It was a miserable morning. Thick black clouds shrouded the sky, and the constant drone of raindrops hitting the earth thrummed in my ears. The smell of water and dirt hung in the air, the ground muddied by three days of sucky weather. Dim gray daylight illuminated the streets.
A long line had formed before a sturdy stone building, composed of men and women of all ages. Some of them gazed ahead with soulless eyes; some were shouting about something; and a few possessed the features of nonhuman species. The only thing everyone in line had in common was that they looked ready to kill. They were dressed in weathered armor made of some sort of leather, or thick coats that covered them from head to toe. One or two even sported full sets of steel-plated armor. Many among them carried swords or firearms.
This one corner of the otherwise desolate street (deserted because of the rain) was awash with a freakish fervor. Everyone in that line had come seeking the faintest flicker of a chance: a chance to prove their strength to well-known treasure hunters and be accepted into their parties.
Over the course of history, treasure hunters had always held the most coveted of professions. They traveled to ruins all over the world—treasure vaults that depicted lost civilizations—to obtain the Relics within them. The job was perilous, but with enough talent, hunters could score power, fame, and wealth—the kinds of splendor only nobility or renowned merchants could hope to obtain.
Most hunters worked in parties of several members. Working in a party of veteran hunters was far less risky than hunting alone. By the same token, active hunters were always on the lookout for capable additions to their parties. The event hosted here today was intended for that very purpose.
All this rain had stoked my hopes for a lower turnout, but alas, there they all were. I sighed and fell to the back of the line. Without an awning, or cover of any kind really, those waiting before me were soaked to the bone. I pulled my hood down as far as it would go and shrunk into my coat while I waited. There was something isolating about standing alone in such a long line.
“Aaagh! Why the hell’s it so crowded?! Let me in already!” The frustrated shout from close to the head of the line made me shrink further into my coat.
The line was moving slow enough, but the scummy weather was making things worse. I got why he was frustrated, but we were all in the same boat. Most hunters, hunters like him, had a knack for fighting and a very short fuse. The last thing I wanted was to have a brawl break out around me.
One facet of a hunter’s talent was their stature. While my height was close to that of the average man, most men in line were at least a head taller than I was. They were freaks with enough strength and courage to take on monsters far deadlier than humans were ever meant to face. All I could do was pray that the situation would resolve itself before things got ugly. Fortunately, my prayers were heard for once, because no further commotion could be heard from the head of the line.
The line progressed ever so slightly. As I remained hunched under my hood, careful not to make eye contact with anybody, the person one place ahead of me turned around, her beautiful blue gaze fixing on me.
“Hey. You looking to join a party too?” she asked in a tone too cheerful for the dreary weather.
“Uh... Yeah.” Ignoring the question might have caused me more trouble, but I kept my eyes off hers, just in case.
The girl, clearly a hunter in her late teens, had well-kept light-brown hair and big blue eyes. She wore a long coat with a thick belt that had a sizable pack attached to it. Her attire was what you might expect to see worn by many a hunter, but her unblemished hair and friendly expression were uncharacteristic of those familiar with danger-filled treasure vaults. Not only that, but her clothes were almost spotless.
Female hunters weren’t uncommon with how well hunters were treated in society, but in my experience, hunters that looked like this one were one of two types: those who were new to the game, still full of hopes and dreams, or those with extraordinary talent for herodom, who shone brighter after every adventure—bona fide freaks like my old friends. I was about ninety percent sure the girl before me was the former, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. This industry was chock full of freaks in human clothing.
With a chuckle, the girl met my mistrustful gaze before returning to her cheerful expression and offering me her hand. At least she wasn’t the type to throw a punch for an introduction, instead of a handshake. I secretly assigned her a threat level E. E was a rating I assigned to hunters who looked safe to interact with, at least on the surface.
“The name’s Rhuda Runebeck, Level 3. Newly Level 3, but that’s beside the point.”
Level 3? That meant she was middle of the pack and much more skilled than she looked. I silently upped her to a threat level D. At the very least, she was no rookie.
The Explorers’ Association (or the Association for short), the overseers of the treasure-hunting world, ranked hunters by levels that were widely regarded as an indication of a hunter’s prowess. As a result, hunters commonly included their level in their introductions. Statistically, seventy percent of hunters never progressed past Level 3. Rhuda clearly had potential to have reached that level at her age. Keeping my guard up couldn’t hurt; mid-grade hunters were still inhumanly dangerous compared to the average citizen.
I opened my mouth to speak. Since I’d run here without drinking a drop of water, my voice came out hoarse. “I’m...Krai Andrey. Nice to meet you, Rhuda.” I refused to shake the hand she’d extended.
In my five years working as a hunter in the capital, the most valuable thing I’d earned was a sense of danger. If I took that hand, Rhuda could toss me to the ground, crush my hand, or straight up kill me the moment I shook it. Of course, the same possibility also applied to me not returning her handshake.
Rhuda frowned for a moment before switching back to her smile. “Are you a solo hunter too? Everyone’s so on edge here. It kinda sucks.”
I didn’t answer.
“I’ve always gone it alone, but I feel like I’ve hit a wall recently. Then I happened to hear about this big call for hunters.” She rested her hand on the dagger sheathed on her belt.
Treasure vaults were filled with various traps and hidden pathways. Since the only weapon she carried was a suboptimal choice for combat, she had to be more skilled at disarming gimmicks than fighting monsters. In any case, a solo hunter was no joke. I quietly bumped Rhuda up to a threat level C.
Navigating a treasure vault required several skills, and acquiring all of those alone was no easy feat. Not that going solo didn’t have its own merits, but diving alone into a veritable minefield seemed, in my opinion, nothing short of crazy.
The hunter population had more than its fair share of lunatics, but solo hunters had, according to my experience, an even higher ratio of crazy. Even the Association recommended forming a party before setting out to explore a vault. This meant that Rhuda, despite her approachable disposition, had either a major personality flaw that made her incompatible to hunting in parties, or some other reason that was more trouble than it was worth. Both were a hard pass from me.
Unsure of what to say, I tightened my jaw into a smile: another one of the very few skills I’d acquired over the past few years. When in doubt, just smile and nod.
“Alone? Isn’t that a death wish?”
“Sure is! That’s my point! I gave the White Wolf’s Den a go, but it was a little more than I could handle.” There was a gleam in Rhuda’s eye, as though she’d been starved of someone to talk to. “So I thought I’d come join a party. I figure that place is doable with five or so Level 3s.”
“Ha! The White Wolf’s Den? Do you have any idea where you’re at?” The derisive tone of the interruption caused Rhuda’s expression to harden. It had come from a mountainous man ahead of us in line.
The man wore a set of metal-plated leather armor under a bloodstained coat. In stark contrast with Rhuda, he exuded the air of a seasoned warrior, right down to the battle-worn hilt of his sword.
I grimaced. The vast majority of hunters were always jonesing for a fight, and the shortness of a hunter’s fuse correlated with their strength in combat. Association members often joked that bloodlust was part of a true hunter’s makeup.
Lo and behold, Rhuda yelled right back at the man two heads taller than her. “Was I talking to you? What’s your problem?!”
“Heh, Level 3? The White Wolf’s Den? This isn’t a hangout for rookies!” The large man’s cheeks twitched into a sneer. The rest of the people in line turned their attention to him and Rhuda, some in annoyance, others out of curiosity, but not one of them moved to stop them.