Chapter 10: Hunter

The next morning.

Boge woke on time from his sleep; as a hunter, he must maintain steady rest to ensure sufficient energy.

After dressing, Boge began preparing his hunting tools.

First, he re-strung his longbow that had been unstrung, applied oil to it, then checked the arrows in his quiver for straightness; if he found even a slight bend, he would heat them over fire and gently straighten them.

After inspecting the bow and arrows, he meticulously sharpened a small iron knife, placed it in a sheath made of animal hide, and carefully tucked it into the inner lining of his right pant leg.

If prey broke through the arrows and closed in, this knife would be his last lifeline.

“I’ve been a hunter for three years, yet I still have no clue about career advancement.”

Thinking of this, the boy sighed deeply as he adjusted the bowstring.

As his late father had warned him, nobles and the Church did not wish to see too many high-tier Zhiyezhe emerge; thus, the Fengsuo of occupational knowledge stood like an impassable abyss, leaving one Juewang , with only the rarest of the lucky able to break through.

He was clearly not one of them—or rather, just a few days ago, he had thought he might be.

After all, he had saved a stranded prince, one from a superpower with 1.4 billion subjects—a scenario so bizarre it would never appear even in the drunken ballads of wandering minstrels.

“He’s owed his life to me, ate my game for days, and still won’t even take me as a servant? That’s too much.”

Thinking of this, resentment rose in the boy’s heart; he felt his entire being, soul and flesh alike, had been disrespected.

His grip tightened involuntarily until the bowstring nearly snapped, and only then did he snap back to himself.

“Calm down, calm down.” The boy realized his lapse and quickly adjusted his breathing.

For a hunter, the most important thing is to remain calm at all times.

Once you lose control of your emotions, the roles of hunter and prey instantly reverse.

After several deep breaths, the boy’s expression had become utterly neutral, as still as water.

“Once I settle this agricultural tax, I’ll leave the village and head to the city-state to seek a chance for advancement.”

Boge silently resolved.

His dream was to walk the path of the strong, hunting even more powerful creatures, feeling his heart pound wildly as if it might leap from his chest with every hunt.

He could never remain in this tiny village forever; the game he’d shared with the villagers over three years, and the rescued prince he’d delivered, had already repaid the debt of their initial shelter.

“Given Anliya’s sisterly favor, even if the prince is stingy, he should help the village with its tax problem.” Boge mused.

After all, if he took Anliya’s body and still refused such a small favor, then no matter how noble his status, Boge would shoot an arrow straight into his skull and see if his blood was truly blue, as rumors claimed.

After preparing all his tools, Boge prepared to depart for Wolf Howl Forest to hunt.

Thump. thump.

At that moment, someone knocked on his door.

“Strange, no one should be coming at this hour.”

Though puzzled, Boge still opened the door.

A young man with black hair and black eyes stood quietly at the threshold.

Most striking of all was the long string of white text hovering above his head.

“Your Highness!”

Boge instinctively moved to kneel, but the man stopped him.

“You want to be my servant, right? Can you first help me with something?” Xia Mingyu said calmly.

“I’d be honored, Your Highness.”

Seeing a chance, Boge answered without hesitation.

Under the brilliant sunlight, a winding path cut through dense forest, stretching far into the distance.

“Are you certain this is the only route to Fruit Basket Village?”

From a nearby thicket, Xia Mingyu frowned at Boge beside him.

“Yes, Your Highness. If we don’t take this path, we’d have to detour a great distance through the forest.” Boge replied.

“Your Highness, what should we do next?”

“Hide. Take your bow and arrows. We wait for the prey to come to us.” Xia Mingyu’s gaze turned cold.

Those who refuse to let others live should not expect to live themselves.

“Summer’s here, the cuckoo sings loud~”

“Seeds sprout, grass blooms~”

Mills Hunter hummed a popular tune as he guided his horse-drawn cart forward.

He was a traveling merchant; like most Klean people, he had been immersed in commerce since childhood through his parents’ influence, starting as a vendor selling beer, only beginning his own business after coming of age.

He was not an only child; his father had two older sons, so according to Klean tradition, Mills had to accumulate wealth exceeding the combined fortunes of his two older brothers to be chosen as heir when his father passed on the family business.

Thus, Mills bore immense pressure to succeed in trade—but fortunately, he had recently discovered a business opportunity that could make him rich.

All he needed was to pay a small deposit to fruit-growing villages, waste a little breath, and the brainless villagers would believe him, rejecting other merchants who eagerly waited for his so-called high prices.

Then, when the fruit was about to be harvested, he would arrive late; no matter how low his offer, the villagers would be forced to accept it, for they had to pay taxes to their lord.

After all, if they couldn’t pay their taxes, those poor serfs would be dragged to the Slave Capital, stripped of all dignity and status, and worked to death.

Using this method, in just a few months, Mills had multiplied his initial capital many times over—and miraculously, he had even advanced his career—from a mundane merchant to a transcendent one: the Liar Merchant.

Every night, when he stared at the green text above his head in the mirror, he would laugh and toss and turn, unable to sleep.

Of course, this business tactic didn’t always work.

Sometimes he encountered villages too foolish to read the situation—like the Fruit Basket Village he was now approaching.

Just a few days ago, he had offered only one-third of the market price, and the villagers had surrounded him with red, rabbit-like eyes, as if ready to tear him apart.

Had his career advancement not granted him physical enhancement, allowing him to escape, he might have been beaten to death by those unruly peasants.

“Now they should be sensible. Tax day is coming—I’m their only savior.”

“This time, I’ll offer one-fourth—no, one-fifth. If it’s not enough to pay taxes, make them sell themselves to me as slaves; lately, slave prices in the Slave Capital have skyrocketed after recent uprisings killed many.”

Mills carefully weighed his opportunity.

Swish!

At that moment, accompanied by a sharp whistle, an arrow shot from the nearby thicket and struck his horse squarely in the eye.

With a deep, agonized cry, the horse shuddered violently and collapsed.

“Who? Who shot that?!” Mills cried out, stunned and furious as he fell from the horse.

(End of Chapter)