CHAPTER 4: THE HUNTER’S WORLD

Chapter 4: The Hunter’s World

Morning light spilled across the cobbled streets of Atlan City, gilding the glass towers that pierced the sky like the spines of some ancient creature reborn in steel and mana. From the window of the inn, Michael leaned forward, drinking in the sight.

It still amazed him.

This world—Arcane Era 3892—was both medieval and futuristic at once, stitched together by mana the way Earth had been bound by electricity and silicon. Horse-drawn carriages rolled alongside humming mana-cars, sleek metal vehicles inscribed with runes that glowed faintly as they glided soundlessly across the stone road. Above, a mana-train cut through the air on invisible tracks, the rune arrays beneath its cars shimmering like blue fire.

This world has everything he loved about fantasy—the guilds, the dungeons, the Hunters and wrapped them in the skin of a modern city. Towers lined with glowing wards, crystal streetlamps that pulsed with mana instead of bulbs, even vendors with enchanted cooking plates sizzling meat skewers.

Michael pressed a hand against the glass and exhaled. Back on Earth, games had always been an escape. Now, the escape was his reality.

And reality had stakes far greater than any leaderboard.

---

He strapped his sword across his back and left the inn, tightening his coat against the crisp winter air. His body still ached from the previous day’s training, but the system’s subtle hum made him feel... sharper. Like each stat point threaded his muscles tighter, aligned his mana pathways smoother.

The streets were alive with motion. A group of dwarves in leather aprons stomped past, muttering about ore shipments. An elf in a silver robe floated above the ground on a disk of light, carrying a stack of tomes as tall as himself. Human merchants shouted about discount mana-stones while beastkin couriers darted through traffic, tails whipping behind them.

Michael let his eyes linger. Every detail was a reminder: this wasn’t just pixels on a screen. The air smelled of coal-smoke mixed with cinnamon bread. The hum of a mana-car engine sent a faint vibration through the cobblestones. Even the sunlight glinting off the Mage Tower in the distance It’s an impossibly tall spire that spiraled toward the clouds—felt heavier, more real, than any 3D renders ever had.

He shook himself. Focus. The quest comes first.

The Hunter Association branch of Atlan stood at the heart of the city’s plaza, a monumental structure that dwarfed the surrounding buildings. Its facade was built of white stone veined with glowing blue mana-lines, and banners depicting the Association’s symbol—a sword crossed with a staff over a crystal sun—fluttered in the winter wind.

In front of it stretched a massive open square. Stalls buzzed with activity: blacksmiths hammering out swords crackling with enchantments, alchemists hawking glowing potions in stoppered vials, mercenary recruiters shouting for fresh blood. The air reeked of sweat, iron, and ozone.

For a moment, Michael just stood there, pulse quickening.

On Earth, he’d spent years raiding this plaza in the game. But to stand here and to smell the heat of iron, to hear the clink of runed armor, was something else entirely.

---

Inside the Hunter Association

The Association’s doors were carved from dark oak reinforced with steel bands. They swung open with a whisper of enchantments, revealing a cavernous interior lit by hovering crystals.

It was bustling. Hunters in armor of every kind crowded the hall as they are laughing, arguing, boasting about dungeon runs. Clerks in uniform robes hurried between counters, quills scratching across enchanted parchment that updated itself mid-stroke.

The floor was polished obsidian etched with glowing sigils that pulsed like veins beneath the stone. Above, holo-crystals projected maps of nearby dungeons, flashing red where threats had escalated beyond civilian tolerance.

Michael swallowed. So, this is the Hunter’s world in motion.

A clerk waved him forward. She was an elf, tall and sharp-featured, with pale green eyes that glowed faintly with mana.

"Applicant or registered Hunter?" she asked briskly, her tone clipped but not unkind.

"Applicant," Michael replied, fishing the engraved token from his pocket and placing it on the counter. The number 754 glimmered faintly in the light.

It is the same token that was given by the Academy, because it has another function to use it as identity verification.

She picked it up, inspected it, and then tapped it against a crystal slate. The slate pulsed, and his information scrolled across its surface.

"Michael Willson. Candidate for the 367th Arcade Hunter Academy Entrance Examination. Authorization confirmed." She slid the token back to him with practiced ease. "As a registered applicant, you are permitted to take on low-tier Association quests until the exam. Do you wish to receive one now?"

"Yes," Michael said quickly.

She handed him a parchment that shimmered faintly as his name inscribed itself across the top.

[Quest Issued: Dungeon Survey – Hidden Instance]

[ Reward: 2 stats, 500 SP]

Michael’s lips twitched. He knew this one. In the game, it was nothing more than a side quest, buried beneath layers of grind. Most players skipped it. But those who didn’t? They discovered one of the earliest Hidden Dungeons.

