The Kingdom Hunter

Stepping Out into the World

At first, Eisen Frank was puzzled for a long time by the old man's parting words.

With his less-than-stellar education, he only knew that "creative" seemed to be a compliment, but "die with eyes open" seemed like a not-so-good term.

The old man was extremely irresponsible when it came to Eisen Frank's education, to the extent that Eisen Frank could barely recognize eighty percent of the characters when flipping through some yellowed old books the old man left behind. As for understanding them, not more than half.

Even so, the old man forbade Eisen Frank from looking at his books, and for this, Eisen Frank often got beaten with the old man's stick. Only when the old man was passed out drunk could he sneak a peek.

The contents of the books were mostly terms like "cavalry," "maneuver," "flanking," and battle plans about transporting supplies, deploying troops on different terrains, riverbank battles, plain skirmishes, canyon ambushes, and so on.

At first, Eisen Frank thought these were war stories, similar to the legendary battle tales told by the traveling poets in town. But later, he realized there were differences. At least, the content in the old man's books was not as exciting as the stories told by the poets; in fact, they were quite dull.

Twice, Eisen Frank mustered the courage to ask the old man about them. The first time, the old man directly hit his head with a stick, making it swell for three days. The second time, the old man was drunk and didn’t hit him but kicked him over, glaring at him and cursing, "When I was leading troops, if I encountered a disobedient brat like you, I would have chopped him up..."

Alright, according to the old man's drunken claims, not only was he "once" a famous swordsman, but he was also "once" a general.

Was that really the case?

At least, Eisen Frank knew a general would never be so poor that he couldn't afford alcohol. And the old man could only afford the cheapest rye whiskey, which was not only spicy but also sour. Moreover, even that money was scraped together with difficulty.

"If he's a general, then I'm the Emperor of the Empire," was Eisen Frank's conclusion.

But... regarding his own axe skills, was the old man praising him or cursing him?

Fortunately, he didn’t need to ponder this any longer.

Because the day after saying that, the old man died.

According to the old man himself, he died in a very "creative" manner.

When Eisen Frank came back from chopping wood, he saw the old man lying on the ground, already breathless. He had died on the way—from crawling off the bed to the cabinet where the wine was kept. Unfortunately, he was too old and weak, and he died halfway there, with his hand still reaching towards the cabinet.

In this sense, the old man had a unique personality. Even the way he died was uniquely absurd. Because the old man didn’t know that the wine bottle on the cabinet was already empty—not a drop left.

Eisen Frank buried the old man.

He buried him behind their drafty shack, in a hollow on the hillside, dug a hole, and filled it with dirt and stones. But when it came to setting a tombstone, Eisen Frank encountered a problem—ridiculously, after all these years, he didn’t even know the old man's name.

Before he was eight, he called him "Dad," and after he was eight, he called him "old man." The townsfolk referred to him as "old drunk" or "old scoundrel."

Sitting by the grave for an entire night, Eisen Frank sighed, split a piece of wood, and carved a crooked line on it:

"The old man is buried here. May his soul rest in peace."

He ran to the town and sold the most valuable thing he had—the broken axe, getting three copper coins, and then used these three copper coins to buy a bottle of wine.

A bottle of wine for three copper coins was undoubtedly the most "high-end" wine Eisen Frank had ever bought.

But he poured this bottle of wine on the old man's grave, watching as the wine soaked into the soil, not taking a single sip himself.

At daybreak, Eisen Frank, frozen stiff, finally stood up. He stood in front of the grave, looking at that wooden marker, with a look in his eyes that was hard to describe.

"Alright, old man, you're gone. Now it's just me left."

The first problem to solve is filling his stomach.

Although he was considered a professional hunter—no, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was the best hunter within a few hundred miles.

At thirteen, he went up the mountain alone to chop wood and used his worn axe to kill a hungry bloodthirsty wolf—a low-level magical beast that lived on the Wildfire Plains. When in attack mode, its fur could become harder than a tortoise shell, its teeth could snap a hunter's spear, and it was incredibly agile.

But that time, Eisen Frank chopped off the wolf’s head with just one swing of his axe.

Just a light swing.

In fact, thirteen-year-old Eisen Frank was almost scared to wet his pants. When the wolf lunged at him, he nearly lost consciousness, instinctively swinging his axe as he had practiced hundreds of times before.

Then... he felt warm blood splash onto his face. When he opened his eyes, a snarling wolf head lay on the ground in front of him, severed at the neck, and the body lay behind him.

He stared at the scene for a while before coming to his senses, then excitement overwhelmed him.

So... I'm this strong already?!

But when he carried the wolf carcass back and excitedly told the old man, the old man was not pleased. He was unhappy for two reasons. The first was: "If you can't even kill a little wolf after all this practice, you might as well smash your head on a block of tofu and die."

The second reason was the real cause of his anger:"You i***t, don't you know that chopping off the wolf's head makes the fur worthless?! That wolf pelt could've fetched two silver coins, enough for us to drink for three months! Now it’s worth less than a tenth of that!

The old man was right.

When Eisen Frank took the wolf to town, many people showed interest, but as soon as they saw the damaged pelt, they lost interest.

As a result, the wolf pelt never sold. Eisen Frank ended up making a fur coat for himself, and he and the old man ate wolf meat for several days.

Ugh... can't think about wolf meat anymore.

Although the bloodthirsty wolf’s meat was tough and had a sour stench, for the now starving and freezing Eisen Frank, it was a torture to resist.

But Eisen Frank decided not to go hunting.

He didn’t want to be a hunter.

Young people always have many fantasies; he wanted to venture out.

At least... in his view, finding a laborer’s job in town was far better than staying on the mountain and living a miserable life like the old man.

Go to town, find a job, even as a menial worker in a cart shop. Maybe, with my strength, I could be noticed by a mercenary group and become a low-level follower.

Despite his grumbling stomach and icy limbs, Eisen Frank thought with great ambition.

Without his accustomed weapon, the axe, Eisen Frank pulled out the blackened fire poker from the hearth, tucked it into his belt, donned his wolf fur coat full of holes, slipped on his almost worn-out straw shoes, and, filled with hope, walked down the mountain.

This was Eisen Frank’s first step towards the outside world!

According to the legendary tales told by those traveling poets, this should be called “the wheels of history beginning to turn.”

However, as our protagonist descended the mountain, there was no "wheel" of any sort. His shoes wore through, and he was so hungry he felt dizzy and faint.