Chapter 1: The Walking Armory
The Valoria Hunter Association's annual Entrance Exam was less of an exam and more of a festival of ego. Neon lights flashed above the state-of-the-art arena, drones zipped through the air broadcasting close-ups to massive floating screens, and the scent of overpriced street food and nervous sweat filled the air. It was here that the next generation of heroes, legends, and cannon fodder would be made.
Through the grand archway, a figure emerged that made the automated security scanner beep in confusion.
All conversation near the gate died.
Rocky walked in, and the word "walked" didn't do it justice. He glided. Every step was economical, balanced, and silent despite the sheer tonnage of metal and wood strapped to his body.
He looked like a one-man army that had mugged a military surplus store and an antique weapons museum. On his back: a massive olive-green tactical pack, a sleek Barrett M95 sniper rifle, and a collapsible spear. Across his chest: an AR-15 style rifle, a pump-action shotgun slung sideways, and a compact FN P90. At his hips: twin Glock 19s. Strapped to his thighs: kukri knives, throwing daggers, and a set of starknives. Across his shoulders: a classic longsword and an intricately carved oaken staff. Around his waist: coiled bullwhips and a katana. In his left hand: a round, steel-edged shield. In his right: a travel cup steaming with what smelled like premium coffee.
He took a slow sip, his storm-gray eyes scanning the crowd of hundreds with the mild interest of someone browsing a mediocre gallery.
The silence broke into a wave of whispers and snickers.
GIRL 1 (Mage applicant, in pink robes): "Oh my goddess, look at that face! Is he a model? But… why is he carrying the entire armory? Is he the porter for a whole team?"
GIRL 2 (Archer, with a fancy bow): "Hahaha! Maybe he's lost? This is the Hunter exam, not the 'Moving Company' convention!"
GIRL 3 (Healer, looking sympathetic): "A waste of perfect genetics. He must be a Porter class. Poor guy, they have the strength to carry stuff but their combat growth is zero."
GIRL 4 (Rogue-looking, rolls her eyes): "Will you airheads shut up? He's clearly signing up. No porter would bring a shield to move boxes."
Rocky's eyes briefly met the Rogue girl's. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod of thanks. She blinked, her cheeks tinging pink, and looked away quickly.
He made his way to the registration desk, a symphony of soft clinks and rattles announcing his arrival. Behind the desk sat Rika, a senior Hunter student working the job for credits. Her jaw was slightly slack.
RIKA (Flustered): "U-um, welcome! Are you here to register for the Entrance Exam, sir?"
ROCKY (Voice calm, deep, and oddly soothing): "Yes, please. One admission for the show."
Rika's Internal Monologue: Holy hell. That voice. It's like warm honey and gravel had a baby. Focus, Rika! But look at him! He looks like a fantasy novel cover model who fell into a gun catalog! Wait… all that gear… is he a Merchant? Or worse, a Porter? Nooo, such a tragedy!
RIKA (Managing a professional smile): "Of course! Name, please?"
ROCKY: "Rocky." He leaned forward slightly, his emerald eyes locking onto hers. "And you know, I used to think angels were just stories. But now I see I was wrong. The proof is right in front of me, shining so brightly I need sunglasses."
Rika's pen froze. Her brain short-circuited. Did he just… call her an angel? In that voice?
Rika's Internal Monologue: HA! Smooth! Bad boy with a silver tongue! Okay, okay, play it cool, girl. Just put his name first on the list so he gets called early… and maybe 'accidentally' get his contact info later. FOR PROFESSIONAL NETWORKING, OF COURSE.
RIKA (Squeaking): "Luh—I mean, okay!"
ROCKY (A playful smirk): "It's true. Your beauty is a high-level debuff. I think I'm stunned."
Rika's Internal Monologue: DEBUFF! HE USES GAME TERMS! HE GETS ME! Nope. Nope. I'm gonna combust. Must retreat!
RIKA (Standing up abruptly): "Sir! Your registration is complete! I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom-now-bye!"
She spun and power-walked towards the restrooms, her face the color of a tomato.
Rika's Internal Monologue as she flees: I'M GOING TO PEE FROM ALL THIS KILIG! TONIGHT, I WILL FIND HIM! I WILL TIE HIM TO A CHAIR AND FEED HIM CUPCAKES! THIS IS A THREAT AND A PROMISE!
From the shadows near the weapon-check station, a pair of jealous eyes watched. Senior Bolas, last year's Rising Star in the Swordsman category, cracked his knuckles. He'd been "nice guy"-ing Rika for six months, bringing her mediocre coffee and talking about his sword polish. And this pretty-boy pack-mule made her run away giggling in thirty seconds?
Bolas's Internal Monologue: Just a Porter. Or a Merchant. All gear, no skill. Time to put the trash in its place and show Rika what a real man looks like.
He swaggered over, his custom, rune-engraved longsword catching the light. The crowd parted, recognizing him.
BOLAS (Loudly, sneering): "Hey, pretty boy! You selling those? Or is this a pathetic cosplay? Let me guess, you use that face to scam girls into buying your junk, then cry when the monsters show up?"
A hush fell. This was drama! Phones were subtly raised.
Rocky took another slow sip of his coffee. He swallowed, sighed with contentment, then finally turned. He looked Bolas up and down, his expression one of mild anthropological curiosity.
