The plan had gone more smoothly than Gordon could have ever imagined.
But in truth, it wasn't surprising. It was simply a matter of survivor bias.
For monsters raised in the wild, the concept of "poisoned food" didn't exist.
And those unlucky enough to fall victim to such traps rarely lived long enough to pass on the lesson to their offspring.
Even the Bulldrome itself didn't realize it had been poisoned. It simply assumed it had carelessly eaten some toxic mushrooms.
Instinctively, it lay down—a common tactic for wild creatures when poisoned. It relied on its robust physique and metabolism to endure the effects.
A few Parashrooms and Toadstools weren't enough to kill it. At most, it would suffer for a while.
But Gordon wasn't about to give it the chance to recover.
Rising from the bushes, he hurled a Paintball at the Bulldrome's head and then turned and ran.
Caught off guard, the Bulldrome took a couple of seconds to react.
Its small eyes, bloodshot with rage, locked onto Gordon. It oared, struggling to its feet, ready to charge and trample the hateful human into paste.
But the effects of the Parashrooms and Toadstools were already taking hold.
Its body felt sluggish, and after only a few steps, it crashed into a rotting log, sending splinters flying. The Bulldrome's furious roars echoed through the forest.
It had no choice but to stop.
Dealing with that pesky human could wait. For now, it needed to recover.
Shaking its massive head, it scattered the pungent Paintball liquid everywhere, further dulling its sense of smell.
With its primary sense impaired, it could only rely on its less-than-keen eyes to scan the surroundings, wary of the hunter's return.
Minutes passed, and the hunter didn't reappear.
Assuming Gordon had fled, the Bulldrome lay down again, ready to rest and metabolize the toxins.
Just as it settled and began to doze off, a nimble figure emerged from the shadows once more.
Gordon, gripping his Hunter's Knife, approached the Bulldrome from behind.
His eyes locked onto the partially healed wound on its hind leg. He steadied his breathing, gathered his strength, and unleashed a flurry of strikes.
Downward slash! Upward slash! Another downward slash!
Three precise blows landed on the same wound, tearing open the barely healed flesh. Blood splattered everywhere.
"Grahhhh!"
The Bulldrome woke with a start, howling in pain. It struggled to rise, but its limbs, still uncoordinated from the poison, made even rolling over difficult.
Gordon gritted his teeth, pushing his muscles to their limit. This was his best chance to deal significant damage and narrow the gap in their strength.
The serrated edge of his blade sliced through the Bulldrome's skin and muscle.
Perhaps due to the poison or the Bulldrome's relaxed state, its flesh didn't feel as tough as it had yesterday.
This was good news. In just a few seconds, the Bulldrome's left hind leg was a bloody mess.
The Toadstool juice on the blade had seeped into the wound. While the amount was too small to poison the massive creature, it would slow the healing process.
"Grahhhh!" The deafening roar forced Gordon to cover his ears.
The Bulldrome was enraged once more.
Steam-like vapor shot from its nostrils, and its eyes and snout turned a deep red.
A surge of adrenaline temporarily restored its control over its body. With a speed belying its massive size, it "sprang" to its feet.
Caught off guard by the roar, Gordon didn't react in time. The Bulldrome's hind leg struck him, sending him stumbling backward.
Fortunately, the kick was hurried and lacked full force.
Protected by his leather armor, Gordon felt like he'd been hit by a heavy punch. The dull pain made his vision blur, but he remained standing.
By the time he recovered, the Bulldrome had already turned to face him.
Its movements were jerky, like an overwound toy, but faster than usual.
With a snort, it lowered its head, and its massive tusks—longer than Gordon's entire body—lunged toward him.
Gordon dove forward, rolling to the side.
His rigorous training paid off as he narrowly avoided the deadly strike.
He even had time to land a slash on the Bulldrome's side, leaving a shallow but significant cut.
The Bulldrome roared again, swinging its tusks in a wide arc. Gordon leaped back, effortlessly dodging the counterattack.
A confident grin spread across Gordon's face.
For the first time, he realized the Bulldrome wasn't as invincible as he'd thought.
Thick-skinned, immensely strong, and fast in a straight charge, the Bulldrome had its advantages. Its quick turning speed also surpassed that of a regular Bullfango.
But in close-quarters agility, Gordon had the upper hand!
Those massive tusks were both a weapon and a burden.
"I've got the measure of your tusks' range now. It won't be so easy for you to hit me again!"
