Chapter 1: AI chip

Even in the heart of summer, the nights in the Valley of Dure remained bitterly cold.

The wind howled through the gaps in the walls of hutson's small, dilapidated hut.

 No matter how tightly he wrapped himself in the tattered blankets, the piercing chill seeped through, robbing him of sleep. With a sigh, he groped through the darkness, gathering handfuls of straw from his makeshift bed and stuffing them into the holes. The wind's relentless assault eased, but sleep still eluded him.

Hunger gnawed at his stomach, the dull ache punctuated by grumbling noises that echoed in the silence.

"How did I end up in this wretched place?" hutson muttered to himself, rubbing his empty belly in frustration.

Back in his previous life, he had lived in a world of electricity, running water, and the internet. A single tap on his phone, and a meal would arrive at his doorstep. But here? Here, he was allotted one meager meal a day—a slab of black bread and a bowl of thin potato soup.

The black bread was dense and hard, as if it had been carved from stone. Only the nobles were privileged enough to enjoy soft, white loaves.

"Soak it in the soup," old Henry, the castle's gardener, had once advised him. "Makes it easier to chew."

It was a small mercy, but even softened bread and soup were barely enough for a growing thirteen-year-old boy. Malnourished and weak, his body demanded far more than what this paltry meal provided. Yet, compared to the desperate souls beyond the castle walls—those who teetered on the edge of life and death—he was fortunate. As long as he remained obedient and stayed out of the way of the highborn lords and ladies, his life was not in immediate danger.

But hutson was not born to be a stable boy.

He was once a man of another world, a world of knowledge and technology. And he refused to be bound by the chains of servitude for the rest of his days.

Then, it happened.

"AI chip system self-repair complete."

The voice resonated in his mind, clear and unmistakable.

hutson froze, his breath catching in his throat. He had to be hallucinating.

AI chip—the genetic chip embedded in his very being. In his past life, such chips were commonplace, enhancing cognitive abilities, processing data, and assisting in everyday life.

"Environmental anomaly detected. Initiating localization adaptation."

"Localization complete. AI chip operational."

Two successive prompts echoed in his thoughts, dispelling any doubts. This was no illusion.

"AI chip, analyze current physical status."

"hutson Merlin: Strength 0.4, Agility 0.5, Constitution 0.4, Mental Power 1.2."

hutson frowned as he examined the data. His body was severely underdeveloped—a consequence of years of malnourishment.

But now, with AI chip restored, his mind whirred with possibilities.

Before dawn had even begun to break, hutson was already up. Carrying a dimly flickering lantern, he made his way to the stables, distributing the feed to the horses.

The creatures snorted, their warm breath curling into the cold air, eyes gleaming with anticipation. The feed—a mix of hay and legumes—was more nourishing than what the servants received.

Tempting as it was, hutson did not dare steal from the horses. The last stable hand who had done so had been executed.

After finishing his tasks, he made his way to the rear garden. He knew where to find old Henry at this hour.

The aged gardener, bent with years of toil, was already tending to his plants. The castle garden was home to flowers hutson had never seen in his previous world.

"AI chip, record and catalog all unknown flora and fauna."

"Acknowledged. Task initiated."

Data was power, and hutson intended to gather as much of it as possible.

"What brings you here so early, boy?" Henry asked without looking up, his weathered hands busy clearing away fallen leaves.

"Just thought I'd keep you company, old man." hutson grinned.

Henry snorted. "Bah! If you need something, just spit it out. I don't have many years left, and I don't waste time on idle chatter."

hutson chuckled. The old man had no family, no kin to speak of. Over time, hutson had become the closest thing he had to a grandson.

"Alright, alright. Henry, do you still have that bow of yours?" he asked, eyes gleaming with intent. "Lend it to me. I want to go hunting. If I bring back something good, I'll even share the meat with you."

Henry scoffed, giving hutson a once-over. "You? Hunting? Can you even draw a bow? Have you ever shot an arrow in your life? Don't waste my arrows, boy."

hutson smirked. "Come on, old man. Just lend it to me. I swear, when you pass on, I'll find you a good resting place and even carve you a tombstone."

Henry's expression faltered for a moment. In the castle, servants were buried in unmarked graves, forgotten by time. A tombstone was a luxury reserved for the noble dead.

After a long silence, the old gardener sighed. "Alright, boy. But don't come crying to me when you return empty-handed."

Old Henry hesitated, his weathered face betraying a flicker of contemplation. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he said,

"The bow is hanging on the wall inside. Go get it yourself—but don't you dare damage it."

"Thank you, Old Henry!" hutson called out, already dashing toward the hut before the old man could change his mind.

Inside, the bow hung undisturbed on the wall, its polished wood gleaming under the dim light. Despite the passage of years, it was impeccably maintained—a testament to Old Henry's care.

hutson had heard stories of Henry's legendary archery skills, but the man had long since aged past his prime. No one had seen him draw this bow in years.

As hutson slung the weapon over his thin frame, the sight was almost comical—his frail body seemed unfit to wield such a formidable weapon. He reached for the quiver. Seven arrows. More than enough.

Outside, as he approached the castle gates, the guards took immediate notice.

"Where do you think you're going with that, hutson?" One of them smirked.

"Hunting!" hutson declared with confidence.

The guard stifled a laugh. "Hah! You're not even as tall as that bow—try not to shoot yourself instead."

Another guard chuckled. "Hey, if you manage to bring me a red-spotted finch, I'll give you ten copper coins. Those birds taste damn good when roasted."

Hutson narrowed his eyes. "You said it yourself. Have your coins ready."

The guards burst into laughter, amused by his determination.

With the bow secured across his back, Hutson stepped beyond the castle gates. A long, sloping path stretched before him, descending toward the winding Green River. A wooden drawbridge, already lowered, creaked under the weight of a passing carriage.

From afar, Hutson recognized the ornate crest on its side—it was Baron Buck's carriage. He wondered where the noble was headed.

Beyond the bridge, the forest loomed, dense and alive, its towering trees whispering secrets in the wind. That was his destination.

Rumors spoke of ferocious beasts lurking in its depths, creatures so deadly that even seasoned knights hesitated to venture too far.

Hutson knew his limits. He would not be foolish enough to delve too deep. At least, not yet.

"AI chip, activate detection mode. Monitor my surroundings for potential threats."

"Environmental scan activated."

A faint green light flickered across his vision, and in an instant, the world transformed.

The trees, once shrouded in shadow, now pulsed with an emerald glow, their outlines crisp and defined. Living creatures were marked with a subtle red shimmer, making it easy to distinguish hidden threats from harmless wildlife.

In the corner of his sight, a circular minimap emerged—scattered red and green markers indicated the positions of creatures lurking nearby.

Hutson tightened his grip on the bow.

"Let the hunt begin."