The cavern smelled of ozone, crushed stone, and the sour reek of hemolymph.

  To the world at large, a Level 5 Demon was a walking natural disaster. It was the kind of threat that required the evacuation of cities, the mobilization of armies, and the urgent deployment of Exterminators—the elite few who stood between humanity and the abyss.

  To Yon Moretti, it was just a Tuesday. And he was incredibly bored.

  Yon leaned against a stalagmite, his thumb resting casually on the silver buckle of his gunbelt. He looked less like a savior of humanity and more like a drifter who had taken a wrong turn. A battered leather duster hung past his knees, a wide-brimmed hat cast deep shadows over his dark eyes, and a half-chewed matchstick rested in the corner of his mouth. He was twenty-one, but the heavy, cynical bags under his eyes belonged to a man twice his age.

  Thirty yards away, the rest of the Exterminator squad was fighting for their lives.

  "Hold the line!" a man in dented plate armor screamed, raising a heavy tower shield. "Mages, bind its legs! Don't let it burrow!"

  The Demon was a nightmare of chitin and shadow—a colossal, eight-legged monstrosity that resembled a spider, though no spider had a human-like skull fused to its thorax or scythes for forelegs. It hissed, a sound like tearing metal, and slammed a massive limb against the knight’s shield.

  The knight buckled to one knee, spitting blood. Two mages in the backline desperately chanted, throwing ropes of golden light around the beast's rear legs. The magic flared, hissed, and began to crack.

  They're taking too long, Yon thought, shifting his weight.

  "Yon!" the knight roared, his voice cracking with panic. "A little help here? It’s a Level 5! If that carapace doesn't crack soon, we're all dead!"

  Yon sighed. The sound was quiet, but in the echoing cavern, it carried a heavy weight of exhaustion. He spat the matchstick onto the rocky floor.

  "You're overthinking it," Yon said. His voice was a low, gravelly drawl that cut effortlessly through the noise of battle. "Carapace is just armor. Armor has gaps."

  He didn't draw a gun. Instead, he stepped forward.

  His movement was too smooth, lacking the frantic energy of a battlefield. One moment he was leaning against the rock; the next, he was directly beneath the towering shadow of the beast.

  The Demon shrieked, sensing the sudden intrusion, and raised a scythe-like limb to skewer the cowboy.

  Yon didn't look up. He simply reached into his coat and drew a curved hunting dagger. He didn't swing wildly. He just stepped to the left, letting the massive scythe bury itself into the stone where he had been standing a fraction of a second prior.

  With a flick of his wrist, Yon drove the dagger upward, finding a tiny, unarmored joint between the monster's thorax and its skull-plate.

  He twisted the blade. Once.

  A sharp crack echoed through the cavern. The colossal beast froze. Its crimson eyes flickered, dimmed, and then went entirely black.

  Yon stepped back smoothly as the massive bulk of the Level 5 Demon collapsed, hitting the cavern floor with an impact that shook the dust from the ceiling. Green ichor began to pool around the carcass.

  Silence fell over the cavern. The knight lowered his shield, panting heavily, his eyes wide with disbelief. The mages dropped their glowing binds, staring at the cowboy as if he were a ghost.

  "By the Gods," the knight breathed. "You... you killed it in one strike. A Level 5."

  "A beast is a beast," Yon muttered, wiping the dagger on a clean patch of the monster’s leg before sliding it back into his coat.

  "That was incredible!" one of the mages gushed, running forward. "The Guild will pay a fortune for this! You're a genius, Moretti!"

  Yon adjusted the brim of his hat, already turning his back on them. The praise rolled off him like water off oiled leather. He didn't feel a thrill of victory. He didn't feel the adrenaline rush that the others were currently riding.

  He just felt the dull, familiar ache of apathy.

  "Harvest the core. Claim the bounty. I don't care," Yon said, walking toward the cavern exit. "I'm going to get a drink."

  Without another word, he vanished into the shadows of the tunnel.

  A hundred miles away, the sun was shining brightly over a world that felt entirely different.

  "You have everything? The dried meat? The extra canteens?"

  "Yes, Mom."

  "What about your winter socks? The capital gets cold at night, Kai. You don't know the winds in Velmara."

  "I packed four pairs, Mom. I'll be fine."

  Kai Klarc sat atop a sturdy chestnut horse, grinning from ear to ear. He was eighteen years old today, and he looked entirely out of place in the sleepy, rural village of Oakhaven.

  While the farmers and woodcutters around him wore muted browns and dull greens, Kai was a splash of vibrant energy. He wore a heavy canvas jacket, polished leather boots, and his trademark piece of clothing: a bright, snow-white beanie pulled snugly over his messy brown hair.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He felt like his chest was going to burst. Today was the day. The age limit had finally been reached. He was going to Velmara. He was going to become an Exterminator.

