The dense canopy of the Schrade Forest blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving only scattered beams to pierce through the thick foliage. Beneath the towering trees, a network of streams crisscrossed the land, nourishing the rich, dark soil that seemed almost unnaturally fertile. Fallen logs, covered in moss and decay, lay scattered across the forest floor, their surfaces teeming with life.
This was the heart of the Schrade Region, a place where even the sun struggled to penetrate. It was a paradise for mushrooms.
The spongy moss, still soaked from last night's rain, was dotted with clusters of rare mushrooms. Their fleshy, reddish caps were plump and tender, their delicious flavor beyond doubt.
"Hmph, hmph."
A low grunting sound broke the silence as a massive figure emerged from the underbrush. It was a Bullfango, standing over a meter tall at the shoulder. Its thick, mud-caked fur gave it the appearance of wearing a crude suit of armor. The Bullfango sniffed the air with its long snout before lumbering over to a fallen log covered in mushrooms. Without hesitation, it began to devour the fungi, its powerful jaws tearing through the delicate caps with ease.
"Tch."
A soft click of the tongue came from the shadows, unnoticed by the Bullfango as it continued its feast.
"I was hoping to gather some of those mushrooms on the way back. Now they're all ruined," muttered a young hunter, hidden behind a tree draped in vines. Clad in lightweight leather armor, he watched the Bullfango with a mix of annoyance and resignation.
"Well, once I complete this trial, I'll be a full-fledged hunter. No point getting upset over a few mushrooms," Gordon reassured himself silently. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves and calming his mind.
"First, check the surroundings for any threats."
His eyes scanned the area—the streams, the shadows beneath the trees, the dense tangles of vines. His ears picked up the chirping of insects, while his nose caught the faint scents carried on the breeze. Every sense was alert, gathering every possible clue from the environment.
After a few seconds, Gordon was certain: within a radius of several dozen meters, there were no other large creatures nearby.
It was time to hunt.
He tightened the strap on the small shield strapped to his right arm and drew the bone-handled "Hunter's Knife" from the sheath at his waist. His muscles tensed like a drawn bowstring, and in the next moment, he burst forward like a prowling panther.
"Hmph?"
The Bullfango, its snout still smeared with mushroom bits, lifted its head in alarm. Before it could turn toward the source of the noise, Gordon had already closed the ten-meter gap. Instead of stopping or striking immediately, he used his shield as a battering ram, slamming into the Bullfango's side with his full weight.
"Gah!"
Even the sturdy, low-slung Bullfango stumbled from the impact, momentarily unable to retaliate. Seizing the opportunity, Gordon swung his blade, striking the Bullfango's softer flank. The serrated edge of the Hunter's Knife sliced through the mud-caked fur, drawing blood.
Fat, muscle, and tendons were severed, and the Bullfango's hind legs gave out. With a pained squeal, it collapsed to the ground. The Bullfango's only means of attack—a charge powered by its hind legs—was now useless. The fight was over.
What followed was brutal.
"Gahhh!"
The Bullfango's final, agonized cry echoed through the forest as its eyes glazed over. Its body twitched reflexively, but life had already fled.
Gordon flicked the blood from his blad and sheathed it. He stood, scanning the area once more to ensure no other threats were nearby. Satisfied, he knelt beside the Bullfango's carcass and began to carve it up with his skinning knife.
A few minutes later, he had collected a sizable chunk of prime meat and a half-meter-long tusk. The pelt, though valuable, was too damaged by his strikes to fetch a good price. Leaving it behind, he packed the meat and tusk into his bag and headed to the nearby stream to wash the blood from his hands and tools.
The scent of blood and the carcass would soon attract predators like Velociprey. Lingering here would only invite trouble.
After a brisk half-hour trek, Gordon returned to the hunter's camp, nestled within a ring of massive boulders. He ducked through the narrow, dog-like entrance and sighed in relief at the sight of the sturdy yellow tent.
He was safe.
After storing the tusk in the red supply box as proof of his hunt, Gordon seasoned the fresh meat and set it over the fire to roast. The hunter's rations provided by the guild were filling but tasted like salted wood. In comparison, the sizzling, golden-brown meat was a feast.
