North took a deep breath and dropped down, his palms pressing against the cool earth.
"Push-ups. Should be simple, right?"
He lowered himself, arms bending at the elbows, and pushed back up. The first ten were fine. By the twentieth, his shoulders started to burn. By the thirtieth, his arms shook.
'Damn… how pathetic is this?'
He gritted his teeth and forced out five more before collapsing onto the dirt, his chest heaving. His arms felt like they'd been set on fire. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath.
"Alright… next."
Pushing himself up, he straightened his posture and started squats. Lowering himself, then rising, again and again. His legs felt fine at first. Then the strain set in. By the fiftieth squat, his thighs felt heavier. By the seventieth, his knees were screaming at him.
'How the hell do the hunters carry all that gear when just this is enough to make me feel like I'm dying?'
He tried to ignore the thought and kept going until his legs refused to cooperate.
Panting, he sat down for a moment, rubbing his sore muscles. The ground beneath him was damp, sweat dripping from his chin.
Then, without giving himself time to think, he stood and started jogging. Not too fast—just a steady pace around the clearing. His feet pounded against the dirt, his breathing growing heavier with every step. He had no idea how long he kept it up before his lungs started burning.
'Damn it… my endurance is trash too.'
But he kept going.
His mind wandered. 'I wonder how Noir's doing?'
That guy was always good at things like this. If he were here, he'd probably be shaking his head, calling North weak, then showing off by doing twice the number of push-ups without breaking a sweat.
North exhaled sharply, trying to shake the thought. 'Tch. Forget that guy. I'll catch up soon enough.'
After what felt like an eternity, his legs finally gave out. He fell to the ground, chest heaving and body drenched in sweat. The soreness in his muscles was unbearable, but strangely, he didn't hate it.
'At least… I'm doing something.'
Reaching for his slingshot, he weighed it in his hand. He had been training with it for a while now, refining his shots. Adjusting his angles. Testing his reaction time. He had even come up with new ways to fire—quick shots, curved shots, even bouncing them off trees.
'Was I always this good at picking things up?'
Maybe it was this body's natural talent. Maybe it was just him. Either way, he wasn't about to complain.
The hunter selection was coming up.
He had no idea if all of this would be enough.
But he wasn't about to stop now.
…
-few hours later-
North felt like his entire body had been trampled by a herd of wild boars. His limbs ached, his stomach was empty, and to top it all off, he had thrown up earlier.
'So, this is what training feels like, huh?'
After a quick bath and a much-needed nap, he finally felt human again. Clean clothes, a fresh mind, and his trusty straw hat sitting snugly on his head—he was ready to take a stroll.
The town was peaceful as ever. The streets were quiet and lit by the warm evening glow. The scent of fresh apple pie from the bakery, the chatter of old folks playing board games outside and the occasional bark of a stray dog—this kind of calm was rare.
'Maybe I should enjoy this while it lasts.'
As he passed by 'Mo's Rice Shop,' a small commotion inside caught his attention.
Inside, Old Man Mo was struggling to lift a heavy sack of rice up a ladder, probably trying to stack it on the already well-organized pile. His old arms shook and his balance wavered, and—
"Woah, woah!" North rushed in just as the old man teetered. He caught him by the waist, steadying both the man and the sack.
Mo let out a breath of relief as North gently helped him down.
"Old man, are you trying to give yourself an early funeral?" North sighed whilst shaking his head.
Mo chuckled, wiping his brow. "You've got good timing, boy. These old bones don't work like they used to."
At that moment, Mo's wife and daughter rushed in, their faces filled with worry.
"Mo, what were you thinking?!" his wife scolded.
"Father, you should've waited for me!" his daughter added.
Mo waved them off with an awkward laugh. "I had it under control…"
His wife wasn't having it. "Nonsense! North, thank you so much for helping him."
His daughter smiled. "We should reward you! How about a sack of rice?"
North blinked. "Wait, wait, that's too much—"
Mo's wife had already grabbed a bag, stuffing it into his arms. "Nonsense! You eat, don't you? Then take it!"