And hidden dungeons always meant better loot, better exp, and higher risk.

"Locations outside the city limits," the clerk continued, her voice efficient. "Standard hazard warning applies: the Association does not guarantee your safety beyond marked routes. Any harvested mana-stones or drops may be registered upon return."

Michael nodded, tucking the parchment into his coat.

He had no intention of selling everything he found. Not yet.

--

By noon, he stood at the city’s central transit hub. The Atlan ManaRail Station towered over him, its vaulted ceiling woven with runes that pulsed like starlight. Travelers crowded the platforms: merchants with rune-locked chests, beast Kin mercenaries in patchwork armor, mages balancing stacks of scrolls.

A mechanical chime echoed through the hall.

"ManaRail 7 to Western Outlands—boarding now. Please present your tokens for verification."

Michael filed into the line, clutching his parchment. Ahead, a massive mana-train floated just above the tracks, its body sleek metal engraved with intricate runes. Blue energy coursed along its undercarriage, keeping it aloft.

When his turn came, he handed over his quest parchment. A uniformed guard, his Armor glowing faintly with defensive enchantments, scanned it against a crystal panel. The parchment pulsed once, confirming authenticity, and the guard waved him aboard.

Inside, the train was a strange fusion of modern and arcane. The seats were cushioned leather, but each row was separated by glowing ward-lines etched into the floor. Overhead, floating crystals projected maps of the rail’s route. A soft hum filled the cabin as mana coursed through the train’s array.

Michael found a seat by the window. As the train lurched forward, the cityscape unfurled outside: glass towers, spiralling Mage Towers, crowded marketplaces. The streets teemed with life, carts and mana-cars weaving in a dizzying dance.

And then, gradually, the city thinned.

Fields stretched outward, dotted with farms shielded by shimmering ward-barriers. Beyond them, the land rolled into hills dusted with snow. In the distance, jagged mountains pierced the horizon, their peaks lost in cloud.

Michael exhaled slowly.

It was beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful.

---

Thoughts on the Ride

As the train cut throu

through the countryside, Michael let his head rest against the glass, eyes tracing the blur of the landscape.

His system window flickered faintly in his vision.

[Quest Active: Hidden Dungeon Survey]

[Objective: Locate and investigate the hidden dungeon marked on the quest parchment.]

[Optional: Clear the dungeon. Rewards increased proportionally to completion.]

He smirked. Optional, huh? That’s code for "Do this if you’re insane."

In the game, this dungeon had been a nightmare at level one. The monsters weren’t balanced, the loot tables were cracked, and the hidden boss at the end had wiped entire raid parties of newbies. Most players only cleared it after grinding for weeks.

But Michael wasn’t most players.

He had the system.

He had game knowledge.

And he had no intention of wasting time before the Academy exam.

Still... he wasn’t reckless. His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He’d need to test his strength carefully, pace himself. Overconfidence got you killed faster than ignorance.

The train hummed louder as it picked up speed. Crystals embedded along the windows shimmered, reinforcing the barrier spells. Michael watched the glow ripple across the glass and thought of Earth.

Of cramped subway cars that reeked of sweat and fried food.

Of neon-lit city nights and the static buzz of cheap headsets.

Of raids where his guild screamed in triumph at three in the morning.

His chest tightened. He wondered briefly if his old guildmates had noticed he was gone. If his YouTube subscribers thought he’d just vanished.

Then he shook the thought away.

That life was over.

This was his life now.

---

Two hours later, the train slid to a stop at a remote station. Unlike the bustling hub of Atlan, this one was little more than a stone platform surrounded by snowy hills. A handful of hunters disembarked, their gear clinking as they adjusted packs and weapons.

Michael stepped out into the cold air. His breath plumed white. The parchment in his coat pulsed faintly, guiding him westward.

The land here was quieter. Wilder. The road was little more than a dirt path lined with ancient ward-stones, their glow faint and flickering. Beyond the path, dark forests loomed, their branches heavy with frost.

Michael tightened his grip on his sword and began walking.

The hidden dungeon wasn’t far. In the game, it had been buried in the hills just past the third ward-stone. A cave, unmarked on official maps, its entrance concealed by an illusion spell.

His boots crunched over frozen earth as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The parchment pulsed brighter with each step.

And then, he saw it.

A jagged crack in the hillside, nearly invisible beneath the snow. The air around it shimmered faintly, like heat-haze in the dead of winter.

Michael’s heart thudded.

He’d found it.

The Hidden Dungeon.

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