Chapter 8

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The profession of a hunter always comes with danger.

Yet, the reason people still choose to be hunters—beyond the romanticism—is the rewards and sense of accomplishment that make it worthwhile.

Noah felt the same way. She wasn’t driven by a grand sense of duty. Now, in her fifth year, being a hunter had become nothing more than a “job” to her.

This mission was just another part of that job. The ambitions she once held had long faded, leaving behind a hunter worn down by reality.

Still, it was too late to turn to another profession; she was already too entrenched in the world of hunters.

This mission had ended in failure. The original request was to capture the One-Eyed Lugarak, but since they killed it, they didn’t receive any payment.

The head of the Antico Research Institute was deeply disappointed by the news but refrained from anger. Instead, he comforted them, relieved they had returned alive, and simply asked them to succeed next time.

With that, the report concluded. All four of them had made it back alive, so there was nothing more to do.

Noah turned her gaze to Alice.

Alice was looking around with bright, curious eyes, taking in her surroundings as if everything fascinated her.

Alice wanted to become a hunter. Whatever her reasons, Noah couldn’t help but think she’d be a perfect fit for it.

If Alice didn’t become a hunter, it would be a strategic loss.

But Alice lacked something crucial: common sense—about hunters, about monsters. It wasn’t just about swinging a weapon. Hunters weren’t warriors; they were hunters. Then, a sudden thought struck Noah.

Am I even qualified to teach her?

Though Noah was a fifth-year hunter, she couldn’t confidently say what made her better than Alice. Experience was all she had to her name. In her own eyes, she felt insignificant.

It was only natural to feel overshadowed after witnessing Alice shine so brilliantly while fighting monsters.

She and I are in completely different leagues.

Noah wanted to teach Alice something, but she didn’t know where to begin. She felt herself shrinking, dwarfed by the task.

“…Alice.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to be a hunter, right?”

“Absolutely.”

But as she looked into those sparkling eyes, Noah realized how foolish her doubts had been.

She had been drowning in her own inferiority complex. Alice didn’t even show a hint of judgment, yet Noah had been the one feeling resentful. That realization filled her with unbearable shame.

Right now, Alice was like a chick freshly hatched from its egg. Noah was the one who had brought her out of the Floodlands, a place untouched by human hands, where Alice had lived with no memories.

Alice needed Noah.

Not the Noah consumed by self-doubt, but the Noah who could be her teacher.

“Then let’s go to the receptionist.”

Noah gave a small smile. She stopped overthinking.

Because she had found her answer: instead of agonizing over what she could do, she would simply do her best with what she could.

—

What did it take to become a hunter?

Honestly, I didn’t know. In the game, players skipped the entire process and started as hunters. There was no way for me to have learned about it.

My guess was that becoming a hunter required passing some kind of test.

A test… ugh.

The word didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

But they couldn’t just let anyone become a hunter, could they?

There were rules to follow, and monsters were incredibly dangerous.

If they let every reckless person who wanted to be a hunter have a go at it, the casualties would pile up.

It made sense that they’d use a selective test to weed people out, then assign ranks based on the results.

In the game, hunters operated under a ranking system.

It was this game’s substitute for levels. Completing missions raised your rank.

Unlike other games, leveling up didn’t boost your stats.

Everything hinged on your equipment and your skill as a player.

So what was a rank, then? Nothing more than a measure of experience.

That’s why you couldn’t take on certain missions if your rank was too low.

They barred low-experience hunters from dangerous jobs right at the gate.

But a high rank didn’t guarantee skill, nor did a low rank mean you were a novice. It measured experience, not strength.

Still, wasn’t it just the way of the world to entrust dangerous tasks to the experienced? Like how companies always want new hires with prior experience.

So even if I became a hunter, I wouldn’t be taking down the toughest monsters right out of the gate.

This was the start of my hunter life as the Rabbit Producer, from square one.

I’d have to begin with easy, weak monsters and work my way up, step by step. The thought of climbing the ranks from scratch again could’ve made me nauseous. But for me right now, it was nothing but exciting.

Of course, I wasn’t a hunter yet.

“Noah.”

“Yeah.”

“What do I need to do to become a hunter?”

We were waiting in line at the crowded first-floor counter.

While we waited, I figured I’d ask Noah what I’d been wondering about.

“First, you’ll need to take a test, right?”

“A test…”

My guess hit the mark. A test, of all things.

It was almost laughable that I—who’d already fought monsters—had to take a hunter test.

But if it involved a written section, I’d be out of luck.

“Is there any writing involved?”

“…Huh? No, there’s no writing. You’re fine.”

Thank goodness. I nearly got filtered out at the starting line.

How was I supposed to know the intricate details of Hunter Land’s setting? That’s for lore nerds, not the Rabbit Producer.

I’d been too busy raising my rank and clearing challenges to dig into the background details.

