"Ouch, ouch, ouch..."
Gordon sat up, clutching his arm. It was already deep into the night.
He was surprised to find himself alive and well, lying on the bed in the hunter's camp, his right arm even splinted with wooden boards. He should have died in that fierce battle with the Bulldrome.
Frowning, he tried to recall what had happened. The strange horn sound he heard before losing consciousness gave him a vague idea.
"Meow! You're awake, meow? Are you okay now? That's great, meow!"
Just then, a furry face with a pair of large, adorable eyes popped into his view.
Startled, Gordon blurted out, "A-A-Aylin?"
"How rude, meow! If it weren't for our timely rescue, you would have been squished into a pancake by that big fat pig, meow!" The owner of the face, clearly displeased, puffed out its cheeks.
"Ah, I'm sorry! No, I mean, thank you so much for saving me!" After the initial shock, Gordon quickly straightened up and formally expressed his gratitude to the little creatures gathered around his bed.
They were right. If they hadn't intervened, he would have been dead for sure.
Aylin, also known as Felynes, were a beast-like species, much like the Gajalaka.
However, unlike the violent and unruly Gajalaka, Felynes were gentle and hardworking, maintaining a close relationship with humans.
These little creatures, standing just over half a meter tall on their hind legs, were dexterous with their paws and could use various tools and even weapons.
They lived and worked alongside humans, and their presence was common in human settlements, even in remote villages like Kokoto.
However, judging by their attire and the cleanliness of their fur, the Felynes who had saved him didn't seem to be the ones living in human villages or towns.
They were likely from a wild tribe.
"That's more like it, meow!"
Seemingly satisfied with Gordon's sincere gratitude, a larger Felyne, who appeared to be the leader, crossed its paws and nodded approvingly.
Then it extended a small paw toward Gordon.
"According to the agreement with the Hunter's Guild, meow, Felynes who save hunters in the hunting grounds are entitled to one-third of the hunter's reward, meow!"
Looking at the tiny paw, Gordon vaguely remembered his instructor mentioning something like this.
Felynes were small and agile, able to climb trees and squeeze into tight spaces, making it difficult for monsters to harm them. Given their friendly nature toward humans, the Hunter's Guild had struck a deal with the Felynes.
In exchange for rescuing hunters in peril, they would receive a portion of the hunter's reward.
Naturally, all hunters were more than happy to agree to this arrangement.
While the chance of encountering a Felyne rescue was purely a matter of luck, even the possibility was a huge boon.
When it came to life and death, no one would begrudge a few coins, and Gordon was no exception.
But...
Glancing at his carefully bandaged wounds, he felt a pang of embarrassment.
Since he had taken on a trial quest, the reward was a mere 300z. One-third of that would be 100z—roughly the cost of a fancy meal at a restaurant.
In other words, he had bought his life for the price of a single meal.
After showing the Felyne leader his quest receipt, the latter's expression visibly stiffened, and its perky triangular ears drooped.
It sighed like an old-timer, "Bad luck, meow. But rules are rules. The hunter only needs to pay 100z, meow."
Gordon awkwardly handed over the coins. Even though he was the one benefiting, it still felt wrong.
"Payment received, meow. Please rest well, hunter, meow." The Felyne leader pocketed the coins and prepared to leave with its dejected companions.
"Ah, wait! Please hold on!"
Gordon suddenly remembered something and called out to the departing Felynes. He hurried over to the supply box and began rummaging through it.
Inside were various materials he had gathered during his hunts over the past two days.
Ores, herbs, mushrooms, bones, insect parts... a little bit of everything.
This was a common habit among hunters. On one hand, it helped accumulate materials for crafting equipment and tools. On the other, it provided a bit of extra income.
After a moment, Gordon pulled out a handful of seemingly ordinary fresh branches. The Felynes' eyes lit up at the sight.
"Meow! Silvervine!"
"It's silvervine, meow!"
To humans, this plant was just another medicinal herb. But to Felynes, it was a precious luxury—akin to fine wine to a connoisseur.
Handing the silvervine to the Felynes, Gordon scratched the back of his head and said, "This can't be considered part of the payment, just a small token of my gratitude.
"My name is Gordon. Though I'm just a lowly apprentice hunter, if you ever need help, come find me in Kokoto Village. I'll do my best to assist."
The Felyne leader excitedly patted Gordon's thigh with its tiny paw and exclaimed, "Hunter, you're a great person, meow! My name is Steak, meow! If you have the chance, feel free to visit us, meow!"
Gordon bent down and shook Steak's paw, smiling. "It's a deal, then."
After bidding farewell, the Felynes skipped away, waving their silvervine branches. The hunter's camp fell silent once more.
Sitting back down on the bed inside the tent, Gordon let out a long breath.