As the aroma of roasting meat filled the air, Gordon pulled out his thin hunter's notebook and flipped to the latest entry.
Trial Quest: Troublesome Bullfango
Objective: Hunt 5 Bullfangos
Reward: 300z
Location: Schrade Forest
Time Limit: 3 Days
The Bullfango population in the Schrade Forest has grown too large. Reduce their numbers to prevent ecological imbalance and protect nearby human settlements!
With a charcoal pencil, Gordon made a few notes. Including the Bullfango he had just slain, he had hunted four in the past two days. One more, and he would complete the trial.
Most importantly, once he finished, he would finally shed the title of "apprentice" and become a full-fledged monster hunter.
It had been two years since he began his training at the age of fifteen. It was time to graduate.
A smile crept onto Gordon's face as he imagined the future. Bullfango, Velociprey, and Popo—he had hunted dozens of these lesser creatures over the past two years. They weren't worthy of a place in his hunter's notes.
No, it was the mighty Rathalos, the king of the skies, that hunters truly aspired to face.
The smell of burning meat snapped him out of his reverie. He quickly pulled the roast from the fire, cursing under his breath. Fortunately, only a small portion was charred.
The minor mishap did little to dampen his spirits. As he devoured the slightly overcooked meat, he glanced up at the sun, still high in the sky. There were at least three hours of daylight left.
"No time to waste," Gordon muttered, tossing the cleaned bone aside. He patted his full stomach and stood.
"Full and ready. Let's finish this before nightfall!"
Moving swiftly through the dense, labyrinthine forest of the Schrade Region, Gordon clenched his jaw tightly.
It seemed his earlier luck had run dry. Over two hours had passed since he left the camp, and only now had he stumbled upon fresh tracks of a Bullfango.
He glanced up at the sky.
Though the sun hadn't fully set, the light had dimmed significantly. If he wanted to complete the hunt before nightfall, time was running short.
Nighttime hunting wasn't entirely impossible. As a fully trained hunter, Gordon could navigate the darkness with relative ease.
But the Schrade Forest was home to countless nocturnal creatures—and monsters.
Compared to the day, the dangers of hunting at night were undeniably greater.
He now faced two choices.
The first was to abandon the trail, return to the camp, and resume the hunt at dawn. After all, the three-day time limit for the quest had only just passed its second day. As long as he completed the mission by tomorrow, there would be no issue.
The second option was to continue tracking the Bullfango and finish the task as soon as possible.
Both his training and his rational mind told Gordon that returning to camp was the wiser choice.
Yet another thought burned fiercely in his mind.
—What's the big deal about hunting at night? Am I scared? If I can't handle this, how will I ever hunt a Wyvern?
After only a few seconds of hesitation, Gordon, at the peak of his impulsive youth, decided to take the risk!
He even justified it to himself:
What if my luck runs out tomorrow and I can't find a single Bullfango all day? Wouldn't that mean failing the quest? This isn't recklessness—it's a mature decision based on practical considerations!
With his mind made up, Gordon adjusted his gear and quickened his pace, plunging deeper into the shadowy, ancient forest.
Half an hour later, the forest was completely dark.
Night always fell faster beneath the dense canopy.
In the dim light, the twisted branches and vines loomed like specters. The eerie calls of owls echoed from all directions, and fireflies drifted like ghostly flames. A more timid soul might have screamed just standing there.
But Gordon was exhilarated.
He crouched on the ground, examining a set of fresh Bullfango tracks.
"The prints are recent. That thing is close by!" Gordon grinned as he rubbed the soft soil at the edge of the tracks.
Hunting wasn't just about combat.
Gathering intel, preparing equipment, and tracking traces were all crucial parts of the process.
Now that he'd found his target, he was confident he could take it down cleanly.
Lowering his stance, Gordon bent his knees and moved forward with his feet almost skimming the ground.
This slow, deliberate movement minimized noise, preventing the target from detecting him and giving him the upper hand.
Silently, Gordon advanced, and soon, his target came into view.
It was a lone Bullfango, smaller in size with shorter tusks—likely a female. It would be easier to handle than the one he'd faced earlier.
