The Last Light

A bandit from the western city of Jefran was running, gasping as if his lungs would tear themselves apart.

Jefran was a city that had crumbled when its leadership failed to pass from one generation to the next. There, food was worth its weight in gold. Corpses always littered the streets, and people would gladly kill a stranger just to take their next meal. Even so, the retainers who ruled the place sent enormous sums to the royal family — and so the crown never laid a finger on Jefran's affairs. In the end, the city became a living hell.

The bandit gang had left Jefran behind. This particular man had once served as a household servant to the Baron of Jefran. When the retainers turned on one another in a frenzy, he seized his chance, stole a fortune in valuables, and ran. His plan had been to sell the goods in Laoren — a barren northern city, but one where a person could still live — and start over. Of course, a little banditry along the way had been unavoidable. He'd killed people and slaked his lust besides, but he'd had no choice. He really hadn't!

"Damn it. Damn it!"

There was only one reason he was running. The gang had been seven strong when they arrived. Now he was the only one left.

And the cause of it all was a barefoot man who had appeared out of nowhere. Eyes that burned red in the dark — amber, originally, but in the shadows they took on a ghastly crimson that made the skin crawl. Every gang member that man's hand touched died on the spot, without so much as a struggle. As if he were the reaper himself. Everything his fingers found met death.

A severed neck, a pierced heart — those a man could accept. You told yourself the other fellow was simply stronger, and that was that. But the grotesque sight of people dropping dead at a mere touch stirred a terror that had no name. In the end the gang scattered and fled, each man thrashing for his own life.

The bandit ran until he reached an abandoned building. People had lived there once, but rising monster activity had emptied it out. He slipped inside the stone ruin and held his breath, perfectly still. His heart hammered against his ribs.

Hold it together. Hold it!

He was desperate to calm himself. Then a footstep whispered in his ear. His body froze solid. The sound drew closer through the dark, step by step. The bandit clutched the sword in his hands with everything he had, ready to swing if the man appeared. He waited, barely breathing — and then, abruptly, the footsteps began to recede.

A thin breath of relief slipped from his mouth. The man was gone. He had survived.

He slid down along the wall and sat. He had no idea whether the others were alive. He couldn't spare them the thought. At first light he would slip into Laoren, sell the goods, and start a new life. He would never steal again. That was the vow he made.

Then a single brick slid out of the stone wall.

An arm reached through the gap and clamped down on his shoulder.

Thud—

The brick hit the floor with a sound that rang out with terrible clarity. The bandit's face went white. He lifted his head, slowly.

Beyond the wall, the reaper's eyes flickered red.

That was the last light he would ever see.

I finished the last of the bandits and stepped inside. He had died slumped against the wall, his face twisted in terror — the face of a man who had been too afraid of the death rushing toward him to do anything else.

Not that saying it to a dead man changed a thing. I had taken their lives for being wicked. At this point, I might not have been so different from them.

I gathered up the corpse, then collected the others I had already claimed. Once I had them all in one place, I started digging. I had processed monster carcasses as a cleaner more times than I could count. When it came to this sort of work, I was a professional. I dug a plot large enough for a person to lie in, then laid them down one by one.

Going through their clothes turned up nameplates on a few of them, names inscribed — issued in the city of Jefran, most likely. I carved those names into a wooden board I had set aside earlier, using a dagger. A few valuables turned up as well. Among them was a gold plaque engraved with a wing emblem that looked considerably expensive.

"Stolen, I suppose."

Judging by the state of them, there was no chance any of it had been theirs. I didn't know if I could ever return it to the rightful owners, but there was no reason to bury someone else's property with the dead. I stuffed it all into a bag, more or less.

I filled in the earth and drove the carved board into the ground. A last courtesy, offered to the people whose lives I had taken with my own hands. Even if it was hypocrisy, I wanted to do it that way.

I took in the graves one more time, then turned. I picked up the bag of monster remains and set off on the road back, unhurried.

By the time dawn broke, the Monster Hunter Guild was coming into view. I opened the door on hunters sprawled out from drinking late into the night, young newcomers just now putting teams together, and a party that looked ready to leave for somewhere far from here.

"Ohh."

One of that party caught sight of me and let out a short note of admiration. His name was Egoi — the mid-sized monster hunter who had spoken to me the day before.

"So what you said wasn't a lie after all."

He was looking at the state of me. I was caked in dirt from head to toe, a complete mess. Fair enough. I had buried ten people in a single night.