He took out the only three potions he had left and drank them all in one go. Coughing a few times, he expelled the blood clots in his windpipe. After sitting quietly for a while, the pain in his right arm and internal organs eased considerably.
This didn't mean his injuries were fully healed.
The three basic potions weren't enough to cure all his wounds, including the fracture in his right arm. Moreover, the potions' effects would take time to fully manifest.
Now, he faced another decision.
Due to the Bulldrome's appearance, he hadn't been able to collect the tusk of the last Bullfango. His quest remained incomplete.
Unlike ordinary Bullfangos, the Bulldrome, as the leader of the herd, possessed a certain level of intelligence. Under its command, it was unlikely he would encounter any lone Bullfangos within the quest's time limit.
He could abandon the quest.
Return to the village and explain the situation. The appearance of the Bulldrome was an unforeseen circumstance, and no one would blame him. He could always retake the trial next year. After all, he was still young.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Gordon flopped back onto the bed and stared at the tent ceiling.
Or... he could hunt the Bulldrome and use its tusks as part of the quest items, exceeding the quest's requirements.
Gordon sat up abruptly.
Honestly, even he was startled by the audacity of this idea.
He reached for the Sword and Shield leaning against the foot of the bed.
The round shield had a crack running almost across its entire surface. There was no telling how many more impacts it could withstand.
The bone-handled Hunter's Knife was still sharp, but the sensation of striking the Bulldrome's body—like hitting solid rock—was deeply unsettling.
Could he really hunt the Bulldrome?
Gordon stared at his hands—calloused, rough, and far more weathered than those of his peers, yet also stronger.
His injured right hand still trembled slightly, a reflection of the fear deep within him, a fear he didn't want to acknowledge.
Was he afraid of being impaled by those massive tusks?
Afraid of being crushed beneath those colossal hooves?
He was just a seventeen-year-old apprentice hunter, not even officially recognized yet. Wasn't it normal to struggle against a Bulldrome? Couldn't he just come back stronger later and settle the score?
Gordon tried to console himself, but the thought only made the weight in his chest grow heavier.
It felt worse than the blood clots he had coughed up earlier.
He pulled out his hunter's notebook and gazed at the Hunter's Guild emblem stamped on the leather cover.
Before the profession of hunters existed on this land, what kind of mindset did those early pioneers have when facing monsters that far surpassed human strength?
They had no sturdy armor or sharp weapons.
No variety of tools or access to detailed information.
And certainly no option to "come back stronger later."
All they had were the people and homes they needed to protect—and the courage born from desperation.
What about him?
Had his courage been completely shattered by the Bulldrome's relentless charge? Even if he upgraded to sharper weapons and sturdier armor, would his hands stop trembling?
If he retreated now, would he ever have the guts to stand before that monster again, let alone charge at it?
Stepping out of the tent, Gordon examined his Hunter's Knife under the bright starlight. The blade, though not the sharpest, had still managed to leave marks on the Bulldrome.
The shield, though cracked, had stubbornly held together.
Closing his eyes, Gordon envisioned the pioneers of old—clad in thin armor, wielding crude tools, yet shouting and charging at monsters without hesitation.
A faint but bright emotion, like a spark, ignited deep within his soul.
It wasn't fear, recklessness, or blind rage. It was something hotter, more profound.
Opening his eyes, Gordon looked at his still-aching but no longer trembling right hand and murmured to himself,
"Is this... courage?"
He slapped his cheeks hard, leaving two comically red handprints on his face.
Putting away the notebook that symbolized his identity as a hunter, he sheathed his blade and reattached the round shield to his right arm, tightening the straps.
"Then... let's begin again!"
Two hours later, Gordon returned to the camp.
The Paintball's effect allowed him to roughly track the Bulldrome's location and distance. He didn't rush to confront it immediately—there were preparations to be made before the real battle began.
During his time away from the camp, he had scoured the nearby mountains and forests, gathering every usable material he could find. These seemingly insignificant items might become crucial in the upcoming fight.
Now, sitting cross-legged on the tent floor, he organized the assortment of items before him.
"Seven herbs, a few chunks of honey, one Adamant Seed, four Blue Mushrooms, three Toadstools, two Parashrooms..."
Some of these materials were freshly gathered, while others had been stored in the supply box over the past few days.
"First, the Potions."
Using a mortar, Gordon crushed the herbs and Blue Mushrooms together, mixed them with a bit of water, and filtered the mixture. The resulting green liquid was the most basic form of a Potion.
Though the proportions weren't perfect and the extraction process was far from ideal, time was of the essence. There was no room for perfection.
Besides, he had been lucky enough to find a beehive and harvest a good amount of honey.
