Chapter 2: Unexpected Encounters

Lane's encounter with Boldon had been pure chance.

Or rather, his arrival in this magical medieval world was the true accident.

Back in his own time, Lane had been an ordinary college student—healthy, with two loving parents, and a stable, predictable life. But through some inexplicable twist of fate, he'd found himself torn from everything familiar, cast through an infinite void, and deposited into this barbaric, dark realm where none of it made sense.

Here, magic existed, yet it hadn't developed enough to shape society or usher in any golden age. Instead, it lingered like an untapped potential, while human life remained as fragile and expendable as it had been in the most backward corners of ancient history.

In the dense, death-haunted forests of Willen, stepping just a few dozen meters off the path was enough to invite your own demise. Starvation, disease, the fangs of wild beasts, the claws of monsters, or the venom of unseen insects—death came in many forms, and for most Willenians, it was nothing more than a dull, inevitable presence.

For Lane, raised in the comfort of modernity, the brutality of life here was almost unfathomable. He had learned about the hardships of the past in history books, but now, confronted by its grim reality, he struggled to digest the sheer weight of it. Death wasn't just an abstract concept here; it was a daily companion.

As one great writer once put it, this was a world where "people longed to be dogs, but even that was beyond their grasp."

Yet despite his misfortune—or perhaps because of it—Lane hadn't ended up just any commoner. He had become Boldon's "accidental son."

Boldon had "made" him into one of his own—a demon hunter.

There was an ancient tradition known as the Law of Surprise, a law so deeply ingrained in the world's fabric that even the most hardened of men respected it. It was a rule as old as human history itself, dictating that one who saves another can claim, as a reward, the first thing the saved person encounters upon returning home—something they possessed but didn't know about. Often, this turned out to be a child, born in the rescuer's absence—a "child of surprise."

Even in this magical medieval age, supernatural power was rare, and being gifted with it was seen as a blessing. For Lane, a modern university student suddenly thrust into a world where survival was a daily battle, the power of a demon hunter should have felt like a godsend.

But...

"What's our target this time?" Lane's voice, calm and steady, broke the forest's silence as he guided his worn-out horse past a thick tree trunk. His sharp yellow eyes scanned the surroundings cautiously.

He knew Boldon—massive and imposing, like a human bear—didn't like it when Lane strayed too far from his sight.

Boldon's thick, unkempt mustache split at the middle as he finally spoke, his voice low and gruff. "Two or three small fog demons, maybe. Or one older one—aged enough to cause real trouble. The fog's shifting patterns suggest something's nesting in that area."

"You're not even sure about the numbers?" Lane's voice remained neutral, but his words betrayed a hint of doubt. "This feels like over-preparing for such vague intel."

Boldon's rugged face was unreadable, his eyes obscured by shadow. But even without seeing him clearly, Lane sensed the slightest frown form across the older hunter's features.

Demon hunters, while physically stronger than ordinary men, could not simply overpower a group of five skilled humans in a straightforward fight. Their edge came not from brute strength, but from their expertise, knowledge, and most critically, their experience.

Demon hunters survived by mastering the art of reading signs left by their prey. They would gather information on the creature's abilities and weaknesses and then devise a strategy to strike when the advantage was theirs—engaging in what was effectively an "asymmetrical battle." This method, careful and calculated, is how they survived the deadliest hunts.

If Boldon were as reckless as he seemed, he would never have survived to grow that thick beard. He'd have died on some forsaken battlefield as a boy, long before Lane ever met him.

Inside Lane's mind, the answer was already clear. He felt a cold gaze creep up his spine—a gaze that seemed to harden his every muscle—and then came Boldon's command, as frigid as his eyes.

"You take the lead and use Quinn."

It wasn't a suggestion, but an order. The Bear School demon hunters had long since shed most of their emotions, including the polite art of pretending to care when they were sending someone to their death.

Lane nodded, expressionless.

He wasn't surprised. Cannon fodder—that's what he was, a cheap piece on the board used to save the cost of a proper battle. He had survived because of those cat eyes of his, but there were no illusions of favor or grace.

