A week later, at dusk, Moonstone City, Big Port.
Rolling black waves churned as ships billowing thick smoke sailed in from the distant sea.
A dense crowd squeezed onto the harbor, looking towards the ships that carried not adventurers returning with their haul but mostly the injured—men and women, old and young alike.
In the cold autumn season, the wounded huddled together on the ships like cargo, tightly packed into every corner.
The sea breeze, tinged with the smell of blood, blew gently across as the ships docked, and the crowd surged forward anxiously.
A weapons merchant, with skin like tree bark and dressed in a tattered cloak, set up a small stall by the roadside of the harbor, gazing towards the crowd.
In the middle of the dense crowd stood a man in black hunter's clothes, looking out at the sea from the harbor, motionless for a long time.
The weapons merchant asked in a withered, hoarse voice,
"Sir, are you a Hunter from Black Mine City?"