Following his instructor's "secret recipe," he added a generous amount of honey to the Potion. This not only enhanced its effectiveness but also made the bitter concoction more palatable.
The unrefined Potion was far more voluminous than its bottled counterpart. Gordon stared at the iron pot filled to the brim with the green liquid and sighed.
Gritting his teeth, he downed half the potion in one go, letting out a loud burp afterward.
These crude Potions weren't as effective or fast-acting as the carefully crafted ones stored in small glass bottles, but they made up for it in quantity.
About half an hour after drinking the Potion, the pain in his right arm had almost completely subsided, and the dull ache in his internal organs from the earlier impact was gone.
With a bit more rest, he should be back in peak condition.
He poured the remaining Potion into a waterskin for easy access later.
Next, he turned his attention to the assortment of mushrooms he had collected.
Once, he had been a purist who looked down on excessive use of items. Now, his perspective had shifted—any method that increased the chances of a successful hunt was a good method!
Many hunters liked to use bait meat laced with various effects to lure monsters, weakening them before the fight even began.
For example, Tinged Meat or Poisoned Meat might sound underhanded, but they were highly effective hunting tools.
The Bulldrome, being omnivorous, would eat meat, but its favorite food was the mushrooms that sprouted abundantly in the forest after rain.
Gordon decided to use this to his advantage.
If it worked, great. If not, there was no harm done.
However, tricking creatures that had lived in the forest for generations, with noses sharper than a dog's, wouldn't be easy.
Parashrooms, Toadstools, and Sleep Herbs might be mushrooms, but if placed in front of the Bulldrome, it wouldn't even glance at them.
They needed to be disguised.
For this, Gordon dug out the most valuable item he had collected over the past few days—a Giant Morel.
This rare mushroom, found deep in the Schrade Forest, had an incredibly rich, nutty aroma. To humans and Bulldromes alike, it was a delicacy.
A single one could fetch several times the reward of his current quest. Finding it had been like winning the lottery.
Gritting his teeth, Gordon chopped up the Giant Morel and mixed the fragrant paste with sticky honey. He then slathered the mixture over the Toadstools, Parashrooms, and Sleep Herbs.
He hoped this would fool the Bulldrome's keen sense of smell.
As for the appearance, it didn't matter. Everyone knew that Bullfangos and Bulldromes relied on their noses to forage, shoveling anything that smelled good into their mouths without a second glance.
After preparing the bait, Gordon carefully crushed the remaining Toadstool and smeared its dark purple juice evenly over his Hunter's Knife.
This Toadstool contained a deadly poison, lethal to humans and effective against monsters as well.
His instructor had mentioned that some hunter weapons were crafted from special monster materials imbued with potent toxins, granting them the ability to poison their targets.
Gordon's crude method of applying poison couldn't compare to those high-tier weapons, but if it could cause even a little trouble for the Bulldrome, it would be worth it.
Glancing at the sky, he estimated there were about four or five hours until dawn.
Gordon lay down on the bed.
Though his mind was racing and sleep seemed impossible, he forced his eyes shut, determined to rest.
For the hunt ahead, he needed to conserve his energy and allow his injuries to heal.
"One Felyne, two Felynes, three Felynes..."
A few minutes later, the small tent was filled with the soft sound of snoring.
As the sky lightened to a pale gray, Gordon woke up promptly.
He stretched his right arm, feeling its flexibility and ease of movement. A twist of his waist produced a satisfying crack, confirming that the bone injuries had healed.
Jumping a few times, he felt no dull pain or discomfort in his chest or abdomen. His body was back in peak condition.
Punching his palm, the solid impact made him grin with satisfaction.
He pulled out a few rations and washed them down with water to fill his stomach.
Piece by piece, he donned his hunter gear. Once fully equipped, he strapped on his round shield and carefully sharpened his Hunter's Knife with a whetstone.
With everything prepared, Gordon stepped out of the tent.
The Hunter's Knife gleamed with a dark purple hue from the dried Toadstool juice. His waterskin was filled to the brim with the crude Potion he had brewed earlier.
The centerpiece of his plan—the "black-hearted Giant Morel"—was carefully wrapped in large leaves and stored in his pack.
Taking a deep breath, Gordon strode toward the camp entrance, facing the rising sun. Like a seasoned hunter, he embarked on what would be his first "no-holds-barred" hunt.
Over an hour passed.
Gordon wasn't in a hurry. Only with patience could he uncover the subtle traces left by the monster.
Now, he had found something.
Running his fingers over a streak of Paintball pigment on a tree trunk, Gordon sniffed the air, trying to detect the lingering scent of the Paintberry.
This helped him confirm the Bulldrome's current location and distance.
More than ten hours had passed since last night's battle, and the Paintball's effect was nearing its limit.
