As night fell, the edge of the wetland became unusually quiet.

　　Twenty-something minutes ago, Charles had sprinkled wild chrysanthemum powder in the air, mixed with crushed flower stems, to keep the damn frogs silent. Otherwise, there would be no peace and quiet.

　　He had learned the method from human miscellaneous books, and practice had proven it very effective. On ordinary nights, he would do this to get a good night’s sleep — tonight was no exception.

　　Now he lay face down in the wetland, the water covering his nostrils, only his eyes exposed. He searched for something to hide his prominent red dorsal fin so he wouldn’t stand out so much. Not far away, on the hard ground, a large trap lay in wait. His eyes hadn’t blinked once, fixed straight ahead.

　　As a hunter, endurance was a necessary part of survival.

　　Six or seven minutes ago, two gray, long-tailed velvet rabbits had easily jumped over the trap — too light to trigger it.

　　Two minutes ago, a four-pointed deer had stared at the trap for several seconds, as if it could see through everything. Charles gazed into its eyes, and his intuition told him such creatures were clever — the lizard people among beasts.

　　The crescent moon hung bright in the sky, and the twinkling stars shimmered like the eyes of that deer.

　　Just then, a rustling sound came from the bushes — the sound of hurried footsteps pressing against the wet ground.

　　After years of hunting, he could tell from the sound alone: it was a wild boar, charging blindly. Only such fools would run around in the wetlands.

　　Normally, he wouldn’t have cared. Past experience told him wild boars were hard to hunt — their screams could drag the traps away, and if the pit wasn’t deep enough, they could jump out.

　　It was far harder to hunt a wild boar than a grazing sheep. But this time, he had decided to make a change — both in his target and in his method — to earn more for Novi’s convenience, and perhaps for a slightly better life of his own, though that wasn’t his main goal.

　　As expected, half a minute later, a panicked wild boar came rushing toward him in an S-shaped path.

　　Charles put away his usual sword and took out a steel-wire magic blade with his right hand — a thin, flexible wire about the thickness of a human hair, more than a meter long, with handles at both ends. Its center was infused with magic, making it razor-sharp.

　　In his left hand, he conjured a short black dagger. The blade merged into the darkness, invisible unless one stood close enough to feel the chill.

　　He had once been a member of the Blood Blade Vanguard, proficient in the use of Black Blade Magic — the only magic he knew.

　　Holding his breath, he waited.

　　At last, the wild boar plunged into the trap and let out a shrill scream.

　　Without hesitation, Charles sprang from the wetland, leaping high as he hurled the black blade. It spun through the air and flew straight toward the beast.

　　Seizing the brief moment when the boar was stunned, he tightened the steel wire and sliced its head clean off.

　　He stepped back quickly to avoid the spray of blood.

　　Two hours later, the frogs began croaking again near the wetland.

　　By dawn, he and his companion had processed the entire wild boar.

　　After a brief nap, Charles loaded two large slabs of rib meat and several smaller chunks onto his bike.

　　Before heading to Novi’s residence, he took the time to clean himself up. It was only polite to meet a lady in proper form — though he didn’t think much of it.

　　As he pushed his bike past the Big Green Frog Inn, he spotted a squad of human patrolmen.

　　Near the inn, Rakou was wagging his green tail as if waiting for someone.

　　“Hey, Grey Hunter! I’ve been waiting for you,” he called.

　　Charles saw him running over and immediately had a bad feeling. He knew this kind of person too well — pay them once, and they’d come again, and again, and again, until you finally beat them senseless.

　　He pretended not to hear and kept pushing his cart.

　　But Rakou didn’t give up. Staring at the chunks of meat, drooling, he dragged his tail and followed closely behind.

　　“I’m Rakou! Remember me? We met last week — I introduced you to that female, right? She’s stickier than you imagined, isn’t she? Hey... hey, why aren’t you talking? Not satisfied? I’ve got others...”

　　Charles ignored the chatter — until something caught his ear.

　　“Others? Are they lizard people too?”

　　“No, greywood elves from the twisted forests of Laleth.”

　　“I don’t like touching gray bark, let alone sleeping in black mud. Get lost,” he said, walking on.

　　“But I gave you information!”

　　“I don’t have the money to spare. Goodbye, friend.”

　　“Hey! Hey, Grey Hunter, you’re the best hunter around here! Would you break your promise? Five silver coins — no? Three? Two... one, even just one?”

　　Charles stopped his cart and turned.

　　“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are? Ever seen a good hunter get violent toward a friend?”

　　He swung his sword twice.

　　Rakou looked up, heart pounding like a frog caught in tall grass.

　　“The weather’s nice today,” he muttered weakly.

　　“I don’t want to hear your voice for half a month. Get lost!”

　　Then Rakou had an idea. Tilting his head, he shouted, “Hey, Novi! What are you doing on the roadside?”

　　Charles turned, but saw no one. When he turned back, Rakou was already gone — with two pieces of wild boar meat dangling from his claws.

　　Charles sighed and lowered his head. “There are always scum,” he murmured, “in every race, in every age.”

　　An hour later, he reached his destination.

　　Novi’s home now had two extra benches and a bow with a pair of arrows placed neatly in front of the cave. The bow and arrows looked unused, covered in a fine layer of dust.

　　No matter how many times one visited, the figure by the cave was always busy.

　　Charles parked the cart nearby and hung the remaining meat on a wooden hook.

　　“Madam,” he said politely, “this is the freshest cut.”

　　When Novi saw him and heard his voice, she went into the cave and brought out a woven grass mat.

　　“Mr. Grey Hunter, thank you. The barter item is ready.”

　　Charles examined it — the straw was soft, the workmanship far better than anything sold in the shops. It was worth the trade.

　　They had known each other for over a week, exchanging goods but never words beyond necessity.

　　He wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the right words.

　　“The mat’s nice, I mean...”

　　“I don’t need anything else right now.”

　　He met her calm gaze and listened to the cool detachment in her voice. Their relationship remained transactional, stagnant — though he longed for more.

　　“Alright... if you ever need a hunter, you can find me at Grey Soil Cave or the Big Green Frog Inn. My prices are fair.”

　　“Thank you.”

　　After Novi spoke, she returned to her work.

　　Charles lingered, hoping for a reason to stay — but there was none.

　　At last, he turned his cart and left in silence.