Bloodstar System: Infinite Evolution Through Beast Slaughter

Chapter 11: Wilderness Hunter!

Joren did not speak.

He leaned back in his chair and let his gaze pass over the workers in the cafeteria, men arguing until their faces turned red over a few pieces of fatty meat.

His eyes were indifferent.

This place really was too comfortable.

"I just want to ask what you plan to do next."

Seeing that Joren was not annoyed, Brann grew a little bolder.

"If you have nowhere to go, I can introduce you to a path. Work as a guard for one of the big families in the city. Good money, little trouble, and respectable too."

In Brann’s eyes, that was already the best way out.

With Joren’s ability, becoming a guard captain would be easy.

Joren flicked the crumpled napkin in his hand.

The paper ball drew a clean arc through the air and landed precisely in a trash can several meters away.

"No need."

His refusal was simple.

Work as a dog for some great family?

Not interested.

He stood and straightened his collar.

"I am joining the army."

Brann’s hand shook so hard the cigarette nearly fell from his fingers.

"You want to join the army?"

His voice shot up, drawing glances from several workers nearby.

He quickly lowered his tone and leaned forward. The flesh on his face trembled with urgency.

"Brother, are you insane? Is that a place for people?"

"The Frontier is a meat grinder. Plenty of men go in and do not even leave bone fragments behind."

"That is living with your head tied to your belt. You do not know whether you will open your eyes tomorrow."

Joren looked at the agitated Brann, his face still frighteningly calm.

He understood all of that.

But he knew even more clearly what he wanted.

In this world, it was almost impossible for an ordinary person to rise.

Resources were locked tightly in the hands of noble families and great clans.

Trash like Dace could be piled up to Greater Mortal with potions just because he had a good father.

A commoner like Joren, even with decent Talent, would be stuck at Mortal for life without a proper method to guide him. At best, he would become a laborer with more strength than most.

Only the army was different.

It was the most dangerous place.

It was also the place with the most chances.

As long as one dared to kill and had a life hard enough to survive, one could trade for everything he wanted.

"I know it is a meat grinder."

Joren’s voice did not change.

"But only there can I find what I want."

Brann opened his mouth and could not close it for a long while.

Joren spoke as if the thing he wanted was not some distant dream, but an item sitting on a shelf.

As if he only needed to reach out and take it.

That confidence.

Or maybe that madness.

It made Brann’s chest tighten.

He looked into Joren’s eyes for a moment, then drew a deep breath, threw the burned cigarette butt to the ground, and crushed it hard under his shoe.

"Fine."

"You have guts."

Brann said it heavily.

Then his tone shifted.

"But there is one iron rule for federal recruitment."

"You have to be eighteen."

Brann looked Joren up and down.

"You go to the recruitment office, they scan your ID once, and they will throw you right back out."

Joren’s brows drew together slightly.

Brann had been watching him the whole time.

"However, not being able to enter the regular army does not mean there is nowhere to go."

He lowered his voice and tapped the table lightly with one finger.

Joren raised his head.

"Say it directly."

Brann chuckled, showing a mouthful of large teeth stained yellow by tobacco.

"Mercenaries. Or to put it another way, wilderness hunters."

"Outside the city is Voidbeast territory."

"It is also a place beyond the law."

"There are people out there who make a living by betting their lives every single day."

"Hunting Voidbeasts. Searching Ancient Ruins. Escorting black goods."

"As long as the money is enough, they will sell even their lives."

Brann licked his cracked lips.

A strange mix of greed and fear moved through his eyes.

"Out there, no one checks your ID."

"No one cares how old you are."

"No one cares who your father is."

"They only care about one thing."

Brann raised a hand and made a chopping motion across his throat.

"Whether your blade is fast enough."

"Things on a dead man belong to no one."

Joren narrowed his eyes.

In this world that devoured people, the law only protected the strong.

In a place like the wilderness, dead meant dead. No one would investigate anything for a corpse.

As long as the work was clean, who could tell whether you had killed and looted someone, or simply found a body and picked it clean?

"Sounds good."

Joren looked at him.

"But not just anyone can enter that line of work, right?"

Since it was a place beyond the law, it had to have its own threshold.

If any random fool could go into the wilderness and make a fortune, the city would have emptied long ago.

Brann grinned.

The fat on his face trembled.

He pulled out another cigarette, did not light it, and simply held it under his nose to inhale the smell.

"You understand things."

"In a place like that, without someone guiding you, you will not even find the supply points."

"A fresh face going in is likely to be treated as a fat sheep. Before you even see a Voidbeast, your own kind will butcher you."

Brann tucked the cigarette behind his ear and leaned in closer.

His small, shrewd eyes fixed on Joren.

He was making a bet.

Betting that this young dragon crossing the river would one day stir up a storm.

If he sold him a favor now, it might save his life someday.

"I have a way in."

Brann lowered his voice further.

"In my earlier years, I spent some time outside too. I never made much of myself, but I did get to know a few people who move black goods."

"One of them is a fixer. He works as a middleman."

"As long as he nods, getting you a temporary hunter badge will not be hard."

Joren looked at him.

He said nothing.

There was no free lunch in the world.

Even a three year old understood that.

Brann felt his skin prickle under Joren’s gaze.

Those eyes were too cold.

Like a hungry wolf had locked onto his throat.

He gave two dry laughs and rubbed the grime on his hands.

"Of course, I am not doing this for nothing. When you make it big in the future, just do not forget your old brother here."

"These days, one more friend means one more road."

Joren withdrew his gaze.

That reason was believable enough.

No one got up early unless there was profit in it.

If Brann had said he did it because Joren seemed pleasant, or for justice, Joren would have wondered whether this fat man was planning to sell him off.

This kind of naked exchange of interest was easier to trust.

"When can it be done?"

Joren asked directly.

He did not like dragging things out.

Since he had chosen this path, the sooner the better.

Every extra day wasted was one more day away from the Awakened Warrior realm.

Seeing Joren agree, Brann’s heart immediately bloomed with joy.

"Give me three days. No, two."

Brann raised two fingers as thick as carrots and waved them in front of Joren.

"Two days. I will clear the path for you."

"When the time comes, you can go meet that fixer directly."

"As for whether you can catch that fixer’s eye, that depends on your own ability."

Joren stood.

The chair scraped sharply against the floor.

"Good."

"I will wait for your news in two days."

"During these two days, bring in more Feralborn. I need to practice."

With that, he turned and left.

Not one extra word.

His back was straight, carrying a coldness that kept others away.

Brann watched Joren disappear through the cafeteria entrance before finally letting out a long breath.

He took out a lighter and needed several tries before he managed to light the cigarette.

He inhaled deeply.

The harsh smoke rolled through his lungs, and only then did he calm down a little.

He felt he had placed this bet on the right person.