Zero System: World's Only Classless Hunter

Chapter 2

The torrential downpour matched the cold emptiness inside Eldon’s chest.

Rain slammed against the cobblestone streets of Crowcrest, soaking through his fine silk tunic and plastering his dark hair to his forehead.

Every step felt heavy, but Eldon kept moving forward.

He had nowhere else to go.

His feet dragged along the familiar winding path toward the noble district, carrying him back toward the Riftwarden estate.

Part of him still refused to believe it.

Ten years of tireless training could not simply disappear because a floating screen failed to show up. Surely his father would understand.

Lord Theron was a harsh man, but he was still his father.

He would let Eldon stay, even if only as a normal son who managed the estate grounds.

When the massive iron gates of the Riftwarden mansion came into view, Eldon’s heart sank into his stomach.

Two heavy-set guards in iron armor stood outside the open gates.

One held a wooden chest, while the other held a bundle of old leather straps.

THUD!

The guard tossed the wooden chest carelessly onto the muddy street.

The latch snapped open, spilling Eldon’s spare clothes and wooden practice swords into the dirty rainwater.

"Halt right there," the head guard called out, raising a gauntleted hand.

His voice held none of the respect he had shown Eldon just that morning. "Lord Theron’s orders. You are not permitted to cross the threshold of this estate."

"What are you talking about?" Eldon’s voice trembled as he stepped forward.

"This is my home. Let me see my father!"

"Look up, trash," the guard sneered, pointing toward the grand marble balcony above the main entrance.

Lord Theron stood on the balcony, framed by the bright glow of warm magic lamps inside the house.

He wore his heavy velvet cloak, looking down at his son as if Eldon were nothing more than a stray rat dying in the gutter.

Lady Vespera was nowhere to be seen.

"Father!" Eldon shouted, his voice cracking against the sound of the falling rain.

He wiped the water from his eyes.

"Father, please! The crystal made a mistake. Let me train again. I can still wield a sword! I can still defend our name!"

Lord Theron raised his hand, his expression cold and unreadable. He did not yell. His voice was carried by a minor wind spell, echoing clearly through the empty street.

"You have no name," Lord Theron declared, each word falling like a heavy stone.

"The Riftwarden bloodline has produced high-tier spellcasters and legendary knights for three centuries. We do not house defectives. We do not feed cripples who possess no stats."

"I am your son!" Eldon cried out, taking another step toward the gate.

"My son died on that stage today," Lord Theron replied without a single hint of warmth.

"As of this moment, Eldon is officially erased from the Riftwarden family ledger. Your surname is stripped. Your inheritance is void. If you ever use the Riftwarden name again, the family guards will execute you for treason."

"Father—"

"Do not call me that," Lord Theron interrupted coldly.

"You are an embarrassment to our bloodline. Take your trash and leave Crowcrest before I have the guards remove you by force."

Lord Theron turned his back on the rain, stepped inside the warm mansion, and slammed the heavy oak doors shut.

A loud click echoed as the magical locking runes activated, sealing the estate.

Eldon stood frozen in the pouring rain.

The guards sneered at him, slamming the outer iron gates shut with a sharp metallic clang.

"Move along, unclassed," one guard spat through the bars.

"You're getting mud all over the entry path."

Eldon knelt in the cold mud.

His hands shook violently as he gathered his wet clothes back into the broken wooden chest.

His fingers scraped against the bottom of the box until he felt something hard and metallic.

It was his childhood training sword—a plain, rusted piece of iron with a worn leather grip. It had no magic runes, no stat boosts, and no value.

It was the very first blade his father had given him when he was eight years old.

Eldon gripped the rusted hilt until his knuckles turned white.

He did not cry.

The tears had already burned away, replaced by a cold, dark hollow in his gut.