Chapter Ten: The Hunter

The next morning, Berg woke punctually from his sleep. As a hunter, he needed to maintain steady rest to ensure he had enough energy.

After donning his clothes, Berg began preparing his hunting tools. First, he re-strung his longbow, which had been unstrung, and applied some oil to it. Next, he inspected the arrows in his quiver to ensure their shafts were straight; if he found any slightly bent, he would carefully heat them over a fire and gently straighten them.

Having finished checking the bow and arrows, he meticulously sharpened a keen iron knife, sheathed it in a cover made from animal hide, and carefully placed it into a concealed pocket on his right thigh.

Should any prey break through his arrow defenses and come too close, this knife would be his last lifeline.

“I’ve been a hunter for three years now, yet I still find no path to promotion...” The boy sighed deeply as he adjusted the bowstring.

Just as his late father had warned him, the nobility and the church did not wish to see too many ascend to higher professions. The sealing off of professional knowledge was like an insurmountable chasm, leaving little hope—only a rare few lucky ones could break through.

Obviously, he was not one of them. Or rather, just days ago, he had thought he was.

After all, he had saved a stranded prince—a prince from a superpower with a population of 1.4 billion. Such a bizarre tale was unheard of even in the drunken songs of bards.

“Despite saving his life and feeding him my hunted game for days, he still refuses to take me as his attendant. That’s just too much...” The boy’s heart swelled with resentment; he felt utterly disrespected, from soul to body.

His grip tightened on the bowstring until it nearly snapped before he regained his composure.

“Calm down, calm down,” he told himself, taking deep breaths.

For a hunter, maintaining a steady and calm mind was paramount. Once emotions uncontrollably surged, the roles of hunter and prey could instantly reverse.

After several deep breaths, his expression settled into one of serene neutrality.

“Once this agricultural tax is dealt with, I will leave the village and seek opportunities for advancement in the city-state,” Berg resolved silently.

His dream was to follow the path of the strong, to hunt ever mightier beasts, feeling his heart race with every thrilling chase.

He could never remain in this small village forever. The game he had shared over the past three years and the act of sheltering a stranded prince were already repayment enough for the village’s kindness.

“For Anlia’s sake, that prince, no matter how stingy, should help solve the village’s tax problem,” Berg mused.

If he had taken Anlia’s body and still refused such a simple favor, then no matter how noble the man’s status, Berg would shoot an arrow straight through his skull—to see if his blood truly was blue, as the rumors said.

Once all his tools were ready, Berg prepared to set off into the Howling Wolf Forest for the hunt.

Bang, bang.

At that moment, someone knocked on his door.

“Strange,I'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.