Minutes later, movement stirred at the edge of the forest—the same path we had taken not long ago.
A second group emerged from between the towering trees.
At the very front walked Hope, her expression calm yet confident, speaking animatedly with an elderly man whose presence alone commanded respect. Even from a distance, I recognized him instantly.
Grand Elder Thor.
He walked with a steady, grounded stride, his massive frame radiating an aura of unshakable authority. Each step seemed to press the earth downward, as though the land itself acknowledged his weight.
Behind them followed five more elderly figures, each distinct in both appearance and presence. Unlike the earlier elders who embodied quiet dominance, these individuals carried the unmistakable air of seasoned warriors—men and women who had survived countless battles and emerged sharper, not weaker, with age.
My gaze was drawn first to the man at the center of the formation.
He was old, yet upright, his posture disciplined and precise. Multiple swords hung at his waist—long, slender blades with curved edges, unlike the broad weapons most hunters carried. One rested on his left, another on his right, and a third was secured diagonally along his back.
Samurai swords…
The resemblance was unmistakable.
The weapons alone marked him as a specialist, but it was his eyes that unsettled me most—calm, unreadable, and sharp, like a still lake concealing hidden depths.
To his left and right walked four others.
On the far right was a towering man, nearly as large as Grand Elder Thor himself. His frame was immense, his muscles packed so densely that even his relaxed stance radiated strength. A massive shield was strapped to his left arm, thick enough to stop a charging beast, while a colossal hammer rested casually on his shoulder.
Each step he took left shallow imprints in the soil.
A shield hunter… and a heavy striker.
Beside him walked his opposite in every sense.
This man was slim—almost fragile-looking—his movements light and deliberate. Shadows seemed to cling to him unnaturally, making it easy to lose track of his presence if one blinked. Two daggers rested at his waist, their hilts worn smooth, while a compact crossbow was secured across his back.
A scout… no—an assassin.
Then there were the women.
One carried a longbow nearly as tall as herself, its surface etched with faint runes that pulsed softly. Her eyes were sharp and observant, constantly scanning the surroundings, fingers resting lightly near the bowstring.
A ranger.
The final woman leaned slightly on a staff adorned with carved symbols and small hanging totems that swayed gently with each step. Her presence felt… different. Subtle, yet profound. The air around her seemed faintly alive, resonating with unseen currents.
A shaman—or perhaps a mage.
As the group advanced, realization dawned on me.
This is not just a gathering of elders.
This was a complete, perfectly balanced hunting squad.
And every single one of them carried the aura of someone who had survived long enough to earn the right to grow old in this world.
I swallowed hard.
This world was chaotic—brutal even—but it was also fascinating.
Primitive villages stood beside advanced weaponry. Wooden buildings housed warriors wielding weapons that rivaled, and in some cases surpassed, those from Earth's legends.
At first glance, the contradiction made little sense.
But Elder Martha's words echoed in my mind.
> "People here fight every day, James. When survival is constant, effort is never wasted on what cannot protect life."
She had explained it plainly.
Homes were built simply because they could fall at any moment. Why invest years into stone palaces when a monster tide could flatten them overnight? Shelter only needed to last long enough to keep the rain out and the cold at bay.
Armor, on the other hand, was precious.
Forging required rare knowledge, time, and resources—luxuries most hunters did not possess. Only professional forgers, often based in trade cities, could produce true armor. As a result, most hunters crafted their own gear using monster hides, bones, and scales, tailoring protection to their fighting style.
Weapons, however, were different.
Weapons meant survival.
So every innovation, every refinement, every ounce of creativity was poured into them.
That was why combat here was so advanced.
In this world, fighters followed five primary paths.
Sword Hunters—masters of direct combat and technique.
Shield Hunters—defenders, anchors of any formation.
Knife Hunters—assassins and skirmishers, striking from blind angles.
Ranged Hunters—archers who controlled the battlefield from afar.
Magic Hunters—those who wielded elemental forces.
Individually, a hunter could only do so much.
But together?
A balanced five-person squad could fight monsters that would normally require triple their number.
Even three to five beasts at once.
As I watched the elders approach, flanked by Hope's companions on the left and Jerd's group on the right, I finally understood.
This camp… is not just training.
It is a forge.
One that will either temper us into weapons—
—or shatter us completely.
The groups halted near the center of the camp.
The old man with the swords stepped forward, his presence immediately silencing the low growls of nearby mounts.
"Listen well," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel.
"You stand at the threshold of your first true trial."
His gaze swept across us, lingering briefly on faces marked by fear, excitement, and determination.
"From this point onward, childhood ends."
A ripple of tension spread through the group.
"Here, talent will not protect you. Status will not save you. And luck…" his lips curved slightly, "…will abandon you the moment you rely on it."
The heavy shield hunter snorted softly, resting his hammer against the ground.
"You will bleed," he added bluntly. "You will break. And you will wish you had never stepped through that gate."
The ranger woman raised her bow slightly, her gaze sharp.
"But those who endure," she said, "will walk out stronger than they ever dreamed."
The shaman tapped her staff once against the earth.
"The spirits will watch," she murmured. "And they will judge."
My heart pounded.
Beside me, Mike grinned.
"Hahaha… sounds fun," he whispered.
I exhaled slowly.
Strength… power… survival.
If this was the price—
Then I would pay it.
No matter how much it cost.