Hunters, as a group of extraordinary individuals dedicated to hunting the darkness, have gradually developed a unique way of operating over the long years. In truth, aside from those within the Church who adhere strictly to orthodox doctrines, most hunters do not reject the power of darkness.

  They understand that in a world filled with peril, one must be willing to use any means necessary to defeat evil. This was the origin of the first hunters—figures who walked the fine line between light and shadow, guarding the land in their own way.

  Unknowingly, Veronica's perception of Buck Frank had undergone a significant shift. The noble scion, whose reputation was infamously poor among the locals, had now saved her life twice.

  The first time, she had dismissed it as mere coincidence. But this time, when faced with the terrifying Void Hound, Buck had displayed overwhelming strength and decisive action, forcing her to reevaluate him.

  For the first time, she felt that beneath his cold exterior, Buck might not be the villain the rumors portrayed. Perhaps, deep within, he harbored a side unknown to the world.

  "So, the borderland Hunter's Guild doesn’t reject special means to combat darkness?" Buck mused, watching Veronica hurry away, and dismissed the thought of killing her.

  It wasn’t out of gratitude for her sincerity, but rather because he suddenly realized something about the guild’s stance. He had been caught in a mental trap, his perspective too narrow ever since inhabiting Buck Frank’s body.

  Perhaps the one who wanted him dead had a far greater goal than just eliminating the young noble. There might be a deeper conspiracy hidden beneath it all.

  Days passed unnoticed, yet the coming storm had little effect on Buck’s relentless demon-hunting. If anything, the increasing presence of dark creatures made it even easier for him to find prey.

  He continued his daily expeditions into the Klan Mountains along the frontier—the breeding ground of dark beings and his personal hunting grounds. By nightfall, he would return to the relative safety of the fortress, indulging in brief moments of peace.

  Doug took the blood, entrails, and eyes of the slain creatures to the black market in exchange for needed supplies. The twin maids prepared his meals—though their cooking was atrocious at first, Buck hardly cared. To him, food was merely fuel to satiate his ravenous hunger.

  Doug, however, suffered in silence. His life had become more ascetic than that of a monk. While the young lord enjoyed the company of beautiful twin maids, Doug himself couldn’t even catch a whiff of meat.

  But what could he do? Buck had changed. He no longer indulged in revelry, nor did he bring Doug along for pleasure-seeking. In fact, merely receiving one of Buck’s piercing stares was enough to make his knees weak.

  Buck’s presence had grown increasingly terrifying.

  With each hunt, he became stronger, his life force swelling to an astonishing degree.

  Yet, for an ordinary man like Doug, what was truly terrifying was not Buck’s growing strength, but the deepening gloom on his face.

  For nearly a year now, Buck had been tormented by the three evil spirits. His frayed nerves kept him in a perpetual state of near-collapse, leaving no patience for anyone.

  His once-pale complexion was now marred by dark circles beneath his eyes—proof that the spirits denied him even the solace of restful sleep.

  Beyond hunger, cold, and his wandering gaze, Buck had begun noticing something deeply troubling about the Specter of the Exile. Sleepwalking. Uncontrollable sleepwalking.

  One night, he awoke to find himself inexplicably in the wilderness. Since then, he dared not let himself fall into deep sleep.

  That specter—it wanted control of his body. And that was Buck’s greatest fear.

  To prevent this, he had the twin maids take turns watching over him at night, waking him whenever he drifted too far into unconsciousness.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  It wasn’t as though Buck never entertained certain thoughts while spending time with the twins. But the longer he was around them, the more he restrained himself.

  He feared he might tear them apart in a fit of unconscious rage.

  Perhaps only when he found a way to rid himself of the spirits could he finally relax.

  Half-asleep, half-awake, he was plagued by the same recurring nightmare—an endless sea of dark-red arms, stretching across the cosmos like a starry sky, crushing a vast blue planet over and over again.

  Each time, the Hand of the God-Corpse would stir restlessly, as if craving something. It was urging Buck to act, tormenting him without end.

  Only within the small chapel of the Sun Goddess could he find the briefest moments of peace.

  And so, he became a regular visitor. Even the clergy were bewildered, never expecting that Buck Frank would turn out to be such a devout follower of the goddess.

  That night, as usual, Buck sat alone in the front row of the chapel, staring blankly at the modest statue of the goddess, savoring the fleeting tranquility it provided.