If he could take it down, he'd complete the quest, pass the trial, and become a full-fledged hunter!
At the thought, Gordon's heart raced uncontrollably.
His instructor's advice—"Always observe carefully and confirm your surroundings before engaging"—was forgotten.
After a quick scan to ensure no other creatures were nearby, Gordon launched his attack.
His plan was the same as before: charge in, start with a shield bash to disrupt the target's balance, then finish it with a flurry of slashes!
The young hunter was brimming with confidence.
But this time, things didn't go as planned.
Perhaps the distance was too great, or maybe the Bullfango was more alert since it wasn't feeding.
The moment Gordon burst from the shadows, the Bullfango turned its head toward him, its hind legs digging into the ground, ready to charge.
"Tch."
Gordon clicked his tongue mid-charge. Slamming into an unprepared Bullfango from the side was one thing, but a head-on collision would be foolish.
Still, losing the element of surprise didn't mean he was at a disadvantage—it just made the fight a bit more complicated.
Shifting his stance, Gordon reduced his speed by a third.
Just before impact, he pivoted, sidestepping the Bullfango and slashing its flank as they passed each other.
The Bullfango let out a pained squeal and stumbled to a halt.
Gordon didn't waste the opportunity. He closed in, delivering a series of precise strikes to the Bullfango's hind legs, aiming to cripple its ability to charge.
But to his surprise, the Bullfango reared up, swinging its head backward and thrusting its tusks at him.
Gordon was startled but not panicked. He raised his shield to block the attack.
This was why novice hunters often favored the Sword and Shield: lightweight, versatile, and balanced, allowing quick transitions between offense and defense.
Clang!
The tusks struck the bone shield, and Gordon held firm. The impact sent the already injured Bullfango staggering backward.
Though his right arm was numb from the blow, it didn't hinder his next move.
The half-meter-long Hunter's Knife felt as light as a feather in his hand. He unleashed a flurry of strikes—vertical slashes, horizontal swings, and spinning cuts—in rapid succession.
"Squeal!"
The Bullfango's agonized cries echoed through the forest. Gordon felt no pity, continuing his relentless assault until the creature finally collapsed.
Compared to the previous one, this Bullfango's death was far more gruesome.
Its body was crisscrossed with deep gashes, its hide barely intact, and blood splattered everywhere.
Standing over the carcass, Gordon panted heavily. Even with his exceptional stamina, the relentless onslaught had taken its toll.
But the hunt was over.
All that remained was to collect the tusks and return to camp.
As he caught his breath and moved toward the Bullfango's body, Gordon froze.
He could feel it—a dangerous, malevolent gaze locked onto him.
Ignoring the Bullfango's corpse, Gordon spun around, raising his shield and gripping his blade tightly, his senses on high alert.
Heavy, labored breathing. Footsteps so heavy they shook the ground. The sound of trees snapping.
A massive shadow emerged from the trees.
The first thing Gordon saw was a pair of tusks thicker than the trees themselves.
A thought flashed through his mind: Could these really grow naturally on a living creature?
The tusks were neither smooth nor symmetrical, their surfaces rough and uneven. Yet their spiraled, steel-like grooves exuded a raw, primal power that demanded attention.
"...Bulldrome," Gordon muttered under his breath, swallowing hard.
He knew this creature well—the king of the Bullfango, a monster hunters had dubbed the "Champion of the Forest."
—The Bulldrome.
Standing over two and a half meters tall at the shoulder and weighing several tons, the Bulldrome was a monstrous behemoth that made it hard to believe it belonged to the same species as the Bullfango.
Its massive, muscular back rose like a small hill, and the wedge-shaped protrusions along its spine—thick, exposed vertebrae—combined with its bulging muscles, hinted at the terrifying power it could unleash at any moment.
Two plumes of white steam shot from its nostrils, a clear sign that the "Champion of the Forest" was enraged.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon glanced at the mangled corpse of the female Bullfango nearby. He grimaced.
I must have killed its mate. No wonder it's so furious.
Running wasn't an option.
Turning his back now would be suicide. A human's straight-line speed could never outpace a Bulldrome.
His only choice was to outmaneuver it and wait for an opening.
