Chapter 3: The Rules of the Hunt
The walk back to the Academy dorms was a long one. The "Scholarship Wing" was located at the very edge of the Monster Kingdom's elite district—essentially a refurbished stone barracks that smelled of damp moss and old Orc sweat.
As I walked through the dark, narrow corridors, I noticed the difference immediately. Grik used to walk with his head down, trying to avoid the gaze of the larger monsters. Now, even in this scrawny goblin body, I felt a strange, primal confidence. My spine was straight. My "weapon" was restored.
I reached my room—a tiny, windowless cell with a straw mattress and a single wooden desk—and bolted the door.
"System," I whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "The trial in the brothel was just the beginning, wasn't it? Explain how this works. How do I actually evolve?"
A cold, crimson interface flickered to life in the darkness of the room.
[System Protocol: The Seed of Evolution]
Current Status: Host has successfully bypassed "Biological Dead-Lock."
Core Objective: To evolve from a 'Low-Tier Goblin' to a 'Verdant Overlord,' the Host must engage in the [Sovereign's Concordance].
"Sovereign's Concordance?" I leaned back against the cold stone wall. "Explain."
[Mechanics Breakdown]
In this world, power is measured by bloodline and rank. To overwrite your low-tier DNA, you must 'Subjugate' high-tier female lifeforms.
- Metric 1: Favorability (0/100) -
Measures how much the target likes or trusts the Host.
- Metric 2: Submission (0/100) -
Measures the target's willingness to obey the Host's commands, regardless of their feelings.
[The Path of the Overlord]
When a high-tier target is identified, the System will generate [Domination Trials]. Completing these trials provides Lust Points (LP), Stat Buffs, and Species Evolution fragments.
I rubbed my chin. "So it's not just about getting them to like me. It's about breaking their pride. About making them recognize me as their Master."
[Correct.]
To aid in the Subjugation of 'High-Tier' targets, the System has unlocked the [Perverted Trials List]. These are calculated 'Infamy' tasks designed to bypass a target's mental defenses and prime their bodies for the final Conquest.
The screen shifted, showing a blurred profile of a pale, elegant figure with piercing crimson eyes and subtle fangs—the High Vampire student council president I had seen in Grik's memories.
[Potential Target Detected: Elara Crimson (High Vampire)]
Rank: SSS (Prideful Elite)
Favorability: -10 (Disgust)
Submission: 0%
[Sample Domination Trials for Elara Crimson:]
[Shadow Thief]: Steal a set of her worn undergarments and keep them in your inventory for 24 hours. (Reward: +20 LP, +2 Agility)
[Public Mark]: Find a way to leave a visible 'mark' on her pale neck or shoulder during class without her noticing who did it. (Reward: +40 LP, +5 Charm)
[Sensory Trespass]: Corner her in the library and force a deep French kiss until she stops resisting. (Reward: +100 LP, Unlock: [Minor Hypnosis])
[The Master's Seat]: Force her to sit on your lap and call you 'Master' while other students are within earshot. (Reward: Massive XP, Evolved Goblin Bloodline)
I stared at the list, a slow grin spreading across my face. On Earth, these tasks would get me arrested. In this brutal Monster Academy, where the strong eat the weak, they were the keys to the throne.
"I see," I muttered, closing the interface. "I don't need to fight them with magic or swords. I'm going to dismantle them, piece by piece, until the 'trash goblin' is the only one they can think about."
I lay back on the straw mattress, my mind already calculating the layout of the Academy. Tomorrow was the first day of classes.
Tomorrow, the hunt begins.
The next morning arrived with the jarring blast of a bone-horn echoing through the Scholarship Wing.
I hauled myself off the stiff straw mattress, splashed some freezing water on my face from the rusty basin, and grabbed my worn canvas backpack. Today was the Welcome Ceremony, and I needed to figure out exactly what kind of battlefield I was walking into.
Stepping out of the dorms, the sheer scale of the Monster Academy finally hit me. The architecture was aggressively gothic—towering spires of black obsidian, archways carved to look like roaring beasts, and pathways paved with blood-red cobblestones. High-tier monsters strutted through the courtyards: towering Orcs carrying weapons the size of tree trunks, Minotaurs snorting steam in the crisp morning air, and elegant but terrifying Harpies roosting on the gargoyles above.
Amidst the chaos, I realized I had absolutely no idea where the Council Hall was.
