The artificial dungeon's door slid shut behind me with a heavy clang, sealing away the lingering smell of stone dust and beast blood. My body ached, my shirt clung to me with sweat, and for the first time in hours, I could finally breathe fresh air. The sky above was a calm shade of blue, streaked with fading sunlight as the day turned toward evening.
My stomach growled faintly, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since morning. For a moment, the thought of heading straight to the cafeteria tempted me. A warm meal would've been nice, but I shook my head. There were things far more important than food right now.
I needed supplies.
Training, fighting, hunting—they were all necessary. But the difference between survival and death didn't just come from strength. It came from preparation. From having the right potion in hand when your body was on the verge of collapse. From wielding a weapon that didn't betray you at the worst possible moment.
And right now, I had neither.
As I walked through the academy gates and into the busy streets outside, my mind turned to potions. In *The Strongest Hunter's Rise Online*, veteran players never relied solely on store-bought potions. The cheap, mass-produced ones were convenient, sure, but the efficiency of a self-brewed potion? Unmatched.
Those who mastered potion-making could tune their mixtures to sharpen their strengths, patch their weaknesses, and stretch their training efficiency far beyond what others achieved.
But there was always a drawback—potions lost effectiveness the more you relied on them. The first dose worked wonders, the second less so, and by the fifth or sixth time, it was little more than drinking bitter water. It forced players to ration their use carefully.
However, I knew something others didn't.
In the later stages of this world, a new kind of potion would emerge. One that defied that drawback. A potion so rare and valuable that it became a turning point in the game's economy. Unlike ordinary mixtures, these could permanently increase a person's stats.
I remembered how much players had paid for just a single bottle. Fortunes. Entire guilds would wage wars over the recipe.
And I? I already knew the ingredients.
"First, I'll start with the Thyros Essence," I muttered under my breath as I made my way through the crowd. The name alone stirred a phantom taste on my tongue—a sharp, herbal tang. It was known to boost body strength, sharpen endurance, increases speed and even heighten the senses. Exactly what I needed.
But when I flicked open my wristwatch to check my account balance, the numbers glared back at me: 2,358 Silar.
Silar was the name of the currency used in this world.
"I'll need to make money soon," I sighed.
No matter where you were, money was always essential. It was the foundation for everything, especially in a world like this where every step forward required resources.
Still, I had enough for today's goal.
The main market street buzzed with life. Merchants called out their prices, the smell of roasted skewers drifted through the air, and somewhere in the distance, the steady rhythm of a blacksmith's hammer echoed. But I wasn't looking for food or open stalls. My destination was tucked away from all this noise.
A narrow alley opened up to my right, half-hidden between two tall buildings. Few people bothered walking down there, and I knew why. The place smelled faintly of damp stone and stagnant water, shadows pooling thickly despite the daylight.
At the end of the alley stood the shop.
Its wooden sign swung weakly on rusty chains, the letters faded and nearly unreadable. The windows were coated with dust and grime, and the wooden frame looked warped from years of neglect. Still, when I pushed the door open, a faint chime rang.
Inside was… different.
The air smelled of herbs—sharp, bitter, soothing, and acrid all at once. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with jars filled with roots, dried leaves, strange powders, and vials of liquid in every shade imaginable. Bundles of herbs dangled from the ceiling, swaying slightly as I stepped in.
Behind the counter sat an old man. His frame looked frail, but his eyes were sharp, like polished steel hidden in weathered skin.
"You don't look like my usual customer," he said, his voice rough with age.
"I'm not here to waste your time," I replied, handing him the list I'd prepared earlier.
His gaze lingered on the paper for a long moment. The corners of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile. "This… is an unusual combination. Not the sort of ingredients a novice would ask for."
I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral. "I like experimenting."
In truth, I knew exactly why he was curious. These ingredients wouldn't mean much now, but in a year or two? They'd become priceless. For now, though, no one but me knew their true value.
The old man studied me for a moment longer, then finally shuffled to the shelves. His hands, though wrinkled, moved with practiced precision as he pulled jars, powders, and dried leaves from different corners of the shop. One by one, he placed them into a cloth pouch and tied it neatly.
"That'll be two hundred Silar."
I handed over the payment without hesitation. Watching those ingredients slip into my inventory felt like securing a piece of the future itself.
"Come back if you need more," the old man said. His tone was even, but his eyes were still sharp with unspoken curiosity.
I offered a polite nod and stepped back into the alley.
The lively bustle of the main street washed over me again as I emerged. This time, my destination was clearer—my weapon. My old sword had been chipped, battered, and bent from repeated fights. Continuing with it would've been like gambling with death.
"I already had a plan to acquire a powerful blade, one worthy of my future strength—but that was still far out of reach. For now, I needed something more practical, a sword I could actually wield in the meantime."
The weapon shop wasn't far, marked by a sturdy sign carved with a crossed sword and hammer. The building itself looked newer, sturdier, with polished stone walls and broad windows that gleamed in the sunlight.
Inside, the air carried a faint metallic tang. Weapons of all shapes and sizes gleamed on racks—swords, spears, axes, even bows. Armor stood proudly on display like silent sentinels.
"Looking for something?" The shopkeeper stepped forward—a broad-shouldered man with soot-stained arms and a deep voice.
"A sword," I answered simply.
He grunted in acknowledgment, then began showing me his wares.
First was a **shortsword**. Lightweight, quick, easy to handle. I swung it a few times, but the reach felt lacking. In a real fight, that gap could be fatal. I shook my head.
Next came a **longsword**—the classic balance of reach and weight. It had strength, yes, but the heaviness felt sluggish in my grip. My fighting style wouldn't mesh with it.
A **sabre** followed, elegant and slightly curved. But its thin frame looked more suited for show than for surviving monster claws and fangs.
The **odachi** nearly made me laugh—not because it wasn't powerful, but because the sheer length made it unwieldy for me. I wasn't ready to drag around something taller than I was.
Finally, he handed me a **greatsword**. I barely managed two swings before setting it down. Its raw power was undeniable, but it devoured stamina. Not practical—not yet, anyway.
I frowned. None of them felt right.
Then my eyes drifted toward the back wall. Hanging alone was a blade that immediately drew my attention.
A katana.
It was slender, with a subtle curve that caught the light just right. The steel shimmered faintly with a ripple pattern, as though the metal itself carried flowing water within. Its scabbard was polished black lacquer, gleaming softly, and the hilt was wrapped neatly in deep navy cloth.
Something about it pulled at me.
I reached for it. The moment my fingers closed around the hilt, a strange sense of familiarity spread through me, as if the weapon had been waiting. I drew it in one smooth motion. The balance was perfect, the weight flowing with my arm rather than against it.
I swung once. The motion cut clean through the air, fluid and precise.
Yes. This was it.
"How much?" I asked, still holding the blade.
The shopkeeper studied me for a moment before naming the price. I didn't argue. I paid, and the katana was mine.
With the pouch of potion ingredients secured in my pack and the katana sheathed at my side, I made my way outside . The streets were still lively.
I still had some time. So I decided to take a tour around the market. So until evening I decided to spend time here in the city. I mean there's no harm in taking some time to explore and enjoy the view .
............
It was evening now. I went back to the academy.The familiar grounds welcomed me back, quieter than the noisy markets outside. I walked to my dorm room, my footsteps echoing softly against the stone halls.
Once inside, I placed the pouch on the desk and set the katana carefully beside it. Both gleamed faintly in the light filtering through the window.
I exhaled slowly.
Soon my stomach let out a loud growl, reminding me I hadn't eaten since the dungeon. After quickly setting my things in order, I stepped back out and made my way toward the cafeteria.