Chapter 2
Three months had passed since Rachel's death, yet the silence she left behind seemed heavier with each day. The apartment felt emptier, colder—oppressive in its quiet. Lily's laughter still flickered in the corners, soft and fleeting, but it was a fragile light, unable to fill the void her mother had left.
Every night, Renji found himself beneath the oak tree where Rachel was buried. Rain, wind, or sun, he would kneel by her grave, whispering the same vow into the earth: Protect her. No matter the cost.
But vows didn't fill empty stomachs.
Renji had found work at the Hunter Bureau not as a Hunter, of course. He had no mana, no ranking, no recognition. To the Bureau, he was invisible. Useless. Weak. But the organization had a place for those who had nothing: a place at the bottom.
The work was simple, brutal, and humiliating. He carved the flesh from slain monsters, cleaned it, and prepared it for trade. Monster hides were boiled into armor, scales melted into mana-conductive plates, bones reforged into weapons, and even the muscle foul-smelling, bloodied was sometimes sold as exotic meat to nobles.
Renji's role was to cut, scrape, and handle these carcasses like a dog given scraps.
The first day nearly broke him.
The stench of rotting mana-flesh filled his lungs, burning his throat. Slimy residue clung to his hands, cracking his skin. Each plunge of his knife into the monstrous bodies made his stomach twist, the acidic sizzle of blood on the steel threatening to make him vomit. By the end of the day, his hands were blistered, his arms numb, his clothes soaked in gore.
The overseer laughed as Renji staggered. "Don't faint now, rat. These corpses are worth more than you ever will be."
Hunters passed him, armor gleaming with reforged monster scales, weapons thrumming with mana. Lightning crackled from one's gauntlet, fire danced across another's sword, yet to them, he was less than air. They didn't notice him except to sneer or spit.
In this world, power was law, and mana was the currency of life. Hunters were ranked like gods on a hierarchy etched into society:
D-Rank Hunters – Weak, barely above normal men. Scouts, bait, cannon fodder. Most died young.
C-Rank Hunters – The backbone. Strong enough to clear small Gates, defend towns.
B-Rank Hunters – Skilled warriors, squad leaders in mid-tier Gates, carving local reputations.
A-Rank Hunters – Renowned elites, allies of nobles, capable of wiping out armies.
S-Rank Hunters – Walking calamities. Cities celebrated or trembled at their arrival.
SS-Rank Hunters – Legends. A single SS-Rank could hold a country.
SSS-Rank Hunters – Apex of humanity. Only eight alive in the world. One in Japan, one of the infamous Eight Pillars—Takeda. Their names etched into history, their deeds immortal.
And beneath all of them? Unranked. Those without mana. The nameless. The disposable.
Renji was beneath even that. Yet still, he endured. Even if I'm powerless… I have to survive. I have to protect Lily.
Every day, the weight of that ladder pressed down on him.
A D-Rank might mock him.
A C-Rank might spit near his feet.
An A-Rank might toss him a coin as if feeding a stray.
When he once glimpsed an S-Rank walking through the Bureau halls, it was as if the world itself bowed. The man's presence warped the air, suffocating him. Steps fell like thunder, and even the strongest Hunters went silent in deference. That was S-Rank. The very thought of an SS or SSS Hunter made Renji's heart hammer in fear and awe.
He was a boy carving corpses at the bottom of a tower that stretched to the heavens, a tower built of power, fear, and respect things he did not possess.
And yet, he endured. Because Lily needed him.
The stench of blood never left him. No matter how much he scrubbed, it clung to his skin, soaked into his clothes, lingering even as he held Lily in his arms. She would wrinkle her nose, yet hug him anyway, trusting the brother who had become both her father and mother.
Every day, wagons arrived at the Bureau gates, overflowing with the bodies of beasts slain in Gates. Two-headed wolves, serpents large enough to coil around towers, dragonlings from failed nests. Hunters left the glory behind, but for Renji, the filth was all he ever saw.
He carved until his fingers bled, cut until the knives felt like extensions of his bones, inhaled the stench of mana-flesh until he feared it would consume him from the inside.
The Overseer barked constantly:
"Faster, rat! That hide won't scrape itself. You want your sister starving, huh?"
Renji said nothing. He thought of Lily's laughter. Of Rachel's whisper beneath the oak. And he endured.
When the shift ended, he dragged his aching body home. His pay was meager—barely enough for bread, thin broth, dried meat—but Lily always ate first. She was ten, bright, and unbroken. Her smile lit the shadows of their tiny apartment.
"Welcome home, Oni-chan," she chirped, hugging him despite the lingering smell of monsters.
"I'm home," he said, forcing a smile.
They shared stories, laughter, and simple meals. And when she slept, Renji sat by the window, staring at the oak tree outside, whispering promises into the night: I haven't broken my vow. I won't.
But each day, the weight grew heavier. His hands trembled, his body ached, and sometimes he coughed blood when no one was looking.
The Bureau offered neither respect nor mercy. He was nothing.
Unranked. Disposable. Already forgotten.
Yet in the quiet hours, as he held Lily's hand in the dark, he whispered to himself:
"If I had even a fraction of power… I'd never let this world take anything from us again."
Three months after Rachel's death, Renji's world was blood, ash, and the fragile light of Lily's smile the only thing keeping him alive.