Chapter 36 - The Side Effects of Becoming Official

Etzel discovered the first problem with becoming an official Hunter approximately eleven seconds after waking up.

His communicator would not stop vibrating.

He opened one eye. Vibration. Closed it. Vibration. Opened both. Three more notifications arrived.

Etzel stared at the ceiling. “No.”

The communicator vibrated again. Somewhere inside Soul Space, DK’s presence shifted. Awake. Aware. Judgmental. Etzel could feel it.

“You’re not even manifested,” he muttered.

DK’s voice reached him through the Soul Link. “You are ignoring something.”

“I am protecting my peace.”

“Poorly.”

Another vibration. Etzel grabbed the communicator. Twenty-seven notifications. He stared.

“Why?”

Hunter Registry confirmation. Three automated mission recommendations. Two dungeon team invitations. One equipment vendor advertisement. Four material purchase requests. A regional bounty notice. Seven messages from unknown Hunter accounts. Three social network tags. Two missed calls.

And—Etzel narrowed his eyes. One message from Neris.

He opened that first.

Neris: D-Rank.

Etzel stared. Then typed.

Etzel: You live downstairs.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Neris: Still D-Rank.

Etzel closed the conversation. “This family has become hostile.”

DK answered through the bond. “You are D-Rank.”

Etzel sat up. “You too?”

“Objectively.”

“You’re supposed to be emotionally supportive.”

“I blocked an A-Rank attack for your sister.”

“That was physically supportive.”

A soft pulse of amusement came through the Soul Link. Not DK. Saeva. Etzel looked toward the invisible Soul Space. “You’re both terrible.”

He finally got out of bed. Official Hunter life had begun. Apparently with harassment.

Breakfast was worse. Neris had Etzel’s Hunter card. He did not remember giving it to her. That concerned him. She held it between two fingers and read aloud.

“Etzel Deymar. Registered Hunter. Rank D. Level Twelve.”

Etzel reached for it. She pulled it away. “Give me that.”

“Primary Ability: Limited Necromancer.”

“Neris.”

She turned the card over. “Nothing on the back.”

“Very insightful.”

Ismera placed food on the table. “You’re not going anywhere today.”

Etzel paused. “I didn’t say I was.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“That feels invasive.”

Veydan drank from his cup. “She’s right.”

Etzel looked around. “This house has become authoritarian.”

Neris finally handed the card back. “You survived one day as a registered Hunter.”

“Technically not even a full day.”

“Impressive.”

Etzel slipped the card into his pocket. “I’m going to remember this when I become famous.”

Neris looked at him. “You already are.”

Etzel stopped. That sounded wrong. “What?”

Neris picked up her communicator. Tapped. Turned the screen toward him. A video was playing. DK. Silver armor. Broken shield. Infernal Dreadwarden. Etzel watched the moment DK took the full burning strike. The shield shattered. The clip ended. Then another began. DK driving the broken sword into the creature’s chest. Another. The black Infernal Sovereign Set forming around him. Red eyes. Hellscript Greatblade.

The title above the compilation read: D-RANK HUNTER’S A-RANK SUMMON STOPS PICNIC MASSACRE

Etzel stared. Neris scrolled. Another title.

WHO IS THE BLACK KNIGHT?

Another.

LIMITED NECROMANCER OR SECRET HIGH-RANK ABILITY?

Another.

A-RANK SUMMON CONFIRMED IN REGIONAL INCIDENT

Etzel slowly lowered the communicator. Then looked toward empty space. “DK.”

A pause. “Yes?”

“You’re more famous than me.”

“I do not care.”

“I care.”

“Why?”

Etzel looked genuinely offended. “Because I’m more handsome.”

Veydan coughed into his drink. Neris laughed. Ismera gave Etzel the expression mothers had perfected before civilization developed written language. Etzel pointed at the screen.

“This is a serious professional concern.”

Neris swiped to another video. The thumbnail was DK in full black armor. “This one has more views.”

Etzel stood. “I’m leaving.”

Ismera looked at him. “You’re not.”

Etzel sat. “Authoritarian.”

The humor lasted until he opened the Hunter network himself. Then Etzel started seeing the problem.

People knew his name. Not everyone. Not yet. But enough. They knew: Etzel Deymar. Eighteen. D-Rank. Limited Necromancer. A-Rank summon. Picnic incident.

That was already more information than Etzel liked strangers having. He scrolled farther. Speculation had filled the gaps. Some claimed DK was an inherited soul contract. Others said Etzel had hidden a second Ability. One thread insisted Limited Necromancer had been misunderstood for decades. Another claimed the video was staged.

