CHAPTER 32: RETURN OF HUNTERS

I nodded slowly, letting the words settle like stones in my mind.

So that’s the order. Hunters first. Guards second. Everyone else—an afterthought.

My thoughts raced ahead, weighing the implications. If I wanted to climb in this tribe, I’d have to become a hunter. Or at least convince them I was one.

But the idea rankled. A healer should outrank them all—what good were hunters if their wounds festered? If their bones are set wrong? Yet here, strength was measured in blood spilled, not lives saved.

Fine. If they wanted a hunter, I’d give them one. But when the time came, they’d learn the truth: the hand that heals holds more power than the spear that strikes.

Even if I am not a doctor, I can offer remedies from my Supermarket Store—medicine for fevers, painkillers for aches. To them, it may well be a miracle.

Noah grinned at me, his teeth flashing in the firelight. "You should become a hunter, Dexter. Then you’ll never go hungry, and all the girls will like you."

I chuckled, shaking my head as if the idea were too grand for me. "Maybe I will."

Noah’s excitement was palpable. "Meet me tomorrow morning. We can play together. I’ll show you where the hunters practice with their spears!"

I nodded, my smile genuine. "Sure, little brother."

The moment was interrupted by a sudden commotion at the edge of the clearing. The tribe’s chatter turned to cheers as Mitt, Ryan, Tusk, and the other hunters emerged from the forest, their shoulders burdened with a massive animal tied to a frame of sticks.

The creature was unlike anything I’d seen before—a cross between a deer and a moose, its body muscular and powerful, with huge, branching antlers that looked like they could gore a man with ease. The hunters carried it with pride, their faces smeared with dirt and sweat, their chests heaving from the effort of the hunt.

The tribe erupted in cheers, rushing forward to greet them. I followed, my eyes locked on the animal—fresh meat, fresh opportunity. The hunters lowered the beast to the ground, and the women immediately began preparing it, their stone knives flashing in the firelight as they started to butcher the carcass.

Kina dashed toward Tusk, her face lighting up as she threw her arms around him. He laughed, lifting her off the ground in a playful spin before setting her down. Kerry and Hina were already deep in conversation with Ryan and Mitt, their voices mingling with the excited chatter of the tribe.

Mitt’s gaze landed on me, and he grinned, his teeth white against his dirt-streaked face. "Dexter!" he called, his voice booming over the noise. "How are you doing? Is everything okay?"

I met his eyes, my voice steady and respectful. "I’m fine, Elder Ryan, Elder Mitt." I glanced at Kerry, my tone warm. "Aunt Kerry and Aunt Hina—and everyone—have taken good care of me."

Kina pouted, her hands planting on her hips as she turned to me. "Brat... did you forget about your sister so soon?" There was a playful edge to her voice, but I could see the genuine affection in her eyes.

I laughed, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "Never, sister."

Ryan clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm and approving. "Good to hear. You’re one of us now, Dexter. And in this tribe, we look out for each other."

I nodded, my gaze flickering from the moose-like animal to the hunters, then to the women—Ruth, Vera, Ada—their bodies glowing in the firelight, their laughter mingling with the crackle of the flames.

Ruth was sitting with the other women, her pale skin almost luminous in the flickering light, her white hair catching the glow like silver.

Vera was leaning back against a stone, her blonde hair loose and wild, her bronze skin gleaming with sweat. And Ada—she was helping with the butchering, her strong arms working efficiently, her white hair tied back in a braid, her body moving with the confidence of a woman who knew her worth.

This was my tribe now.

And I was just getting started.

As the hunters began to recount their tale, their voices filled with the thrill of the chase, I let my gaze wander over the gathering. The women were already dividing the meat, their hands skilled and sure.

The firelight cast long, shifting shadows across the faces of the children as they watched the hunters with wide, adoring eyes.

The boys—lean, muscular even in their youth, their chests puffed with the dream of one day wielding spears like Mitt and Ryan—clenched their small fists, imagining the weight of a weapon in their hands, the thrill of the hunt.

Their eyes gleamed with hero-worship, their voices buzzing with excitement as they whispered about the glory of bringing down a beast, of being the ones the tribe relied on.

The girls—young, their bodies just beginning to curve into womanhood—sat close together, their giggles soft, their gazes flickering toward the strongest of the hunters.

They whispered among themselves, already dreaming of being chosen by one of them, of being claimed by a man who could keep them fed, keep them safe. Their cheeks were flushed with the heat of the fire and the thrill of possibility, their fingers twisting in the hides they wore, imagining the day a hunter would look at them the way Mitt looked at Kerry.

I watched them all, my mind racing.

The hierarchy was crystal clear now—the unspoken rules, the desires, the power dynamics that governed this place. The hunters were at the top, revered, feared, desired.

The guards came next—respected for their strength, their ability to protect. And everyone else? They followed, hoping for scraps of attention, scraps of food, scraps of security.

I smirked internally, my fingers flexing at my sides.

I knew exactly how to play this game.

I would become indispensable.

I would become a hunter—not just in name, but in power, in influence, in control.

And then?

I would take everything I wanted.

Mitt, Tusk, and the others who had just returned from the hunt were now gathered around the fire, their faces smeared with dirt and blood, their laughter rough and unfiltered as they tore into the roasted meat.

The scent of charred flesh and sweat filled the air, mingling with the earthy smoke of the fire. I sat back in the shadows, watching them, my mind churning with plans, with strategies, with the knowledge that I was already ahead of them all.

The first thing I needed was privacy.

I couldn’t risk being caught with food or drinks from the Supermarket Store—things that didn’t belong in this world. If they saw me with something fancy, something packaged, something unrecognizable—fear would turn to suspicion. Suspicion would turn to violence.

I couldn’t let that happen.

My fingers twitched, and I pulled up the World Map function in the System. The screen flashed to life, a sea of red dots scattered across the digital terrain—each one representing a person, a location, a point of interest. I tapped one experimentally, and a small, transparent cursor appeared, hovering over the dot like a beacon.

Fuck.

I could name them.

I grinned, my fingers moving with precision. I clicked the dot hovering over Kerry’s location, and a text box popped up, blinking expectantly. I typed—

Kerry.

The name materialized above the dot, floating in bold, red letters. It was satisfying—like claiming her, like marking her as mine before I’d even touched her.