Chapter 2
Three months passed since Rachel's death. The house was quieter now, suffocatingly so. Lily's laughter still flickered in the corners, but renji could hear the silence that Rachel left behind like a ghost.
Each night, he stood beneath the oak where she lay buried, whispering his vow again and again: Protect her. No matter the cost.
But vows didn't feed stomachs.
So renji found work with the Hunter Bureau not as a Hunter, of course. He had no mana, no ranking, no worth in their eyes. But the Bureau had other uses for the weak.
The job was simple, brutal, and degrading: carve the flesh from slain monsters hauled back from Gates, clean it, and prepare it for trade. Monster hides were boiled down into reinforced leather for armor, scales were melted into mana-conductive plates, bones were reforged into weapons, and flesh — the foul-smelling muscle of beasts — was sometimes even sold to nobles as exotic meat.
Renji's role was to cut, clean, and scrape. To handle the carcasses Hunters tossed at his feet, as if he were a dog given scraps.
The first day nearly broke him.
He gagged as the stench of rotting mana-flesh filled his lungs. The slime clung to his hands, burning his skin raw. His stomach churned as he plunged knives into the monstrous bodies, their blood hissing like acid. By the end of the day, his hands were blistered, his arms numb, his clothes soaked in gore.
The Bureau overseer laughed when he staggered. "Don't faint now, rat. These corpses are worth more than you'll ever be."
The Hunters sneered as they passed, their armor gleaming with reforged monster scales, their weapons pulsing with mana. They smelled of fire and lightning, their mana a storm that prickled Michael's skin. He wasn't even in the same universe as them.
In this world, power was law, and mana determined one's worth. Hunters were ranked by their mana scale — a system etched into the bones of society itself:
D-Rank Hunters – Barely above normal men. They served as scouts, bait, or cannon fodder. Most died early.
C-Rank Hunters – The working backbone. Strong enough to clear small Gates, often hired for town defense.
B-Rank Hunters – Skilled warriors, leading squads in mid-tier Gates. Many carved reputations in local regions.
A-Rank Hunters – Renowned elites, respected by nobles and kings alike. Capable of wiping out armies.
S-Rank Hunters – Walking calamities. When one appeared, cities celebrated. When one was angered, nations trembled.
SS-Rank Hunters – Legends among legends. A single SS-Rank was considered enough to hold back a country on their own. Only a handful existed in each continent.
SSS-Rank Hunters – The apex. Rare beyond belief — only eight living in the entire world. Each one powerful enough to stand against a hundred SS-Ranks. Their names were known across continents, their deeds immortalized in history. These were the kings and queens of the battlefield, the ultimate walls against the abyss.
And beneath them all, unranked — those without mana.
The nameless.
The disposable.
The forgotten.
Renji belonged to the dirt beneath even that.
But he was still sad and heartbroken... It's not a crime to be human even if I haven't awakened I shouldn't be treated this way
He said this with an heavy heart with tears rolling down from his eyes
Renji's Perspective
Every time he worked at the Bureau, surrounded by gleaming Hunters,renji felt the weight of this ladder pressing on his shoulders.
A D-Rank might sneer at him.
A C-Rank might spit near his feet.
An A-Rank might toss him a coin as if feeding a stray.
But when he once glimpsed an S-Rank walking through the Bureau halls, the man's mere presence stole Renji's breath. The air warped around his aura, suffocating. His steps were like thunder, and every lower-ranked Hunter fell silent in his path.
And that was just S-Rank.. He could feel it the incredible mana wave
He couldn't even imagine what an SS-Rank was like — much less the SSS-Ranks, the so-called "Eight Pillars of Mankind."
Renji, the boy who carved corpses for scraps, lived at the lowest rung of a tower that stretched to the heavens. And every day, he was reminded that he would never climb it.
But still, he endured — because Lily needed him
The smell of blood never left him.
It clung to his skin no matter how much he scrubbed, soaked into his clothes until even Lily wrinkled her nose when she hugged him. The Bureau gave him gloves and knives but never respect. To them, he was a faceless hand carving meat, not a man.
Every day, wagons rolled into the Bureau gates carrying monster carcasses — beasts slain in Gates by teams of Hunters. Wolves with two heads, serpents large enough to coil around towers, even broken dragonlings from failed nests. And when they were dumped on the carving floor, the Hunters would leave without a second glance. Their glory ended with the kill; the filth was left for men like Michael.
He carved until his fingers blistered.
He cut until the knife felt like an extension of his bones.
He breathed in the stench of rotting mana until he thought it would rot him from within.
And all the while, the Overseer barked at him, mocking him for every hesitation.
"Faster, rat! This hide won't scrape itself. Do you want your sister starving, eh?"
Renji clenched his teeth and said nothing. He thought of Lily's smile, of Rachel's whisper beneath the oak, and endured.
When his shift ended, Renji dragged his weary body back home. His pay was pitiful, barely enough for bread, thin broth, and sometimes dried meat if he saved well. But he always made sure Lily ate first.
Lily was only ten, but she was bright, her laughter carrying through the shadows of their small home. She waited at the table each night, a smile blooming when he walked through the door.
"Welcome home, oni chan" she'd chirp, hugging him despite the smell of monsters that lingered on him.
And Renji would force a tired smile, ruffling her hair. "I'm home."
They ate together, shared stories of their day, and when Lily fell asleep, Michael sat by the window, staring at the oak tree outside. He whispered to Rachel's grave every night, promising her he hadn't broken his vow.
But each day, the weight grew heavier. His body ached more, his hands trembled from exhaustion, and he often caught himself coughing blood when no one was looking.
The Bureau paid little and cared less. And no matter how hard he worked, he could never escape the truth: he was nothing.
Unranked.
Disposable.
Already forgotten.
The Shadow of Hunters
Sometimes, he overheard conversations while cleaning the flesh.
And with every single day it was always the same
D-Ranks mocked him, calling him "corpse boy."
C-Ranks boasted about clearing small Gates.
B-Ranks strutted with pride, speaking of missions in the midlands.
A-Ranks bragged about the nobles who dined with them.
S-Ranks never spoke to him — they barely acknowledged he existed.
Renji learned to bow his head, to hide his anger. But inside, a storm brewed. Not hatred of the Hunters themselves, but of the gulf — the wall between himself and power. The wall that had taken his father, that had drowned his mother in sorrow, that left Lily relying on him alone.
And some nights, when he held Lily's hand as she slept, he whispered into the dark:
"If I had just a little power… I'd never let this world take anything from us again."
But power was for others. Not for him. Not for the corpse boy.
Three months after Rachel's death, this was his life.
Blood, ash, and Lily's smile — the only light left to him.