Chapter Twelve: The Hunter has become the prey

Oliver's eyes fluttered open, and once again, he found himself lying on his bed, the familiar ceiling above him.

His body felt light — the pain of death washed away by Unyielding Rebirth — and for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt relief.

Both his main trial and the hidden trial were complete. Not only that, but he still had a full day left.

With a content sigh, Oliver sank deeper into his bed, deciding there was no harm in taking the day off.

After all, he wasn't a machine. No matter how strong he was becoming, he was still human. Resting was part of the process.

But after barely twenty minutes, rest turned to boredom.

He stared at the ceiling, counting cracks, shifting positions, even debating whether to sleep — but the itch in his fingers wouldn't go away.

"…Screw it," Oliver muttered, rolling off his bed.

He would go out for a hunt.

Not because he needed to. Not because he had to clear any trial.

Just for fun.

If anyone in the village found out he was casually monster hunting after completing his trials — not for survival, but entertainment — they would probably vomit blood from sheer frustration.

After stretching lazily, Oliver headed into the forest.

He had tried to sense if he could locate the cave again but he couldn't.

So he decided to explore the parts of the forest he hadn't explored yet.

The further in he went, the denser the monster population became.

Daggerfang Wolves prowled in packs, their gleaming fangs bared at every shadow.

Goreback Boars charged through the underbrush, tusks ready to skewer anything in their path.

Hollow Serpents slithered in silence, their shimmering scales blending perfectly into the dark foliage.

Above, Razorbeak Crows circled, waiting for a chance to feast.

It was supposed to be a dangerous zone, where most Earthlings didn't dare tread.

Oliver, however, barely broke a sweat.

Wolves lunged at him, only to be dispatched with a flick of his dagger.

Boars charged, but Oliver sidestepped smoothly, ending them with quick, precise strikes to the neck.

Crows dove, only to find themselves skewered mid-air.

Even the serpents — whose stealth made them nightmares to detect — couldn't escape his sharpened senses.

As he moved, something struck him — he had hardly seen any Grasping Ghouls.

"Did I actually hunt them into extinction?" Oliver chuckled to himself.

Well, it wasn't exactly a mystery. He had a personal vendetta against anything that had ghoul in its name.

But in between the casual slaughter, Oliver noticed something concerning.

No matter how many monsters he killed, his Meta Essence didn't increase.

Frowning, he checked his status panel again — nothing.

It seemed that after leveling up, monsters of lower ranks no longer granted him Meta Essence.

"I guess it couldn't be that easy," Oliver muttered, shaking his head.

Still, it wasn't enough to dampen his mood. After all, he was here to unwind, not grind.

Cracking his neck, Oliver continued forward, his dagger gleaming in the dim light, the forest trembling at his approach.

As Oliver casually flicked the blood off his dagger after felling yet another Daggerfang Wolf, a familiar ding echoed in his ears.

He opened his status panel, fully expecting to see his updated monster count — only to be greeted by something… odd.

[System Notification]

Monsters Slain: 201/100

Error: Trial Count Exceeded — Further kills will not be counted.

Oliver blinked.

Then blinked again.

"…I broke the damn system."

He wasn't sure whether to be proud or concerned, but ultimately, it didn't matter.

He'd gotten what he came for — a bit of entertainment — and if the system couldn't keep up with him, that was its problem.

With a satisfied stretch, Oliver decided it was time to head back to the village.

The moment he stepped through the treeline, however, a new urge took over — he needed a shower.

Although Oliver didn't exactly broadcast it, he was a complete clean freak.

It was a trait passed down from his late mother, who spent his entire childhood drilling into him the importance of keeping his room tidy, picking up his socks, and never leaving plates in the sink.

Back then, he thought it was nagging.

But after she passed, those words became gospel.

What started as a coping mechanism — something to cling to when everything felt out of control — gradually evolved into full-fledged OCD.

Oliver couldn't stand filth or disorganization.

Clutter? Gone.

Dirt? Scrubbed.

Sweat and grime on his skin? Unacceptable.

Of course, that didn't mean he was going to drop his dagger mid-battle just to rinse off. He wasn't that far gone.

But the moment the fight ended, his first priority was always cleaning up.

As he walked back to the village, blood-streaked but oddly content, Oliver already knew what his next move was.

A long, scalding shower, or in his case a "magic circle cleaning" he didn't even know what it was called.

Because no matter how powerful he became — some habits were just too deeply rooted to break.

Suddenly, a faint whistle cut through the air — a wind blade, pathetically slow and weak, drifted toward Oliver's side.

He didn't even need to sidestep — just a slight tilt of his head and the blade passed harmlessly by.

But even if it was no threat, Oliver's expression darkened. An attack was an attack, and he wasn't the type to let things slide. His shower could wait.

Following the direction the blade came from, Oliver quietly approached.

In a small clearing, three figures were confronting a lone man.

Two men and a woman — the classic petty gang setup.

One man held a large axe, resting it against his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

The second man gripped a spear, casually twirling it between his fingers.

The woman stood confidently, a sleek, feline beast by her side, low to the ground with its fangs bared. A summoner — probably the brains of this operation.

The unlucky bastard they surrounded held a single gun — a rare sight in the village, considering the system didn't issue firearms.

That meant the man had either crafted it himself or bartered for it from a utility class player.

Oliver leaned against a nearby tree, eavesdropping as the conversation unfolded.

The man with the gun's voice shook with anger and frustration.

"That was my kill! I tracked it, weakened it and you just swooped in and stole it! That's not how this works!"

The axe-wielder barked out a cruel laugh.

"Your name wasn't written on it, was it?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

He nudged his spear-wielding friend with his elbow.

"Hey, Stone — you see anyone's name tag on that monster?"

Stone grinned back, shaking his head dramatically.

"Nope. And if it was 'yours,' we wouldn't have killed it. We're nice like that."

The woman snickered, her fingers gently scratching behind her beast's ears.

"Seriously, what kind of pathetic loser thinks anyone would bother stealing from someone like you? You should be grateful we even left you alive."

The man's hands shook, his grip on the gun tightening until his knuckles went white. His fury was understandable — but it was misplaced.

These kinds of disputes were becoming commonplace as the trial's deadline loomed closer. Desperation stripped away masks, leaving only greed, fear, and hunger.

A sharp gunshot shattered the tense silence — but no blood spattered the ground.

The axe-wielder stood perfectly still, his axe humming faintly with green energy, the bullet deflected mid-air.

He turned slowly toward the gunman, his grin returning — but colder this time.

"You shouldn't have done that."

As his axe glowed brighter, preparing to unleash another wind blade, something slammed him face-first into the dirt.

The force was so sudden, so overwhelming, that his mind blanked.

Oliver knelt beside him, one hand casually pinning his head to the ground, the other resting on his knee.

His crimson eyes gleamed with cold amusement, the same way a cat toys with a dying mouse.

"So, it was you who sent that weak-ass blade earlier."

His voice was calm — too calm.

The axe-wielder didn't dare move.

Because at this moment the hunter had become the prey.

End of chapter twelve