Before Mike could pull him back, the commander's eyes snapped open.
Cold.
Inhuman.
They locked onto James with terrifying precision.
"What do you want, young man?"
The words were calm, almost casual—but the pressure behind them was overwhelming. It was only then that James truly understood what stood before him.
This was not merely an old warrior.
This was not even just a man.
The presence bearing down on him felt like a predator that had chosen to acknowledge an insect. His instincts screamed at him to kneel, to lower his head, to retreat before the invisible claws closed around his throat.
James swallowed hard.
Only now did it sink in—this was not a human he was facing.
This was a monster wearing human skin.
His mouth went dry. His heartbeat thundered so loudly he was certain everyone could hear it. His thoughts scattered, crashing into one another as panic threatened to take hold.
Think. Think now.
Excuses formed and collapsed instantly. Every lie felt transparent. Every attempt at retreat felt like an admission of weakness that would seal his fate.
Then—
An image surfaced in his mind.
Not the camp.
Not the commander.
But his family.
Faces he had lost. Voices he had sworn to find again. A promise that had carried him through fear, pain, and uncertainty since the moment he arrived in this world.
If he could not stand here—now—before this being…
Then everything he had endured meant nothing.
Strength was important.
Power was important.
But before either of those—
Courage.
James inhaled deeply.
His terror did not vanish. But he embraced it.
He straightened his posture.
With a firm but gentle motion, he patted Mike's arm. Mike was still gripping him tightly, his knuckles white with tension. James met his eyes and gave a small nod—reassurance forged through sheer will.
Mike hesitated, then slowly released him.
James stepped forward alone.
"Commander," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him, "the path that best suits me is that of a magic hunter."
The commander's gaze did not soften.
"But," James continued, lifting his chin, "the available paths within magic hunting do not align with what I seek to pursue."
A flicker of interest crossed the commander's eyes.
"Hm," he murmured. "And what path do you truly seek?"
James did not hesitate.
Looking directly into those terrifying eyes, he answered with conviction.
"Rune scriber."
For several seconds, the world stood still.
The camp fell into absolute silence.
Then—
Laughter exploded.
"Hahahahahaha!"
The commander's laughter was loud, sharp, and filled with mockery that cut deeper than any blade.
"Hahahaha—did you really wake me," he continued between breaths, "just to tell me you want to pursue a trash occupation?"
His laughter echoed unnaturally, twisting into something unsettling.
"You have guts, young man," the commander said, still laughing. "I'll give you that."
Suddenly—
The laughter stopped.
A violent pressure erupted outward.
Rage surged into the commander's eyes, raw and suffocating. The air itself seemed to tremble. James and Mike were thrown backward as if struck by an invisible force, crashing onto the ground in a heap.
James gasped for breath.
His vision swam.
This is it, his mind whispered.
But before the commander could unleash his fury—
A figure appeared.
No.
Materialized.
From the commander's side, a man emerged as if reality itself had folded around him. One moment there was nothing—then suddenly, someone stood there.
Magic.
Tier-two magic.
Camouflage.
A skill exclusive to Tier Two Knife Hunters of the Tree Totem—a technique that allowed its user to blend seamlessly with forested surroundings, erasing their presence by synchronizing with the environment itself.
But this man was different.
He wore a full-body suit reminiscent of a ninja's garb, crafted from layered, scale-like hide that shimmered faintly under the sunlight.
Even standing still, he felt unreal.
Without speaking a word, he knelt and presented a parchment to the commander.
The commander snatched it.
As he read, his expression darkened.
Second by second, his rage sharpened.
Then—
"Hahaha… fine. Fine."
He crushed the parchment in his hand.
"You really want to work these old bones, huh?" the commander said with a snort. "Very well. Let's play."
He waved his hand dismissively.
"You may go."
The man exhaled in relief, bowed deeply, and vanished once more.
Not truly gone—only invisible.
The chameleon-hide suit activated again, blending perfectly with the surroundings. After retreating to a safe distance, the man released the skill and collapsed against the roots of a massive tree, breathing heavily.
He wiped sweat from his brow.
That was close.
If he had not intervened, James would have died.
This man had been assigned a singular task: deliver a message to the old chief regarding James's existence. But the timing had been wrong. The opportunity had not presented itself.
Worse—James had just committed a grave mistake.
The Hidden Root.
Elite assassins trained from childhood, forbidden from revealing themselves in public.
Exposure meant severe punishment.
But punishment was preferable to watching James die.
If he falls here, the man thought grimly, everything will collapse.
Back in the field—
The commander turned his gaze back to James.
"Are you James?" he asked coldly.
James's body trembled.
"Y… y-yes, Com… Commander," he replied shakily.
"Are you James?" the commander barked again, louder—his voice snapping James and Mike fully out of their stunned state.
"Yes, Commander!" both of them answered simultaneously.
The commander stared at them in silence.
The tension stretched unbearably.
James swallowed, then spoke again, forcing clarity into his voice.
"Commander. I am James. This is Mike."
Mike stiffened and nodded sharply. "Yes, Commander. I am Mike."
They stood rigid, awaiting judgment.
After a long pause, the commander finally spoke.
"James," he said, "if that is truly the path you seek, then I must apologize."
James blinked.
"In our tribe," the commander continued, "we do not possess a rune scriber. We only hire them from the Forge City to inscribe runes when needed."
James's chest tightened—but he did not interrupt.
"However," the commander added, "we do possess multiple texts related to rune inscription within the camp."
Hope flickered.
"But," the commander said sharply, extinguishing it, "because this path lacks an instructor, you will not receive access to merit-restricted books for free."
James nodded slowly.
"If fate wills you to learn," the commander continued, "then you will walk alone."
The words struck harder than expected.
"You may attend training for other paths," the commander said, "but that will cost merit. In exchange, you are required to spend at least half of your time studying rune scriptures."
He fixed James with a piercing stare.
"Do you accept?"