  The chapel was filled with a tranquil atmosphere, the dim candlelight flickering gently as if whispering ancient tales. Suddenly, the chapel doors swung open, allowing a gust of cold wind to rush in, making the candle flames dance wildly.

  An elderly man, wrapped in a thick black coat, stepped inside and closed the doors behind him. This was something that should not have happened—whenever Buck was in the chapel, he would usually drive everyone away. Clearly, this uninvited guest did not care about Buck Frank’s notorious reputation.

  He was a hunter—a powerful veteran from the Frontier Hunter Guild’s headquarters in Greenfield City. A Tier-3 hunter, McKinley Owl. When the white-bearded old man removed his round hat and fixed his sharp gaze on Buck’s back, Buck immediately sensed it. That stare was like an icy blade, piercing straight through him.

  "So, he finally came," Buck muttered as he stood up, turning around slowly. A faint surge of blood energy crept onto his somber face—a manifestation of the vast life force within him. His eyes carried a trace of wariness, mixed with a hint of anticipation. What surprised him, however, was that his vision failed to display the man’s "health bar."

  Buck felt the Observer Wraith in his eyes roaring in frustration. It tried to see through the man but was blocked by an invisible force, left fuming in impotent rage. It seemed this hunter had some kind of anti-detection ability. Or rather, this man possessed a power similar to the Observer Wraith—one far stronger than Buck’s unenhanced version.

  "So, I’m the one getting my health bar revealed instead?" Buck grinned, baring his white teeth in a way that appeared almost menacing in the dim candlelight.

  In this light, it almost seemed like the hunter had come to challenge him, the boss. But with his current life force, he was more than worthy of that title. He saw the old man's pupils contract, saw his hand reaching toward his waist, saw the weapon holstered there—a finely crafted double-barreled shotgun, so exquisite it looked more like a piece of art than a tool of death.

  But Buck knew better. That gun was anything but harmless.

  He adjusted his collar slightly, let his arms hang loosely, and bent his knees just a little, assuming a combat stance. His muscles tensed, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Yet just as the hunter's hand reached for his weapon, it abruptly stopped.

  The old man hesitated. He lowered his sharp gaze and took a step back. He had backed down.

  Buck furrowed his brows, withdrawing his advancing foot, a trace of confusion flashing in his eyes.

  "Lord Buck Frank," McKinley addressed him with a calm expression, spreading his hands to show he meant no harm.

  Or rather, he could no longer afford to harbor any ill intentions toward this noble heir. Because he understood—he could not win.

  The old hunter’s pupils trembled slightly. In his "Seeker’s" Apostle vision, Buck Frank radiated a life force as vast and unshakable as a mountain! He was like a blazing titan standing upon the land, his fiery vitality burning so fiercely it could set the sky aflame.

  Unless his aging eyes deceived him. Unless the Seeker’s information was somehow mistaken. Otherwise, he had no choice but to stand down.

  【Life Force: 316,384 / 316,384】

  Three hundred thousand? What kind of existence possessed such a terrifying life force? Was he even human anymore? What kind of ritual could create something like this? Tier-4? Tier-5??? McKinley could not fathom it, but one thing was certain—there was no way he could kill this man.

  There was no contest.

  And so, he withdrew his hand and reconsidered their dynamic, quickly deciding to take a different approach.

  "Respected Lord Buck."

  "I'm listening," Buck Frank replied coldly, his expression unreadable.

  The old hunter nodded. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is McKinley. I am the regional agent dispatched by the Frontier Hunter Guild’s headquarters in Greenfield City."

  "A pleasure to meet you, Hunter McKinley." Buck nodded impassively, though there was no trace of actual pleasure in his voice. His tone was as flat as stagnant water.

  "I am here to confirm something with you," McKinley continued as he adjusted his round hat. "Regarding the death of Hunter Viddens. I'll be direct—was it you who killed him?"

  Buck remained silent for a moment. His gaze deepened, turning as cold as ice, as if contemplating something. Suddenly, the corner of his lips curled into a half-smile—one that was neither warm nor friendly.

  "And what if I did?"

  "I have no objections," the old hunter replied evenly, as if they were merely discussing a dead rat in the street. His eerily calm demeanor sent a faint chill down the spine.