"Hey," a gruff voice called out.
I turned and saw a tall, relatively normal-looking guy leaning against a pillar. He had messy silver hair and piercing amber eyes; he was sniffing the air with an intensity that seemed almost comical. Aside from the sharp canine teeth resting over his bottom lip, he looked completely humanoid.
"You smell like damp moss and cheap leather," the guy said, giving me a sideways glance. "Scholarship Wing, right? I'm lost. The map they gave us is absolute garbage."
I couldn't help but chuckle. The guy was clearly a werewolf stuck in his humanoid form—probably suppressing his beast state to conserve mana, a common tactic for lower-class canine-kin.
"I'm heading to the Council Hall for the Welcome Ceremony," I said, adjusting my backpack. "I'm Grik. And yeah, I'm lost too."
The werewolf's ears twitched under his silver hair, and he grinned, extending a clawed hand. "Rolf. Silvermane tribe, though I'm basically a stray at this point. Let's find this place before we get trampled by a Troll."
Rolf's sense of smell ended up saving us. He tracked the scent of expensive perfumes and polished armor, leading us straight to the massive bronze doors of the Council Hall. As we walked, we checked our registration tags.
"Wait, Dorm 4B?" Rolf barked out a laugh, showing his fangs. "Looks like we're roommates, greenie. Try not to snore; my hearing is sensitive."
"Try not to shed on my bed and we'll get along fine," I shot back smoothly. Rolf blinked in surprise at my tone—goblins were usually subservient and cowardly—but then he threw his head back and laughed loudly.
We pushed through the doors and took our seats near the back of the colossal auditorium. Thousands of students were already gathered, the air thick with killing intent and uncontrolled mana.
The lights dimmed, and the low murmur of the crowd was instantly silenced by a suffocating, terrifying pressure that descended from the stage.
An ancient, skeletal figure floated to the podium, wearing robes made of woven shadows. His eye sockets burned with blue hellfire.
"That's Principal Malakor," Rolf whispered, the fur on his arms standing up. "An Ancient Lich. He's survived three Continental Wars."
"Welcome, initiates, to the crucible," Malakor's voice echoed directly into our minds, bypassing our ears entirely. It was chilling. "You are here because you possess the blood of predators. But potential is nothing without refinement. Look to your left. Look to your right. By the end of this year, half of you will be expelled, enslaved, or dead."
A murmur of excitement and fear rippled through the crowd. Malakor raised a bony hand, and magical projections illuminated the wall behind him, displaying five distinct crests.
"To survive, you will be sorted into your specialized factions," he announced.
The Combat Department: "For the brutes and the vanguards. Here, you will bleed until your muscles become harder than steel."
The Magic Department: "For the mana-blessed. You will learn to manipulate the elemental chaos of this world to incinerate your foes."
The Alchemy & Smithing Department: "For the creators. The backbone of our armies. You will forge the weapons and brew the elixirs that keep our kingdom breathing."
The Summoning Department: "For those with the will to dominate other beasts. You will bend external entities to your soul's command."
The History & Strategy Department: "For the tacticians. Monsters who rely only on brawn are destined to die early. Here, you will learn the ancient wars and the art of the mind."
"You will be tested, sorted, and broken," Principal Malakor concluded, the blue fire in his eyes flaring. "To guide you through this process, I leave you in the hands of our Vice Principal, Madame Vesper, and the head of our Student Council."
The Lich faded into the shadows, replaced immediately by a towering Arachne—a woman with a beautiful, strict face and the lower body of a massive black widow spider. Madame Vesper.
"Silence," Vesper hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "Before we begin the sorting exams, your Student Council President will read the Academy Oath."
From the shadows of the stage, a delicate, elegant figure stepped forward. She wore a pristine black and crimson Academy uniform that perfectly hugged her curves. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, contrasting sharply with her blood-red eyes and the subtle, sharp fangs resting on her lower lip.
Rolf let out a low, involuntary whine beside me. "Elara Crimson," he muttered, terrified. "High Vampire bloodline. I heard she paralyzed a Minotaur just by making eye contact."
I leaned forward in my seat, ignoring the overwhelming pressure she emitted. While the rest of the student body cowered, my eyes traced the pale, exposed skin of her neck—the exact spot the System had told me I needed to 'mark'.
A predatory smile stretched across my face. The Welcome Ceremony was just a formality. The real game had officially begun.