Etzel almost preferred that one. Then he stopped. Because all of them were looking at DK. The armor. The sword. The A-Rank reading. The spectacle.

Nobody was asking about Witness. Nobody knew about the chest system. Nobody knew DK’s SS potential. Nobody knew Saeva affected drop quality. Nobody knew how Etzel’s progression actually worked.

His expression changed. Neris noticed. “What?”

Etzel scrolled back upward. “Nothing.”

“That’s your lying voice.”

“I have many voices.”

DK spoke through the bond. “You noticed something.”

Etzel glanced toward the window. Then smiled slightly. “Let them look at you.”

Silence. DK answered. “Explain.”

“Everyone is staring at the sword.”

“And?”

Etzel tapped the screen. “They’re not watching the hand.”

DK remained quiet. Then: “Useful.”

Etzel smiled. “Exactly.”

Neris narrowed her eyes. “Why do you suddenly look happy?”

“Professional development.”

“That sounds suspicious.”

“It usually is.”

His communicator vibrated again. This time the name made him pause. Sivenne Ordel. Etzel opened the message.

Sivenne: D-Rank?

He stared. Of course.

Etzel: Good morning to you too.

The response came instantly.

Sivenne: D-Rank.

Etzel: It does not become less true when you type it twice.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

A few seconds.

Sivenne: A-Rank summon. D-Rank summoner.

Etzel: I believe in team balance.

He smiled. Then the next message appeared.

Sivenne: I saw the video.

The smile faded slightly.

Etzel: Apparently everyone did.

Three dots.

Sivenne: DK’s shield broke.

Etzel stopped. Not the new armor. Not the black sword. Not the A-Rank kill. The shield. He looked toward Soul Space. He remembered the impact. Silver metal flying. DK’s arm dropping. Blood. Another message.

Sivenne: You okay?

Etzel’s thumb hovered above the screen. He typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Etzel: Fine.

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Returned.

Sivenne: You’re not very convincing.

Etzel laughed quietly. DK immediately spoke. “What?”

Etzel closed the screen. “Nothing.”

“You smiled.”

“People smile.”

“That had a cause.”

Etzel looked toward the invisible knight. “Would you like to go hunting?”

A pause. “You are changing the subject.”

Etzel nodded. “Excellent. Your social skills continue improving.”

DK did not respond. Which meant Etzel had won. Probably.

He reopened the conversation. No new message. That was good. For some reason—slightly disappointing. Etzel frowned at himself. Then dismissed the thought.

Maerin contacted him twenty minutes later. Naturally, her message contained no greeting.

Maerin: Evaluation completed?

Etzel: Humanity once invented hello.

Maerin: Result?

Etzel sighed.

Etzel: D.

The reply took longer.

Maerin: Lower than expected.

Etzel sat straighter. That was different.

Etzel: You expected higher?

Maerin: Your direct combat ability is inconsistent. Your judgment is not.

He stared at that. Then another message arrived.

Maerin: A standard Rank evaluation favors repeatable personal output. You rely heavily on adaptation.

Etzel smiled. There she was.

Etzel: Was that a compliment?

Maerin: An observation.

Etzel: Emotionally, I’m counting it.

She did not answer. Predictable.

Then Tessa messaged.

Tessa: Is Saeva okay?

Etzel laughed. Of course. Three people. Three priorities. Sivenne had asked about him. Maerin about the test. Tessa about Saeva.

He summoned the little Wispkin. Green light formed beside the table. Saeva appeared and landed on his shoulder. Etzel held the communicator where she could see it.

“Tessa asked if you’re okay.”

Saeva tilted her head. Etzel sent the concept through the bond. Concern. Friend. You. Saeva brightened. He typed.

Etzel: She’s fine. She is currently stealing my shoulder.

Tessa replied:

Tessa: Good.

Then:

Tessa: Tell her I said hello.

Etzel looked at Saeva. “Apparently you have friends now.”

The bond delivered clear satisfaction. Etzel sighed. “I’m losing control of this organization.”

The Hunter network was more useful than the social part. Etzel spent the next hour actually exploring it. The public system he had used before was shallow by comparison. Registered Hunters saw different information. Mission listings. Verified monster reports. Dungeon access requests. Restricted zones. Material markets. Team recruitment. Bounties. Wanted Hunters. Medical contracts. Core exchange rates. Insurance.

Etzel stopped at that. “Of course Hunters have insurance.”

DK answered. “People are injured.”

“People are also exploited.”

“That too.”

