Kael turned his head slowly. A man stood before him, appearing to be in his late thirties—taller than Kael, broad-shouldered, with a medium-length beard that partially hid his face. A faint, pleasant fragrance lingered around him.
He wore a crisp white shirt beneath a sleeveless leather jacket, black trousers that fit neatly, and well-worn leather shoes. Every detail suggested strength, confidence, and purpose.
"Who are you ?" Kael asked, his expression serious.
"I'm Baldur, the chief commander of the Hunters," the man replied in a deep, resonant voice.
Kael's father, hearing this, stepped forward, placing himself slightly between them. "Has something happened, sir? My apologies… my son's physical conditioning isn't the best," he said, his hand resting near the knife strapped in leather at his side.
"Oh… so you're his father," Baldur said firmly, studying him.
"Yes… Chief Baldur," he replied respectfully.
Well… your son does seem physically weak, but with proper food and hard work, he could have muscles like ours," the chief commander said, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
Kael's gaze stayed sharp, fixed on the chief. His father, wearing a nervous grin, wished to slip away—after all, their shopping was already done.
"Tell me, kid… do you want to be a hunter?" the chief asked, his expression now serious.
Kael, unfamiliar with the term, kept his face calm but confused. His father's expression shifted from a nervous grin to shock. "Are you really sure, Chief, that my son is capable of being a hunter?" he asked.
"Sure, why not. But first, I'll need to test your reflexes," Baldur said with a measured tone. He gave Kael's father a glance, as if to calm him, before stepping slightly aside so they had space. "Don't worry—I'll keep it light. Just follow my lead."
To any bystander, Baldur's movements would have seemed no more than a playful sparring jab, the kind an adult might toss at a curious youth. But Kael sensed the weight hidden behind it. He dropped his shoulder bag, positioning himself so his father would be out of harm's way. Feet planted wide, his awareness sharpened.
"Kid… how do you handle this?" Baldur asked, and then the punch came—swift, precise, far sharper than it appeared.
Kael's assassin instincts flared—but he held himself back, twisting just enough to deflect the blow with his left hand, keeping the force controlled so as not to endanger his father.
Without hesitation, he spun the momentum, his right hand snapping upward in a lightning-fast arc. Fingers extended, the strike aimed for Baldur's throat with surgical precision. Every movement was fluid, measured, and controlled—like the culmination of countless hours of training, instincts honed beyond ordinary human reflex.
Time seemed to slow for Kael, each flick of Baldur's wrist, each subtle shift in weight, perfectly visible. He felt the familiar rhythm of battle pulse through him, aware that a single misstep could cost him everything.
But his hand stopped mid-motion. Confusion flickered in his mind—something felt… off.
Of course, he thought, this isn't my old body. I've been reborn smaller, younger…
His father and the blacksmith watched in shock. Baldur, however, regained his balance and stood tall. "Kid… you've got a bright future," he said, his tone serious.
He explained that in two days, there would be a Hunter's Challenge in the middle-class district. It was a competitive event where teenagers faced off, judged on both skill and intelligence, with the top thirty performers earning the opportunity to become hunters.
Kael's father's eyes widened, as if a god himself had blessed his son. Kael, however, remained contemplative, unsure whether he should take the opportunity.
From his left pocket, the chief pulled out a medium-sized poster detailing the Hunter's Challenge and the trials participants would face. Kael stepped closer, his eyes scanning the bold letters and diagrams. He noted the obstacles and combat tests laid out on the paper, his mind already preparing for what lay ahead.
His father glanced over his shoulder, reading only the brief summary. His eyes widened slightly at the competitive nature of the event, but he said nothing, trusting Kael to decide.
"I'll see you there, kid… but before I go, tell me your name," Baldur said, his voice deep and serious.
His father replied calmly, "His name is Kael Brim."
With that, Baldur departed, leaving Kael and his father alone near the blacksmith's shop.
According to the rules, they were expected to return to their lower-class district before dusk. The afternoon sun was already dipping toward the horizon as Kael tugged at his father's sleeve.
