The sun had risen, casting its golden glow over Shanghai. For most, it was the start of an ordinary day—commutes, offices, students rushing to schools. But for others, life was anything but ordinary.
Hunters.
The word echoed in Bailong's mind as he walked the bustling streets, clothed now in the simple attire the boy had worn before his death. People passed him by without notice, eyes glued to glowing panels—rectangles of light humans carried in their hands, muttering excitedly about the latest dungeon clearances and celebrity hunters.
"Guild Zenith cleared another A-rank dungeon yesterday!" one man gushed."No way! Did the Sword Saint join them?""I heard he soloed the boss. S-class, of course."
Hunters. Dungeons. Guilds.
Bailong listened quietly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. So this was the world the gods had crafted in his absence. A game of survival, a hierarchy wrapped in mortal pride.
Later that day, Bailong found himself wandering into the heart of the city. A towering building caught his attention—its walls glass and steel, its sign carved in gleaming letters both human and divine.
Shanghai Hunter Association.
He stepped inside. The interior buzzed with activity: hunters in uniforms, merchants hawking potions and weapons, clerks registering missions. A massive screen displayed live dungeon reports: red marks for open gates, green for closed.
On one wall, Bailong's eyes caught a familiar sight—a shrine. Not to him, of course. To the other gods. Their symbols hung proudly, each representing a patron deity who blessed humans with power.
He moved closer to a bulletin board, reading the parchment-like display glowing on digital panels:
Hunter Ranks
S-rank: The strongest, capable of clearing catastrophic dungeons alone. Rare and worshipped like kings.
A-rank: Elite hunters, often guild leaders or aces.
B-rank: Powerful but limited in scope, often squad captains.
C-rank: Competent hunters, standard guild members.
D-rank: Struggling hunters, often expendable in raids.
E-rank: Barely above mortals, cannon fodder.
Bailong scoffed. "So this is how you measure strength? With letters?"
To a god who once faced armies of deities, the idea was laughable. In his time, power was proven in blood and fire, not written down on lists.
Still, he noted the boy whose body he had taken was indeed registered as E-rank. Trash, in their eyes.
A loud voice broke his thoughts.
"Attention, all! Guild recruitment will begin in the east wing!"
Hunters flocked to the area, eager and excited. Bailong followed, curious.
Several booths had been set up, banners fluttering with names: Guild Zenith. Crimson Fangs. Silver Lotus. Iron Fortress. Each guild shouted promises of wealth, fame, and safety for recruits.
One recruiter boasted, "Join Crimson Fangs and earn triple pay for B-rank raids!"Another cried, "Silver Lotus is accepting talented healers and mages—we value our members!"
Bailong's lip curled. Guilds. A mockery of dragon clans. These mortals grouped together not out of loyalty, but profit. Bonds forged not by blood and flame, but by contracts and salaries.
He remembered his kin—dragons who fought shoulder to shoulder, who bled together in wars that shook the heavens. Guilds, compared to that, were nothing more than merchants in armor.
Still, he admitted: mortals had grown clever. Organization made them strong. Weaklings who could never face monsters alone survived by gathering like ants.
Dungeon Rules
Later, Bailong observed the dungeon management wing. Clerks handed hunters crystalline cards—Dungeon Permits—with strict warnings.
"Remember the rules! Hunters may only enter dungeons within their rank or one level higher. Breaking the rules is punishable by imprisonment. Clear the dungeon within the time limit or risk Breakouts!"
Breakouts? Bailong listened as a senior explained to a group of novices:
"When a dungeon isn't cleared in time, the monsters inside pour into the world. Cities fall if we fail."
So that was it. The gods had tied mortals to an endless cycle of challenge and fear. Gates opened. Monsters spawned. Hunters fought. Cities prayed.
A game. A cruel, twisted game.
Bailong narrowed his eyes. He could see it now—threads of divine energy woven into every dungeon, every hunter's card, every so-called blessing. This was no natural phenomenon. It was design.
The gods had shackled humanity, giving them power only to pit them against endless trials.
Just as they had once shackled dragons.
As he left the Association building, Bailong's mind whirled.
In the age of dragons, power was pure. You were born with strength, and you carved your destiny with claw and flame. Gods were rivals, enemies, or allies—but never masters.
Now, humans were like domesticated beasts. Fed scraps of power, trained to fight monsters birthed by the very beings they worshiped. They knelt to gods who treated them as pawns in an endless war.
And they accepted it. They smiled. They thanked their "patrons."
Bailong's lips curved into a cold smile.
"This world is bound by lies. And yet, these mortals bow willingly."
It disgusted him. But it also intrigued him.
Because in this game, Bailong alone would not play by their rules.
"Hey, you!"
The voice snapped him from his thoughts. A group of hunters stood nearby, sneering. Their uniforms bore the crest of Crimson Fangs.
"You were at the shrine last night, weren't you? You're that E-rank trash, Bailong!" one jeered."Didn't you quit your last raid team? Thought you'd crawl back here?" another laughed.
Bailong turned, his azure eyes gleaming faintly. The hunters faltered for a heartbeat at the strange intensity in his gaze.
Inside, Bailong chuckled. Ah, so these were the pests who tormented the boy whose body he now wore. His memories supplied their names. Bullies. Parasites.
The Dragon God tilted his head. "And what if I am?"
The hunters grinned cruelly. "Then you'd better stay out of real hunters' way. E-rank garbage like you shouldn't even step foot in the Association."
Bailong said nothing. He simply let a faint spark of power slip free.
The air around him shimmered, charged with invisible weight. The hunters stiffened, suddenly pale, their bodies trembling as if pressed by a mountain. None of them understood why their knees wanted to buckle.
Bailong smirked. "Then we shall see… who is trash."