Meanwhile, behind them, the farmer who had survived their passing had led a group of four soldiers to the bloody remains of his loyal dog. The soldiers, dressed in the steel armor of the Kingdom of Temoria, looked thoroughly unimpressed. One of them raised a gauntleted fist as if ready to knock the poor farmer into the dirt, tired of his frantic babbling.

After some insistent gesturing, the farmer pointed to the direction Lane and Boldon had gone. The soldiers glanced, spat, swore, and then rode off without a second thought.

~~~~~~

For some reason, Boldon was now wanted by the Lords of Willen. But with a level of law enforcement that resembled the chaotic times of the Middle Ages, the demon hunter had no intention of halting his pursuit of food and coin, even if it meant leaving behind a trail of shadows. Moreover, he had no desire to pay the price for his hunt.

Lane and Boldon stood at the edge of a depression in the valley, formed by the overlapping hills. Inside this hollow lay a concealed pile of stones, shrouded in a layer of yellowish-green mist that clung stubbornly to the ground, impervious to both wind and water.

Lane glanced at the necklace featuring a roaring bear's head that hung around Boldon's neck. The bear's head trembled slightly, sensing the magic emanating from the mist. It was not strong, but it was enough to catch their attention.

His stomach rumbled with hunger, yet Lane focused on his task. Boldon had already consumed what remained of their loyal dog, leaving only its head behind. There wasn't much meat to be had, but Lane had learned to adapt.

Boldon didn't intend for Lane to starve, but neither did he show any concern for his well-being. A man devoid of emotional attachment was unlikely to care about the tools he employed. While Boldon might not wish for Lane to go hungry, he showed little interest in whether the boy was full or not; hunters were known for their ability to endure hunger.

As Lane continued to move, he didn't notice Boldon retrieve a potion from his pack or draw the two swords strapped to his back, applying sword oil to their blades. Typically, these actions would significantly enhance a hunter's advantage against monsters. However, the potions were costly and toxic, and it seemed Boldon was reluctant to spend his resources this time. Consequently, Lane, as the scout, was expected to take risks to save Boldon's coin.

"Now, forward," Boldon commanded, kicking his horse into motion. He unsheathed one of his swords, the metallic sound ringing low in the air. The blade gleamed coldly in the dim light, a harbinger of the chilling resolve in Boldon's gaze.

Before Lane lay an unknown number of Mist Demons, each a potential threat. These creatures could summon fog, cloak themselves in invisibility, and the cleverer ones could even shape the mist into phantoms. Their greyish-white skin marked them as scavengers, equipped with razor-sharp claws and thin, sinewy arms capable of dismantling sheep and dogs alike. Their cotton-like armor was rendered useless in the presence of these fiends.

Even a fully alert farmer would find himself disemboweled within seconds of encountering such monsters, and their proficiency in ambushes made them particularly dangerous.

Behind Lane stood Boldon, a seasoned hunter with a tally of slain beasts behind him, clad in over thirty kilograms of armor, drawing his silver sword. Silver was known to inhibit monsters, and despite its softness, this blade had an iron core, making it lethal against humans too.

Yet Lane felt none of this impending danger; his face was devoid of emotion, frozen in determination. He tightened the cotton armor on his hands, his gaze fixed on the emptiness ahead.

In his mind, a clear and concise projection unfolded:

**Name:** Lane

**Race:** Demon Hunter (Magical Reformer)

**Skills:**

- Bear School Swordsmanship (Cultivation plan created.) Instruction in progress - interrupted. Reason: Insufficient power

- Knowledge of Magic Potions (Recorded. Dispensing instruction - interrupted. Reason: Insufficient power)

- Quinn's Seal (Cultivation Plan [Beginner] has been created.) Instruction in progress - interrupted. Reason: Insufficient Calculation Power

A litany of knowledge regarding the life of a Demon Hunter appeared, but at the end of each entry, the words "Insufficient Calculation Power" loomed large.

Beneath this, a bright red progress bar marked "In Parse" indicated that something significant was nearing completion.

The chill behind him grew, yet Lane remained silent, shutting off the retinal projection with a mere thought. It was time to get to work.