As the Bulldrome adjusted its stance, Gordon didn't press the attack. Instead, he backed away, creating some distance.
Seeing the gap, the Bulldrome charged.
Unlike yesterday, when fear had clouded his mind, Gordon now faced the charge with calm precision.
As the tusks closed in, he dove and rolled, narrowly avoiding the attack. But instead of rising immediately, he rolled again.
The whoosh of the Bulldrome's tusks missing by inches confirmed his guess.
After a missed charge, it would immediately swing its tusks in a follow-up attack. That was how he'd been sent flying yesterday.
And now, he had a few seconds of opportunity!
Even the Bulldrome's powerful muscles needed a moment to recover after a charge, a sudden stop, and a tusk swing.
This was his chance to strike!
Gordon darted forward, closing the distance in an instant. Two swift, precise slashes added fresh wounds to the Bulldrome's side.
But instead of pressing the attack, he immediately leaped back, creating distance once more.
His instructor's words echoed in his mind:
"Monsters aren't training dummies. They won't give you endless opportunities to attack. Know when to stop. At least half of all fallen hunters died because they got greedy."
Sure enough, as soon as he retreated, the Bulldrome swung its tusks in a wide arc, right where he had been standing moments before.
The gust from the swing ruffled Gordon's hair. He smirked and charged in again.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, and the temperature rose steadily.
Beneath his armor, Gordon's clothes were soaked with sweat, but he was too focused on dodging the Bulldrome's attacks and finding openings to notice.
Ten minutes had passed since the battle began.
The intense rolling, dodging, and slashing had drained his stamina rapidly. The Bulldrome, his target, wasn't faring much better.
The toxins from the Parashrooms and Toadstools continued to take their toll, accelerating its exhaustion.
While the numerous cuts and gashes covering its body looked gruesome, most were shallow. The real problem was the deep wound on its left hind leg's tendon.
After the adrenaline from its rage subsided, the pain in its leg slowed its movements.
Its initial determination to crush Gordon into paste had also faded. After a tense standoff lasting several seconds, the Bulldrome turned and trotted away, panting heavily.
Gordon let out a long breath.
He didn't immediately give chase. His stamina was dangerously low, and he hadn't emerged from the fight unscathed.
After confirming the area was temporarily safe, he pulled out his waterskin filled with Potion and took several large gulps.
Pressing a hand to his side, he felt a dull but manageable pain. He sighed in relief.
That spot had taken a kick from the Bulldrome earlier. Even with his armor, bruising was inevitable, but as long as his ribs weren't broken, he'd be fine.
His right shoulder, grazed by the Bulldrome's tusk, was swollen but thankfully not fractured. A bit of rest should ease the pain.
He took out a ration and washed it down with the honey-infused Potion. Then, he pulled out his whetstone and began sharpening his blade.
The once-sharp edge was now caked with blood, fat, and had several chips. If he didn't sharpen it now, it might not even cut through the Bulldrome's hide later.
After about ten minutes of rest, Gordon felt mostly recovered and set off to continue the hunt.
While he had been recovering, so had the Bulldrome. He couldn't afford to let it rest for too long.
The scent of the recently applied Paintball was still strong, and Gordon quickly picked up the Bulldrome's trail.
It stood by a stream, drinking water. Its body, covered in wounds, looked pitiful, attracting swarms of flies buzzing around it.
The stream's banks were littered with pebbles and fallen leaves, with no cover to hide behind. Stealth was impossible, so Gordon abandoned any plans for a sneak attack.
He picked up a pebble and hurled it, hitting the Bulldrome squarely on the forehead.
The Bulldrome shook its body and turned its head, its small eyes locking onto the infuriating human.
Gordon raised his hands and made a gesture even an ant could understand as a taunt. "Come on! Let's keep going!"
"Grahhhh!"
From midday to sunset, the entire afternoon was spent in a relentless cycle of combat and pursuit between Gordon and the Bulldrome.
The Bulldrome's condition worsened.
The effects of the Parashrooms and Toadstools had long worn off, but its situation didn't improve. Over the past five or six hours, it had lost too much blood, with no time to recover or eat.
Its nerves were frayed. Every time it tried to catch its breath, the relentless human would appear, blade in hand.
The injury to its left hind leg was severe. To reduce the strain, the Bulldrome kept the leg raised, walking on its other three legs.
This slowed its movement and further drained its stamina, but it had no choice.
If it didn't rest the leg, it might not even be able to charge during the fight.
As for Gordon, his condition wasn't much better.