  Almost the entire population of Oakhaven—all forty-two of them—had gathered at the edge of the dirt road to see him off. It was a sea of warm, smiling faces.

  His mother, a plump, loving housewife with flour still dusting her apron, reached up to grab his hand. There were tears shining in her eyes, but she was smiling.

  "You write to me," she demanded, her voice thick with emotion. "Every week. If you get into that Guild, you make sure they know you have a mother who worries."

  "I will, I promise," Kai said, squeezing her hand. "I'm going to make you proud. I'm going to protect people."

  "Bah. Protect yourself first, boy."

  Kai looked toward the front of the crowd. Old Man Miller, the village leader, leaned heavily on a knotted wooden cane. He had a perpetually grumpy scowl etched into his wrinkled face, but the way he looked at Kai held no real heat.

  "Exterminators die young, Kai," the old man grunted. "Don't go playing the hero. Keep your head down, swing hard, and don't trust city folk. They’d sell their own shadows for a copper coin."

  "I'll be careful, Chief," Kai said brightly. "But someone has to fight the Demons. Why not me?"

  Old Man Miller sighed, shaking his head. "Just... don't go dying. We need someone to fix the mill when the river freezes, and you're the only one dumb enough to dive in the ice."

  Laughter rippled through the small crowd. Kai beamed, his optimism an unshakable shield. He had spent his entire life reading battered, secondhand books about the heroic Exterminators. He knew it was dangerous. He knew Demons were monsters of nightmare.

  But he also knew that he wasn't weak.

  "I won't die," Kai said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "I'll come back a Gold-Rank. You'll see!"

  With a final wave to the cheering village, Kai tugged on the reins. His horse whinnied, stepping onto the long, winding dirt road that led toward the horizon.

  The journey to Velmara had begun.

  The road to the capital was a three-day ride through rolling plains and dense, ancient forests. For the first two days, Kai rode in a state of pure bliss. He sang folk songs to his horse, ate his mother's dried meat, and marveled at how vast the world was outside of Oakhaven.

  On the afternoon of the third day, the world decided to test him.

  The sun was beginning to dip below the treeline, casting long, golden shadows across the dirt path. Kai was humming quietly when three figures emerged from the brush, blocking the road ahead.

  They were mounted on scrawny, ill-tempered horses. All three men wore grimy leather armor, and thick bandanas covered the lower halves of their faces. They carried rusted swords and notched axes.

  Kai pulled back on his reins, bringing his horse to a halt. He didn't reach for a weapon. Instead, his eyes went wide with excitement.

  "Oh, wow!" Kai said, leaning forward in his saddle. "Are you guys travelers too?"

  The man in the center, a burly brute with a scar running down his forehead, shared a confused look with his companions. Usually, people screamed when they ambushed them.

  "We ain't travelers, kid," the brute growled, pointing his rusted sword at Kai. "We're Exterminators. The powerful kind. And we're collecting a toll for keeping these roads safe from Demons. Hand over the horse, the bags, and whatever coin you have in your pockets."

  Kai blinked. He tilted his head, looking closely at the men.

  He looked for the silver Guild tags that all Exterminators wore. There were none. He looked at their posture. They sat heavy and unbalanced in their saddles, their grips on their weapons sloppy and untrained.

  "You're not Exterminators," Kai said. The excitement in his voice faded, replaced by a calm, steady clarity. "Real Exterminators protect people. You're just thieves."

  The brute sneered. "Smart kid. Doesn't matter. You're still giving us your stuff, or we're leaving your body in the ditch."

  The three men kicked their horses, charging forward. They raised their weapons, expecting the boy in the bright white beanie to panic, to turn and flee.

  Kai didn't move his horse. He just smiled.

  It wasn't a smile of arrogance, but of simple, unwavering confidence. He dropped the reins with his right hand and raised his palm, facing the charging bandits.

  Focus, Kai thought.

  He didn't have a sword. He didn't have a magic staff. He only had the technique he had practiced in secret behind his house for ten years.

  He stared at the lines on his own palm.

  The Head line.

  The Life line.

  The Heart line.

  The three creases in his skin formed a distinct, clear 'M'.

  Kai channeled his energy, pushing it violently from his core, down his arm, and pooling it into his right hand. The air around his palm began to shimmer, like heat rising off a summer road. The pressure was immense.

  The intersection of the three lines on his skin tore open. A bright bead of red blood welled up from the center of the 'M', dripping down his wrist. It hurt, a sharp, stinging pain, but Kai didn't flinch. The blood was the catalyst.

  "M," Kai whispered.

  He swiped his hand through the air.

  He didn't throw a fireball. He didn't shoot lightning. What came from his hand was entirely invisible—a concentrated blade of pressurized air and raw force.

  The bandits didn't even see it coming.

  A loud, supersonic CRACK tore through the quiet forest.