"Father… could we stop by the watchmaker? I want a pocket watch," he asked.
After a brief pause, his father nodded and handed over a silver coin for the purchase. With the pocket watch secured, they set off along the winding streets, the shadows growing longer with each step.
By the time they reached the main road leading back to their district, the evening glow painted the rooftops in warm amber. Curiosity tugged at Kael. In a calm voice, he asked,
"Father… what does it mean to be a hunter?"
His father hid his concern behind a simple smile.
"Being a hunter means living with honor. You'll be trained to protect people from the deadly creatures lurking beyond the great walls," he explained.
He let out a soft grin before continuing.
"If you become a hunter, your life will change. You'll earn respect… because you'll be the one standing between humanity and those monsters."
Kael felt a quiet unease creep into his thoughts.
"So… Father, have you ever encountered one?" he asked, his voice edged with worry.
"Yes… about four times, I'd say," his father replied, his tone growing serious. "Whenever the creatures came, the air would split with a terrible scream. We'd throw down our axes and run to the shelters while the hunters formed their ranks and fought."
Kael's brow furrowed. "But… what do they look like?"
His father paused, his expression darkening.
"I can't say much. I only saw one clearly, once… a creature with long, skinny arms ending in claws sharp as knives. Its face was twisted, and a sickly green glow burned from within."
A chill crawled up Kael's spine. The story unsettled him, though part of him doubted it. Is he exaggerating, just to scare me? he wondered. Yet the way his father spoke made it feel real.
Their conversation faded as they finally reached the lower-class district. His father carried the groceries in hand while fire lamps flickered across the narrow paths, small campfires glowing near scattered huts.
A woman, perhaps in her mid-forties, stepped forward. Her voice was low and sharp. She wore a faded brown woolen dress, its hem frayed from years of wear, and a coarse apron tied tightly at her waist. A thin kerchief covered her hair, the edges tucked neatly beneath her chin, though loose strands of gray peeked out. Her hands, rough and calloused, clutched the apron as she demanded,
"This is the last day of October. Where is the money?"
Kael's father handed him the groceries, then counted out four silver coins and placed them in her palm without protest. Afterward, the two of them walked toward their hut to prepare for the night.
Curiosity tugged at Kael.
"Father, why did you give that woman four silver coins?"
"The community meals aren't free," his father explained evenly. "We pay so the cook can prepare food for us. That way, we can work without worrying about who will feed us."
Kael nodded silently.
They went outside to the well, washing up from the long day. Their worn clothes were scrubbed clean and hung on a wooden rack to dry. By the time they finished, the meal was ready—a bowl of soup, as always, though this time it had a few chunks of meat floating inside.
Carrying it back to their hut, they sat cross-legged on the floor. His father pulled bread from the morning's purchase, and together they ate, dipping the pieces into the broth.
For the first time in a long while, Kael felt something unfamiliar—contentment.
In his previous life, he had never known such peace. Orphaned young, he had been taken in by an assassin family and trained from the age of six. By nineteen, both his adoptive parents were slain by assassins themselves. Vengeance consumed him until, at twenty-two, he finally tracked down and killed their murderer.
But even then… the emptiness remained. Revenge had not filled the void. He left the path of the assassin, yearning to live a normal life in the world beyond shadows. But life had never allowed it to be that simple.
They finished their meal, and Kael sat back in a resting position. His father stood, adjusting the flame of a oil lamp. As the flame dimmed, Kael frowned, sensing something odd.
"Father… why are you lowering the light?" he asked, confused.
"Tomorrow we wake early," his father replied evenly. "Six o'clock. Mining duty waits for no one."
Kael glanced at the pocket watch he had bought earlier—8:46 PM. Too early for sleep, yet his father had already dimmed the lamp. The room sank into near-darkness, the faint glow flickering like a dying ember.
Lying down, Kael shut his eyes, but his father's words refused to fade. Creatures beyond the great wall… The thought coiled around his mind, sharp and unsettling.