The Potion in his waterskin was gone, and he had sustained new injuries. His right arm, which had taken the brunt of a charge, was fractured again, sending sharp pain with every movement.
What worried him most was his Hunter's Knife.
The blade was chipped in multiple places, and even the whetstone couldn't restore its original sharpness. A crack had even appeared on the blade's surface. The next strike might be its last.
The inexperienced hunter didn't realize that he was the cause of the weapon's rapid deterioration.
Why hadn't his instructor mentioned how easy it was to poison a weapon with Toadstools? Because the corrosive juice irreversibly damaged the blade.
Specialized poison weapons weren't simply coated in poison—they were crafted with specific materials and designs.
True, the poison on the blade had slowed the Bulldrome's healing, causing it to bleed continuously. But whether the trade-off was worth it remained to be seen.
Now, Gordon stood before the Bulldrome once more.
Both were at their limits. This might be their final clash.
"Come on, let's keep going."
The hunter waved at the Bulldrome for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Grahhhh!"
Cornered, the Bulldrome's eyes turned blood red once more.
Its pride as the "Champion of the Forest" refused to let it waste its last reserves of energy on fleeing. Its left hind leg, with its nearly severed tendon, miraculously planted itself firmly on the ground.
A long plume of steam shot from its nostrils, like a pressure valve releasing.
The Bulldrome charged with more force than ever before. Even a Wyvern standing in its path would have been grievously injured.
Gordon, sensing its determination, knew better than to mimic the heroic tales from storybooks—where both sides charge at each other, cross paths, and the victor sheathes their blade as the loser falls.
No matter how brave, charging head-on at a Bulldrome was suicide.
Dodging was his only option.
Locking eyes with the charging Bulldrome, Gordon rolled to the side at the last moment, evading the charge as gracefully as he had every time before.
But this time, the Bulldrome's move changed.
It didn't stop. Instead, it forced a sharp turn mid-charge, its massive body carving a near-90-degree angle on the forest floor. Its tusks aimed directly at the hunter.
"How?!"
Gordon's face paled. He never imagined the Bulldrome had a follow-up charge in its arsenal.
In this life-or-death moment, he didn't even have time to roll properly. He threw himself to the side with all his might, crashing heavily to the ground.
Even so, the distance wasn't enough. The Bulldrome's hooves were about to crush his knees.
With no other options, Gordon left it to fate.
He didn't calculate the distance. Gritting his teeth, he rolled sideways. This desperate gamble miraculously saved him from being trampled.
The Bulldrome, charging at full speed, slammed into a tree with a deafening crash.
Crack!
A sound distinctly different from wood splintering reached Gordon's ears.
He scrambled to his feet and looked up in shock.
The Bulldrome's tusk had broken!
Shock aside, Gordon wasn't about to let such a golden opportunity slip by.
With the Bulldrome dazed and disoriented, he knew this was his chance.
The massive tusks had previously made it nearly impossible to target the Bulldrome's vulnerable neck.
But now, with one of its tusks broken, the Bulldrome had not only lost a weapon but also its primary defense for its weak spot!
Gordon didn't bother conserving his energy. The decisive strike was now or never!
"Haaaaah!"
With a roar, he leaped into the air, using the momentum of his charge and jump to drive his Hunter's Knife toward the Bulldrome's neck, aiming for the artery.
The blade pierced through the thin fur and muscle, but just as it was about to reach the artery and trachea, the crack in the blade gave way.
In a moment of despair, the blade shattered, just like the Bulldrome's tusk.
The pain and the threat to its vital spot jolted the Bulldrome back to consciousness. It struggled to its feet, its heavy breaths echoing through the forest.
The Bulldrome was on its last legs, but without a weapon, what could Gordon do?
Punch it? Bite it?
That wasn't realistic.
Even in its weakened state, the Bulldrome's hide and muscle were too tough for human fists to penetrate.
"I've come this far, only to retreat? Has the hunt failed?"
Gordon's thoughts were a tangled mess. This wasn't the ending he had envisioned.
"No!" he roared.
Humans didn't have fangs or claws, but they forged weapons from the claws and fangs of monsters, turning them into their own strength.
His instructor's voice echoed in his ears as Gordon's gaze locked onto the broken tusk lying nearby.
The weapon of a monster, the strength of a human!
A glint of madness flashed in Gordon's eyes. With a roar, he grabbed the two-meter-long, hundred-kilogram tusk and lifted it high.