  The invisible slash ripped across the road. It struck the ground first, carving a trench six inches deep through the packed dirt, throwing up a cloud of dust and gravel. The force continued upward, slamming into the charging riders.

  It didn't hit their bodies. Kai had aimed precisely.

  The invisible blade sheared through the leather straps of their saddles and snapped the steel blades of their raised weapons as if they were made of brittle glass.

  The sudden, concussive wave of pressure hit the men like a physical wall. All three thieves were violently thrown backward off their horses, tumbling through the air and crashing hard into the dirt. Their mounts spooked, bucking wildly before scattering into the woods.

  The dust settled.

  The three men groaned, clutching bruised ribs and nursing sprained wrists. The brute with the scar looked down at his sword. Only the hilt remained in his hand; the rest of the blade had been cleanly sheared off.

  He looked up at the teenager in the white beanie, absolute terror draining the color from his face.

  Kai lowered his hand. He pulled a small cloth from his pocket and pressed it against the bleeding 'M' on his palm to staunch the flow. He nudged his horse forward, walking slowly until he was towering over the fallen thieves.

  "You should find a new profession," Kai said, his voice light but carrying an edge of warning. "Next time, you might run into a real Exterminator. And they might not aim for your saddles."

  The thieves didn't say a word. They scrambled to their feet, tripping over each other in their haste, and bolted into the thick brush of the forest, leaving their broken weapons behind.

  Kai watched them go, letting out a long breath. He smiled, wrapping the cloth tightly around his hand.

  "Alright, Daisy," he said, patting his horse's neck. "Let's get to the city before dark."

  Velmara was a city that defied imagination.

  To a boy who had spent his life in a village of forty people, the capital was a sensory overload of epic proportions. Massive stone walls surrounded the city, soaring eighty feet into the sky. Inside, the streets were paved with smooth cobblestone, teeming with thousands of people. Merchants shouted over each other, carts clattered, and the smell of roasted meats and exotic spices hung heavy in the air.

  Kai led his horse by the reins, his neck craning as he looked at buildings that stood four, sometimes five stories tall. His white beanie stood out in the crowd, a beacon of rustic optimism amidst the hardened city dwellers.

  He asked for directions twice, his excitement bubbling over, until he finally stood before it.

  The Exterminator Guild Headquarters.

  It was a fortress within the city. Thick iron gates stood open, leading into a courtyard bustling with heavily armed men and women. The building itself was crafted from dark, polished stone, with banners bearing the crest of a crossed sword and shield hanging from the parapets.

  This was the exam center. This was where his new life began.

  Kai tied Daisy to a hitching post near the gates. He took a deep breath, smoothing down his jacket and adjusting his beanie. His right hand throbbed slightly beneath its bandage, but he ignored it.

  He took a step toward the grand double doors of the entrance.

  Just as he did, the doors were pushed open from the inside.

  A man walked out. He wore a battered leather duster and a wide-brimmed hat. He looked exhausted, annoyed, and profoundly bored with the world. He was currently rubbing his temples, clearly nursing a headache.

  It was Yon Moretti.

  Kai stepped aside to let the older man pass. "Excuse me," Kai said politely, a bright, friendly smile on his face.

  Yon didn't respond at first. He just exhaled a tired sigh and glanced up, his dark eyes casually sweeping over the kid in the white beanie.

  For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.

  Then, Yon froze.

  The change in the cowboy was instantaneous and horrifying. The cynical boredom vanished from Yon's face, wiped away by a sudden, violent jolt of primal terror. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched. Every muscle in his body pulled taut as a bowstring.

  Yon stared at Kai’s smiling face. He looked at the white beanie. He looked at the bright, optimistic eyes.

  Fear—raw, unadulterated, suffocating fear—radiated from Yon like heat from a furnace. He didn't look like a man looking at an eighteen-year-old boy. He looked like a man staring at the end of the world.

  Kai blinked, his smile faltering. "Mister? Are you okay—"

  Yon almost didn't speak. He didn't ask questions. He didn't hesitate. He only uttered a few words.

  "You are..."

  His hand moved faster than humanly possible. A blur of motion beneath the leather duster.

  Schlick.

  The sound was soft. Wet.

  Kai felt a sudden, icy breeze against his neck. The world tilted. The grand stone architecture of the Guild Headquarters spun sideways, replaced by the grey cobblestones of the street rushing up to meet him.

  He didn't feel any pain. He just felt confused.

  Why was he looking at his own boots? Why was his body still standing there, swaying slightly?

  Yon stood over the collapsing form, the curved hunting dagger in his hand dripping with fresh, crimson blood. His chest heaved, his eyes wide and wild beneath the brim of his hat. He didn't put the blade away. He kept his eyes locked on the boy's severed head as it rolled to a stop against the stone wall.

  In the span of a single heartbeat, the dream was over.

  Kai Klarc was dead.