Near the edge of town, a substantial building stood, its sturdy fra a blend of dark-stained wood and red brick, the whole structure freshly painted in a crisp white and deep maroon that contrasted sharply. Inside, the Hunter's Guild humd with a controlled energy. Hunters, so weary, so eager, occupied tables scattered across the large hall; the air thrumd with the low murmur of conversation and the clinking of tankards. Behind long, polished wooden counters, Guild staff moved with practiced efficiency, attending to the various needs of the hunters. One hunter in particular commanded attention. Clad in polished black plate armor, the tal gleaming faintly under the hall's dim lighting, he sat alone at a table near the back. The armor itself was intricately detailed, with a fearso dragon's head, jaws agape in a silent snarl, emblazoned across his chest and back. A simple, yet clearly visible, D-rank necklace hung around his neck. His dark black hair, pulled back in a tight braid, was visible beneath the open neck of his armor.
"Hey, isn't that soone from the Dragon Guild? What's he doing here?" one hunter whispered to another, his voice barely audible above the general din.
"The Dragon Guild? Seriously? You an one of the guys who actually slayed a dragon? They had to change their na, you know? They called themselves that because they managed to slay two dragons. They were the Boar Guild before that," another hunter replied, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow, to actually see one here…"
The armored hunter, seemingly oblivious to the hushed whispers, continued to sip his drink, the murmurs of the room washing over him. A wry smile touched his lips. "Damn it," he thought, "if only they knew I got kicked out."
"Fucking Dave," the hunter muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "Talk about being the Guild Captain. So greedy, so arrogant. He kicked out because he didn't like ! Always had a grudge against . I knew if I ever slipped up, he'd use it as an excuse to get rid of . Damn it!"
He stood abruptly, the sudden movent pushing his chair back with a scraping sound that cut through the low hum of conversation. All eyes in the imdiate vicinity turned to him. He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'm gonna have to return this damn armor on ti. Doesn't matter anyway. I don't need the Dragon Guild to be successful."
"I'll form my own guild," he declared, his voice carrying a newfound confidence. "Make my own money. I'll be the best damn captain there is. I don't need this freaking Dragon Guild!" He strode out of the guild hall. Stepping into the sunlight, he took a deep breath. "Now, all I need to do is find the right people."
anwhile, Tyler’s run had beco a grueling struggle. The bag felt exponentially heavier with each step, his legs burning with lactic acid. The tree, a re thirty steps away, lood before him, tantalizingly close, yet impossibly distant. Grone's instructions echoed in his mind—jog if he was tired—but even walking had beco a monuntal task. His legs scread in protest, threatening to buckle beneath him. He was near the tree now, his breath ragged, his vision blurring. With a final surge of willpower, he stretched out a trembling hand, touching the rough bark. Relief washed over him, but his legs gave way, and he collapsed, hugging the tree trunk for support.
A voice startled him—Grone. "Well done," Grone said, a chuckle in his voice. Tyler turned and looked up his back resting against the while sitting down, he blinked away the tears that stread down his face. "Are you crying?" Grone asked, his amusent evident.
"No, I'm not crying," Tyler insisted, though the tears continued to flow. "It's... sweat. Got in my eyes. They're watering."
Grone raised an eyebrow. "Whatever you say, kid. But hey, you do realize the training's not over, right? We're just getting started."
"Do you have any water?" Tyler croaked, his throat parched.
Grone's response hit him like a punch to the gut. "Oh, I forgot to bring so." Tyler's mouth felt like sandpaper; he desperately needed water. "What? Why didn't you bring any if we were going to train?"
"Hey, listen, kid," Grone said, waving a dismissive hand. "I forgot. I never needed water during my training anyway. You'll have to learn to endure if you really want to level up. Now, I want you to run back to that tree."
Tyler looked at the distant tree Grone indicated—the one where they'd started, impossibly far away. "Really?" he groaned, but already he was pushing himself to his feet.
"Okay, take a break," Grone said, surprisingly lenient. "Then you'll run back to that tree."
Tyler leaned his back against the tree trunk, trying to catch his breath. "How did you get here so fast? It was like you were right behind the whole ti."
Grone chuckled. "Well, you can't expect a C-rank hunter to not be able to manage sothing like that, right?"
Tyler sighed, gazing up at the sky, the vastness of it mirroring the seemingly endless task ahead.
After what felt like only a mont, Grone clapped his hands together. "Okay, break's over. You need to run."
"Huh? What do you an?" Tyler asked, confused.
"I an what I said," Grone replied, already starting to walk away. "You need to run, kid. Co on."
Tyler stood, the heavy bag still a lead weight on his back, his legs protesting with every movent. He started running again, each step a battle, each gasp for air a testant to his exhaustion. The urge to quit gnawed at him, but the need to level up, to get ho, pushed him onward. He ran and ran and ran, his breath ragged, his muscles screaming. Then, he glanced back.
He saw Grone still standing by the tree he’d just left. He glanced forward, pushing himself onward, and continued his run. He ran until, finally, he reached the tree, collapsing against its trunk, gasping for breath. "I did it," he whispered, "I did it."
He looked down for a mont, then up, and froze. Grone was standing there again, a smirk playing on his lips. "How… how are you so fast?" Tyler managed to gasp out.
