The Ravager's horns rode in the wagon like trophies, lashed down with chains that rattled on the uneven road. Hunters marched in loose formation beside it, their armor dulled by grime and blood, their laughter forced thin by exhaustion.
But beneath that weariness, another current flowed—quieter, sharper. Whispers.
"They said it was the useless baron's son."
"No… I saw him. He struck the throw himself."
"Impossible. An F-tier can't bring down a beast like that."
"Then explain the horns, explain the record stone."
Jaeheon heard it all, though none spoke directly to him. They muttered behind his back, eyes sliding away when he looked their way. Disbelief warred with fear and awe, a fragile balance that would break soon enough.
He kept his stride steady, his cloak drawn close. Pain gnawed at his ribs still, but the system's quiet hum in his blood made every step bearable.
Ahead, Minjae rode on horseback, shoulders stiff, jaw locked. His blond hair caught the afternoon sun like a crown, but no amount of radiance hid the cracks in his pride. He hadn't spoken to Jaeheon once since the guild scribe named the Ravager kill.
Jaeheon knew silence could be louder than words. Minjae's rage was simmering, waiting for the right stage to boil over.
---
By nightfall, they made camp on the edge of Graywood. The forest loomed behind them, its black canopy muttering with unseen life. Hunters sprawled near the fire, tearing into rations, muttering about their pay.
Jaeheon sat apart, sharpening his blade by the faint glow of embers. The steel caught the firelight, his reflection in it sharp and unreadable.
Two hunters wandered over—grizzled veterans, their cloaks tattered, eyes watchful.
"You," one said, not unkindly. "Jaeheon, was it?"
He nodded once.
"You're the one who felled the Ravager."
"That's what the record says."
The hunter studied him, lips twisting. "Luck, then?"
Jaeheon slid the whetstone down the blade. Sccchhh. The sound cut the night. "Luck doesn't pierce hide. Skill does."
The man chuckled, though unease flickered in his eyes. "A dangerous answer. Careful with that pride."
His companion elbowed him. "He earned it. Who cares if Minjae's fuming? A dead beast's a dead beast."
The first hunter gave a tight nod, but as they left, Jaeheon caught their low voices:
"Too quick, too sharp for an F-tier…"
"Not natural. Something's off about him."
He let them walk away. Suspicion was inevitable. He just needed it not to turn to proof.
---
Minjae finally broke his silence the next morning.
The noble rode close, his horse's hooves kicking dust at Jaeheon's boots. "Enjoy the attention while it lasts, baron's whelp," he said softly, venom wrapped in silk. "The guildhall will strip your glory as quick as it came."
Jaeheon didn't glance at him. "If truth bends so easily, then perhaps it was never glory."
Minjae's hand twitched on his reins. He leaned down, voice low, intimate in its malice. "When the guild looks at you, they'll see nothing but dirt under noble boots. Remember your place."
Jaeheon smiled faintly, never looking up from the road. "I already have. It's not beneath you."
Minjae's horse surged forward, his jaw tight with fury.
The hunters around them pretended not to notice, but their ears burned with every word.
---
By the third day, the walls of Dawnreach rose before them—a city of stone and iron, towers stabbing the horizon. The guildhall loomed at its heart, a fortress more than a building, its spires crowned with banners of black and silver.
Hunters spilled toward its gates, wagons groaning with beast parts, voices clashing in a dozen dialects. The air was thick with sweat, steel, and ambition.
For Jaeheon, it was overwhelming and coldly familiar. He had read of places like this in the book before his transmigration—grand cities where strength wrote law. But standing here, with dust on his boots and a kill to his name, it was no longer words on a page.
It was real.
And it was waiting to devour him.
---
Inside, the guildhall roared like a market. Hunters lined before clerks in gray robes, exchanging monster cores for coin, filling reports, shouting disputes. A massive board at the hall's center displayed names etched in shimmering mana—ranks and achievements, a hierarchy carved in stone and spell.
E-tier hunters filled half the board, names flickering as they rose and fell with each kill logged. Higher tiers glowed like constellations above, few and untouchable. At the very bottom, dim and fading, were the F-tiers—hundreds of them, names stacked like the forgotten dead.
Jaeheon's name sat there now, faint as ash.
Not for long.
The scribe from Graywood led them forward, bypassing the queues. Hunters muttered at the sight, eyes narrowing at the horns displayed like relics. The scribe bowed before the hall's adjudicator, a woman in iron-gray armor whose gaze could shatter pride with a glance.
"Guild Adjudicator," the scribe intoned, voice steady. "The party returns from Graywood. Records confirm a Grayfang Ravager was slain. Slayer credited: Han Jaeheon."
The adjudicator's eyes fell on him. They were cold, precise, and unyielding.
"Step forward."
Jaeheon obeyed, his boots echoing on stone.
The adjudicator touched the record stone. Images shimmered into being—ghostly echoes of his strike, his throw, the beast's fall. Gasps rippled through the hall.
An F-tier, killing what should take dozens.
The adjudicator's voice rang clear. "Han Jaeheon. By record and witness, you are advanced to E-tier Hunter. Recognition: official."
The board above shifted. His name flared brighter, leaping from the bottom tier into the crowded ranks above. Hunters craned their necks, whispers exploding.
Impossible.
Unnatural.
