Hunter

The next morning.

Berg woke from his sleep on time. As a Hunter, he had to maintain a stable sleep schedule to ensure he had enough energy.

After getting dressed, Berg began preparing his hunting tools.

First, he restrung his longbow, which had its string removed, and applied some grease to it. Then he checked whether the arrow shafts in his quiver were straight. If he found one slightly bent, he would heat it over a fire before carefully bending it straight again.

After inspecting his bow and arrows, he carefully sharpened a sharp iron knife, placed it in a sheath made of animal hide, and tucked it securely into the inner pocket along his right trouser leg.

If prey broke through his arrows and closed in on him, this knife would be his final lifeline.

"I've been a Hunter for three years already, but I still have no clue how to advance my profession."

Thinking of this, the young man adjusting his bowstring let out a long sigh.

Just as his late father had warned him, the nobles and the Church did not want too many high-level professionals to emerge. The blockade on professional knowledge was as despairing as an impassable chasm, and only a tiny handful of lucky people could cross it.

And he clearly was not one of them. Or rather, until a few days ago, he had thought he was.

After all, he had saved a Prince in distress—one from a superpower with 1.4 Billion citizens, no less. Even the songs drunken bards recited would not contain such an absurd encounter.

"I saved his life, fed him my game for several days, and he still won't even take me on as an attendant? That's going too far."

The thought filled the young man with resentment. He felt slighted through both body and soul.

The strength in his hands unconsciously increased, and he only snapped back to himself when he nearly tore the bowstring apart.

"Calm down, calm down." Only then did the young man realize he had lost his composure, and he hurriedly regulated his breathing.

For a Hunter, the most important thing was to remain calm at all times.

Once a Hunter lost control of his emotions, the positions of hunter and prey could reverse in an instant.

After several deep breaths, the young man's expression became neither sad nor joyful, calm as still water.

"Once I settle this Agricultural Tax, I'll leave the village and seek an opportunity for advancement in the City-State."

Berg silently made up his mind.

His dream was to pursue the path of the strong, to hunt even more powerful creatures, and to feel his heart racing as though it would leap from his chest during every hunt.

So he could not possibly remain in this tiny village forever. The game he had shared over the past three years, along with bringing them a Prince in distress, was already enough to repay the village for taking him in.

"For Anlìyà's sake, that Prince should help the village resolve its tax problem, no matter how stingy he is," Berg thought.

After all, if the man took Anlìyà's body yet still refused such a simple favor, then no matter how noble his status was, Berg would fire an arrow straight into his head and see whether his blood was truly blue, as the rumors claimed.

After readying all his tools, Berg prepared to leave for Wolf Howl Forest to hunt.

Knock, knock.

Just then, someone knocked on his door.

"Strange. No one should be coming at this hour."

Though puzzled, Berg still opened the door.

A handsome young man with black hair and black eyes stood quietly outside.

The long string of white text above his head was especially conspicuous.

"Your Highness!"

Berg instinctively wanted to kneel on one knee, but the other man stopped him.

"You want to be my attendant, right? Then can you help me do something first?" Xian asked calmly.

"I'd be more than willing, Your Highness."

Seeing that things had taken a turn, Berg agreed without hesitation.

Under the dazzling sunlight, a winding path ran through the dense forest toward the distance.

"Are you sure this road is the only route to Fruit Basket Village?"

From within a clump of bushes some distance away, Xian frowned and asked Berg beside him.

"Yes, Your Highness. If we don't take this path, we'll have to make a huge detour through the forest to get there," Berg replied.

"Your Highness, what do we do next?"

"Hide, then get your bow and arrows ready. We'll wait for the prey to come to us." Xian's gaze turned cold.

Anyone who did not want others to live should not expect to live either.

"Summer has come, the cuckoos sing loud~"

"Seeds sprout, flowers bloom in the grasslands~"

Mills Hunter hummed a recently popular tune as he guided the horse beneath him, pulling his carriage down the road ahead.

He was a traveling merchant. Like most Clay People, he had been exposed to business from a young age under his parents' influence. He started out as a peddler selling things like beer, and only after reaching adulthood did he leave his family behind to embark on his own commercial path.

He was not an only son. Besides him, his father had two older sons. According to Clay People tradition, he had to accumulate more wealth than his eldest and second brothers combined if he wished to be chosen as the heir when his father passed down the family business.

Thus, Mills had always shouldered tremendous pressure in business. Fortunately, he had recently discovered an opportunity that could make him rich.

All he had to do was pay a small deposit to villages that mainly grew fruit, then waste a little breath. Those brainless, foolish villagers would truly believe him, reject other merchants, and wait eagerly for his so-called high price.

Then, as the fruit was about to be harvested, he only needed to arrive fashionably late. No matter how low a price he offered, those villagers would have no choice but to grit their teeth and accept it because they had to pay taxes to their lord.

After all, if they could not pay their taxes, those pitiful serfs would truly be dragged to the Slave Capital, where they would become slaves stripped of all dignity and status, destined only to be worked to death.

Using this method, Mills had multiplied his initial capital several times in just a few months. He had even miraculously achieved a professional advancement—from the ordinary profession of Merchant to the extraordinary profession of Liar Merchant.

Every night, whenever he looked in the mirror at the green words floating above his head, he would be so delighted that he could not sleep, tossing and turning all night.

Of course, this business opportunity did not work every time.

Sometimes, he encountered villages too foolish to understand the situation, like the Fruit Basket Village he was heading toward now.

A few days ago, he had merely offered one-third of the market purchase price, yet those villagers had surrounded him with eyes as red as rabbits', looking as though they wanted to tear him apart.

If his professional advancement had not also strengthened his physique enough for him to escape, those unruly peasants might have beaten him to death.

"They should have come to their senses by now. The tax deadline is close, and I'm their only savior."

"This time, I'll offer a quarter—no, a fifth—of the purchase price. If it isn't enough to pay their taxes, I'll have them sell themselves to me as slaves. Quite a few slaves died in the riots recently, and slave prices in the Slave Capital have been climbing rapidly."

Mills carefully considered the opportunity.

Whoosh! Just then, accompanied by the sound of tearing air, a sharp arrow shot from the bushes nearby and struck the eye of the horse beneath him with perfect accuracy.

With a muffled, agonized whinny, the horse's body jerked violently before crashing to the ground.

"Who? Who fired that arrow?" Mills shouted in shock and fury after falling from the horse.