Chronicles Of The Crafting Hero

Chapter 10: Whispers Of Home

Tyler noticed a break in the encircling logs, a gap that resembled a crudely fashioned gate. He paused, studying it. Walking beside Grone, he stole a glance at the older hunter. Grone's usual grim expression was softened by the afternoon light. "Grone," Tyler asked, his voice hesitant, "did you know you recently leveled up?"

Grone stopped, a surprised look flickering across his face. He hadn't noticed. The information seemed to take a moment to register, a slight furrow in his brow deepening before relaxing. Tyler, in turn, was surprised by Grone's surprise. He'd assumed that leveling up was something everyone was immediately aware of.

A slow smile spread across Grone's face, a rare and almost unsettling sight. Relief, perhaps even a touch of elation, softened his features. He muttered something under his breath, a quiet expression of satisfaction. "One more level," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. The weight of his usual grim demeanor seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment.

"Grone," Tyler began, his curiosity piqued, "do people not know what level they've reached when they level up?"

Grone considered this for a moment, a thoughtful expression replacing his usual grim countenance. "No," he finally replied. "Most don't. It's not a sudden, dramatic change. It's more of a… feeling. A subtle shift. You might feel stronger, notice a new skill emerging, sense a slight increase in your power. But it's not a clear, definitive 'Aha! I've leveled up!' moment. That's only if you have a skill like yours, Tyler. The Uncover skill. That's how you know for sure."

"Oh," Tyler said, "So where do you check your level then?"

Grone's expression remained unchanged, his usual grim demeanor giving little away. "Every hunter base has a rank assessment center," he said, his voice low and even. "Sure, there are larger, official centers in towns and cities, but each hunter base also has a smaller, more convenient one."

"Oh, okay," Tyler said, as they passed through the gap in the logs. He found himself in a small clearing, a collection of tents and small, roughly-hewn houses clustered around a larger, more substantial building. The scene was a curious blend of old and new. The architecture felt ancient, reminiscent of something from a historical movie—a simpler time, yet somehow not quite. It was a strange juxtaposition, a blend of rustic charm and subtle modern conveniences. He couldn't quite place it. There were no electric bulbs, yet he saw several lanterns hanging from posts, currently unlit in the bright daylight. The whole scene was perplexing, a curious mix of eras that left him feeling disoriented.

Then it happened—something he'd dreaded, something he'd known was inevitable. As people strolled past, their everyday movements somehow amplified by the strangeness of the place, Tyler's worst fears were realized. He saw them: hunters, clad in leather armor, swords sheathed at their hips, daggers tucked into belts, some carrying packs and luggage, all moving with a purpose that seemed both mundane and extraordinary. And then, the numbers appeared. Levels, floating like ghostly apparitions above their heads. Howard Tilton, Level 48. Ben Holland, Level 64. The names and numbers danced before his eyes, a constant, unsettling reminder of the system that governed their world, a system he was only just beginning to understand. The numbers seemed to multiply, a cascade of levels and names, a visual representation of the power and skill that surrounded him. It was exactly what he'd feared, and yet, somehow, it was even more unsettling than he'd imagined.

He tried to swallow, a sudden wave of thirst washing over him. He remembered the river, the water he'd drunk just hours ago. Now, the memory of its taste was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth; foul, almost sickening. The image of the creature flashed before his eyes—the horrifying scene by the riverbank, the dog, the swift, brutal attack. The unsettling memory lingered, a stark reminder of the dangers lurking just beneath the surface of this strange world. But the thirst had been overwhelming, and he'd needed the water.

Grone's voice cut through his thoughts. "You really don't remember anything, do you?" he said, his tone a mixture of concern and something else… curiosity? "I wonder where you're from." He gestured with a calloused hand towards a massive brown tent, easily the largest structure in the clearing. It dominated the space, a behemoth of canvas and rope, its size almost overwhelming.

They walked towards the large tent. Inside, a counter dominated the space, behind which several women bustled about, attending to hunters who approached with various items—hunks of strange materials, husks of unknown creatures, and other assorted goods. Hunters milled about, some clearly taking on new quests, others returning from completed ones. The scene felt strangely familiar, like a bustling marketplace or a busy office, yet utterly unlike anything Tyler had ever experienced. The air hummed with a strange energy, a blend of anticipation and exhaustion.

A groan escaped Tyler's lips, a sound of bewilderment. He heard another groan, this one sharper, closer. He turned to see a woman with fiery red hair, her face etched with concern, addressing Grone. "Grone," she said, her voice tight with urgency, "did you find the Venom Bloom fruit?"

"Yes," Grone replied, reaching into his bag. He carefully removed three Venom Bloom fruits, placing them gently on the counter. His gloved fingers brushed against something else within the bag—a soft, pulpy mass. He pulled it out, revealing a squashed, ruined Venom Bloom fruit. A frown creased his brow. He was supposed to have four.