The Bulldrome's former glory now became a massive sword in the young hunter's hands. With a whoosh, it came crashing down on the Bulldrome's head, knocking it to the ground.
Again and again.
The dull thuds of flesh against hard bone grew weaker as the Bulldrome's struggles diminished.
Gordon gritted his teeth, drawing every ounce of strength from his muscles and bones. He knew this was his last burst of energy.
Once he set the heavy tusk down, he wouldn't be able to lift it again.
This frenzied assault lasted nearly a minute.
Only when the Bulldrome lay completely still did Gordon collapse, gasping for breath.
Exhausted and battered, his face broke into the brightest smile he had ever worn.
Holding the massive tusk, he shouted triumphantly:
"Bulldrome, hunt successful!"
Gordon lay on his back in a Aptonoth-drawn cart on the way back to Kokoto Village, his hands behind his head as he reflected on the events of the past two days.
The massive tusk, his trophy, lay beside him, dwarfing the four smaller tusks from the Bullfangos.
The cart driver, a man in his forties, kept glancing back at the tusk, his eyes filled with admiration.
The driver and Gordon were old acquaintances. Gordon often hitched rides with him between the Schrade Forest and Kokoto Village.
The driver knew Gordon was only sixteen or seventeen, a novice hunter who had started training just two years ago.
A teenage apprentice hunter, using basic training gear, had successfully hunted a Bulldrome. This was news that would cause a stir even in the town of Minegarde!
Having such a person on his cart wasn't just a ride—it was an honor!
The journey passed in a flash.
When Gordon returned to the village with the Bulldrome's tusk, the quiet, remote village erupted in excitement.
The villagers marveled, "Since the hero of old, a future legendary hunter will rise from our village!"
Compared to the villagers' awe, Gordon's instructor, Ernest, was downright shocked.
"You really hunted a Bulldrome with a Hunter's Knife?" Ernest's face was a mix of disbelief and pride. The two-meter-long tusk was undeniable proof.
For someone who had hunted Wyverns, a Bulldrome wasn't a particularly noteworthy opponent.
Even with Gordon's basic gear, Ernest could have done it easily with his experience and skill.
But for an apprentice hunter who hadn't even earned his official hunter rank, it was astonishing. Well, almost forgot—the kid had just passed his trial and was now a one-star hunter.
Judging by the size of the tusk, the Bulldrome must have been between 3.5 to 4 meters long, placing it in the upper range for its species.
Give the kid a few more years, and he might just be hunting Wyverns before he turns twenty!
The village chief, an elderly Wyverian, had a more subtle reaction.
The old man simply smiled, nodding repeatedly, muttering, "Bulldrome, good, very good~"
Gordon couldn't help but wonder if the chief was going senile.
Under Ernest's questioning, Gordon recounted every detail of his hunt.
Ernest was genuinely pleased to see Gordon's growth from a pure combat-focused hunter to a more strategic one.
This approach, which could be described as "using every available resource" or, less charitably, "doing whatever it takes," was often what kept hunters alive in the long run.
Ernest then called in a physician to give Gordon a thorough check-up.
Gordon's body was a patchwork of injuries, with his right arm being the worst. His chest had internal bruising, his shoulder blade was dislocated, and he had countless scrapes, bruises, and abrasions.
While Potions could heal most injuries quickly, broken bones and dislocations needed to be set by a skilled physician.
After resetting Gordon's bones, bandaging his wounds, and draining the bruising, the physician ordered him to rest in bed for ten days to two weeks to avoid long-term damage.
Additionally, foods rich in calcium and collagen, like bone broth and cartilage, would aid his recovery. Without hesitation, Ernest asked a neighbor to look after Gordon for a couple of days before heading to the nearest hunting grounds.
Two days later, Ernest returned with a cart full of Aptonoth meat.
During Gordon's recovery, Ernest strictly forbade him from any physical training. While Gordon found it frustrating, he also secretly enjoyed the care and attention.
Another week passed.
Feeling fully recovered, Gordon refused to stay in bed any longer. Left with no choice, Ernest decided to make use of the time.
He gave Gordon a "crash course."
Gordon had never been fond of the myriad hunting tools, preferring to rely on his blade. Now, Ernest made sure he learned them all.
From the commonly used Sonic Bombs and Flash Bombs to the rare and volatile Thunderbugs, Gordon was forced to study them all.
The Thunderbugs, which could summon lightning during storms, were particularly baffling. Expensive, unstable, and just as likely to strike the hunter as the monster, they were probably on their way out of the market.