"Lord Hunter," the Village Chief said anxiously, "I need to check... I have to check the other two shelters."
Altaïr hesitated for a moment before agreeing.
The village seemed safe for the time being. Having the Village Chief along would make it easier to communicate with the people in the other two shelters.
"Tell the others to stay hidden and make sure no one else tries to sneak out. Stay close to me. Even though no Monsters have been spotted entering the village yet, we can't let our guard down." Altaïr's voice, filtered through his visor, carried a metallic resonance that made it sound exceptionally deep.
Combined with his menacing, bluish-black armor, he gave off the distinct impression of someone who was "not a good person."
The female Village Chief swallowed nervously and followed closely behind the Hunter, matching him step for step.
The village was small; even crossing from one end to the other at a full sprint would take only ten to twenty seconds. They quickly arrived at the shelter located in the row houses.
The basement here also featured a sturdy iron trapdoor, similarly smeared with Monster dung. It seemed the villagers were quite experienced in taking refuge.
The Village Chief knocked on the trapdoor. Once the people inside opened it, she hurriedly confirmed the headcount. Upon learning that no one was missing from this group, she breathed a small sigh of relief.
After repeatedly warning those inside to endure for a few more days and not to come out, she followed Altaïr toward the final shelter, the Hunter Cabin.
The cabin's floor space was less than twenty square meters, and the basement space would only be smaller. According to the Village Chief's introduction on the way, a young couple and a pair of siblings were supposed to be hiding here; those siblings were the children of the village Hunter.
As soon as the Village Chief knocked on the door of the Hunter Cabin's basement, the trapdoor was pushed open with such force that she was nearly knocked over.
"Brother!" a girl cried out in joy as she poked her head out.
But when she saw clearly who was standing outside the basement door, her expression crumbled into visible disappointment.
"Ady! Did your brother run out?" the Village Chief asked urgently.
The girl seemed somewhat dazed and did not answer immediately.
Another young man, appearing to be in his twenties, emerged with a face full of exhaustion. "Archi ran out early this morning," he said.
"Why didn't you stop him!" the Village Chief snapped in a fit of pique.
The man gave a bitter smile and pointed to the bruises on his face. Beside him, the young woman who was likely his wife added helplessly, "When that kid sets his mind to something, there's no way we can stop him. If we hadn't fought to hold Ady back, this child would have run off too."
Standing silently to the side, Altaïr's expression beneath his mask turned peculiar.
It was obvious that the boy called Archi had knocked down the young man trying to block him and fled by force.
The Village Chief stamped her foot, but she couldn't truly blame them.
After a moment's thought, she pulled the young girl along. She repeated the instructions to "stay hidden and wait for rescue" to the young couple once more before hurriedly leaving the area.
Fearful that the girl named Ady might also sneak out, she decided to bring her to the most crowded shelter, where it would be easier for everyone to keep an eye on her.
—--
After ushering the girl into the large house's shelter, the Village Chief rubbed her palms together, looking at Altaïr with a face full of unease. "Lord Hunter, I am terribly sorry. This request might be difficult for you, but if there is a chance... could you... could you please help bring that boy back?"
Altaïr remained silent for a moment. Without making any grand promises, he simply replied, "I'll do my best."
"Yes, yes," the Village Chief said, nodding repeatedly. "Archi is over sixteen. He says he wants to be a hunter. His father usually trains him and has him exercise, so he's much stronger than the average child. That boy spends all day in the forest gathering mushrooms and mountain produce; he knows the area very well and is good at climbing trees. He should be fine, he must be fine. If you see him, just tell him... Tell him..."
At this point, the Village Chief gnashed her teeth, clearly incensed. "Tell him Ady is gravely ill! That boy dotes on his sister; he'll come back!"
"Understood," Altaïr nodded.
The situation was slightly better than he had initially thought.
A seventeen-year-old youth who had received hunter training and grew up in the mountain forests should possess a certain level of self-preservation ability. Knowing the terrain and being skilled at climbing trees were also key factors. As long as his luck wasn't so poor that he bumped into a starving large Monster or was foolish enough to chase something into a Nerscylla's nest, his chances of survival were actually quite high.
For this trip, hunting was secondary; protecting the villagers was the primary objective. It didn't truly matter whether a Nerscylla was nesting nearby, or if there were one or two of them. As long as the villagers were protected until the backup hunters arrived, it would be fine even if no battle occurred. Noya had also promised him that there would be no breach-of-contract fees or failures recorded on his mission history.
The absolute priority now was to find that brat. After that, he would decide whether to continue the hunt or dig in and defend the village while waiting for reinforcements.
"Do you have any items the boy uses daily? Ideally, something he kept close to him," Altaïr asked.
"Yes, there should be. Please wait a moment, I'll go ask Ady." The Village Chief hurried into the basement. Before long, she returned holding a Carving Knife that gleamed with a cold light, clearly having been meticulously maintained.
"Ady said her brother left this for her to protect herself before he ran off. Will this work?"
"..." Altaïr fell silent.
Fine. The probability of survival just plummeted.
Whether in a training camp or through traditional master-apprentice mentorship, as long as the instructors were sane, they would never provide genuine hunter weapons to young apprentices. Whether the apprentice could even wield it was one issue, but rebellious adolescents were notorious for disregarding rules. Who knew what idiocy they would commit if given a weapon? If two bratty kids started hacking at each other with beginner weapons provided by an instructor and accidentally lopped off a few fingers, should the Guild Knights be called or not?
However, completely forbidding apprentices from carrying any weapons at all was also unrealistic. A hunter, after all, was no ordinary profession. That fiery martial spirit could not be allowed to burn too bright, lest it cause disaster, but it also could not be suppressed too hard. A pack of well-behaved, quiet children would never make it as hunters.
Therefore, the Carving Knife, which was merely a "pocketknife" to a hunter, but more like a short sword or hand axe to an ordinary person, became the only viable substitute.
For the apprentices, the Carving Knife was effectively the only weapon they were officially permitted to own.
Just imagine: the instructor solemnly places an exquisite, sharp, and supposedly indestructible short sword, excuse me, Carving Knife, into your hands, earnestly telling you that this blade will accompany your entire career as a hunter, carving open the chests of countless monsters.
Never mind the fact that once you actually become a hunter, you swap those knives out like they're toys; just think about the sheer thrill of the moment you receive that knife from your instructor.
Many apprentices even slept with their knives tucked into their belts.
So here was the question: what would a hot-blooded sixteen-year-old boy be doing when he ignored his family's pleas and even knocked aside his neighbors to bolt out of the shelter?
And what could possibly possess him to charge headlong into the Jungle without even taking his most precious possession and only weapon, his knife?
There was no need to ask; the boy had surely taken his father's weapon. As for what he intended to do with a hunter's weapon, that required no guessing either.
If he were lucky enough, Altaïr might find the boy near a Nerscylla's nest.
If his luck was a bit worse, the kid had probably been mostly digested by now.
How could he be so confident in guessing the boy's thoughts?
Because everyone had been that age once. He had done something similar a few years ago, stealing Teacher Karin's Dual Blades to secretly give chase. That resulted in the most brutal beating he had ever received in his life.
Pulling his thoughts back, Altaïr handed the knife to Sajji for him to catch the scent.
Sajji gave him a sidelong glance, muttering, "I'm not a dog, meow," but still did his best to memorize the smell.
"Make sure everyone stays hidden. Don't let anyone else run out." Returning the knife to the Village Chief, Altaïr walked to the door with Sajji.
"As for the boy, it all depends on luck now. Don't hold out too much hope."
(Translated by yourtl.app)