My Alt Account Became the World's No. 1 Hunter
Chapter 25: Eastern District Gate Challenge (6)

Chapter 25: Eastern District Gate Challenge (6)

Theodore kept his eyes on the faint shimmer that marked where the new spawns would break through.

It wasn’t really anything dramatic, just that thin ripple of light in the air, but the sound that followed — a low growl that vibrated through the damp ground — always settled in his chest.

But this time it wasn’t goblins.

The shimmer widened, stretched, and gave way to a small pack of wolves.

They moved with that slow, coiled tension you saw when a street stray was about to snap at your ankle, except these would do more than snap if you let them circle.

Theodore counted four of them, rough fur patchy and slick along their ribs, noses twitching as they spread out across the clearing.

He didn’t flinch when one snarled, flashing yellowed fangs that looked more real than any of the neon armor patches the rookies outside liked to brag about.

So no toothbrush.

He took two small steps back, boots pressing into the damp mulch as he angled himself behind the heavy fallen log he’d clocked the second he walked in.

It wasn’t much, just an old birch that had rotted enough for its bark to peel in thin strips, but the ridge it made in the clearing floor was enough to break the wolves’ line of sight and funnel at least one of them into a bad angle if they thought they could get clever.

The first wolf broke off from the pack, hackles bristling along its spine as it snapped at the air in a half-feint, testing his reaction.

Theodore didn’t give it one, he held his ground, shifted the weight on his back foot so the blade would catch at the right height if it lunged. When it finally did, muscles bunching as it sprang, he pivoted tight against the side of the log, letting its momentum carry it just far enough for the blade to slide under its jaw in one clean arc.

He felt the jolt through his wrist, the resistance giving way as bone parted. The body hit the moss with a wet thud.

He didn’t waste time, he was already moving, eyes flicking to the second wolf that had peeled off to circle wide. He stepped over the first body, letting his boots sink a little deeper so his stance stayed low and steady.

The wolf crept forward, pacing around the roots of an old oak stump.

He could see its ribs pushing out under the fur every time it breathed — a living thing with nothing but hunger behind its eyes, and hunger was predictable to him.

Theodore shifted again, scraping his heel just enough on the wet leaves to draw the beast in. It took the bait, paws crunching softly over the roots before it lunged.

He didn’t meet it with a flourish, he just slipped to the left, caught the side of its head with his forearm to knock it off balance, then brought the blade down behind its neck in one smooth drive.

He checked his surroundings, feeling the faint tick of the scoreboard update behind his eyes, the projection just a soft chime that barely broke the hush.

He didn’t look at the number, he’d just see it when he was done.

So two more left.

He moved back to the log, boots finding the same damp groove he’d carved during the first pass. One of the remaining wolves hesitated, smart enough to know the last two hadn’t come back but too desperate to retreat.

He advanced before it could decide otherwise, blade tucked against his hip, the point angled low. When it bolted, he stepped in to meet it halfway, driving the steel into the space just behind its shoulder.

The creature’s weight folded into him for a heartbeat before he let it slide free onto the moss.

The last one hovered in the brush, tail whipping side to side like it might change its mind. He shifted a few paces, giving it the only clear route forward, waiting for the moment it lunged.

And of course, it did, teeth bared, eyes fixed on his throat. But Theodore’s stance was already set. So the blade met it under the chin, one cut that was over almost before the wolf knew it had leapt. It landed wrong, legs splayed, and eyes glassy.

He stayed where he was for a moment longer, letting the quiet settle in around him again. The scoreboard chimed once again:

"Wave 2 Complete. Theodore Prune — 31 pts."

He exhaled through his nose, checked the blade for nicks, then bent to drag the bodies off the clearer patch of ground.

He imagined that rookie with the neon-patched vest was probably yelling for the drone cam, spinning like a fool.

Theodore heard the brag. "Better pray you don’t get my spawn wave." Theodore snorted under his breath.

"Yeah right," he said with a mocking tone.

Outside, the plaza lights flickered over the big screen feeds.

On the left, Theodore’s run looked almost uneventful if you didn’t know what you were seeing — a man moving slow with no wasted steps, the forest clearing behind him clean of clutter except for the quiet lumps of fur and green skin dragged neatly aside.

On the right, the rookie’s feed was another story entirely. He was flailing for the camera drone, spinning too wide with a sword that looked more decorative than sharp.

He barked some cocky line for the stream, feet skidding over the slick moss — and then his heel caught on an old root, sending him sprawling onto his back with a dull grunt.

The wolf that had been circling didn’t need an invitation. It lunged straight for his exposed leg, jaws clamping down on his shin with a crunch that was half-muffled by the kid’s squeal.

The PA system buzzed a heartbeat later, cold and unsympathetic:

"Hunter #14 forcibly ejected. Total score: 11 pts."

The plaza roared with laughter, some people actually clapping, a few pointing and elbowing each other like they’d just seen a slapstick routine.

Kenji had his head thrown back, laugh wheezing out so hard he nearly dropped his snack bag.

Hiro’s eyes watered as he doubled over, swatting Kenji’s shoulder with what was left of his skewer.

"Dude talked all that sh*t, just to get booted by a dog," Kenji howled, voice cracked at the edges.

Hiro could barely breathe. "A dog! He only cleared one wave, and it was goblins. He’s gonna see that on every meme board for a month."

