Inside a dusty street corner of the bustling market, an eighteen-year-old youth knelt in the dirt like a monk, though nothing about his posture looked holy.
His forehead pressed into the ground, back twisted at odd angles, arms shaking as though he were trying to wring out divine pity with sheer body language.
"Om… Amen… Oh mighty gods, I beseech thee!" he cried, palms clasped tight and trembling. "Grant me a way out of this mess! By Vishnu's grace, let there be a miracle! I'll do anything, just send me something! A chakra, a system panel, a talking sword, I'm not picky!"
His voice rang out across the stalls, louder with each plea.
"Hallelujah! Allahu Akbar! Buddha, lend me your strength!" he shouted, rattling off names of gods, saints, and bodhisattvas like a gambler throwing his last handful of dice.
He even slipped in half-remembered names from obscure myths he'd once skimmed in dusty paperbacks, unsure if they were real but desperate enough not to care.
Reynor had never been religious in his old world. Back then, prayer had seemed like superstition, a waste of breath. He had scoffed at faith. He had never bowed, never whispered a plea to heaven.
But here, in this different world where beasts, and superhuman who could punch holes through mountains, even the proudest atheist could turn into a fervent priest.
Just then, he heard a clack.
A rock rolled to a stop before him, kicked by some absentminded passerby.
Reynor's eyes cracked open. He stared at the lump of stone as though it radiated heavenly light.
With exaggerated reverence, he snatched it up and cradled it against his chest.
"A primordial crystal!" he sobbed. "At last! My golden finger!"
The passerby blinked, gave him a long side-eye, and then picked up their pace.
"Mother, what is that brother doing?" a little boy whispered, tugging at his mother's sleeve.
"Shh," she hissed, dragging him along. "Don't look at him."
Around the market, stall owners exchanged knowing glances and muttered.
"It's that lunatic again," someone sighed.
"Still praying to rocks?" another snorted.
"Poor kid. Already lost his mind."
But Reynor, oblivious to the gossip, rocked the stone in his arms with the solemnity of a priest holding holy relics, his face burning with absurd devotion.
"Hey, Reynor, what are you doing?"
A voice pulled him from his solemn worship of the stone.
Reynor blinked and turned, spotting a youth around his own age standing at the side, arms crossed with a familiar half-smile.
"It's you, Jake," Reynor said with recognition. He immediately held the stone aloft like it was a priceless treasure. "Look! I found a primordial crystal."
Jake's gaze drifted to the object in his friend's palm. A round, ordinary rock. His lips twitched, caught somewhere between amusement and pity.
"…Yeah," he said, giving a wry smile.
"Isn't it cool?" Reynor asked earnestly, eyes glittering as he admired the near-perfect roundness of his discovery.
"Uh-huh." Jake nodded once, wisely choosing not to argue. Instead, he tried to change the conversation. "Anyway, there are only a few days left before our hunter examination. Why aren't you preparing?"
"This is my preparation." Reynor lifted the rock higher, as if its very presence explained everything.
"…Yeah," Jake repeated, glancing around. The two of them were already drawing stares from merchants and passersby, whispers buzzing through the crowd.
Jake exhaled through his nose and decided it was best to retreat.
"How about we head to our usual?" he suggested carefully.
Reynor tilted his head. "About that, I don't think-"
"It's my treat."
"Sure! Let's go," Reynor said instantly, springing to his feet.
Jake sighed, rubbing his temple. This stingy guy…
Leaving the cramped corner street behind, the two stepped into a wider avenue where the crowd thickened.
The evening sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.
Merchants packed away their goods, women haggled for last-minute bargains, and children tugged on their parents' sleeves, begging for roasted chestnuts from street vendors.
All around, life bustled. Some people hurried into inns where warm lantern light spilled out the doors, others pushed into rowdy bars where the sound of laughter and drunken shouts spilled onto the street.
But Reynor's eyes weren't on them.
They were on the men and women who walked with sabers, swords, and halberds strapped openly across their backs.
They carried a powerful presence, and the crowd parted ever so slightly to let them pass.
Reynor's gaze shone with admiration. His lips parted, eyes gleaming like a child watching heroes from a storybook.
They were hunters. In this world, since ages past, humans and beasts had stood apart for various reasons.
Against beasts, ordinary humans had only steel, courage, and the inevitability of defeat. Time and again, history spoke of humanity's despair beneath the beasts.
But then came a man who unraveled a hidden path. Through him, the Age of Awakening began.
Those who awakened transcended mortal limits, wielding strength and abilities that could only be called magic.
They became hunters, the defenders of humanity, the sword and shield of the empire. Their duty was to stand between mortals and beasts.
Reynor's heart pounded as he watched a woman pass with twin blades slung across her back, her scarred face half-hidden under a hood. People stepped aside in respect.
Ever since he woke up in this world, Reynor had longed to stand among them. Not because of some noble calling or heroic ambition, no, his reasons were far more grounded.
Hunters lived in comfort. They were showered with privileges, wealth, and authority that ordinary folk could only dream of.
To walk openly with weapons, to dine at the best inns without question, to earn gold by the pouch instead of copper by the handful that was the life Reynor wanted.
His lips curled into a grin as he hugged the round stone closer to his chest.
"A hunter, huh…" he muttered under his breath, eyes glittering with envy.
Jake, walking beside him, only sighed. He'd seen that look on Reynor's face before, too many times.
But not all hunters were heroes. With power came pride, and with pride came vice.
As Reynor and Jake made their way up the busy street, up ahead, a young hunter stood in the middle of the road, weapon strapped proudly to his back.
His posture oozed arrogance as he loomed over a frail old man who had dropped to his knees, hands trembling in apology.
"You blind old fool!" the hunter shouted. "You dare step on my shoes?"
The old man bowed again and again, his voice hoarse. "Forgive me, young lord, forgive me. I wasn't looking-"
But no apology was enough. The hunter's face twisted in anger, and he gave the man a shove with his boot.
The crowd watched in silence. Some lowered their heads, others turned away, but none spoke up.
Hunters were their protectors, the ones who stood between them and beasts. To confront one was unthinkable.
Other hunters nearby glanced over, but only with faint smirks or disinterested shrugs. To them, this was a petty display, not worth the effort of interfering.
The old man collapsed against the stones with a groan, clutching his side. The young hunter snorted, kicked dust at him, and finally stalked off in a huff.
Reynor and Jake stepped aside as the hunter approached, but fate, or Reynor's lack of balance made his stumble.
Reynor's shoulder brushed the hunter's arm. The man froze, eyes narrowing. Having just endured one offense, his patience was razor-thin.
"You-" he was about to yell.
But Reynor was faster.
"Ah! Forgive me, hunter brother! Truly, it was my fault. It's just… I couldn't help but notice your attire." His eyes sparkled. "Such fine tailoring! And the way your weapon sits on your back, ah, like a true hero! If only I could carry myself with such elegance."
The hunter blinked. His scowl faltered, then shifted into a smirk. He straightened, adjusting his collar as if Reynor's words were the most natural truth in the world.
With a satisfied grunt, he waved the boy off and continued down the street without further word.
Jake stared at Reynor as they slipped into a nearby bar, the warm noise and scent of ale washing over them.
They found a spot in the far corner of the bar, near a window where the last traces of evening light filtered through.
Reynor slumped comfortably into his chair. Grinning, he pulled out a small leather pouch and set it on the table. The coins inside jingled merrily.
Jake's mouth fell open. "You… you stole that from him?"
Reynor shrugged, already prying open the pouch to peek inside. "What? He was being an asshole. Consider it community service."
Jake could only sigh, burying his face in his palm.