Reynor rubbed his palms together, staring at the relics lined across his desk like rare treasures on display. "Alright, let's see what you can actually do. Don't disappoint me, my billion-dollar lottery tickets."
He closed his eyes and tried to push a thread of his spirit energy into the strange lamp.
But the cracked thing didn't even flicker. He gritted his teeth and tried harder, but it sat there as smugly as a dead beetle.
Next, he grabbed the tiger sculpture, focusing until his veins bulged on his neck. He imagined it roaring to life, maybe pouncing across the room. Instead, it glared at him with stone eyes, refusing to move an inch.
The scroll was worse. The moment his spirit energy brushed against it, the thing drank it like water, leaving him pale and dizzy in an instant. He yanked his hand back before it could suck him dry.
Reynor slumped against the chair, panting.
The only thing left was the needle. He picked it up, pricked his finger again, and let his energy flow inside. For a heartbeat, it quivered, then floated into the air, humming faintly.
Reynor grinned. "At least you're not completely useless."
But his joy lasted only a few seconds before the needle lost its strength and dropped, clattering onto the desk.
Again and again, he tried, sweat running down his back. Each time it rose, hovered shakily, then fell.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, he managed to hold it steady in the air for a full minute. His chest rose and fell like he'd run ten laps around the village.
Controlling relics was far more draining than he imagined. His pitiful energy reserves as an awakener were nowhere near enough.
In this world, true hunters climbed ranks not just through brute strength but also through their spirit pools, the deeper and stronger the pool, the more power they could unleash. From lowly F-rank all the way up to the legendary S-rank.
And he hadn't even formed his own spirit pool yet. He was little more than a rookie who had awakened yesterday.
Still, he refused to give up. Reynor squinted at the hovering needle, tilting his head. "What am I supposed to do with you? Stab someone's toe? You're a relic, not a sewing kit."
He sighed, just as a fly landed on the potted plant by the window. His lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Alright, let's test your true power. Needle versus fly."
He pointed his finger, directing his will toward the insect. The needle wobbled in the air, then SHOOOSHED!
It shot forward like a bolt of lightning, so fast his eyes almost missed it. The fly didn't just die, it exploded into a mist of blood and wings, leaving only a smear across the leaf.
Reynor's jaw dropped. He stared at the smoking hole now carved into the wooden frame behind the plant.
"Holy…" His voice came out in a whisper.
That wasn't poking. That was a damn railgun.
The needle floated back toward him, humming with faint energy, almost eager for its next target.
Reynor's lips twitched as a nervous laugh bubbled out. "Alright… alright, I take it back. You're not useless. You're terrifying."
But as he held it, his knees trembled. That single strike had drained almost all of his spirit energy. His vision swam, and he collapsed back into the chair, gasping for breath.
"If this tiny thing eats that much energy," he muttered weakly, "I'll be dead before I even stab the first enemy."
Yet, despite the exhaustion, he couldn't hide the grin stretching across his face. The fly-slaying needle was no ordinary relic. And in the hands of a stronger hunter, it could probably pierce through steel like butter.
The entire day had slipped past him in a blur of sweat, muttered curses, and failed attempts. When he finally dragged his gaze to the window, the sky had already bled into a deep red.
"Evening already?" he muttered. His stomach answered with a loud growl.
Now that he remembered, he hadn't eaten a single bite all day.
Hastily, Reynor swept the relics into his cabinet, locking it shut. He patted it once, as though that could keep treasure-hungry thieves.
Then, with a snap of his fingers, a ring of flame flickered to life atop his magic stove. He pulled out what little remained in his cabinet: some grains, dried herbs, a wilted vegetable or two, and a small cut of meat that had seen better days.
"Not much, but enough for a civilized meal," he said, trying to convince himself.
The smell of sizzling meat soon filled the room, mingling with the earthy scent of herbs. He plated it carefully, almost reverently, as if preparing a banquet.
The dish was simple, rough around the edges, but it reminded him of home.
Just as he was about to sit down and take his first heavenly bite, a sharp knock rattled the door.
"Brat!" came an old woman's voice, muffled but shrill.
He froze, spoon hovering in the air. "…Now?"
With a sigh, he set his food aside and trudged toward the door. When he opened it, the sight of his wrinkled landlady waiting outside made him rub the back of his head.
"What's up, Granny? Did someone pass away?"
The old woman narrowed her eyes like a hawk. "Brat, did you just curse me?"
Reynor's face twitched. "No, no! I said, 'were you doing well?' Your old ears must've heard wrong."
"Hmph!" she huffed, slapping her cane against the floor.
Reynor forced a laugh. "Heh… Granny, what did you call me out for?"
"The room next to yours got rented today," she said, pointing her cane toward the door across the hall. "I want you to help clean it."
Reynor blinked. "Wait, someone actually wanted that rat nest?"
"Did you say something?" she snapped.
"No, no,"
Then, with a faint smile, she turned her head. "By the way, she's the new tenant. Let me introduce you."
It was only then that Reynor noticed the figure standing quietly at the side, half-hidden in the evening shadows.
A familiar girl stepped forward. Her long hair shimmered faintly in the last rays of sunlight, her posture graceful, eyes calm yet piercing.
Reynor's throat went dry. He felt his stomach sink, and not just from hunger.
"Nice to meet you," she said softly, her lips curving into a smile. "I'm June Luminara. We'll be neighbors from today."