Leo didn’t say much. He just sucked down the last of his drink, crumpled the empty pouch, and tossed it into the overflowing bin behind him without taking his eyes off Theodore’s calm figure on the split feed.

He obviously knew he was doing to much, but he didn’t care, man just wanted to look cool.

The scoreboard kept ticking up, the points climbing like a slow heartbeat, steady and sure.

"Meanwhile," Leo murmured, the faintest grin curling at the corner of his mouth, "look at Theodore. Smooth as hell."

Back inside the Gate, Wave Three didn’t come with any grand announcement or dramatic special effect, just that low shifting hum that made the air feel heavier, like the forest was exhaling something it would rather keep buried.

Theodore stood a few paces from where the last wolf had dropped, blade loose at his side, boots pressed firm into the damp ground to keep the cold from creeping too far into his bones.

He knew the next wave would test him more than the others, it always did once the Gate decided you’d proved you weren’t here to just make up the numbers.

The shimmer this time broke open wider than before, the thin veil of light warping until the outline of something bigger lumbered through.

He clocked the shape first — broad shoulders, the glint of mismatched scrap armor strapped across a barrel chest, a crude iron axe resting against a set of knuckles that looked more like rocks than flesh.

A hobgoblin variant, maybe — the mini-boss flavor of the day.

The creature let out a low, guttural grunt, sniffed at the blood-moss patch where the wolves and goblins had fallen, then turned its sunken eyes straight at him.

It took a step, boots of its own cobbled from scraps of leather, the axe dragging a small trench through the dirt behind it.

Theodore tightened his grip on his blade, exhaled through his nose to steady the tick in his ribs.

He didn’t back up, there was no point. Backing up meant giving the thing space to swing wide.

Better to stay close enough to keep it guessing, close enough that every swing had to work around the same trees and roots he’d been using all this time.

It made the first move with that lurching aggression he’d come to expect. The axe rose, then came down in a heavy diagonal chop meant to split him shoulder to hip.

Theodore pivoted to the right, sliding his back foot along the packed soil while the blade in his hand came up to meet the shaft of the axe, catching it just below the head.

The jolt rattled his elbow, bones knocking together for a millisecond before he slipped out of the pressure, turning his body sideways so the hobgoblin’s swing bit into the stump behind him instead of bone.

The mini-boss snarled, breath steaming from the gaps in its rusted helmet. It wrenched the axe free with a metallic screech, swinging backhand across its own body in a short, savage arc.

Theodore stepped in instead of back, the blade in his right hand slicing low across the tendon just above the creature’s knee. He felt the edge catch and break through, felt the hobgoblin’s bellow split the hush of the trees.

It staggered, leg buckling inward as it swung again in blind rage.

This time the blow went wide, the momentum pulling its shoulders open just enough.

Theodore shifted again, boots finding a clean patch of ground as he ducked under the swing.

He buried the point of his blade up under the goblin’s arm where the armor gapped, drove it deep enough to feel the shudder through the hilt.

The creature’s bulk sagged forward, breath rattling once before it dropped face-first into the dirt at his feet.

Theodore pressed his boot to its side, twisting the blade free with one clean pull. He kept his grip tight for another few seconds, listening for any shuffle in the brush, any breath that wasn’t his own.

But just to be sure, he stabbed the creature right in the head.

He wiped the blade on a thick tuft of moss, dragging it slow to clear the grime from the fuller, eyes flicking up at the faint glow of the scoreboard projection:

"Wave 3 Clear. Theodore Prune — 52 pts."

’The next wave would be worse.’

As he thought that, he felt Lea’s note pressed flat against his chest where he’d tucked it — every heartbeat reminding him that this wasn’t for glory or cheap highlight clips, this was just what had to be done to keep her warm, fed, breathing easy in that too-small clinic bed.

***

Unfortunately, we’re gonna have to go back to a certain idiot. 😔

Zero (Lanz) put on his helmet, eyes barely visible through the cracked visor. He stretched his back and cracked his neck.

"Guess it’s my time to shine," he said, all cutesy.

End of Chapter 25.

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ALT SYSTEM — USER PROFILE: ZERO

Level: 10

EXP: 2 / 100

Next Unlock: Skill — Crimson Slash

Global System Tracking: DISABLED

World Rank Association: UNLINKED

Stats:

STR: 8 | AGI: 8 (Affinity) | VIT: 3 | DEX: 1 | INT: 7 | WIS: 0

[Available Stat Points: 0]

[Derived Stat — MANA: 35 / 35]

Skills:

[Phantom Stride Lv.1] (Active Skill)

[Blade Control Lv.1]

[Parry Timing Lv.1]

[Reflex Sync Lv.1] (Passive Skill)

[Combat Awareness Lv.2] (Passive Skill)

[Skill Fusion Menu: Active]

[Dev Tree: Tier 0 Access Granted]

[Developer Node – Fusion Core Anchor: Active]

[Skill Slot Available — Unassigned]

Equipment:

Aged Blade Fragment (??? Rarity) (Bound)

Goblin Dagger

Spiked Boar Tusk Shard

Lightweight Chest Padding

Boots of Basic Mobility

Fingerless Gloves (Basic)

Starter Cloak: Faded Black

Training Ring (+1 VIT)