Grone sighed. "Do I really need to explain myself again? I'm C-rank, rember? Anyway," he said, gesturing to the bag, "take that thing off your back."
Tyler removed the heavy bag, his shoulders slumping with relief. "How does it feel?" Grone asked.
"My back kind of hurts," Tyler admitted, "but I feel… lighter."
"That's how it's supposed to feel," Grone said, a hint of a smile in his voice. "Okay, put the bag back on. I want you to run to that tree and back three tis."
Tyler stared at him, incredulous. "What? I'll die at this rate!"
Grone shrugged. "Well, who knows? You might actually have to die in order to live a while. Now, co on."
Tyler looked at the distant tree again, the seemingly endless distance mocking him. He sighed, hoisted the bag back onto his shoulders, and muttered, "Oh well."
"I'm not going to level up or rest, am I?" Tyler muttered, more to himself than to Grone, before sprinting towards the tree. Ti blurred into a cycle of running and returning, running and returning. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he completed the grueling exercise. Grone told him to take off the bag.
"Now, fifty push-ups," Grone instructed.
Tyler was astonished. He could barely manage twenty. But he started, surprised to find himself pushing past thirty, his shoulders and abdon burning with the effort. He gritted his teeth, determined to keep going, even as his muscles scread in protest. Finally, he collapsed, utterly spent, after completing more than he ever thought possible.
Grone simply nodded. "Good. Now, run again."
"What?" Tyler gasped, struggling to catch his breath.
Grone looked him over critically. "Well, you see, Tyler, you're G-ranked, but you don't move like one. You don't look like one either, since G-Ranks are practically babies. Your strength is that of a lower E-rank. Which is why I'm wondering... how far can you go before you break?"
Tyler's eyes widened. "Before I break? What do you an? Wait, you actually want to break ?"
Grone chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "No, it's just a way of saying 'before you get really tired.' Now, get that bag on your back and run to that tree one more ti."
Tyler woke with a gasp, his back resting against the familiar rough bark of the tree. A quiet, cold wind blew across the plain, a welco coolness against his skin. His eyes fluttered open, focusing slowly on Grone, who stood a short distance away, sword in hand. He wasn't just practicing; he was engaged in a silent, intense duel with an unseen opponent. His movents were fluid, precise, almost balletic in their grace. He held his sword, perfectly still, his focus intense, like a sniper aiming for a distant target. A text appeared saying Jas Grone has activated skill: Thrust. Then, with a sudden, explosive movent, Grone thrust his sword forward. A thin, concentrated burst of white wind, like a compressed jet of air from a cannon, shot from the tip of the blade. It was incredibly visible for a brief mont before dissipating into the air.
Tyler saw the burst of wind, and a jolt of recognition shot through him. It was incredibly familiar—the sa type of thrust he'd used when fighting the level 27 sli, but this… this was different. More violent. More powerful. A world of difference.
He stood, his muscles protesting with every movent. Grone sheathed his sword in its scabbar. "Ah, you're awake," Grone said, his voice calm. "I hope you've rested, because we're going straight back to training."
An unexpected smile touched Tyler's lips. "Yeah, sorry about that."
Grone simply nodded. "That's right. Now, give one hundred sit-ups."
"A hundred sit-ups?" Tyler exclaid, surprised, but he began the exercise nonetheless. Hours bled into each other, a relentless cycle of sit-ups, push-ups, and the torturous runs to the distant tree. As the sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Tyler felt his body screaming in protest. He was utterly exhausted; every muscle ached, his body felt like lead. Leaning heavily against the tree, he tried to stand, but failed. "Um, Grone," he groaned, his voice barely a whisper. Grone turned to look at him. "I… I don't think I can move."
"Seriously?" Grone asked, a hint of amusent in his voice.
"Yeah," Tyler mumbled, his voice strained. "I… I don't think I can move." His last words felt drawn out, heavy with exhaustion, before his eyes fluttered shut and he slumped against the tree, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Grone chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. Looking down at Tyler, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The young man reminded him so much of his old friend, the one he'd trained with all those years ago. This very scene—the setting sun, the exhausted trainee slumped against a tree—mirrored their own training days, their shared dreams of becoming hunters. He carefully lifted Tyler onto his back, and started walking towards the main road.
He waited by the main road, the setting sun casting long shadows. A carriage, drawn by two sturdy horses, appeared from the left, likely coming from the Crossroads base. It stopped beside him. Grone climbed into the back, settling Tyler carefully beside him, before they headed towards the town. The wagon rattled along, finally arriving at the edge of town. Grone carried Tyler the rest of the way to his house, gently laying him down on his bed.
Grone looked down at Tyler, a mixture of satisfaction and sothing akin to grudging respect in his eyes. "Wow," he murmured, "this kid's tough. I don't think I would have pushed myself this hard at his age." He turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Above Tyler's sleeping form, the familiar system notification appeared, glowing softly in the dim light: Level Up! ... Level Up! ... Level Up! Three tis, the ssage repeated, while he slept.
SPECIES: Human
NA: Tyler Evans
RANK: G LVL: 7
CLASS: Craftsman
HP: 43/43 MP: 39/39
STR: 30 AGI: 24 DEF: 45
STATUS: Extre Exhaustion
Skills: Armour Craft, Weapon Craft
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