By the flickering glow of the oil lamp, the piercing ping in Kael's mind abruptly ceased. He jolted upright, blinking rapidly, but the translucent screen before his eyes refused to fade. A bold message appeared beneath it:
[ CLICK TO CONTINUE ]
He reached out, fingers brushing the floating text, and the words shifted beneath his touch.
The display morphed into a dim black-and-red gradient. Four options appeared within glowing rectangular boxes, each outlined with a faint red light:
[ STATS ] — Check health and physical condition.
[ ECHO MARKET ] — Access the shop.
[ INVENTORY ] — Store and manage items.
[ SKILLS ] — Unlocks at Level 2.
Kael stared at the menu, blinking at the floating text. So this… this must be what Norsh meant, he thought, recalling the strange angelic voice from the void. A system to help me survive… I didn't believe it back then. But now… it's real.
Then he noticed an exclamation mark pulsing beside the Inventory tab — as if urging him to open it.
Kael tapped it.
[ INVENTORY UPDATED ]
New Items Acquired:
Echo Spirit Emblem ×1
Echo Shard ×6
—————
Item Descriptions:
[ ECHO SPIRIT EMBLEM ]
Condensed energy formed from human souls at the moment of death.
Can be traded in the Echo Market or used to enhance personal stats.
[ ECHO SHARD ]
Residual energy gathered from lesser lifeforms.
Ten shards can be fused to create one Echo Spirit Emblem.
System Note:
Echoes manifest according to the strength and awareness of a soul at death.
Human deaths generate Spirit Emblems.
Monsters and animals generate Shards.
—————
"Hmm… so that means I only got one emblem from my father?" Kael muttered, recalling the scene.
A short silence followed. He didn't speak further — just stared at the glowing icon in the corner of the screen.
His chest tightened for a moment, but he pushed the thought away. The system didn't care about grief — only results.
He remembered it clearly—two horses and that freakish monster had fallen as well. A quick calculation told him that each of them had given two shards in return, bringing his total to six shards in the inventory.
Closing the inventory, he opened the Echo Marketplace. Strangely, only one item appeared.
[ SWIFT BLADE ]
Kael tapped on it, but no specifications appeared. The weapon cost three Spirit Emblems, and the marketplace was otherwise empty.
In this system, details about an item only appeared once it was in your inventory, making every purchase a gamble. All he could tell from the icon was that it resembled a blade attached to a bracer.
Even if he wanted to buy it, he didn't have enough Spirit Emblems. Time was slipping by, and sleepiness was slowly creeping in. If he didn't rest soon, his performance would suffer—lowering his chances of becoming a hunter.
Kael felt his eyelids grow heavy; he had worked under the sun from morning till evening as a laborer. Yet, with the final stats option still unopened, he gave it one more try.
He exited the Echo Marketplace and opened the stats menu:
[ STRENGTH ]
[ STAMINA ]
[ AGILITY ]
[ PERCEPTION ]
Ten small, empty grey boxes appeared in a neat row beneath each option. Exhaustion pressed down on him, blurring his focus. He wanted to close the translucent screen, but his fingers hovered in the air, too drained to move.
Suddenly, a notification flashed:
[ GESTURE REQUIRED ]
The system needed to record his hand gestures for opening and closing the interface. For opening, he had used a zoom-in gesture with his index and thumb.
[ Opening system completed ]
Now, for closing, he mimicked the gesture in reverse — a zoom-out motion with the same fingers.
[ Closing system completed ]
The translucent screen vanished. Dim light flickered across the room, and the faint chirping of crickets seeped in from outside.
He felt a faint pulse in his veins — rhythmic, almost alive — as if something unseen was syncing with his body. But exhaustion drowned the sensation before he could think further.
Before long, sleep claimed him.
…..
A single ray of sunlight pierced through the narrow gap in the wooden shutters, falling across Kael's face. His eyes fluttered open, and his body ached from yesterday's labor under the scorching sun, the lingering fatigue making the room feel heavier than it was.
He checked his pocket watch and let out a sigh—there was still an hour before the hunter challenge began. Rising, he stepped outside to relieve himself.
