One year passed in the blink of an eye for Arin, yet the transformation he underwent felt like a lifetime. His body, once thin and fragile, had grown into something stronger, more resilient. The scars of his past, both physical and emotional, were buried beneath the layers of muscle he had painstakingly built over countless hours of grueling training. Every day, Arin had pushed himself further, testing his limits, perfecting his martial arts form, and meditating deeply to awaken his inner strength.
Arin's mental fortitude was now at its peak. Where once doubts clouded his mind, now clarity reigned. The book on magic, while still a mystery, had become a part of his daily study routine. He had absorbed its teachings, slowly but surely, integrating the ancient knowledge into his approach to life and combat. His body had grown leaner, more agile, his reflexes sharper, and his strikes more deadly.
Most importantly, his family—his mother and father—had recovered. The medicine, the sacrifices, the sleepless nights all paid off. His mother could walk without the burden of pain, and his father had regained some strength in his once-weak limbs. Though they still had a long way to go, Arin's relentless pursuit of bettering himself had allowed them to escape the crushing weight of poverty. They no longer feared the next day's hunger or the next month's medical bills.
With his newfound strength, Arin's hunting skills also grew steadily. At first, he had hunted small game: rabbits, birds, and occasionally a fox or two. His success in these hunts earned him a modest reputation, but his real breakthrough came when he faced monsters ranked above F. It started with a rank D creature—a Stoneback Boar. Arin had prepared for the hunt with his usual strategy, relying on his speed and martial prowess to outmaneuver the beast. The fight had been brutal, but Arin emerged victorious, his skin scratched and bruised but unbroken.
From there, Arin's hunts became progressively more dangerous. He began taking on rank C monsters—fiercer, faster creatures that tested his reflexes and willpower. He never failed. Slowly, as the seasons changed, Arin was ready for something bigger. He sought out rank B creatures, knowing that his goal was never just to survive. He needed to test his limits, to prove that he wasn't just a survivor, but a force to be reckoned with.
Arin's encounters with rank B monsters were harrowing, pushing his skills to the edge. But time and time again, he escaped without so much as a scratch. Each victory was a testament to his growth—a reflection of his dedication and discipline. In the eyes of his family, he was a hero. To the people in the hunting community who knew his past, his rise from beggar to beast slayer was nothing short of miraculous.
However, the rest of the world remained blind to his true potential. Many still saw Arin as little more than a beggar who had grown a bit stronger. The wealthy merchants and nobles, those who lived comfortably in their grand estates, sneered at his humble origins. They dismissed him, underestimating the depths of his strength and determination. Arin had no interest in their opinions, but the occasional glance of disdain from the privileged always stung.
One afternoon, as Arin was preparing for a particularly dangerous hunt, an unexpected figure appeared in his path. He had just returned from a trek into the wilds, his hunting spear resting on his shoulder. As he approached the village's edge, where the dense woods met the cobbled paths, an old man stood near the trees, observing him. The man was tall, his posture straight despite his years, and his face was lined with age, yet there was something in his eyes—sharp and calculating—that suggested he had seen more battles than Arin could imagine.
The old man's clothes were worn but functional, made for practical use rather than fashion. A faded cloak hung loosely around his shoulders, its edges frayed from years of use. His skin was weathered and tanned from countless days spent under the harsh sun, his hands calloused and rough from wielding weapons. His beard was a mixture of white and gray, tangled and long, and his hair, though thinning, was tied back in a tight knot at the nape of his neck. He carried a large, curved bow slung across his back and a quiver of arrows on his hip, each arrowhead glinting with a razor-sharp shine.
Arin stopped in his tracks, sensing something different about the man. There was no fear in the air, no sign of aggression, but a silent understanding between them—this was a man who had seen much, who had lived through the harshest trials, and had survived by his wit and skill. He had the air of a veteran, the kind who lived in the wilds and knew the secrets of the land like the back of his hand.
The old man eyed Arin for a moment, as if appraising him, before speaking in a low, gravelly voice. "You've been hunting out there, haven't you, boy? Rank B monsters... alone, no less."
Arin didn't flinch at the old man's words. He had grown used to people's surprise, though something in the old man's gaze made him pause. "I have," he said, his voice steady. "But I'm not here for talk. I'm about to head out again."
The old man chuckled softly, his weathered face creasing into a smile. "You're not just any hunter, are you? Most would have been dead by now, facing beasts like that. Yet here you are, walking through the woods like you own the place. I've seen a lot of hunters in my time, but you... you're different."
Arin felt the weight of the old man's gaze, the quiet admiration in his words. "I'm just doing what I can to survive," Arin replied, but his tone lacked the uncertainty of the past. He had grown stronger, more confident in his abilities, but also more cautious.
The old man's eyes twinkled with a mix of amusement and something deeper—perhaps recognition. "Survival's a good start, but it's not everything. You've got the makings of something more, boy. You're smart, you've got power... but you need guidance. You need someone who's been through it all."
Arin frowned, not used to accepting help from anyone. "I've got my own path to follow."
The old man nodded slowly. "Ain't nobody can walk their path alone, kid. Not if they want to get to the end. You've got potential, I can see it. But potential don't mean much unless it's honed. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. Maybe I'll show you some, if you've got the guts to learn."
Arin studied the old man for a long moment. There was something about him that spoke of experience—experience that could be valuable. He had no reason to trust the old man, but there was a glint in the veteran's eyes that suggested he wasn't someone to be underestimated.
After a brief silence, Arin spoke. "Alright, teach me."
The old man's smile widened, a knowing grin that spoke of a lifetime of battles and lessons learned. "That's the spirit, boy. Let's see what you're made of."
And with that, Arin's journey took another unexpected turn. The old man, a veteran hunter with skills forged in the crucible of years of experience, became Arin's mentor—guiding him not only in hunting but in surviving the harsh world that lay beyond the edge of the village.