Fortunately, it hadn't rained overnight. Otherwise, the Paintball's effectiveness would have been greatly reduced, and the pigment and scent would have been washed away.
If that had happened, he would have been completely lost.
"Northeast direction, about two to three kilometers away... near the stream with all the mushrooms? Lucky." Gordon's eyes lit up as he muttered to himself.
Over the past two years, he had spent at least a third of his time in the outer regions of the Schrade Forest.
While he couldn't claim to know every blade of grass, he was well aware of the terrain, environment, and resources of each area.
The Bulldrome was likely in a relatively flat area with dense streams, one of the best spots for mushroom foraging. It was probably feeding there.
This significantly increased the chances of his "poison bait" plan succeeding.
He quickened his pace.
He had to set up the bait before the Bulldrome finished its meal.
After half an hour of travel, the faint scent of the Paintball in the air became more consistent and noticeable.
Gordon knew he was close.
Removing his helmet, he used the sensitive skin on his cheeks and neck to determine the wind direction.
Luck was on his side—he was downwind. As long as he was careful, he could approach the Bulldrome without being detected.
Gordon moved slowly and cautiously.
This time, he had learned from last night's mistakes. As he advanced, he carefully scouted the surrounding area.
To be honest, he was a bit traumatized.
Hunting a Bullfango only to run into a Bulldrome... If something even stranger showed up while hunting the Bulldrome, would he even survive?
Fortunately, the Schrade Forest was relatively calm during the day. Aside from a few grazing Aptonoth and timid Kelbi, there were no large creatures around.
After nearly half an hour of silent scouting and advancing, Gordon once again saw the imposing figure of the Bulldrome.
The Bulldrome was leisurely wandering among the streams and vegetation, searching for tasty berries and mushrooms.
Its left hind leg seemed slightly off, bearing weight for a shorter time than the right. This made Gordon feel a glimmer of hope.
The desperate slash he had landed last night had indeed injured the Bulldrome's tendon. Even with its natural healing ability, the wound hadn't fully recovered overnight.
This might be his chance.
Gordon didn't rush out. With the gap in strength, he had to be cautious. It wasn't time for a direct confrontation yet.
After observing for a while and confirming the Bulldrome's general path, Gordon quietly retreated.
He needed to get ahead of the Bulldrome and set up his trap.
A few minutes later, Gordon arrived at a clearing in the forest.
Several fallen pine trees lay here, their trunks broken and roots upturned. Though dead, they continued to "live" in another way.
Everything in the forest had value, even decaying wood.
The thick, soft moss covering the logs and the clusters of mushrooms growing on them were among the Bulldrome's favorite foods.
The Giant Morel, revered by gourmets as a "forest delicacy," could occasionally be found here as well.
Gordon was at least 70% sure the Bulldrome would pass through this area soon to feast.
Grabbing a handful of pungent moss from a nearby tree, he rubbed it on his hands and feet to mask his human scent and avoid alerting the Bulldrome.
He found a tree stump where he had once collected a Giant Morel and buried the disguised Parashrooms and Toadstools just beneath the surface. After erasing any traces of his presence, he silently left.
The strong aroma of the chopped Giant Morel mixed with honey was potent enough that Gordon believed the Bulldrome would find it, even buried.
To be honest, he wasn't sure if this would fool the Bulldrome's keen sense of smell or if the poison would take effect.
If it didn't work, everything would come down to his Hunter's Knife.
Scanning the area, he found a downwind bush to hide in. All he could do now was wait.
Ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour...
Time ticked by. Gordon repeatedly told himself to be patient, but despite his efforts, he grew increasingly anxious.
Just as he was about to give up, the heavy footsteps of the Bulldrome echoed in the distance.
Gordon's heart raced. He quickly adjusted his breathing, suppressing the sound of his heartbeat and breaths. Like a log, he lay motionless behind the bush.
The Bulldrome's nose twitched as it sniffed the air.
It seemed to catch a faint whiff of that detestable human's scent.
But compared to that elusive trace, a far more enticing aroma caught its attention—the fragrance of a Giant Morel.
Even as the king of its herd, it rarely had the chance to enjoy such a delicacy. When was the last time it had tasted one? Perhaps during the breeding season last autumn. The memory of that sweet, nutty flavor was unforgettable.
Following the scent, the Bulldrome trotted over to the tree stump.
Its long snout easily pushed aside the loose soil, revealing the buried treasure beneath.
The aroma of the Giant Morel grew stronger, mixed with the sweet scent of honey.
Snort, snort.There seemed to be something else mixed in?
No matter!
The Bulldrome opened its massive jaws and devoured the "delicious mushrooms" in a few gulps, swallowing them whole.
Moments later, the forest echoed with the Bulldrome's roars, interrupted by stomach cramps and the numbing effects of the poison.