From what I knew, hunters were basically glorified handymen.

It started with taking missions, but it spiraled into all sorts of grunt work.

They’d even get requests like “fetch me some rare flowers.” As if hunters would do anything for money.

Except they had to. That’s what being a hunter meant.

From the clients’ perspective, it was probably like, “These guys get all puffed up being cool hunters, so they’ll do whatever we tell them.”

Beyond delivering goods, hunters mined ores, escorted merchant caravans, and surveyed local ecosystems. There was a lot more to it than just hunting.

But let’s not forget—Hunter Land was an action game. Naturally, hunting missions carried the most weight.

Still, with this being reality and not a game, the mix of missions might differ a bit.

“The test is just hunting a Pienos. It might be easy for you, Alice. Oh, do you know what a Pienos is?”

“I do.”

“So you know about monsters.”

The Crawling Dragon Pienos.

A total idiot. Officially in the game and among the community, it was dubbed a fool.

Not that it was truly brainless. It was just overly curious and couldn’t hold back its impulses.

Most of the time, it didn’t attack first—it just tried to intimidate.

The Pienos was a reptile-like monster that crawled on the ground with four legs, no wings.

When it puffed up its jaw and moved around, it left tracks like a giant snake had slithered through, earning it the name “Crawling Dragon.” It inflated its jaw for two reasons: to look bigger and threaten enemies, or to attack.

On top of that, if it encountered someone stronger, it’d deflate its jaw completely, posing as an old, sickly Pienos to signal it wasn’t worth eating.

A real armchair warrior, that one. It played the mighty general against the weak but turned into a damsel in distress against the strong—a selective thug.

To hunters, it was like an air-filled punching bag. Always getting pummeled, the poor thing.

And they wanted me to fight that?

“Free win.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing.”

This test was going to be a cakewalk.

In the game, the Pienos was the tutorial monster—a sacrificial lamb so players could get comfortable in Hunter Land.

Even in this world, not much had changed. The Pienos was still the first step to becoming a hunter.

Poor guy. It was about to meet its end as mush under my greatsword.

—

Applying for the hunter test was simpler than I’d expected.

All you had to do was tell the receptionist at the guild counter. The application was open to anyone. Becoming a hunter meant getting the chance to handle premium materials that sold for big money. But hunters weren’t exactly common.

Anyone with even a shred of knowledge about monsters knew how dangerous the job was.

The receptionist thought back to the people who’d come to become hunters.

Those who applied without a clue would flee.

Those intoxicated by their own strength would confront human limitations.

Those who clung to their own opinions would realize their individual powerlessness.

Even if they didn’t make it as hunters, they left with valuable lessons.

The ones who became hunters but avoided fighting monsters stuck to easy, cushy missions to scrape by.

But those who didn’t stop there—who used failure as a stepping stone and challenged themselves again—those were the ones who truly became hunters.

Hunters couldn’t afford to break. No matter how massive the wall they faced, they’d sharpen their blades and look to the next fight.

The receptionist loved watching it unfold. Their challenges were noble, beyond anyone’s reproach. Just being near that determination brought her joy.

And now, a new challenger stood before her.

“What’s your name?”

“Alice.”

It was someone she’d never seen in all her time as a receptionist.

A little blunt, with a face that rarely changed expression.

Her hair was like piled snow, and her cherry-blossom eyes radiated a strange warmth that clashed with her cool demeanor.

What a mystical color, the receptionist thought.

“You want to become a hunter, right?”

“Yeah.”

Alice wore clothes a size too big, leaving her looking disheveled.

The receptionist found her adorable, but the greatsword strapped to her back made it clear she wasn’t just some cute kid.

A greatsword…

Greatswords were easy for novice hunters to pick up, but mastering them was a real challenge.

That’s why many started with a greatsword only to switch to something else later. The weapon’s techniques were, frankly, like walking a tightrope.

It was a beginner-friendly oddball of a weapon.

The receptionist flashed a bright smile and pulled a form from the counter. New hunters were always welcome.

“Alright. Let’s fill out the details.”

She’d met countless people, countless hunters.

Watching their challenges was a joy, but seeing them shatter in the end was heartbreaking.

Her memories held too many who’d died or vanished with wounds they couldn’t heal from. Irreversible tragedies, now just fleeting echoes.

She glanced at Alice again. Those cherry-blossom eyes gleamed with intelligence—not clouded by despair or blinded by greed.

Maybe it was the nature of her job, but she could often tell what someone was like just by their eyes.

Alice’s eyes were rare these days. The eyes of someone who simply wanted to be a hunter, brimming with curiosity about the unknown, free of any greed.

Some of the master hunters she knew had eyes like that.

…Heh, listen to me.

Was she putting too much hope in someone who wasn’t even a hunter yet?

All she could do was wish that Alice’s challenge would bear good fruit.

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