The Field Training Gate (Part 2)

While doing my best to adapt to this world’s murderous cost of living, I decided to attempt a bit of self-study before my formal hunter training began.

My cozy semi-basement studio, paid month to month.

Apparently, that damn hyperinflation applied to rent as well, running significantly higher than back in my old world. In the end, I had very few options to stretch my funds through the month, which left me surviving on a single pack of instant ramyeon a day.

Rustle...

I reached into my eco-bag and drew out the grimoire, which still radiated the savory aroma of pan-fried fish. Was it really appropriate to treat the sacred tome of an Outer God—the grimoire of the renowned Teacher C, no less—with such utter disrespect?

...

No, looking back on it, that original stench had been downright lethal. A rich scent of grilled fish was infinitely better than stagnant swamp water and rotting fish guts.

Setting aside my upcoming hunter education, I cracked the grimoire open to see what kind of sorceries lay written within. Even if reading it threatened to drive me insane, Mental Protection would surely shield my mind.

...

Flip, flutter—

Holding my breath, I turned the pages one by one. Seeing as Mental Protection didn't flare to life, it seemed my sanity remained intact, though the actual contents of the grimoire were nothing short of bloodcurdling.

Broadly speaking, the first category was prisoner summoning. True to its nature as a cosmic penitentiary, the spells called forth inmates who had stripped away or outlived their magical bindings. The sorceries required to bind them were recorded separately.

What is with these names, though?

Not a single one was written properly. For instance:

Hound Crouching in the Angle. Charge: Picky Eating.

White Silence of the Blizzard. Charge: Excessive Kindness.

They were entities whose true names could never be spoken by mortal tongues, so bizarre monikers were inevitable, but the criminal charges attached to them felt remarkably... anticlimactic. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Silly, even.

Summoning them carried no direct mana cost. However, if I brought them forth unbound, they would turn on me in an instant. For the sake of my own survival, binding was mandatory.

A binding ritual consumed both mana and the SAN stat displayed on my status window. As long as the binding took hold, the entity remained docile, but the required SAN varied wildly from prisoner to prisoner. Some demanded far more SAN than my current maximum value.

Summoning sorcery, shamanic curses, causality manipulation...

This was only the surface. Though I couldn't memorize the vast breadth of eldritch arcana inscribed across the pages, I crammed as much of it into my skull as possible. There was no telling what might prove useful later, and in my current state, I couldn't afford to be choosy.

Reading line by line, I kept one eye on the corner of my vision to ensure Mental Protection hadn't been triggered, gingerly turning the pages.

"Ugh, my eyes are about to pop out of my skull."

After what felt like an eternity, I snapped the book shut and rubbed my throbbing eyelids. I had worried that some creeping madness might assault me like the fabled Necronomicon or other cosmic mythos grimoires, but my anxieties proved entirely baseless. The sheer exhaustion of a guy who hadn't touched a textbook in years caught up to me long before any eldritch madness could.

Setting the grimoire aside, I massaged my stiff neck and collapsed onto the thin mattress laid out across the floor. It was absurd that someone who had barely attended school was suddenly burning the midnight oil over an eldritch grimoire. My heart fluttered at the prospect of truly becoming a hunter, yet a wave of regret washed over me, wondering if I had leapt into this whole mess far too recklessly.

Rattle, roll...

Lying flat on my stomach, my ear caught the sound of something hard rolling across the floorboards.

"..."

Well, what was done was done. If I had already walked down this road, I needed to focus on becoming a hunter.

I sprang up from the mattress and parked myself in front of the computer. In one window, I queued up the full broadcast VOD of Magical Maiden Sunset's previous stream; in another, I pulled up a documentary series aimed at aspiring hunters. Raw street knowledge was important, but one always needed a firm grasp of the fundamentals first.

A quick search through hunter forums yielded heaps of information, but it was far too raw, filled with inside jokes and incomprehensible slang that made little sense to an outsider. Threads like:

Posts of that caliber flooded the boards. They were fantastic for killing time, but entirely useless for my immediate survival. In the end, I stayed up binge-watching the hunter documentary alongside the profoundly educational full-length stream of Magical Maiden Sunset.

Time flew like the wind, carrying me from Wednesday into Friday morning. Today was the official day of my magic division hunter training.

Stepping gingerly into the outside world—an environment still unnervingly safe and unfamiliar to my slum-conditioned instincts—I made my way toward the Hunter Association. During this second visit, the lobby looked much the same as before, bustling with hunters in sharp suits bearing matching armaments.

As I moved to follow the crowd inside, a voice called out.

"Back again, I see?"

It was a familiar, raspy voice. The elderly guard in his worn uniform approached, tipping his cap in greeting. I returned the gesture with an awkward bow, and as I offered a hesitant smile, the old man reached into his pocket and held out a piece of candy.

