The training bell rang once again.
The students had already gathered, clad in their training uniforms. Their eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for the figure of their instructor. Some looked nervous, wondering what kind of method Master Zhen would impose this time. Others looked bored, yawning openly.
Then came the sound of footsteps from behind the line. Though Zhen walked slowly, the students straightened the moment they heard him.
"Training begins now," he said, his voice nearly flat. "Today, you will listen to my instructions—and follow them. If you wish to live, then listen well."
Instantly, all eyes fixed on him, ears sharpened to catch every word.
Zhen had deliberately moved the level-one to level-three test stones into the students' training ground. He no longer cared about getting permission from the academy elders. As far as he was concerned, his way of teaching must be followed—no exceptions.
'An instructor has the authority. The elders have far too many affairs to handle—best not to trouble them.'
"Lift this stone," Zhen ordered, pointing at the level-one test stone near a boy in the front row.
"Carry it around the training field. One full lap counts as one point. If you drop it—repeat. If you fail—repeat until your hands bleed. No cheating. I'm watching. Points affect your ranking, so move. Now!"
As all the students began to lift the stone, a girl raised her hand toward Zhen.
"Why are we always given such intense physical training? We're supposed to begin with basic meditation, and—"
'Basic meditation?! Ridiculous.'
"There's no meditation in the middle of a hunt. There's only one truth: be strong, or die."
Some of the students began to whimper. Zhen stepped forward, placing himself in the middle of their formation.
He scanned each of them, one by one.
"If you fail, you'll be dismissed from my class. But if you can endure—even just a little—I promise you this: you'll become true hunters. Maybe even Official Blood Hunters, just as you dream of."
'My predictions rarely miss.'
Then he pointed at the girl who had spoken earlier.
"Lift that stone. At the very least, try."
Those watching trembled. But deep inside, they understood this training mattered. Perhaps it was fear of their swordmaster's divine-level sword skills. But maybe—just maybe—it was something more: a burning challenge that stirred within them, a desire to survive and prove themselves.
Zhen wanted that. He wanted to unearth their hidden talents, to plant the seed of absolute discipline before the real hunt began.
He knew they were beginning to think it over. The phrase "Official Blood Hunter" always had a way of lighting fire in young blood—fast, and without warning.
'So this is what it means—to play with a name's reputation.'
Zhen folded his arms across his chest, his brow furrowed as he silently watched the students carrying out his instructions.
"He's seriously treating them like real hunters…"
Xiran, who had already climbed up a tall tree to observe the training, could only sigh. By accident, she caught a fleeting expression on Zhen's face—an expression far more complex than his usual cold, stone-like mask.
'Is he hiding something? Or… is there something else?'
How could there not be?
The System had given him only seven days. His head felt like it might explode. How could the System reveal its hellish nature this blatantly—this early?
'Maybe because I'm a brutal hunter? Or a cursed one? So the System treats me differently?!'
'Seriously!'
'Haven't the days been flying by too quickly lately?'
To him, daily life had become a loop—repeating as a sword instructor at the academy. The routine bored him to the bone. His thirst to fight, to kill, was starting to boil just beneath his skin. For now, the only thing he could do was push-ups—lots of them—and try to think clearly.
'My thoughts are too filthy to properly plan tonight's murder!'
In the middle of his meditative push-up session, the System returned—interrupting him once again, this time with temptations far too sweet and choices far too dangerous.
[Hell Hunt System | Segment: Hour of Death.]
[The System will assist you by presenting three choices to re-initiate the Hunt.]
[At the top floor of the academy's main tower, inside a hidden chamber, lies a blade passed down through the Western Clan—a thousand-year-old sword called Mugetsu Yao.]
[If you can steal it… and stain it with the blood of Western Clan youth, the System will lift this 'Hour of Death,' and your hunting privileges will be fully restored.]
Zhen listened intently, his brows slowly relaxing as he absorbed every word fed into his mind.
[Or, the System offers you 1 billion goldi to bribe the elders of the Western Clan Academy—so you may walk out freely, and resume your Hunt at once.]
[…]
But then the System fell silent.
And that silence alone made Zhen's brows twitch ever so slightly.
"Didn't you say there were three choices?"
[You may consult with Rusty.]
[Make your decision within 13 seconds.]
While continuing his push-ups, Zhen mulled over the options. Honestly, they all felt equally confusing.
[Five… four… three… tw—]
"I'll talk to the healer who saved my life."
[Very well. If that is your choice, then wait for his arrival.]
'My head truly hurts thinking about all this.'
Zhen laid himself flat on the cold stone floor of his chamber. He had deliberately stayed inside tonight, unlike the previous nights. He didn't want to attract suspicion—and Xiran's sudden appearances were doing nothing but adding to the weight of it all.
'Freedom here feels like liberty on a leash.'
He glanced out toward the crescent moon hanging in the sky beyond his open window. Slowly, he got up from his bed and stepped closer, staring at that half-moon with a gaze heavy with thoughts.
'Wasn't I destined to become a Blood Hunter? Why did you give me the sword that day, when I couldn't even lift it? What is the System planning? Or… what are you planning? You taught me sword techniques through restless dreams, sleeping on frozen plains of ice!'
A clear crystal slid down his left cheekbone, curved along the edge of his firm jaw, and dropped silently onto his black robe.
'Life truly is an endless torment. So my role… is simply to enjoy the pain.'
He lingered by the window, watching as the crescent moon was slowly swallowed by thick black clouds.
Then—a knock on the door.
It pulled him back.
'Xiran, again.'
"Why does he always interrupt me at the worst times!"
He swung the door open—only to find someone in a cafeteria worker's uniform, already holding a tray of meat and milk. Without hesitation, the person walked into his room.
"You've entered the wrong room," Zhen said flatly, gesturing firmly toward the door.
'What's with this guy?'
But before anything else, the door shut itself with a sharp "click". The stranger calmly placed the tray on the table near the open window.
Zhen watched, silent and alert.
Then he saw it.
The stranger reached up to his neck—grabbing at the skin.
'Is he… peeling off his skin? Or is he being skinned?!'
Wrong.
It was a flexible mask.
'A disguise?'
The man then walked backward in a comically exaggerated way, as if performing on stage, slowly approaching Zhen—before turning around to face him.
That face.
So familiar.
'Rusty?'