Chapter 5: Ambush!

With a sharp, slicing sound, Boldon's silver sword severed the head of the last sinister ghost.

The bearded man wiped the blade clean with an oil cloth, his expression blank, before sheathing it with a soft click.

The monsters that had been ensnared in the magical fog were now entirely eliminated.

As Boldon had anticipated, this mission was labor-saving, effortless, and cost-effective.

Had he engaged the seventeen evil ghosts head-on, even his Bear School armor wouldn't have stood a chance against the horde closing in on him.

In the best-case scenario, he would have endured some minor injuries.

Repairing the armor would have cost at least 30 orens, while wear on his silver sword would require another 10 orens. A few potions and sword oils would add to the expenses as well.

To make a profit as a demon hunter, one must always account for these costs.

Fortunately, his luck had been good lately.

Boldon tightened the clasps of his armor, which had loosened slightly during the scuffle, and turned his steely gaze to his 'apprentice'.

Lane was now panting heavily, barely able to hold up his already useless Weyland longsword.

"Adjust your breathing," Boldon commanded.

"Though our emotions may be dulled by the mutation process, we still experience the body's natural crisis responses—adrenaline surges and physical energy floods are all normal. By regulating your breath, you can help your body recover more quickly."

While Lane's forehead was devoid of sweat, a flicker of surprise crossed Boldon's face, barely visible in his shadowed expression.

This was one of the few pieces of common sense wisdom Boldon had imparted.

Typically, he focused solely on combat training to enhance Lane's utility as an apprentice.

It seemed this time, however, he had saved Lane quite a bit of trouble.

As Lane wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, he looked up, his demeanor as cold as ice, akin to many in the Bear School.

"Understood."

He acknowledged his mentor's advice, consciously deepening his previously calm breathing.

Then, drawing his hunting dagger, he began to sever the ears of the sinister ghosts, trophies from their mission.

Meanwhile, Boldon utilized his expertise to strip the monsters of their valuable alchemical components.

This knowledge had yet to be shared with Lane, and there were no plans to teach it at this moment.

"This fog wasn't conjured by a fog demon, nor is it related to the sinister ghosts. Are we finished with that village's commission?" Lane asked, stabbing through the ear of a ghost and splattering foul-smelling blood onto the ground.

The village commission primarily aimed to harvest valuable fungus, yet the source of the magical fog remained unclear, and its dispersal was not yet achieved.

While the monsters were gone, the fog itself remained toxic to ordinary people.

"It has nothing to do with us," Boldon replied flatly.

"The monsters' bodies serve as proof of our payment. With the monsters cleared from this fog, we will collect our due once we finish the task. It's not as if we're being taken advantage of."

After speaking, his gaze flicked toward Lane's longsword.

"Your swordsmanship is so poor that it's embarrassing to watch. Even your grip slips. Stabbing sinister ghosts in the stomach is a joke even farmers would know; it doesn't even faze them until they've lost too much blood. You were just lucky that the second one decided to present its brain to your sword. Otherwise, your hand would have been torn off."

"I'll give you another sword, but you owe me ten Aurum."

Ten Aurum.

Even with half of the plating worn off his Bear School silver sword, the repair cost would only be ten Aurum!

What Lane would receive in return would likely just be another cheap Weyland longsword, typically worth only two to three orens on the market.

Yet, there wasn't a hint of hesitation on Lane's face as he accepted the deal with composure.

When counting the costs of the mutant potion, he actually owed his mentor more than four hundred Aurum.

This substantial debt was also Boldon's way of binding himself to Lane as a 'pathfinder.'

But did Lane truly agree? It hardly mattered.

He understood that by continuing to follow Boldon, he would not only face the dangers of monsters and quests but would also be burdened with the threat of loan sharks for the rest of his life.

Demon hunters live long lives, and their physical strength rarely diminishes with age.

So, Boldon's debts would likely hang over Lane for hundreds of years!

No one enjoys the feeling of being in debt, especially not Lane.

The sound of cutting through flesh and the gushing of blood continued for a while, with the stench of monster blood permeating the air.

Boldon had already harvested all the valuable alchemical materials from the demon: claws, liver, heart, and more.

Yet, his apprentice perversely hadn't even finished cutting off an ear.

The incessant clanking grated on the hunter's acute senses.

"What are you dawdling about?"

His tone was devoid of emotion, his patience wearing thin.

They had been in this fog for over twenty minutes, and even with a hunter's resistance to toxicity, their airways were already burning.

Lane, with his back turned, seemed preoccupied with something.

"I'm trying to fix the sword's crossguard. I can't go out there unarmed."

That was a perfectly reasonable response; no one dared to venture into the wild without a weapon.

But Boldon didn't care for rationality, and his voice turned icy.

"I said I would lend you a hand. Now, move."

The busy figure paused, then lowered his head and nodded.

However, Lane wasn't actually repairing the crossguard; he was just tapping it noisily!

"Twenty-seven minutes…you can only drag it out for so long…"

Compared to Boldon, Lane had only recently become a demon hunter, and his resistance to toxicity was minimal. His airways felt as if they were being scorched, and bright red blood was already running down his nose.

Despite the pain coursing through his body, the young man's expression remained one of stoic determination.

"Enough."

Rising to his feet, he faced his mentor, who loomed over him. Lane wiped the blood from under his nose.

"Teacher, we can go now."

"Your sword." Boldon didn't move, his gaze piercing into Lane's cat-like eyes. "Is it fixed?"

"You didn't teach me, so my earlier efforts were wasted."

Lane replied sharply, meeting his mentor's gaze without flinching, his expression as impassive as Boldon's.

The bearded man nodded noncommittally and turned his head towards the fog.

Lane followed his gaze.

As they reached the edge of the fog, both took a deep breath in unison.

The hunter's resistance to poison was strong, yet the instinctual thirst for fresh air remained.

While walking out, Lane kept a step behind Boldon, closely observing his mentor.

At the first breath of fresh air, even the Bear School warriors, whose emotions had been most dulled, instinctively relished the clean air.

But then came the second breath.

"Hoo-breath. Huh?"

Boldon's face, usually expressionless, suddenly tightened as he sensed something with his keen sense of smell.

This odor… someone is nearby!

Lane instinctively took a step back, silent.

Just then, whoosh!

Two arrows shot straight toward Boldon's face!

"Ha!!!"