The Hunter Monarch

While Zhao Hu was plotting murder in the city's shadowy depths, Lin Yu was celebrating a victory of his own, albeit a much smaller and more personal one. He stood in the cramped, cluttered aisles of the "Hunter's Hoard," a massive second-hand gear shop that smelled of oiled leather, whetstones, and stale sweat. It was a place where rookies found their first set of dented armor and where veterans sold off the gear of fallen comrades. For Lin Yu, it was a treasure trove he could usually only window-shop.

But not today.

For weeks, he had been meticulously saving every spare coin from his runs with Su Wan's party. He had eaten the cheapest nutrient paste, patched his own clothes instead of buying new ones, and foregone every small luxury. And now, the fruits of his discipline rested in a small, heavy pouch in his hand.

After an hour of careful inspection, weighing his options, and haggling with the grizzled proprietor, he finally made his purchase. He walked out of the shop carrying his prize, his heart thumping with a quiet, profound excitement.

It was a sword.

It wasn't an enchanted blade or a legendary weapon. It was a simple, straight-edged iron sword, its hilt wrapped in worn but sturdy leather. It was clearly second-hand, with a few nicks along the blade that had been buffed out, and the balance was a little off. To a seasoned warrior like Su Wan or a gear snob like Zhao Hu, it was little more than a piece of scrap metal.

To Lin Yu, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever owned.

It was his. He hadn't been gifted it. He hadn't been loaned it. He had earned it. Every coin that paid for it was a testament to his own hard work and perseverance. It was a symbol. A Pack Mule doesn't need a sword. But Lin Yu was more than that, he told himself. He had to be.

He didn't go back to his tiny room. Instead, he took the long climb to the one place in his rundown apartment building that offered a sliver of open space: the roof. The rooftop was a flat, gravel-covered expanse, cluttered with ventilation units and communication arrays. It offered a stunning, panoramic view of the neon-drenched city, a universe of glittering towers and rivers of light.

Under this canopy of artificial stars, Lin Yu drew his sword. The iron blade felt heavy and clumsy in his hand, but it also felt right. He tried to mimic the warm-up stances he had seen Su Wan and the other warriors practice in the plaza. He moved through a simple overhead chop, a horizontal slash, a basic parry.

His movements were awkward, ungainly. He had no skill, no System-guided muscle memory to aid him. His arms ached with the unfamiliar weight. He stumbled, his footwork clumsy. He was keenly aware of how pathetic he must look, a boy playing with a man's tool. But he didn't care. For the first time, he wasn't just studying the fight or cleaning up after it. He was a participant, however unskilled. He was practicing. He was trying.

He was so lost in his efforts, in the simple, satisfying heft of the iron in his hand, that he didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching from the stairwell door.

"Your stance is too wide. You're leaving yourself completely open."

Lin Yu froze, startled, and spun around. Su Wan was standing there, a small, amused smile on her face. She was holding a grocery bag, likely on her way back to her own apartment in a neighboring, slightly nicer building.

A hot flush of embarrassment washed over him. "I… I was just…"

"I know what you were doing," she said, her smile softening. She walked over, placing her bag down. "You're holding it like it's a club. It's a sword. Let it be an extension of your arm, not a rock at the end of it."

She came to stand beside him. "Show me your basic overhead strike again."

Hesitantly, he raised the sword and brought it down. It was a clumsy, arm-powered hack.

"No," she said gently. "The power doesn't come from your arm. It comes from your legs and your core. Plant your feet. Twist from your hips." She placed a hand on his shoulder, adjusting his posture, and used her other hand to guide his grip on the hilt. "Like this. Feel the balance point."

Under her guidance, he tried again. This time, the motion was smoother, the blade cutting through the air with a soft whoosh. It felt different. It felt stronger.

For the next half-hour, as the city hummed and glittered below them, Su Wan gave him his first real lesson. She was a patient and intuitive teacher, correcting his footwork, showing him how to transition from a block to a thrust, explaining the simple, practical biomechanics of a fight. It wasn't a formal training session; it was a friend sharing her knowledge, a quiet moment of mentorship under the neon sky.

The frustration and clumsiness Lin Yu felt began to melt away, replaced by a deep, focused concentration. He was learning. He was growing, not in levels or stats, but in a real, tangible way.

"You're a fast learner," Su Wan commented, stepping back. "You have good instincts."

"I have a good teacher," he replied, his voice filled with a gratitude that went deeper than just the lesson.

They stood there for a moment in comfortable silence, the iron sword gleaming in his hand, a small, solid glimmer of hope against the vast, overwhelming backdrop of the city. He was still a Zero, still powerless in the ways that mattered. But for the first time, holding the sword he had earned, under the tutelage of a friend he trusted, he allowed himself to dream. He dreamed of a day when he would be a real Hunter, a real warrior. A day when he would be worthy of the faith she had shown in him.

He fell asleep that night with a rare sense of peace, completely unaware that across the city, his enemy was finalizing the details of the day that was meant to be his last.