"Here, take this and keep your chin up. Training today, right?"

"Ah... yes. How did you know?"

"The training dates are all fixed. Besides, you still haven't managed that leaking mana of yours. You stick out like a sore thumb."

Right, the mana leakage.

I had tried mimicking the circulation techniques shown in the documentary, but evidently, it hadn't worked. Since I couldn't see mana with my naked eyes, I had no way of knowing how much was bleeding out.

"Ahaha... I tried practicing on my own after what you said last time, but it didn't really pan out."

"The newly awakened always rush to learn flashy, magnificent techniques. They forget that the basics are what truly matter, no matter the craft."

I glanced down at the candy in my palm. A red ginseng lozenge wrapped in black-and-red foil. Peeling open the wrapper, I popped it into my mouth.

"Young folks these days don't bother with proper Association curricula. They sign up for private academies and fast-track lectures, rushing to dive into gates as quickly as humanly possible."

The guard launched into a classic 'back in my day' monologue, and I nodded along politely.

"Magic stones fetch high prices, after all. It's become far too easy for desperate people to gamble their lives away. Those private crash courses prune away ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠every fundamental and streamline the process solely for efficient stone harvesting. Awakened who actually come here to complete the full training ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are rare creatures now."

Listening quietly, I tilted my head. Why is that a bad thing?

Increasing the supply of magic stones should bring down overall prices. I was still haunted by the memory of a three-thousand-won bowl of rice; shouldn't mining in bulk and earning quick cash be welcomed? Before I could voice the thought, the old man added with a somber, bitter expression:

"Real combat cannot be streamlined. In a clash where your life hangs by a thread, fighting with only the bare minimum of trimmed-down fundamentals will hit a wall sooner or later."

It was the equivalent of sending someone who had only practiced basic jabs and straight punches straight into a professional boxing championship. A genuine prodigy might survive on raw instinct, but for the average person lacking supreme talent, the outcome was obvious.

"So study hard and pay attention. The Association's courses might feel dull and tedious, but in the end, those fundamentals are what will save your life."

The elderly guard patted my shoulder and offered a warm smile. Beneath the wrinkles of his weathered hands, I caught sight of countless crisscrossing lacerations and faded scars. He was a man who had earned the right to impart such advice; he hadn't ended up at an Association security post by mere happenstance. From the moment he had addressed me with polite honorifics on our first meeting, I had suspected he was no ordinary guard.

Note to self: never disrespect this grandpa.

Watching his back as he walked away, I stepped through the main entrance and into the Hunter Association building.

I really should have listened to him. Or if there were a way to turn back the clock, I'd sprint back to that very morning.

Drip... drip...

Water droplets fell from jagged stalactites, spattering against the stone floor. Darkness pressed in on all sides. Crude cavern walls enclosed the space, while needle-like mineral spikes hung clustered directly above my head.

A throbbing, searing agony flared in my arm. Looking down, I saw bright red blood pulsing through the torn sleeve of my hoodie, drenching the fabric. Lamenting the cruel irony of my circumstances, I forced myself to calmly retrace the chain of events that had led to this disaster.

After completing two weeks of magic division classes at the Association, I had learned how to manage my mana, gaining a modest measure of confidence. Then came our very first gate field training.

We were organized into a four-man cell: two from the warrior division, and two from the magic division, including myself. The site was designated as an E-Rank gate—a sanitized environment intended for basic drills, where we had been assured nothing more threatening than common goblins would appear.

...

"This is... an E-Rank?"

The stunned murmur of one of my teammates still echoed in my ears. The ambient mana in the air had been crushing, stifling our lungs to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠point where drawing breath was a torment, sending icy dread crawling up our spines. Beyond the gate's threshold lay a steep, suffocating mountain choked with pitch-black trees. Even then, we had foolishly chalked up the unease to first-time jitters.

At least, I had.

"Whoa, the atmosphere here is crazy sick—"

The thoughtless novice mage beside me never finished his sentence. From the impenetrable tangle of black wood, a blur of white fur lunged forward, swallowing his head whole in a single, devastating lunge.

CRUNCH—!!

A human skull was pulverized beneath dozens of interlocking fangs. Warm blood splattered across my cheek. When my frozen eyes darted sideways, I saw it.

"C-c-crazy... s-sick. Is-isn't it?"

Still grinding the mage's cranium between its teeth, the white beast rolled its unfocused yellow eyes toward me.

"Heh, heh... Kkeheheck—!"

It burst into a bout of deranged, wheezing laughter.

What followed was a fractured blur. In the ensuing panic, my memories severed into frantic shards. I was instantly separated from the two warriors ahead of us, and before I knew it, I had fled blindly into this cavern to hide. I wasn't sure whether it was fangs or claws that had caught my arm, but the limb was badly mauled. Still, the instructors had emphasized that awakened possessed abnormally resilient biology regardless of class; the bleeding ought to stem itself soon enough.

