Daily quests done, Dilin returned to his temporary dorm from the library. He threw on the coat hanging on the door and grabbed the shoddy firearm before stepping out.

Bored, he also finished his weekly quest. It only gave two tokens, but spare change was better than nothing.

Dilin held two keys: one from the academy for himself, another for Tilisha.

The temporary dorm split into boys' and girls' sections. Residents were probationary freshmen—not even official students yet. With no dorm supervisors, Dilin avoided the hassle of pretending to be two people shuttling between rooms.

The firearm hanging on the door was Dilin’s only reliable weapon. He’d spent his last coins buying this secondhand, knockoff piece from a street stall.

Firearms were human inventions meant to replace bows and arrows. But here, gunpowder ingredients differed wildly from his old world.

Dilin had skimmed the basics—complex magic made it messy.

In this world of real magic, firearms couldn’t rival their old-world status. Most nations ignored them. Gunpowder recipes were convoluted, and after generations of tweaks, progress stalled.

Dilin figured the core issue: firearms were weaker here. Compared to magic or alchemical explosives, they underperformed yet cost more. No leader would fund such a dead-end weapon, though some human armies still used them.

Merchants rarely sold firearms—not because it was illegal, but because everyone looked down on them.

Unlike swords, bows, or spears, firearms were easy to pick up but impossible to master.

It felt like, "I play technical heroes—I despise your mindless button-mashing."

But Dilin was different. As an outsider, he adored their aesthetic.

The metal barrel. The rugged wooden stock. Wasn’t that cool?

Though weakened here, firearms were simple. A few shots taught you the basics—no fancy moves needed.

Dilin loved uncomplicated weapons. Aim. Pull the trigger. Weapons were for killing, not theater. Why flashy tricks on a battlefield?

Coat draped over his shoulders, firearm slung across his back, Dilin walked past Coleman’s grand stone gate toward Coleman Forest.

Coleman Forest marked the border between Rugrien and Caleburn. Caleburn housed the light races; Rugrien—the old continent—belonged to the Demonfolk.

In both human and Elf cultures, Demonfolk were deadly foes. Absolute enemies.

Demonfolk types matched Dilin’s guesses: goblins, orcs, werewolves, trolls—the usual suspects.

Dilin had never seen Demonfolk, only mindless monsters. He couldn’t judge their strength tier.

But whatever tier they were, they’d crush his pathetic combat level.

As a border zone, Coleman Forest wasn’t safe. Monsters seeped through. Occasionally, goblins appeared.

Dilin had heard rumors of goblin raids on nearby villages—women kidnapped. He didn’t know if it was true.

A few small monsters? His firearm could handle them. Past visits taught him monsters fled at the gunshot’s crack.

Dilin entered Coleman Forest.

“Hey! Where’re you going?” A youth grabbed his companion shortly after Dilin stepped inside.

“To kill monsters in Coleman Forest. Broke lately—gotta earn some cash.”

“You suicidal?” The other youth scoffed. “The academy just posted a notice: freshmen banned from Coleman Forest recently.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Who knows? Said low-tier Demonfolk seeped in from Rugrien.”

“Low-tier Demonfolk?? Goblins?”

“Probably not. Goblins move in packs. Just a few? Must be other types.”

“Seriously?... Why no warning sign at the forest entrance?”

“There was one! Right over—” The youth pointed behind him and froze.

“Huh? Where’d the sign go? It was here this morning!”

“No clue.”

...............

“Bang!” A sharp gunshot echoed. Smoke curled from the barrel. A gray-black rabbit lay dead.

A demon hare—a monster slightly larger than normal rabbits. Its eyes glowed unnaturally red. When threatened, it’d fake escape, hide in grass, then ambush with razor-sharp teeth. If you stopped chasing, it’d wag its stubby tail, chirping “ji-ji-ji” to taunt you.

A total trickster.

Dilin wasn’t fooled. When they met, he calmly lit a cigarette. Then, without a word, he shot the hare mid-hop as it shook its tail at him.

Fur blown off its head. One shot, one kill.

Clutching the Golden Chalice Butterfly, two tokens secured. Bonus: wild game meat.

Though sneaky, demon hare meat was delicious—perfect traveler’s food.

Gut it, roast over fire, sprinkle cumin. Crispy. Six times the protein of beef.

Whistling, Dilin expertly carved out the guts and blood with his knife, packing the meat.

Demon hare meat fetched good prices. He’d wasted a bullet killing it—no way he’d leave the meat.

Weekly quest done. Time to head back.

“Rustle-rustle............” Bushes stirred.

Dilin glanced over. He was surprised any monster hadn’t fled his gunshot.

He loaded a fresh round into the firearm. This weapon killed easily but was clunky to maintain. Single-shot only. Worse, his knockoff piece—passed through unknown workshops and hands—needed cooldown between shots. Firing while hot risked explosion.

Pushing aside the bushes, the view cleared. Bloodstains on the ground made Dilin pause. A towering emerald-green shadow blocked his path.