfaction of superiority. Cups clinked against saucers as drinks were poured. One hunter's blade, polished to a mirror shine, slid across a whetstone with precise, almost meditative strokes.
"Tch! Rank 2 skipped again? He's a lazy worm who belongs in a dumpster, not here," a young hunter muttered, rolling his eyes in irritation.
"Rank 3 probably picked another fight with a mountain," another said with a snort, sending the table into laughter.
The sound bounced off the high ceilings, filling the room with a chaotic energy that seemed almost tangible. But before the laughter could settle, the doors banged open with authority.
All movement stopped as the Chairman entered. His figure was stern, yet deceptively unassuming—eyes sharp behind silver-rimmed glasses, a calm aura of control that made the room feel smaller. Beside him strode the Vice Chairwoman, Elira Vaelyn. Her navy suit was immaculate, her presence commanding without needing to shout. Even in the subdued light, she radiated a natural authority.
The Chairman took his seat, the silver ring on his knuckle rapping once against the blackstone table. The sound resonated like a gavel in a courtroom. Silence fell, save for one defiant voice.
"Old man, one foot's already in the grave. Why not hand over that chair before your back snaps?" Ryuu, Rank 10, smirked with brazen confidence, leaning back carelessly in his chair. Known for his idiocy and lack of tact, he never failed to provoke chaos wherever he went.
Every eye in the room turned toward him. The silence felt brittle, almost suffocating.
Then came the sharp sound of leather-soled boots stomping against the floor. Shiori stepped forward, eyes narrowing. Without warning, her heel connected with Ryuu's foot.
"Gah! WOMAN! You crushed my—" Ryuu's howl of pain was cut short, his voice cracking under the force.
"Consider it a gentle reminder of your IQ level," Shiori said, cool and unimpressed.
The tension broke like a dam, and laughter erupted across the table. Even the stoic hunters found themselves shaking their heads, some chuckling, some smirking. Ryuu whimpered, nursing his foot while trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, though it was entirely lost.
Elira Vaelyn adjusted her glasses, her expression calm as she looked at the council. "Focus. We have pressing matters. Demon incidents have spiked near civilian zones. Patrol units must be reinforced, and beacon seals upgraded immediately."
A few hunters exchanged nervous glances. The mention of demons brought an instant shift from casual banter to seriousness.
"Where are the others?" one female hunter asked, adjusting her glasses. "Rank 1, 2, 3, and 15 are absent again. This isn't acceptable."
The room's attention shifted in unison as brief reports of each absent hunter flickered through their collective consciousness.
-----
Rank 1 – Zephyr Elcion, "The Ice Sovereign"
Far to the north, on a frost-covered cliff that jutted out like a dagger into the sky, Zephyr Elcion stood alone. His colossal ice sword rested over his shoulder, its edge still glimmering with the remnants of frozen foes. Around him, the bodies of demons lay scattered, frozen mid-scream, eyes wide with terror that had been etched into ice.
His blue eyes, cold as the glaciers around him, swept over the landscape. Not a single demon stirred. Not a single movement challenged his dominance.
"Mission complete," he muttered quietly, brushing snow from his shoulders, his voice carrying the weight of countless victories. He did not celebrate, did not cheer. There was only the cold, meticulous satisfaction of a hunter who had perfected his craft.
---
Rank 2 – Arzen Voidveil
Meanwhile, Arzen Voidveil languished in a much less noble environment. His room was a disaster—a chaotic mess of empty instant ramen cups, energy drink cans, and scattered manga volumes littered every surface. A faint glow pulsed in the shadows, a small, loyal entity nudging him with careful precision.
"Mmm… five more minutes," Arzen murmured, burying himself deeper into the tangled sheets. The shadow hovered closer, almost impatiently. Even in his state of laziness, his innate power radiated faintly, causing the air to thrum with quiet energy.
The top hunters might have fought epic battles and frozen mountains, but here lay Rank 2, choosing comfort over duty. And somehow, he survived—sometimes more by chance than design.
---
Rank 3 – Ragna Bronzefist
Ragna Bronzefist needed no introduction. Standing a towering 7.5 feet tall, he was a mountain of muscle and fury incarnate. Bare-chested, veins standing out like cords of iron, he ran headlong into a pair of hulking demons. His fists sparked with unrestrained flame, each swing sending shockwaves through the ground.
"No talk! Just smash!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the battlefield.
The demons faltered, whispering in fear, almost in disbelief. "He's not human… he's a cursed beast…"
Ragna's mind contained no room for conversation. Every movement, every strike was instinctual, fueled by raw rage and a hunter's relentless drive. No plan, no strategy—only destruction and dominance.
---
Rank 15 – The Newcomer
The quiet streets of the city told a very different story. A figure moved silently among the shadows, arms outstretched as if embracing the world's weight. Civilians instinctively stepped aside, sensing the weired energy radiating from him. His eyes gazed at the sky, unfocused, yet full of a strange determination.
"Truck-kun… take me to the world of elf queens and demon waifus…" he whispered, voice barely audible, as if speaking a secret to the wind.
Two high school girls passing nearby froze, exchanging uneasy glances.
"Did he just say… elf queens?" one asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"He's… imagining pervy things, I think. Let's just go before he does something weird," the other whispered, tugging at her friend's sleeve.
The boy continued walking, blissfully unaware, lost entirely in his own fantastical daydreams. The city carried on around him, oblivious to the wandering hunter whose imagination had far outpaced his surroundings.
---
Back in the Council Room
"Honestly, how is Rank 15 still employed?" a hunter muttered, his tone a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.
"He's harmless. Just… inexperienced," another replied.
Elira Vaelyn's voice cut through the room, clear and commanding. "Focus. Demon activity has surged. Civilian safety is our primary concern. Strengthen patrol units and reinforce beacon seals immediately."
The Chairman nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. "Additionally, last night, a girl was saved by a mysterious hunter. Surveillance confirms he wielded the Emperor Blade."
The council collectively drew a breath. A weapon of such legend belonged to only one man now deceased—Arvion.
"Wait… Arvion's sword?" a hunter whispered.
"Yes. The boy is Arvion's last disciple," the Chairman said calmly.
Respect washed over the room. Not fear, but recognition of something extraordinary entering their midst.
"So… the Ghost Hunter finally has a name," murmured one hunter.
"Even so, he starts at Rank 16. No favoritism. Every hunter begins at the bottom," another clarified. Heads nodded. The message was clear: no matter his lineage, no matter the weapon he wielded, he would earn his place.
---
Somewhere in the City
The evening lights of the city glimmered off the display windows of a small electronics shop. Televisions lined the walls, each broadcasting news reports of the masked savior now dubbed "The Ghost Hunter."
"The Ghost Hunter… Citizens cheer the masked savior. Speculations abound, some claiming he is an exiled legend, others a rogue assassin. None know his true identity…"
Above, on a quiet rooftop, a lone figure watched. Cloaked, with a dark purple aura subtly flickering behind him, his eyes scanned the city. He was a shadow among shadows, moving only when necessary, silent yet imposing.
"This city… isn't safe yet," he murmured.
And with that, Rayyan vanished, leaving behind only the faint whisper of a presence that promised both hope and chaos.