"Ugh..."

Watching my own blood drip was doing nothing for my nerves, so I turned my gaze toward the mouth of the cave, drawing ragged breaths.

What do I do now?

My mind threatened to blank out. I already knew this was no ordinary training gate. A monster capable of utterly ignoring a mage's passive mana coating to crush a head in one bite was never an E-Rank threat. It was C-Rank at the absolute minimum—an impossible challenge for raw trainees.

Field supervisors were supposed to be stationed inside for safety, but could a single instructor clear an anomaly like this? Gate rankings were calibrated around a standard strike team of four hunters of that tier. Unless the supervisor was an A-Rank or an S-Rank, solo suppression was out of the question.

In the end, the only things I could rely on were myself and the grilled-fish-scented grimoire gripped tightly in my hand.

Teacher C, I'm begging you. You're the grimoire of an Outer God—please live up to your name.

With trembling fingers, I pressed down on the cover. Under ordinary circumstances, I had no intention of relying heavily on eldritch sorcery in a public training exercise. A simple Magic Missile formed from compressed mana would have sufficed. With my vast mana capacity, I could have rapid-fired missiles like a machine gun, which would have been more than enough for an E-Rank gate. But this crisis rendered standard spells completely useless.

Flutter-flutter-flutter—

As I lifted the grimoire in my right hand, the pages began turning on their own, guided entirely by my intent without me touching them. First and foremost, I needed a way to protect my fragile body. The meager mana coating my frame could muster would tear like wet paper against those fangs. I recalled catching a glimpse of a defensive sorcery while browsing earlier.

Flip...

The frantic fluttering ceased, settling on the exact page I sought.

It demanded a sacrifice of my sanity. Yet staying alive took precedence over staying sane. Placing my palm flat against the parchment, I channeled my mana into the spell.

With every pulse of mana, the SAN value displayed on my peripheral status window ticked downward: 99... 98... all the way to 90. That confirmed the sorcery had taken effect, but cold sweat drenched my back all the same.

Ten points spent. For the next twenty-four hours, the ward would absorb physical trauma at the expense of my sanity. Given my frail body, relying on my SAN pool was far safer than trusting my paper-thin mana shield. Now, I needed an offensive measure to eliminate the beasts lurking in the dark woods.

Flip, flutter—

Offensive sorceries were abundant—excessively so. There were curses that allowed me to clench my fist and rip an enemy's heart directly from their chest into my hand, or hexes that caused flesh to putrefy simply by looking at it. But there was no guarantee that white-furred monstrosity was alone out there. Casting high-tier curses each time would burn through my remaining sanity in minutes.

Which leaves...

Prisoner summoning. As long as I paid the SAN cost at fixed intervals to maintain the binding, a summoned prisoner could fight on my behalf indefinitely.

Flutter-flutter-flutter—

Responding to my intent, Teacher C's grimoire rifled through its leaves before halting on a specific record.

It felt risky, but I had no other viable alternatives. In terms of cost-efficiency, it was the most reasonable option, and the accompanying notes suggested it was well-suited for hunting predators. The problem lay in the incantation. Was it safe to chant aloud within this shallow cave? The beast might hear my voice, and the copper scent of my blood had undoubtedly drifted into the open air.

"C-C-Chan-ssi... Are you in there?"

Oh, you motherfucker.

There was no more time to weigh options. I slapped my hand down onto the page and recited the chant. Even if the monster ambushed me, the Protection of Flesh ward would keep me alive.

"I, as the warden of this prison, hereby exercise the lawful and righteous authority of chastisement."

"S-so you... are in there."

THUD—

A heavy, deliberate footfall echoed into the cave. A quadruped beast draped in coarse white fur prowled into view, supported by tree-trunk limbs and sporting overgrown tusks that jutted out like jagged wooden stakes. Unfocused yellow pupils rolled aimlessly in their sockets, while thick rivulets of drool cascaded from its blood-smeared jaws.

"May the prisoner whose name I utter crawl forth in misery and receive their sentence."

"T-thanks... for the... m-meal."

The creature unhinged its maw. Once started, an eldritch incantation could not be paused, nor could it be rushed like a rapid-fire verse; I could only pray the monster advanced slowly.

Inside its cavernous throat, dozens of pale human arms writhed. Ghostly hands gripped the creature's teeth and tugged violently at its jawbones, stretching the mouth open to an impossible angle, preparing to shear off my entire upper torso in a single bite.

"Execution of sentence. Hound Crouching in the Angle."

Still faster than you, you son of a bitch.

Click—

Along with the cold sensation of a shard of my mind being shaved away—

SHUCK—!

From the sharp geometric corner of the book's edge, a long, corded blue tongue whipped outward, impaling the beast straight through its gaping maw.