Chapter 3: First Hunt, First Kill
Suddenly, he paused mid-step.
"Wait… why am I taking all this so naturally?"
He blinked, staring at his hands — dirt-covered, blood-crusted knuckles clenched around a crude knife. Just a day ago, he was stuck in boardrooms and spreadsheets. Now, he was sneaking through a goddamn fantasy forest like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Shouldn't he be panicking? Screaming? Trying to wake up?
But no. He wasn't. Instead, something inside him had… adjusted. Slipped into this role like a glove.
Is this… the side effect of reading too many damn novels?
All those years, buried in isekai and survival fiction during lunch breaks and late nights, scoffing at dumb protagonists while sipping overpriced coffee — maybe that version of him had always been waiting. Waiting for the moment reality shattered and fiction bled into truth.
Maybe this is just another boardroom, and I'm pitching my life to fate.
He exhaled sharply, shrugging to himself.
"Well then… might as well see where this road leads."
With no real direction, he picked a faint path between the thick trees and began moving carefully, sticking close to the underbrush. His footsteps were light, cautious. Every sound made him flinch, every rustle a potential ambush.
Then, fluttering from a branch ahead, a small reptilian bird hopped into view. Its scales shimmered green with faint patterns resembling mossy bark. This one was different from the red one before — quieter, slower, with an earthy presence.
"Wood-type?" he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes. "Figures. Evolution seems to follow fantasy logic here."
He watched it for a moment, noting its behavior, before slipping past it silently.
Some time later, he stumbled across something else — a creature no larger than a housecat, with floppy ears, white fur, and bright black eyes. A rabbit… or something close. It was alone, twitching its nose as it sniffed the air.
Lost?
He lowered himself to the ground, knife in hand, and began crawling toward it.
But a crunch — a branch beneath his knee.
The creature bolted like a spring, vanishing into the undergrowth.
"Tch…"
He stood, brushing himself off. "Business school doesn't teach you how to sneak up on woodland prey."
Minutes later, another rabbit-like creature came into view. This time, he pulled out the pistol — finger just brushing the trigger. But the thought struck him like a slap: the sound could attract predators.
With a sigh, he holstered the weapon and tried to sneak up again.
Same result.
It heard him. Ran. Again.
"Aaahh—come on," he groaned. "I ran a damn company. How hard can one bunny be?"
But then… luck.
Another one.
This one was lying under a patch of long grass, dozing. Its ears flicked occasionally, but its body remained still. Asleep. Vulnerable.
He crouched and began crawling slowly, inch by inch, every muscle screaming for silence. The knife in his hand gleamed faintly under the dappled sunlight.
Closer.
Closer.
In one swift motion, he stabbed.
The blade dug into soft fur and flesh, and the creature let out a sharp, high-pitched whimper — not quite a scream, but close. He didn't hesitate. Another stab. Then silence.
Breathing heavily, he stared at the small, bloodied body in front of him.
Monster kill: 1.
It wasn't glorious. It wasn't clean. But it was done.
He straightened, wiped the blade on the grass, and scanned for movement. He needed to find another one now. Keep going.
But then—
Ding!
[Mission Progress Updated]
Objective: Be Worthy
Progress: 1/5 — First Kill Complete.
He blinked at the faint holographic interface before it faded away.
A chill of satisfaction ran down his spine.
But then he noticed something else.
Silence.
No chirping birds. No rustling leaves. No wind.
His breath hitched.
Why was it so quiet?
A low, animalistic instinct screamed in his skull.
Predator.
Somewhere nearby… something was watching.
Without hesitation, he brought out his gun.
What's the worst that could happen if something hears the shot? I die?
He gave a dry, humorless smirk. "Well… that's kind of the plan either way, isn't it? Might as well try my luck."
He turned, eyes scanning the treeline, heart pounding — not with fear, but with anticipation. His hand steadied on the pistol grip.
Wolf? Lion? Giant bear? Please… just not a wolf. Wolves mean packs. And packs mean I'm dead.
The wind shifted — and then he felt it. Heat.
A shimmer in the air. Dry, crackling warmth, like a furnace door left ajar.
Then it emerged — a beast straight out of a nightmare. Thick, blackened fur scorched at the edges, eyes glowing like molten lava, and faint embers trailing from its mouth with each slow, deliberate breath.
A fire hound.
It stepped into the clearing, claws burning the ground beneath, steam rising from damp grass where its paws touched. Its body was tense, low, muscles coiled — but it wasn't attacking yet. It was… confused. Studying him. As if trying to decide whether this two-legged creature was prey, threat, or something else entirely.
He didn't wait.
The moment it twitched, he fired.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Four shots, center mass — each one echoing through the trees like a war drum.
The beast reeled back, a snarl cut short, fire spurting briefly from its jaws. Blood splashed across the dirt, but it didn't fall — not fully.
Still alive.
Still struggling.
Its skull — dense, maybe even partially armored — had taken a hit but refused to give in.
"Damn thickskulls…"
He rushed forward without hesitation.
Gun down. Knife up.
The beast writhed, letting out guttural growls as it tried to get back up, but he was already on top of it — knife flashing again and again. Brutal. Precise. Unrelenting.
One stab.
Then another.
And another.
The thick, warm blood sprayed with each thrust, coating his arms, his face, even the inside of his mouth as he gritted his teeth. He wasn't thinking. Just moving. Just surviving.
The hound gave one last, choked wheeze — and fell still.
He stayed there, panting, knife still buried in the beast's throat, knuckles white around the hilt.
Then—
Ding!
[Mission Progress Updated]
Objective: Be Worthy
Progress: 2/5 — Predator Eliminated.
He stumbled back and sat down heavily in the grass, chest heaving, hands trembling from adrenaline. The corpse of the hound steamed beside him, the smell of burnt fur and blood thick in the air.
"Well… that happened."
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then he wiped his face with his sleeve, still stained crimson, and glanced at the trees.
Silence again — but this time, it felt earned.
The forest had seen him. And this time, it chose to back off.
"Fuck! The sound--I need to run"