"I… only have three," Grone said to Serena, his voice apologetic.

Then, a fourth Venom Bloom fruit materialized in Tyler's hand, surprising both Grone and Serena. A ripple of surprised murmurs went through the nearby hunters.

"You can have this one," Tyler said, producing a fourth Venom Bloom fruit. He was still wearing Grone's glove; he carefully placed the fruit on the counter beside the others. Serena's surprise was evident. "Are you a new hunter?" she asked, her gaze assessing him. "I don't recognize your face. Where did you come from?"

Tyler hesitated, unsure how to answer.

Grone stepped forward. "He's a foreigner," Grone explained. "Doesn't remember where he's from. I found him in the woods. And," he added, a hint of pride in his voice, "he's a mage-type hunter."

A murmur of recognition rippled through the nearby hunters. It was a known fact amongst them that mage-type hunters were highly skilled. Then, another voice cut through the low hum of conversation. "Gary?"

Gary approached with a confident swagger, a cocky smirk on his face. He enveloped Tyler in a surprisingly strong hug, clapping him on the back with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him. "Grone, old man, you're back!" Gary boomed, his voice echoing through the tent. "And who's this? Your grandchild?" He squeezed Tyler's shoulder with almost aggressive familiarity.

Tyler, increasingly annoyed by this unexpected display of affection from a stranger, started to question his own sanity. Was Grone really *that* old to have a grandchild?

Grone, his voice tight with irritation, pulled away from Gary. "He's not my grandchild," he said, his tone sharp. "And how could I possibly have a grandchild at my age? I'm not that old!"

"Who knows what kids are up to these days," Gary chuckled.

Tyler ignored him. Serena, reaching across the counter, announced, "You've completed your quest. Four Venom Bloom fruits. I'll take them now." She donned a pair of gloves before carefully collecting the fruits, wrapping them in a cloth, and placing them under the counter. Then, she retrieved a pouch from beneath the counter and handed it to Grone. Grone immediately put the pouch in his pocket. Tyler was surprised; he hadn't noticed any coins before, and the whole exchange happened so quickly. He turned his attention back to Gary, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension in his eyes.

Gary let out a boisterous laugh. "Wow, to think the old man actually finished a quest! It's been a while," he teased, his tone dripping with playful mockery. He nudged Grone playfully. "Probably had a little help from this little boy here," he added, gesturing towards Tyler with a grin.

Tyler bristled at the "little boy" comment. Gary didn't look that much older than him; the comment felt condescending. He was tempted to retort, but he held back. This was a new world, filled with people who possessed skills and levels he didn't understand. Making a bad impression here could have unforeseen consequences. He decided discretion was the better part of valor.

Grone, though outwardly calm, felt a prickle of annoyance at Gary's teasing. It was true; he wouldn't have completed the quest without Tyler's help. But the successful completion meant he was now only one level away from reaching C-rank. Level 50 held the promise of a new skill awakening, a prospect that excited him. He'd even made a side deal with Serena for a better payout, a secret he intended to keep. This C-rank quest, tackled as a D-rank hunter, was a significant accomplishment. He clapped Tyler on the shoulder, a gesture more forceful than intended. "Tyler, we need to go."

Gary's jovial demeanor shifted, replaced by a simmering anger. "Hey! Why you always ignoring me, Grone?" he demanded, his voice sharper now. As Tyler turned to leave, Gary's hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket from behind. "Don't you dare leave!"

Tyler reacted instantly, slapping Gary's hand away with surprising force. "Let go of me," he said, his voice low and firm.

Gary recoiled, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Oh," he said, a slow grin spreading across his features. "Tough one, huh? No wonder you finished that quest." He released Tyler, letting out a laugh that held a hint of unease. His eyes darted around; it was clear he'd noticed other hunters gathering nearby, their attention drawn by the commotion. Gary wasn't universally liked; while some found him amusing, many others found him irritating and avoided him whenever possible.

Tyler wondered where Grone was taking him. This place was entirely new, and Grone was the only person he'd spoken to at any length. He seemed alright, at least Tyler hoped so. But eventually, he'd have to venture out on his own. The thought filled him with a sense of unease; he had no idea what his next step should be, or even what he was supposed to *do* in this strange world. He followed Grone, his gaze scanning the surroundings. Then he saw it: a building with a peculiar sign—a goose carrying a fork and knife. A restaurant, apparently.

Grone announced, "We need to get some food." He pushed open the door to the restaurant, and Tyler stepped inside. The interior was as he'd expected: wooden floors, simple wooden tables, and people eating. But the food… was it food? It looked like chicken, beef, and other meats he recognized, yet somehow different. The aroma, however, was undeniable—rich and savory. His stomach rumbled; he hadn't eaten since arriving in this strange world, and a wave of intense hunger washed over him. He wanted to urge Grone to hurry, but he held back, following Grone as he approached an empty table.

