First, the smell. A delightful cocktail of blood, sweat, and regret.
Second, the sound—Tipo’s snoring, which could probably summon a Hellbeast on its own.
And third, the reality check: I’m still here. Still stuck at this rank. Still clawing my way toward B.
I roll over and check the compatibility reading on my bed.
[Bed - 14% Compatibility]
Yeah. Checks out.
I sit up, stretch out the soreness from yesterday’s aerial training, and pull up my stat screen.
[Alvertium – Rank C Hunter]
Level: 33 (EXP: 12,590 / 25,000)
[Strength: 48
Perception: 62
Endurance: 44
Charisma: 29
Intelligence: 54
Agility: 74
Luck: 35]
[– Harmonic Insight (Lv.5) – Measures compatibility between people, weapons, creatures, objects, the void, etc.
– Insect Glaive Mastery (Lv.6) – Aerial mobility, mid-air combos, faster repositioning.
– Bestial Instincts (Lv.3) – Heightened reactions and threat detection against monsters.]
Still Level 33.
Still watching the EXP bar move like a dying snail.
12,590 down. 25,000 needed to hit B-Rank. That’s when the world starts treating you like more than warm bait.
Out in the yard, the clang of steel starts early. Training here doesn’t wait for sunrise. Hunters are already sparring, screaming, or bleeding quietly on the dirt. Another morning at Ashen Hold.
I tighten my grip on my Insect Glaive and head into the mess.
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My weapon and I have better chemistry than I’ve had with most people:
[Insect Glaive – 78% Compatibility]
It fits. Fast. Flexible. Doesn’t ask questions.
“Hey fancy legs, you still doing flips or are you planning to hit something today?” Tipo, grinning like the absolute menace he is, twirls his spear and strolls over like this is all a stage and he’s the star.
He looks way too awake for someone who snores like a dying wyvern in a tin can. I’m amazed the roof didn’t collapse last night.
“You finally getting stronger,” he adds, eyes sparkling with maximum annoying energy, “or are you still just flailing through the air and hoping something dies from secondhand embarrassment?”
I glare at him. “I’ll let you know when you stop losing to landscaping.”
“That rock was strategically placed,” he says, hand over heart.
Tipo’s B-Rank now. Which means he could request his own cabin—privacy, real bedding, maybe a door that doesn’t creak like a haunted crypt.
But no.
He’s either too dumb to care or too social to survive alone. Probably both.
With his charisma score, he could flirt his way into a cabin with indoor heating and a meal plan. But he keeps crashing in the dorms with the rest of us.
Some say it's loyalty. I say it’s because he likes having an audience for his bad decisions.
I warm up near the aerial posts. A few low-ranks are doing strength drills like they’re trying to punch the sun. Good for them. I prefer not getting hit at all.
“Alvertium!”
That voice? Not morning-friendly.
I turn and find Pleit watching me like I’m already bleeding.
“You’re not skipping recovery again, right?” he says, arms crossed.
“I’m not injured.”
“Yet.”
I nod like that’s a reasonable conversation and keep stretching.
Pleit doesn’t fight, but he might be the scariest guy here.
He sees injuries like crime scenes. Touch a wound, and he sees what happened—every second of it.
He’s also the only reason half the guild isn’t buried under their own limbs.
If he finds out what I’ve been hiding, it’s over.
Later, I swing by the Mission Hall—one of the only places in Ashen Hold where things get quiet.
Not silent. Just... tense. The kind of quiet where you hear boots scuffing against stone and the occasional muttered curse when someone realizes their next job might kill them.
The boards just got updated—fresh bounties tacked up in neat, bloodstained rows.
Each one printed with crisp black ink and that smug little “you’re probably gonna die” undertone.
I scan the daily death menu:
- Pack of Lesser Wyverns (C-Rank) – 2,000 EXP
- Rabid Rathian (B-Rank) – 4,000 EXP
- Dragon Sighting Near the Forest (???) – 12,000 EXP
I freeze.
Not because of the number. Not because of the ???.
Because I’ve already seen that dragon.
Tiny.
He’s still out there. Still breathing. Still not dead because of me.
I swallow hard and force my eyes to move to the next listing. Like I’m casually reading. Like I’m not seconds away from bolting out of this room.
Because if someone saw the look on my face just now—
If anyone, especially Pleit, saw the sweat creeping down my neck?
It’d be over.
There’s only one reason a Hunter spares a dragon.
[Tiny – 86% Compatibility]
That number still haunts me.
And if anyone finds out?
I’m not getting demoted.
I’m getting executed.
Quietly. Efficiently. Just like every other rule-breaker who let a monster live.
I shove my hands in my pockets and walk out like I didn’t just see my worst mistake staring back at me from the wall.