ROCKY (Amused): "Ah. The classic 'Insecure Jock' opening move. Bold choice. Let me guess your next line… 'Do you even know how to use that?' or maybe the old reliable, 'I could beat you with one hand.'" Rocky's smile turned razor-sharp. "Your script is from a third-rate webnovel, my friend. I believe the title was… 'The Jealousy of the Unremarkable Swordsman'?"
Bolas flushed purple. How did he know I read that last night?!
BOY 1 in crowd: "Pfft! He roasted him!"
BOY 2: "He's not wrong! That is from 'The Jealousy'! I read it too!"
BOY 3 (Filming): "This is gold! 'Webnovel Pretty Boy vs. Salty Swordsman'! The views will be insane!"
GIRL 5: "Ugh, boys are so corny. The title is obviously 'The Walking Armory vs. The Walking Insecurity'."
BOY 4: "Yo, that's Bolas! He got 25 consecutive wins in the last inter-academy tournament!"
GIRL 6: "Bolas! Don't you dare mess up that masterpiece of a face!"
Before Bolas could formulate a retort that wasn't plagiarized, Rika returned, face still flushed but eyes now blazing with protective anger.
RIKA (Hands on hips): "Bolas! Are you seriously picking on a new applicant again? Can't you go five minutes without bullying someone you think is weaker? Have some shame!"
Bolas's Internal Monologue: Rika! Why?! We were supposed to bond over my superior swordplay! Not over some pretty porter!
BOLAS (Forcing a laugh, throwing an arm around a very still Rocky): "Rika! Rika, no! You misunderstand! This is my… long-lost cousin! We're just messing around! Right, buddy? Hahaha!"
The laugh was strained, desperate.
Then Rocky laughed.
It wasn't a normal laugh. It was a rich, baritone, utterly theatrical sound that echoed in the space—the kind of laugh a vampire lord would give after hearing a particularly naive hero's plan. It was full of dark amusement and a hint of genuine pity.
BOY 1: "Whoa. That's a villain laugh."
GIRL 1: "A hot villain laugh. I have new needs."
BOLAS (Sweating): "See? Jokes!"
A powerful aura suddenly blanketed the entire arena, silencing all chatter. Three Professional Hunters in black tactical suits and two Elder officials in silver robes had taken the main stage. The lead Pro, a fierce woman with scarred arms, glared at the crowd.
PRO HUNTER KAIA (Voice like a whip crack): "Line up, maggots! The circus is over! The real show starts now!"
Pro Hunter Kaia's Internal Monologue: Bolas again? That kid's ego needs its own zip code. And who's the kid with the department store on his back? Interesting.
The Head Elder, a man with silver hair and eyes that held centuries of judgment, stepped forward. He didn't yell.
ELDER THORNE (Quietly): "Silence."
The word pressed down on everyone's soul. You could hear a pin drop.
ELDER THORNE: "You are here because you believe you are worthy. The dungeon will decide if you are correct." He nodded to Rika, who hurried up with the list.
As Rika walked back down, the crowd stirred again.
MALE APPLICANT: "Work it, girl!"
FEMALE APPLICANT: "Ugh. Try-hard. I look better before breakfast."
Elder Thorne took the list, his eyes following Rika for a beat too long.
Elder Thorne's Internal Monologue: Youth truly is a splendid thing. Ahem. Focus.
ELDER THORNE: "First trial. Solo dungeon clearance. First name… Rocky. Class: Porter."
All eyes swung to Rocky. He didn't move from his relaxed stance.
ROCKY: "A minor correction, Elder. My class is not Porter." He paused for dramatic effect, meeting every pair of eyes in the arena. "It is Jobless."
A beat of utter silence.
Then, the arena exploded in laughter. It was mean, relieved, hysterical laughter.
BOY 8 (Wheezing): "JOBLESS?! HAHAHA! Oh, man, I was scared for a second! He's not even a Porter! He's NOTHING!"
BOY 9: "He's here for attention! That face is 100% surgery, I bet!"
BOY 10: "Yeah! No one's that good-looking naturally! Probably broke his parent's bank account for that mug!"
BOY 11: "I'm way more handsome! This is just good lighting!"
BOY 9: "You're handsome in the same way a troll is handsome—in the dark!"
GIRL 7 (Shouting over the noise): "Jealousy is a disease! He's still prettier than all of you combined!"
GIRL 8: "They're just mad he doesn't need a class to look like that!"
Through the roaring mockery, Rocky simply turned and walked towards the shimmering, rune-carved dungeon gate. His walk was the same—unhurried, confident, utterly unfazed.
He reached the control console. The options glowed:
DUNGEON RANK: E (Recommended for beginners)
DIFFICULTY: F → E → D → C → B → A → S → SS → SSS
Without a moment's hesitation, he selected:
RANK: E
DIFFICULTY: SSS
A blaring red warning flashed across every screen in the arena.
[WARNING: SSS DIFFICULTY IS LETHAL. Designed for full 5-man Elite Hunter teams. Solo attempt survival rate: 0.0001%. ABORT?]
Rocky pressed CONFIRM.
The gate's hum shifted to a menacing crimson thrum. The laughter died, replaced by stunned murmurs.
Rocky adjusted the strap of his sniper rifle. He didn't look back at Bolas's triumphant smirk, Rika's horrified hands over her mouth, or Elder Thorne's deep frown.
He just stepped forward into the blood-red light, his silhouette swallowed whole.
CLANG.
The gate sealed shut. The main screen flickered, showing a first-person view from inside the dungeon—a dark, cavernous passage awaiting its first victim.
The trial of the Jobless Class had begun.
[Chapter 1 End]