Grone sat down and raised a hand to signal for service. A person approached, and Grone placed their order. Tyler barely registered what Grone said; the moment he sat, his mind drifted. He thought of Mike. What was Mike doing right now? Eating? At work? What *was* Mike's new job, anyway? Something health-related, he vaguely recalled. Mike had taken a course in health and something… He couldn't quite remember the details; he hadn't asked Mike for specifics.

The thud of plates landing on the table jolted Tyler from his reverie. Before him sat a steaming bowl of soup, a plate piled high with what looked like fried chicken—though somehow subtly different—and another plate containing boiled meat and a side of what appeared to be greens or salad. It was unlike any food he'd ever seen, yet it smelled incredible. Hesitation flickered across his face, but hunger quickly won. He was eating this. He had no choice; it looked and smelled too delicious to pass up. He might not recognize the exact source of the meat, but his stomach was already growling in anticipation. He was going to eat it all.

Beside the plates sat a spoon and a fork. "Dig in," Grone said, his voice gruff but not unkind. Tyler watched as Grone expertly speared a chunk of the boiled meat from the soup with his fork, the motion practiced and efficient. Grone ate with an almost unnervingly calm demeanor; it was impossible to tell from his expression whether he found the food delicious or merely tolerable. Grone's face was usually an enigma, a mask of quiet intensity that rarely betrayed his emotions. Tyler hesitated only a moment longer before following suit. He speared a tender piece of the meat from the soup and ate it. The flavor was an explosion—tender, juicy, melting on his tongue. It was both familiar and alien; a taste that somehow evoked both chicken and cow, yet was utterly unlike either. The texture was exquisite, almost ethereal. He couldn't stop chewing, savoring the complex, almost otherworldly taste. It felt like this sensation could last forever, but the insistent gnawing of his hunger spurred him on. He kept stabbing and eating, forkful after forkful, until his hunger began to subside.

He then tackled the salad, but the experience was underwhelming. The greens were intensely sour, far more so than sweet or palatable, leaving a rather unpleasant taste in his mouth. He set his fork down with a sigh, reaching for the water. The water was refreshing, cool and clean, though at room temperature. At least he was full. He glanced at Grone, who was casually picking his teeth with a toothpick—where had *that* come from?—his expression as inscrutable as ever.

Grone leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Nothing like a great slither, am I right?"

Tyler's eyes widened. Did he just hear Grone correctly? The image of a slither—a creature he remembered as resembling a snake, but lacking eyes, oddly wide yet short, and moving in a way that was utterly repulsive—flashed through his mind. Tyler had an intense aversion to anything that moved like a snake, an octopus, or a worm—anything tentacle-like. And he'd just *eaten* one?

He stared at Grone, who suddenly burst into laughter—a genuine, hearty laugh that Tyler had never witnessed before. The sound was unexpected and surprisingly pleasant. When Grone finally composed himself, he said, "I'm joking, kid. So, you do know what a slither is?"

Tyler sighed in relief. "Yeah," he said, "I faced a slither once. It wasn't fun. I thought I was going to die."

Grone leaned forward, his expression serious. "Do you remember anything before that? Before you came to the forest?"

Tyler shook his head. "Like I said, I was in my room… a place very different from here. Then, suddenly, I was in the forest."

Grone sighed, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He'd hoped for a different answer this time, some clue to Tyler's origins. "I can't help you anymore then," he said, his tone flat.

A fresh wave of unease washed over Tyler. "What do you mean?" Tyler asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Grone shrugged. "Well, I don't really know you, and I have to go. I need to get to another hunter's base to officially reach C-rank, and I have some… business to attend to with this money." He paused, then added, with a slight hesitation, "I need to get back to my village. Check on my family."

Tyler stared at him, surprised. He hadn't considered that Grone might have a family. "Oh," he said, the word barely a breath. "You have a family?"

"Yeah," Grone said, a softer expression briefly touching his features. "My wife, Lisa, and my daughter, Heather. She's three. I became a hunter to provide for them, you see." He abruptly cut off any further questions by rising from the table and heading towards the restaurant counter. He reached into the pouch and pulled out two gold coins. They gleamed in the light, catching Tyler's eye. He hadn't noticed them before; the gold was bright and lustrous.

The person behind the counter accepted the coins with a smile, muttering something that sounded like Grone's name, though Tyler couldn't be sure. Grone returned to the table, sighing. "A few more hours with you wouldn't hurt," he said to Tyler. "We should go to an inn. I need to drop off some things…" He paused, a thought occurring to him. "Actually," he said, a glint in his eye, "let's head to the ranking center first. Let's see what rank you actually are."