Kael and Baldur exchanged glances, but neither spoke a word. The silence between them was short-lived when their trainer's voice suddenly cut through the air.
"For warm-up, I want twenty pushups from you all—right now! Understood?" His voice was sharp, commanding instant obedience.
"Yes, Sir Reginal!" everyone shouted in unison.
In another life, Kael could have done twenty pushups with his eyes closed. Today, his new body protested with every motion, muscles quivering by the fifteenth—but he refused to stop.
Still, he pushed through until the last one hit the ground. Moments later, they were ordered to run laps around the training field.
Hours passed beneath the open sky. Sweat drenched their clothes, and muscles screamed in protest. When the morning drills finally ended, they were dismissed to the canteen for breakfast—one precious hour of rest.
Rows of square tables filled the room, each with benches on both sides. Instead of plates, banana leaves were laid out, and servers moved along the rows, scooping generous portions of food.
When Kael looked down at his meal, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile.
"The plate's filled with more meat than vegetables… now this is what I call food."
Compared to the lower-class meals—mostly greens and a few scraps of meat—this was a feast. He had endured enough of those bland, vegetable-heavy meals that did little to fuel his body. Protein was what he needed now.
He took his first bite and let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"Finally… real food."
When the last morsel was gone, he leaned back and let out a deep, contented burp. For the first time since waking up in this world, Kael felt truly satisfied.
There were still twenty minutes before training resumed, so he wandered back to the field and sat beneath the shade of a tree, eyes half-closed, waiting for the trainer's return.
Minutes later, the drills began again—pushups, running, lifting, sparring. The cycle repeated until dusk. No breaks. No mercy. Yet with every drop of sweat, Kael felt his old self awakening once more.
As dusk settled over the field, Reginal's voice cut through the weary silence.
"For the next three months, you are confined to the bootcamp. No one leaves—only train!"
The nights offered little luxury, but for Kael, his small personal tent with a soft bed and pillow was more than enough. For once, he slept peacefully.
.....
Three months later.
"Yes, Sir Reginal!" everyone shouted for the final time, Kael included.
Kael barely glanced at the system during those months. Each night, he checked it before sleep, hoping for a sign, a message, or new guidance. But the system stayed quiet, leaving him to wonder if it was merely observing, waiting for the right moment.
Still, the results of his hard work were visible. His body had transformed—lean, toned, and battle-ready. Not bulky, but sharp and efficient.
When it came time to choose his specialization, Kael selected the crossbow division. It suited him perfectly. His precision was unmatched, and soon his name spread among the recruits. None could rival his aim.
They began to call him Sharpshooter Kael, and his performance earned him a certificate of excellence.
In this world, certificates were more than paper—they were proof of worth. Recognition from the Hunter's Guild. And with recognition came competition.
Only one trainee per division could claim the top reward: four gold coins and nineteen silver. Kael was among them.
Before leaving the bootcamp, each recruit was given two official hunter uniforms and a silver insignia. Kael's badge bore a hammer and sword crossed, with a crossbow etched at the center. Beneath it, a single name was engraved in delicate silver letters:
[ KAEL BRIM ]
The bootcamp had ended—but Kael's journey was far from over. His training would now shift to the Hunter's Arena, a place where skill, strategy, and survival were tested under the eyes of the kingdom. It was the same arena where he had once faced Hercules—a reminder that true challenges awaited beyond these gates.
For three months, Kael's life revolved around only four things—train, eat, train, sleep. Each day, his body sharpened, his skills honed.
Day after day, the same routine repeated without pause. But now, his next move was clear: find a place to live in the Middle District.
After experiencing the life and comfort of the middle class—and earning his title as a Hunter—Kael couldn't imagine returning to the Lower District. That place, once called home, now felt like nothing more than a cage.
During his time in the bootcamp, he had also gathered bits of information about the land he now lived in.
This was the Marrowing Kingdom—a nation renowned across the continent for its balanced strength in both offense and defense. Its armies were disciplined, its walls unyielding, and its strategies precise. Every victory carved its name deeper into history, earning it a reputation as one of the most formidable powers in the realm.
As Kael stepped out of the bootcamp gate, a sense of freedom washed over him. The morning sun had risen, though fog and clouds covered it, turning it into a pale white orb in the sky, as he made his way toward the center of the middle district
In this world, winter showed no sign of fading until February. It was still January. Kael slung a shoulder bag over his back, holding two outfits and the small batch that marked him as a certified hunter.
It was common for newly trained hunters to rent rooms in the middle district—that's how real estate owners earned their money. A few "to-let" signs dotted the streets.
Kael entered a middle-class hotel with four floors. The owner sat behind the counter, observing him.
"Sir… which floor has an empty room?" Kael asked, his expression neutral.
"Third and fourth," the owner replied, his voice deep.
Kael and the owner checked both rooms. The rooms were identical, the only difference being the height. From the fourth floor, Kael could enjoy a better view. It was the only hotel in the entire middle district with a fourth floor.
Kael stepped into the inn, the faint warmth of a small fireplace greeting him. The common room was quiet. A few patrons sat at simple wooden tables, reading, whispering softly to one another, or tidying their belongings. Upstairs, the rooms were modest but private—a straw-stuffed mattress, a thin quilt, a wooden stool, and a small fireplace to chase away the chill. It wasn't grand, but after months of boot camp, it felt like a palace.
Kael asked about the price.
"One gold coin," the owner replied.
Ordinary rooms went for one to two gold coins per month. Hunters usually received a 25% discount. But the moment the owner saw Kael's silver batch—a symbol of high-value hunters—he offered the 50% discount immediately, recognizing the prestige it brought.
The silver coating marked a high-value hunter, someone skilled and highly respected. Such hunters drew attention and admiration, which in turn enhanced the owner's reputation.
Kael settled into the room and rested near the bed. He had already eaten breakfast at boot camp, but he still needed resources—wood, food, and warm clothes—to survive.
A few minutes later, Kael decided to go out and clear his mind. As he reached for the door, the owner handed him the keys. Kael accepted and stepped outside.
Heading toward the center of the middle district, he caught a familiar sight and smell—the scent of warm, fresh bread. But as he walked closer, he noticed royal guards blocking the entrance.
"Is that… what I'm thinking? Is the so-called young prince here?" he thought, a slow surge of rage building inside him.
His hand clenched into a fist, and his heart pounded—but before he could move closer, one of the royal guards suddenly stepped forward, blocking his path.