Etzel scrolled farther. A bounty section opened. Wanted Hunters. Violent offenders. Illegal dungeon crews. System-corrupted humans.

Etzel’s expression changed. He remembered the man from the forest. The Level Seven Hunter. The girl. The tree. Back then, turning him in would have forced Etzel into systems he had been avoiding. Now? He could report. Track. Claim evidence. Use legal channels.

Etzel leaned back. “That changes things.”

DK felt the shift. “What?”

“I don’t have to leave the next one tied to a tree.”

A pause. “That is an improvement.”

“Depends on the tree.”

DK ignored him. Etzel smiled and continued.

By late morning, curiosity won. Etzel went to the official Hunter market. Ismera allowed it only after receiving approximately seven assurances that he was not entering a dungeon. Etzel negotiated that number down from twelve.

He brought ordinary materials. Nothing too rare. Nothing likely to generate questions. A few claws. Two reinforced bone plates. Several monster cores. One Level Nine hide segment. He deliberately left the unusually high-quality Saeva-influenced drops at home. Not yet. He wanted to understand the process first.

The market occupied two floors of a converted commercial building connected directly to the Hunter center. Weapons. Armor. Core tools. Material counters. Evaluation desks. Everything smelled faintly of metal, antiseptic, and money.

Etzel approached a material counter. The evaluator scanned his Hunter card.

“D-Rank.”

Etzel stared. “Is everyone required to say it aloud?”

The evaluator looked confused. “No.”

“Good. Continue.”

The man began inspecting the materials. His expression changed. “These are yours?”

“That question has layers.”

The evaluator looked up. Etzel sighed. “Some.”

“Some?”

“My summon handled several.”

The man checked his file. Then paused. A-Rank summon. He looked at Etzel again. Understanding. “Right.”

Etzel smiled. “There it is.”

The evaluator finished the assessment. A value appeared. Etzel blinked. He had expected money. Not that much money. He looked at the materials again. Then the number. Then back.

“People pay this?”

“For verified Hunter material, yes.”

Etzel thought about the bag of loot currently occupying storage space at home. Then about Saeva. Then about future chest costs. Then about equipment. Then about dungeon fees. Then—

“Registration may actually be civilization’s greatest invention.”

The evaluator stared. Etzel accepted the sale. Economic progression. Interesting. Not as exciting as Level progression. But extremely practical.

He was leaving when Saeva became a problem. Not intentionally. She simply appeared. Etzel had manifested her because the market allowed summons and she disliked remaining inside Soul Space for long stretches. She sat on his shoulder. Tiny. Green. Obviously weak-looking.

A passing Hunter noticed. “F-Rank?”

Etzel kept walking. “Yes.”

The man glanced at Saeva. Then at Etzel’s D-Rank marker. “Limited Necromancer?”

Etzel stopped. Not because he was offended. Because Saeva changed. Only slightly. Her wings lowered. The emotional shift came through the bond. Small. But unmistakable. Embarrassment.

Etzel turned his head. Saeva looked away. The other Hunter had already continued walking. Etzel stood there. Something unpleasant moved through him. He understood. Saeva knew Rank mattered. Maybe not all the words. Not the bureaucracy. But enough. Comparison translated easily.

He crouched beside a quiet wall. “Saeva.”

She looked at him. Etzel pointed toward Soul Space. “DK.”

A-Rank. Strength. High.

Then he pointed to himself. “Me.”

D-Rank.

Saeva watched. Etzel nodded solemnly. “I am officially more embarrassing than you.”

Saeva blinked. Etzel continued. “DK: A.” He raised one hand high. “Me: D.” Lower. “You: F.” Lower. Then pointed at himself again. “But I own the paperwork.”

Saeva stared. No reaction. Etzel frowned. “This speech was better in my head.”

A feeling arrived. Confusion. Then—amusement. Her wings lifted. Etzel smiled. “There.”

DK spoke through the bond. “That reasoning was nonsensical.”

“It worked.”

“Temporarily.”

“Still counts.”

Saeva landed back on Etzel’s shoulder. This time closer to his neck. Etzel stood. He did not look back at the other Hunter. He did remember him.

Etzel returned to the Hunter center before going home. Not for a mission. That was the strange part. There were many. Too many. A few D-Rank jobs. Some E-Rank. Group contracts involving C-Rank zones. And because of DK’s registered A-Rank presence, the system had even surfaced restricted team opportunities Etzel himself had no business touching.

He stared at one. A-Rank Support Asset Requested. High payment. High danger. High progression potential. Old Etzel would have spent too long considering it. Current Etzel remembered DK’s shield exploding. He closed the listing.