I walked past him and set the bag on the counter. Meryl had already gone home; Jinny, the freckled night-shift receptionist, took it in her place. What came out of the bag were proof-of-kill tokens for three mid-sized monsters. The hunters who had been staring my way went still, their eyes going wide. Even the drunk ones blinked as they belatedly pieced together what they were looking at.

"Reptilon, Gaora, E-Eglips."

Jinny's lips moved soundlessly as she recited the names of all three.

"Y-you took down all of them."

Her voice said she could not quite believe it. The other hunters stood there with their mouths hanging open. Three mid-sized monsters in a single day. And I had done it alone. Their faces told me everything I needed to know. From this day forward, the word weakling would never again sit in front of my name. I would make that name known as a mid-sized monster hunter instead.

Egoi laughed. When our eyes met, he gave me a wave.

"As of today, we're leaving for the capital."

So that much had been true. Dimensional rifts opened more frequently toward the capital — they clustered wherever the population ran high. That was why everything from large-sized monsters to beasts too vast to grade by size alone was said to appear there. Countless hunters had made their names in the capital. Mages, even more so. More monsters meant more mana stones, and so a great many mages made their home there. The capital was the front line of the monster war — and, for a hunter, a city of opportunity.

"I'll see you there soon."

With that, Egoi left with his party. Another of the Laoren branch's prides was gone. The next time we met, he would be far stronger — and so would I. For some reason, that thought sat strangely in my chest. Being recognized by the strong. Today was the first time I understood what that felt like.

That afternoon, I stayed away from the Monster Hunter Guild. Bringing in one mid-sized monster for the first time could have been luck. Bringing in three more at once was not luck by any definition. By now the hunters would be talking about me all day, and I had no interest in walking in there just to become the gossip.

I've savored the swagger enough.

Today I was headed for the training center. Absorbing three monsters had raised my physical abilities by a wide margin. I hadn't given an inch against seven bandits — undernourished as they were, they still outclassed me in sheer bulk. But I was moving on instinct alone, relying on dynamic vision and reflex. That would not carry me forever. Even the strongest spear in the world meant nothing if you could not land it. The strongest spear only became itself when it was paired with the strongest warrior. That was why I had come.

In the old days ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I had not even been able to finish the training. I had been turned away at the door after a single day. The instructor had told me that if I kept on as a hunter, I would be dead before long. If I had let my bravado run away with me, I would already be long gone.

I opened the door. Inside, newcomers were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the middle of drills. Monster hunting was a fine way to earn money and a name, so plenty of people still set their sights on it. In truth it was little different from a circus performed on the edge of death — and still they stood there, full of dreams.

"Hey. Over there."

"Is that him?"

"That's Haren. The hunter who killed a mid-sized monster by himself."

A few of them recognized me. Had my name spread that far in just a handful of days? Then again, I had already made myself infamous as a mana stone thief, and fresh rumors had been piling on ever since. It would have been stranger if the name had not gotten around.

I walked past the newcomers and found a staff ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠member who handled training center registration.

"I'd like to register at the training center."

"Registration, of course. Please write your name here and show me your hunter's badge."

The staff member showed no sign of recognizing me. Fair enough. The training center ran separately from the guild. A hunter might know my face. A clerk had no reason to.

I wrote my name the same way I had five years ago and handed over the badge. The staff member took it — then stopped. Slowly, they lifted their head.

"I-is your name really Haren?"

"Yes. It's Haren."

"The one who took down a mid-sized monster by himself?"

Ah. So they did know. My name carried more weight than I had given it credit for.

"Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would someone like you come to a training center?"

The look on their face said they could not begin to understand it. I supposed that was fair. Why would a hunter who could kill a mid-sized monster alone bother with training?

"I want to receive instruction."

But I needed it. Not five years of know-how from cleaning corpses — I needed to learn how to fight monsters.

"Ah. I see."

The staff member nodded as if everything had clicked into place.

"So you wanted to learn a thing or two from the training center director!"

"What?"

"It's a dojo challenge."

"A new mid-sized hunter rookie came to challenge the dojo."

Hunters who had been listening in whispered among themselves, faces bright with excitement. No. It was not a dojo challenge. It was not anything of the kind.

"I'll inform them right away!"

"That's not—"

But the staff member was already beaming, hurrying inside. I could only stand there and watch, at a complete loss. I said it wasn't. I had come to ask to be taught. And just like that, I had become a man here to challenge the dojo.