Chapter 10: Into the Grasslands

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Into the Grasslands

Leaving the commercial market behind, Eric made his way to the western edge of Riverdale, where the fortified Dungeon Outpost loomed against the city’s perimeter wall. The complex looked like a hardened forward operating base, encased in blast-resistant ferro-concrete slabs, crowned with automated mana turrets, and guarded by armed imperial sentries in full combat rigs.

Eric pushed through the heavy hydraulic security doors and walked up to the central registration terminal.

"Good morning. I’d like to register for entry into the Level-1 Dungeon," Eric said, placing his bronze tamer crest onto the metal counter.

"Of course, sir. Scanning your credentials now," the receptionist replied, taking the badge and passing it over a glowing blue optical sensor. She glanced up, taking in his faded hoodie, bare forearms, and the unadorned iron scabbard at his hip. "Are you registering solo, or linking with an active expedition squad?"

"Solo."

The clerk paused, one eyebrow lifting in subtle disbelief, but she didn’t argue. "Understood. The gate containment field is cycling. You’ll be cleared for transit in about ten minutes."

"Understood. Thanks."

While the terminal processed his clearance token, Eric took a slow walk around the staging hall to observe the crowd.

The hangar-sized concourse bustled with veteran mercenary squads, freelance monster-harvesters, and corporate guild detachments. Seasoned Tamers clad in reinforced beast-chitin armor, runic chainmail, and tactical plate carriers adjusted the straps of their heavy blades and elemental carbines. Near the freight ramp, a six-man squad wearing matching navy cloaks embroidered with a silver wolf crest, clearly an established mid-tier guild, conducted synchronized equipment diagnostics before stepping toward the primary transit pads.

Discreetly, Eric narrowed his focus on the passing hunters and triggered his innate talent.

*Appraisal.*

Translucent azure status tags flashed sequentially across his field of vision. Most of the freelancers wandering the floor sat comfortably between Level 4 and Level 6 Mortal Grade, with a few veteran vanguard captains touching Level 7 or 8. Rarely did he spot anyone below Level 3, and not a single soul standing in the entire hall was operating at Level 0.

*Figures,* Eric thought, tightening the buckler strap around his forearm. *Normal novices spend weeks cultivating quietly in safe academy dorms to build a solid baseline before stepping through a dimensional rift. Meanwhile, I’m diving in at Level 0 with a budget blade and an empty wallet, betting my life on day one. Fun times.*

*DING.*

A chime echoed over the hall’s acoustic arrays:

*"Clearance verified for Candidate Eric. Proceed to Transit Gate 3."*

Eric navigated the security turnstiles, walking through the reinforced blast corridor toward Gate 3. There, anchored between two towering steel pylons etched with containment runes, stood a swirling, vertical rift of iridescent violet energy.

An Association gatekeeper stationed beside the pylon terminal looked Eric over, taking in his plain clothes, the light wooden buckler, and the lack of a chestplate.

"Listen closely, kid," the guard said, his voice dropping into a stern, no-nonsense tone. "This rift leads to the Tyra Grasslands. Most indigenous monsters inside range from early to mid Mortal Stage. With baseline starter gear and zero protective armor, a single solid strike will crack your ribs or sever an artery. Do not go chasing glory. If you lose track of the terrain or pick up multiple agro signatures, turn tail and sprint straight back to this portal. Understood?"

"Understood, sir," Eric replied calmly. "I appreciate the warning."

"Stay sharp."

Eric took a measured breath, stepped onto the elevated steel platform, and walked straight into the swirling violet tear.

*VUUUM.*

A fleeting wave of weightlessness pulled at his stomach, accompanied by a sharp static crackle and the distinct scent of ozone. Then, the fluorescent hum of the outpost vanished.

The world exploded into brilliant natural color.

The Tyra Grasslands unfurled beneath a pale amber sky. Waist-high emerald grass rippled like rolling ocean swells under a crisp, cool wind, broken by ancient moss-covered boulders and sparse groves of twisted ironwood trees. The air was clean, untainted by industrial exhaust and charged with rich, ambient mana that tingled against his skin.

Without wasting a second, Eric tapped into the spiritual core within his chest.

*FLASH.*

A dark runic circle ignited in the air beside his left shoulder, and a shadow darted out into the open sky.

*Caw~!*

Coal spread his glossy black wings, letting out a sharp, resonant trill as he caught the sweeping grassland updraft.

"Good to have you out, buddy," Eric murmured, reaching up to tap the crow’s bone-plated beak. "Time to go to work. Take high altitude, hug the tree line, and scan the perimeter for monsters. Flag anything that moves."

In hunter terminology, wild demonic beasts were referred to simply as *monsters*, a stark reminder of their predatory aggression.

*Caw!*

Coal understood the directive instantly. With two powerful flaps of his wings, the black bird shot skyward, circling fifty meters above the canopy to serve as an undetectable aerial scout.

Eric drew his iron shortsword with a clean scrape of steel. Keeping his round buckler raised to guard his vitals, he advanced through the tall grass, utilizing the natural terrain depressions and rocky outcrops to mask his silhouette.

Five minutes into the sweep, a sudden, sharp pulse of intent vibrated across the soul tether in his chest.

Through their shared mental link, Coal transmitted a clear mental snapshot paired with a precise directional lock.

Eric dropped into a low crouch among the blades of grass, his gaze sharpening as he calculated the bearing.

*Five o’clock from my vector... roughly two hundred meters out, tucked inside a natural stone clearing.*

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his shortsword, his heartbeat settling into a cold, predatory cadence.

*First hunt. Let’s see what we’re up against.*