“DK.”

“Yes?”

“For a while, we’re not fighting anything A-Rank.”

Silence. Then: “I agree.”

Etzel stopped walking. “That easy?”

“My shield was destroyed.”

“Good point.”

“My sword was also destroyed.”

“Another good point.”

“I was struck in the head repeatedly.”

Etzel grimaced. “You can stop listing evidence.”

“I had more.”

“I believe you.”

He closed the mission board. Strong was not immortal. Useful lesson. Expensive lesson. He preferred learning it once.

Then he opened the restricted convergence file. The humor disappeared. Nineteen dungeon structures. Regional migration. Energy anomalies. The central signature. Saeva’s description. Not alive. Not dead. Contained.

Etzel expanded the map. Now that he was registered, the data was better. Verified movement lines. Hunter patrol reports. Satellite overlays. Creature sightings. Time stamps. He studied them. Five minutes. Ten.

Then something bothered him. He zoomed in. A migration route bent around a sector. Not much. Maybe terrain. Another route did the same. Different species. Different day. Same region. Etzel opened a third. Again.

The creatures were moving toward the convergence center. But avoiding certain points along the way. Attraction and avoidance. Two forces.

Etzel’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting.”

DK sensed the concentration. “What?”

Etzel didn’t answer. He opened species records. Predators. Scavengers. Territorial creatures. Pack hunters. Solitary creatures. Different habitats. Different instincts. Yet the routes converged. And several curved away from the same areas.

Etzel waited. Nothing. No System notification. No—

Good. He still did not understand. Witness did not reward suspicion. It rewarded comprehension.

Etzel leaned back. “Not enough.”

DK replied: “Then continue.”

Etzel smiled faintly. “Very inspirational.”

“I was not attempting inspiration.”

“That makes it worse.”

Saeva had been sitting beside the map display. Quiet. Then Etzel touched one dungeon signature. She recoiled. Hard.

Etzel froze. “Saeva?”

Fear hit through the bond. Not panic. Recognition without understanding. Etzel moved closer. “This?”

He touched the marker again. Structure Seven. Saeva’s wings locked. Yes. Something. Wrong.

Familiar? Etzel sent the concept. Know?

Saeva shook her head. No.

Feel? Yes.

He stared at the marker. “DK.”

“I felt it.”

Etzel opened the structure record.

Last confirmed fourteen minutes ago. He refreshed. The marker flickered. Then changed.

Etzel straightened. “What?”

He opened technical details.

DK’s voice sharpened. “What happened?”

Etzel stared. “The dungeon disappeared.”

“Destroyed?”

“No.”

He refreshed again. A new official alert opened.

Etzel’s pulse accelerated. Saeva stayed close. One minute. Two. Then the alert updated.

Etzel stopped breathing. Another line.

The report attached the last transmission. Audio. Partial video. Etzel opened it.

Darkness. Stone. A Hunter’s breathing. Flashlight beam shaking across a dungeon corridor. Then a voice.

“Structure Seven interior confirmed.” Static. “The entrance is stable.”

More static. Someone farther away shouted something Etzel couldn’t hear. The camera turned. Empty corridor. No monsters. No corpses. Nothing.

The Hunter whispered: “Dungeon’s empty.”

Static swallowed several seconds. Then the camera moved deeper. A chamber. Large. Too large. Black marks across the floor. Something had been dragged. Or—

Etzel leaned closer. The Hunter’s breathing changed. “No.”

Someone asked: “What?”

The camera tilted upward. The footage distorted. The Hunter whispered again. “Not empty.”

Static. A shape moved beyond the light. Too fast to identify. The Hunter’s voice dropped. “Something came out.”

The image vanished.

Silence. Etzel stared at the dead screen. Saeva’s fear remained in the bond.

DK spoke. “Etzel.”

“Yes.”

“I suspect your plan to avoid A-Rank threats may not last.”

Etzel did not smile. “Maybe.”

He closed the video. Then reopened the investigation team file. Names. Ranks. Last known positions. Entry time. Mission route. Everything he could access.

DK noticed. “You intend to go?”

Etzel shook his head. “Not yet.”

That answer surprised both of them. Etzel looked at the map again. At Structure Seven. At the missing team. At the bending migration routes. At whatever the monsters were avoiding.

“We know too little.”

DK was quiet. Then: “Good.”

Etzel glanced toward Soul Space. “There’s that word again.”

This time—he didn’t complain.

For the first time since becoming a Hunter, Etzel had access to the truth. The problem was that the truth had started disappearing with the people who found it.

END OF CHAPTER 36