Forcing himself to stay calm, Gordon reached into his pouch with minimal movement, using his shield as cover. He pulled out a small, egg-sized spherical object.
He wished it were a Sonic Bomb or a Flash Bomb—those precious tools could buy him precious time.
But no. As a novice hunter, he couldn't afford such expensive gadgets.
This was just a simple Paintball.
With a flick of his wrist, the Paintball struck the Bulldrome's back, splattering fluorescent red dye across its fur. A pungent odor filled the air.
Paintballs were typically used by hunters to mark their targets, allowing them to track the monster through its scent or the dye it left on the ground, rocks, and vegetation.
But Gordon's goal wasn't just tracking.
He wanted to provoke the Bulldrome further, forcing it to attack. After all, an arrow not yet loosed was the most fearsome.
To the Bulldrome, the Paintball was an insult—a slap to its pride.
Its massive tusks swung violently as it shook its head. Its short but powerful forelegs dug into the ground, and with a furious roar, it charged at Gordon like a steam engine barreling down the tracks.
Gordon fought the urge to dive out of the way. He reminded himself that the timing had to be perfect.
Rolling too early would give the monster room to adjust its charge, and if he couldn't recover in time, it would mean certain death.
The young hunter crouched low, muscles taut, his eyes locked on the charging beast.
"Now!"
His body sprang into action like a coiled spring.
Gordon dove to the right, narrowly avoiding the Bulldrome's deadly charge. The force of its passing tore up the ground, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
But before he could catch his breath, a gust of wind warned him of another attack.
The Bulldrome had stopped its charge, turned, and swung its massive tusks at him.
"Damn it! How is something this big so much faster than a regular Bullfango!?"
Gritting his teeth, Gordon raised his shield, bracing for impact. The force of the blow sent him flying like a kicked ball.
He hit the ground hard, his head ringing and his right arm screaming in pain. Every bone in his body felt like it had been rattled loose.
He wanted to lie there and catch his breath, but he knew he couldn't.
The Bulldrome was already charging again.
There was no time to stand. Gordon rolled to the side with all his strength, barely dodging the next attack.
But how long could he keep this up? One second? Two?
Was this where he would meet his end?
Just as despair began to creep in, a loud crash and the Bulldrome's enraged roar echoed from behind him.
Taking advantage of the brief respite, Gordon struggled to his feet, wincing in pain. To his surprise, luck seemed to be on his side.
In its blind rage, the Bulldrome had charged headfirst into a tree as thick as two men.
And, unbelievably, it had broken the tree!
But the Bulldrome wasn't unscathed.
It staggered like a drunkard, clearly dazed from the impact.
This was the perfect chance to escape!
Yet Gordon hesitated.
The Bulldrome was already shaking its head, recovering from its stupor.
How far could he run in the few seconds he had? Ten meters? Twenty?
Sure, his smaller, more agile frame gave him an advantage in the dense forest, but he was injured—his right arm might even be broken.
Could he really outrun it?
"I have to wound it, at least slow it down!"
Roaring to drown out his fear, Gordon gripped his Hunter's Knife with his left hand and rushed toward the Bulldrome. He aimed for the tendon in its hind leg and swung with all his might.
The back of the leg, less protected by thick fur, was one of the Bulldrome's weaker spots—but only relatively.
The blade bit into the skin but didn't sever the tendon as Gordon had hoped. Instead, it lodged halfway into the rock-hard muscle.
Still, the attack hurt.
The Bulldrome roared in pain, its massive body twisting as it swung its tusks at Gordon. The blow sent him flying once more.
This time, Gordon spat blood as he hit the ground. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to look up, watching as the Bulldrome charged again.
In nature, the strong preyed on the weak. If he couldn't win, then witnessing his own end as the defeated was a fitting conclusion.
But just as the Bulldrome was about to trample him, a strange horn sounded.
"Doot-doot~ doot-doot~ doot-doot~"
The Bulldrome turned its head, momentarily distracted.
At the same time, several small figures—white and brown—darted toward Gordon with inhuman agility.
They lifted him onto a makeshift wooden cart and vanished into the dark forest, leaving the Bulldrome to roar in frustration.
"Grahhhh!"