Guangdong Forest Gate – Night
I walked out of the forest's darkness with dragging steps. My cloak was gone, leaving only tattered trousers torn to the thigh and remnants of a shirt that could no longer cover the wounds on my shoulders. Dried blood clung to my face like a cracked mask.
As I passed the guard post, the man who had looked so cold earlier that afternoon was tidying his files. Catching sight of my silhouette, he flinched, nearly dropping his coffee mug.
"You... the kid from this afternoon?" he asked, eyes wide. He scanned me from head to toe. "Look at you. You look like you were chewed up by a monster and spat back out."
I didn't answer. I simply placed my soiled hunting permit on the desk.
"You're lucky to be alive, kid," he muttered, shaking his head. "But without armor or gear, you'll just be throwing your life away tomorrow. Go home. Find another job before you truly end up dead."
I took my Hunter card and walked away without a word. I didn't need pity. In the pocket of my torn pants, I didn't have a single coin for new clothes, let alone a cheap healing potion. I was truly penniless. Yet, my hand, gripping the Black Sickle tightly, felt steadier than ever before.
my room – Midnight
I reached my cramped, damp-smelling room. Without turning on the light, I collapsed onto the wooden floor, leaning my back against the cracked wall. Exhaustion hit me like a physical weight. The artificial stamina from Soul Sustenance had worn off, leaving a massive void in my physical energy.
Before my eyes closed, a system notification appeared in a dim gold hue, different from the usual alerts.
[EMERGENCY MISSION: QUEST 4 UNLOCKED]
Target: Find the Masked Merchant.
Reward: Location clues for the second part of the Negative Sovereign Set.
I snapped awake, my drowsiness vanishing instantly. "A set...?"
My hands trembled as I re-read the text. "So the Black Sickle isn't a standalone weapon? It has other parts?"
Until now, I had thought this black sickle was just a strange tool that happened to suit me.
But seeing the word "Set," my mind immediately raced toward legends of ancient battle gear. If this short sickle alone could grant me the power, what if I possessed the full set?
A vision flashed across my mind: A figure in black robes wielding a massive scythe, harvesting thousands of souls with a single swing. The Grim Reaper.
"So... you are the first piece of the set," I whispered to the Black Sickle lying beside me.
The system provided an additional hint:
"Light does not reach the law where the soul merchant waits. Sector 7, The Rusty Bolt Bar."
Sector 7. A slum territory untouched by police or the Hunter Association. A place where lives are valued at the price of a liquor bottle and information is sold in blood.
I hugged my sickle tightly. I was poor, wounded, and in the eyes of the world, a failed Level 0. But tomorrow, the journey to complete the Grim Reaper set begins. I will crawl from these negative numbers until I become Death itself.
That night, I fell asleep with a thin, cold smile on my scarred face. The quest timer continued to tick in the dark: 1 Day, 12 Hours, 45 Minutes.
The Next Morning
Pale sunlight pierced through the ventilation of my room. I woke up with a sharp jolt of my heart—a side effect of yesterday's artificial stamina. My body felt incredibly light, yet cold, as if my own blood had turned to ice.
[STATUS UPDATE]
Level: -1
HP: 45/150 (Natural Recovery)
Soul Stock: 28 White Souls | 1 Blue Soul.
I rose and donned a tattered black hooded cloak to hide my face and the Black Sickle, which now emitted a faint blue aura. I was destitute; no money for new clothes, much less healing potions.
I stepped out toward Sector 7, the slum district shunned by official Hunters. There, the law did not exist. Along the way, the system's voice whispered in my head.
"Today," I muttered, pulling my hood deeper, "I will find the clue to the second piece."
My first destination was clear: "The Rusty Bolt." To find the man with the crow mask promised by the system.
The Rusty Bolt Bar
My steps stopped in front of a rusted iron door with a nameplate that was nearly falling off. Music thrummed low from within, mingling with the smell of cheap alcohol and acrid cigarette smoke.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open. The stench of cheap tobacco and sweat immediately assaulted my senses. The bar was dimly lit, filled with people whose faces looked harder than cobblestones. I walked through the crowd, trying not to draw attention. But in my tattered clothes and wounded state, I looked like easy prey.
"Oi, look what the cat dragged in," a raspy voice halted me.
A giant man with a scorpion tattoo on his neck blocked my path. He didn't attack immediately; he just stood there with a cunning smirk, a beer bottle in a hand the size of a human thigh.
"This bar has standards, kid. We don't serve beggars," he said, pouring a bit of beer onto my worn-out shoes.
"Bash him, Hanma!" a man shouted from the end of the bar.
I remained silent, trying to step aside. But the man named Hanma moved faster, grabbing my fragile collar until the fabric tore.
"Don't be in such a hurry. What's this?"
His hand reached into my torn pocket. He found no money, only a thin, weathered leather wallet. Hanma burst into laughter at the sight of it. "You came here for a drink but only have old cowhide in your pocket?"
He tore the wallet open roughly, searching for hidden gold. There was nothing. Only a piece of plastic tucked behind a blurred sleeve. Hanma pulled it out.
"Look at this, boys! A Hunter! We have a guest of honor!"
The whole bar turned. Hanma read the card aloud, mocking me. "Name: Aiden. Rank: F. Level: 0!"
Laughter erupted throughout the room. Someone at the back yelled, "Level 0? Even the rats in the sewer have a higher level!"
Hanma glared at me with pure disgust.
"Hunter trash. Level 0 is a curse, and you dare set foot in Sector 7?" He threw my ID card onto the floor, right into a puddle of spilled beer, and stepped on it with his heavy boot. "You know what we do to trash here?"
He shoved me, but from that shove, I realized his strength—he wasn't stronger than me. I figured I could defeat him and test just how much I had progressed.
Before Hanma's filthy hand could touch me again, I caught his wrist. The sound of snapping bone echoed clearly through the suddenly silent bar.
"AARRGGHH! My hand!" Hanma shrieked.
His triumphant face turned pale with agonizing pain. He tried to punch me with his left hand, but his movement felt like a snail's. I didn't even need to dodge. I slammed my palm directly into his chest.
BOOM!
The 120-kilogram body was sent flying five meters back, smashing through wooden tables before crashing into the brick wall, cracking it. Hanma fell unconscious. I leaned down, picked up my dirtied Hunter card, wiped it with my remaining clothes, and tucked it back into my wallet.
Suddenly, the entire bar stood up. Their gazes were like hungry bastards seeking revenge.
"Avenge Hanma!" someone shouted, igniting the spirit of every man in the bar. I wouldn't stand still; let's see who becomes the prey.
"SYSTEM, SUMMON BLACK SICKLE!"
I flinched. My entire body stiffened. My hand, ready to grasp the empty air where the Black Sickle should have appeared, felt hollow. In the corner of my eye, the system screen blinked red.
[SYSTEM: Summoning Forcibly Canceled.]
Out of nowhere, a figure wearing a crow mask appeared as if he had teleported right in front of me. He clenched his fist.
"BOOM"
Who was he?