North scratched his cheek, feeling a little embarrassed, but he wasn't about to refuse free food. "Well… if you insist."
Just as the moment settled, the shop door banged open.
Two rough-looking men stepped inside.
One was tall and skinny, looking like a starved scarecrow. The other was short and fat and his stomach was bulging out of his ragged shirt. The fat one had the kind of face that made you want to punch it.
Mo's wife frowned. "What do you want?"
The fat one swaggered forward. "What do you think? The rice we bought from you—it poisoned my brother!"
He suddenly elbowed his 'brother' in the stomach. The skinny man clutched his belly and groaned dramatically. "Agh… the pain… it was the rice! Cough, cough!"
North raised an eyebrow.
'Are these guys for real?'
Old Man Mo narrowed his eyes. "I've been selling rice in this town for decades. No one's ever gotten sick from it."
The fat man sneered. "Are you calling us liars?"
Without warning, he kicked the rice bag North was holding.
North's body moved before his mind caught up.
"My rice!" He lunged forward, catching the bag mid-air.
When his feet hit the ground, he was suddenly standing right in front of the fat thug.
The man let out a startled yelp and stumbled backward, landing flat on his ass.
North looked down at him, unimpressed. "You got something against rice?"
The scarecrow-like thug swallowed. "Uhh…"
North sighed. "Alright, let's be real. Who put you up to this? Or are you just trying to make a quick buck?"
Before they could respond, Old Man Mo stepped forward, cupping his fist in a polite yet firm gesture.
"If it's money you want, I won't argue. If you really believe you were poisoned, I'll cover the cost of treatment at Granny Willow's Remedies. But don't cause trouble here."
The fat thug snorted, getting up and dusting himself off. "You think we're stupid? We're not falling for that."
His scarecrow brother added, "Yeah! You trying to trick us, old man?"
North exhaled through his nose. "Idiots."
He reached for his slingshot. His hand brushed against two pouches on his waist—one filled with rocks, the other with metal pellets. He had decided earlier:
For normal civilians, rocks. For real fights, metal.
With a flick of his wrist, he loaded a stone and pulled the slingshot back.
'Let's see how much I've improved.'
Before the fat thug could react, North fired. The rock zipped through the air—
Smack!
It struck the man right on the forehead. His head snapped back, and he let out a strangled noise.
"Urgh…!"
The scarecrow thug's eyes widened. "Brother—"
Thwack!
Another shot, this time to the skinny guy's wrist, making him drop the wooden club he had been reaching for.
North smirked. "Oh, that's satisfying."
The fat thug growled and charged. North sidestepped, sticking out his foot. The man tripped, landing face-first on the rice sacks.
The skinny thug, now panicking, threw a wild punch. North ducked under it, twisted his body, and—
Thunk!
—drove his knee into the guy's stomach. The scarecrow let out a pitiful wheeze and collapsed.
The fat thug, still dizzy from the earlier shot, struggled to get up. North didn't give him the chance. A light kick to the ribs sent him rolling.
By the time the dust settled, the two thugs were groaning on the floor, clutching their wounds.
A crowd had gathered.
"What happened?"
"Those two again? Didn't they learn their lesson last time?"
"Looks like they got what was coming to them."
"That kid took them both down? With uh, a sort of contraption thingy?"
Somewhere in the back, an old man chuckled. "Good work, lad!"
The two thugs, realizing they had no support, scrambled up and ran off, faces red with shame.
As the crowd dispersed, North dusted off his clothes.
'Well, that was fun and anticlimactic. Huh...'
At the corner of his eye, he spotted Borislav standing in the distance. The man watched silently for a moment, then turned and walked away.
North raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
With the matter settled, he took his rice and strolled back home, lost in thought.
'That was… weirdly fun. Those two were pathetic, but still, using the slingshot in a real fight felt different. Maybe I should start carrying more ammo.'
The night was creeping in. By the time he reached his home, his muscles were aching again.
But before he could enter—
He stopped.
Standing by his door was Abigail Harper, holding a basket.
She looked up at him, her face unreadable.
North blinked. "…Huh?"