Day 7. The Farmhouse.
The six-day wait evaporated in a blur of activity.
Hunter Sun hadn't been idle.
He had personally excavated a massive reservoir in the fields—2,000 cubic meters of capacity dug in less than an hour.
How? Inventory Magic.
He simply "stored" chunks of earth into his dimensional pocket, dumped them elsewhere, and repeated the process until a massive hole was formed. Then, using his Strength (38), he tamped the soil and poured the concrete lining himself. It was grueling work, but it pushed his [Construction] skill to LV5.
As for the water? He stole it.
Hunter planned to visit nearby lakes or municipal supplies, store water in his Inventory, and transport it back. Who would notice a few thousand cubic meters missing from a reservoir?
Now, the reservoir was finished, and the farm was self-sufficient.
Inside the farmhouse, Hunter relaxed on the sofa, enjoying the fruits of his labor—and the company of Tally.
He had brought her out from LA a few days ago. With his Breeding Skill at MAX, Tally was completely devoted to him. She didn't question the sudden move, the remote location, or the strange equipment. She just wanted to make him happy.
"Good girl," Hunter murmured, patting her head gently as she finished her... ministrations.
Today was the day.
The laptop and satellite phone sat on the coffee table, silent as graves. The seven-day probationary period was up at midnight.
Hunter cooked a lavish lunch for both of them. Afterward, Tally, exhausted from the morning's activities, went for a nap.
Hunter walked into his newly furnished study and sat down.
He opened the laptop.
Ding.
The screen lit up. A new icon had appeared on the desktop: Mail.
Hunter's pulse quickened. He clicked it.
[From: The Concierge]
[Subject: Initiation Trial]
"Mr. Hunter Sun,"
"We formally remind you that your trial begins tonight at 00:00 hours."
"Your target is: Kevin Snod."
"Time Limit: 72 Hours."
"Objective: Termination."
"Upon completion, use the satellite phone to contact the verification team. Failure to complete the objective within the time limit will result in the permanent revocation of your candidacy."
"We await your performance."
Below the message was a dossier. Photos, addresses, habits, security details.
Hunter leaned forward, his eyes scanning the data hungrily.
Kevin Snod.
The name didn't ring a bell immediately, but the face was familiar. A slick, corporate type. Probably a money launderer or a corrupt official who crossed the wrong people.
Hunter grinned.
This was it.
Months ago, when he first met Léon, he had dreamed of becoming a professional hitman. He wanted the thrill, the danger, the adrenaline.
Driving fast cars and robbing banks was fun, but hunting humans? That was the ultimate game.
The farm life was nice for grinding stats, but Hunter Sun wasn't built for peace. He craved chaos. He wanted to dive headfirst into the underworld—the High Table, the Continental, the gold coins.
"72 hours?" Hunter scoffed. "I'll do it in 24."
He memorized the file in seconds.
Target location: A heavily guarded villa in the Hollywood Hills.
Security: Private contractors. Ex-military.
Routine: Hosting a party tonight.
"Perfect," Hunter whispered. "A party means noise. Noise means cover."
He closed the laptop and stood up.
The farmer was clocking out. The assassin was clocking in.
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