Half an hour later, Kael was ready to move. He had taken a quick bath and eaten his usual breakfast. Dressed in his green tunic and shoulder bag, he stepped out of the lower-class district.
...
Time was running out, but Kael made it to the arena with a few minutes to spare—just enough to catch his breath and gather himself. All around, teenagers were gathering, each carrying their own mix of nerves and pride. Some had the start of beards on their faces, others were built like seasoned fighters, and a few—like Kael—looked plain and lean, easily overlooked in the crowd.
The Hunter's Arena stood enclosed by towering stone walls, its twin gates—one for entry, the other for exit—lending it the imposing air of a true battlefield.
The ground was bare dirt, worn smooth by countless footsteps, and along the edges, wooden bleachers formed a stepped seating area for spectators to watch the trials.
Suddenly, the blare of a herald trumpet rang out, grabbing everyone's attention. A man with a chiseled, muscular body stood straight at the podium, flanked by guards holding trumpets.
"ATTENTION, EVERYONE!"
"Let's begin the first trial, shall we?" he shouted, his voice carrying a mix of authority and excitement.
The challenges were already listed on a large poster. The first trial was a 5 km run, with only sixty participants advancing. The final trial would be a test of physical combat.
As the rules were announced — no cheating, no pushing, no unfairness — Kael counted the participants. There were 118 in total, giving him roughly a 51% chance of clearing the first round.
Kael, on the other hand, had a plan.
The first trial was about to start, and all participants were instructed to gather at the front gate, with the back gate marking the finish line.
"On your marks… get set… GO!" the announcer bellowed, and the herald trumpet erupted in a thunderous blast that echoed across the arena, sending a surge of adrenaline through the participants.
All at once, the challengers surged forward. Some charged with unbridled excitement, others barreled ahead like mad bulls. Kael, however, remained calm. He knew that in an endurance run, conserving energy for the first half was a basic strategy — then he could push hard later to increase his chances of winning.
But Kael wasn't alone in pacing himself. He estimated that about forty of the participants were running at roughly the same speed. "Hmm… these guys look tough," he murmured, narrowing his eyes, and focused on maintaining steady breathing.
By the time they had crossed 1.5 km, those who had sprinted off the line were already faltering, their pace dropping sharply.
"Eighteen down already… leaving a hundred to go," Kael murmured to himself, his stride steady and controlled.
As he reached around 2.6 km, the runners who had been matching his pace suddenly surged like cheetahs, one by one pulling ahead of him. Kael gradually increased his speed, keeping his momentum controlled.
Soon, he too exploded forward, managing to keep up with the toughest competitors. He noticed them shoving others aside, forcing some to the ground at the last second — a few limped, others struggled to get back up.
Kael knew exactly what was coming. Without solid evidence or proof, everything was fair in this run. He didn't even try to compete with them physically; getting too close would be pure suicide.
Calmly, he slid both hands into his pockets and grabbed a fistful of sand he had collected before the trial began. His plan was simple: slow down those behind him.
As he sprinted, he scattered the dirt into the air, letting it drift into the eyes or path of trailing competitors, slowing their pace just slightly. A cheap, dirty trick — the mark of an assassin, using the environment to his advantage.
Soon, Kael crossed the finish line, gasping for breath, his chest heaving as sweat rolled down his face. He had secured the 38th position.
A half-hour rest was announced for the sixty who passed the trial, while the rest were dismissed — their walk out of the arena heavy with shame.
The final trial would test physical combat — a one-on-one battle where each participant would wield a wooden quarterstaff. The matchups would be randomized to ensure fairness, and only a knockout would decide the victor.
Half an hour later, the announcer's voice boomed across the arena, calling out the names of each pair. Some contestants were flexing their muscles in confidence, while others whispered nervously about forfeiting.
Then came the call:
"KAEL VS HERCULES!"
Kael's expression stiffened. His opponent towered over him — broad-shouldered, muscles like carved stone, and eyes that glared with raw intimidation. Their gazes locked, and for a brief moment, silence fell between them — the calm before the clash.