A rising threat.
Minjae stepped forward, fury dressed in noble arrogance. "This is a farce! Without my strikes, the Ravager would never have fallen. He is a fraud. A liar."
The adjudicator's gaze cut him down like steel. "Your words carry no proof. Sit down, noble, or be struck from record yourself."
Laughter rippled through the hall. Minjae's face burned crimson. He bit back his rage and retreated, but his eyes never left Jaeheon.
And Jaeheon knew in that glare—vengeance was not a question, but a promise.
The guildhall didn't calm after the adjudicator's words. If anything, the noise grew sharper, whispers cutting through the air like daggers.
"E-tier? From Graywood?"
"Not possible. That's rigged."
"The record stone doesn't lie."
"But that boy—he's nothing. Some noble's castoff."
Jaeheon felt their eyes pressing down like weights. Some burned with envy, others with suspicion, a few with reluctant awe. He stood unmoving, cloak wrapped close, face unreadable.
Recognition was a double-edged blade. One side brought respect. The other, targets.
The adjudicator dismissed the hunters with a gesture. "Payment will be processed. Records stand. Next."
Hunters shuffled away, muttering. The Graywood expedition scattered into the crowd, eager for drink and coin. But Minjae lingered at the edge of the hall, his gaze fixed like a blade at Jaeheon's throat.
Jaeheon ignored him. The system hummed faintly in his mind, its cold logic steadying him.
---
[System Notice: Public recognition increases Fame value.]
[Fame: 3 → 17.]
[Passive Effect Unlocked: Notice – You attract more attention from allies and enemies alike.]
---
So that was the trade. Recognition wasn't free—it drew eyes he might not want. He dismissed the panel before anyone noticed.
---
A clerk approached him, thin and nervous, clutching a slate of runes. "Han Jaeheon?"
"Yes."
"Congratulations on your advancement. You are entitled to a briefing on guild structure, benefits, and responsibilities. If you'll follow me…"
Jaeheon allowed it. Better to understand the game before others played it against him.
The clerk led him through stone corridors lined with banners and weapons—trophies of long-dead beasts, blades etched with history. They entered a smaller chamber, quiet and lined with shelves of crystal tablets.
"Hunters are ranked by tier," the clerk explained, tone rehearsed. "F to A for mortals. Above that, S and Mythic exist, but few reach them."
He tapped his slate. Symbols flared in the air:
F-tier – Novices, fodder for low beasts.
E-tier – Competent, trusted with solo hunts.
D-tier – Leaders of small parties.
C-tier – Veterans, commanding squads.
B-tier – Elite hunters, often sponsored by guild or noble houses.
A-tier – Legends in their own right.
S-tier – Nation-level threats and protectors.
Mythic – Few in history, names etched in eternity.
Jaeheon's eyes traced the chart, filing it away. He was a single step up from nothing, yet the path ahead stretched like a mountain range.
The clerk continued, "Each advancement requires proof—kills, record stones, recognition. But beyond D-tier, political sponsorship often matters more than merit." His lips twitched bitterly. "Nobles decide who rises, and who is forgotten."
Jaeheon understood. The system gave him strength, but the guild's ladder was bound in chains of influence. Climbing it would mean stepping on more than beasts.
---
When he left the chamber, the guildhall had shifted. News of the Ravager kill had already spread beyond the hall, into taverns and streets. He heard his name carried on drunken lips, distorted with each retelling.
Some stories painted him as a genius. Others, a cheat.
Minjae, of course, stoked the latter.
The blond noble stood by a column, flanked by two men in gilded armor—hunters loyal to House Raon. His smile was thin, predatory.
"Enjoy your moment, Jaeheon," Minjae said as he stepped close. His voice was soft enough for only a few to hear, but sharp enough to cut. "Tomorrow, the Trial of Ascension begins. Let's see if your luck holds when the guild itself tests you."
Jaeheon frowned. "Trial?"
Minjae's smile widened. "Oh, didn't they tell you? Every newly advanced hunter must prove themselves in the field. The weak are culled, the worthy rise. And this year's trial…" His eyes gleamed cruelly. "It takes place in the Black Quarry. No one comes back clean."
He left with his guards, laughter echoing.
The words hung heavy in Jaeheon's mind. The Black Quarry—he'd read of it in the novel before his transmigration. A collapsed mine riddled with tunnels, now infested with things twisted by demonic corruption.
The perfect place for accidents.
---
That night, Jaeheon walked the streets of Dawnreach. Lanterns lit the cobblestones in pale gold, shadows pooling in the alleys. Taverns roared with hunters drinking their pay away, songs and curses spilling into the night.
But in the quieter corners, he felt it again—that weight of eyes.
He slipped into an alley, hand brushing his hilt. The shadows deepened, swallowing sound.
Then they stepped out. Three figures, cloaked in black, faces hidden. Their presence was wrong, like oil on water, their movements too smooth, too deliberate.
"Han Jaeheon," one whispered, voice like dry leaves. "The system's pawn."
Jaeheon's blood chilled.
They knew.
The figure tilted its head. "You were not meant to rise. The world bends where it should not. We will correct it."
Steel hissed as Jaeheon drew his blade. His heart pounded, instincts flaring with the system's sharp hum.
This was no random alley ambush.
This was the first move of something greater.