The morning mist over the Iron Docks carried the sharp, familiar scent of woodsmoke, sea salt, and coal dust.
Kaelen Ashford sat on the edge of his narrow cot in the attic room, watching Nox sleep. The tiny black creature was curled into a neat, tight ball on his spare linen shirt, its tail wrapped snugly around its nose. With every slow breath, a faint, barely perceptible ripple of dark mist rose from its fur and dissolved into the air.
Kaelen opened his translucent System panel, letting the pale blue light bathe the dimly lit room.
[NAME: KAELEN ASHFORD] [CLASS: FAILED SUMMONER] [PRIMARY SUMMON: NOX (VOID-STALKER / PRIMAL DRAGON-HUNTER)] [PUBLIC COMBAT RATING: 1] [TRUE COMBAT RATING: 45] [EXTINCTION POINTS (EP): 125]
One hundred and twenty-five Extinction Points.
Yesterday’s haul at the coastal fossil pit had proven Kaelen’s theory. The System had erased thousands of ancient species from human memory, but their physical remains—their petrified bones, fossilized scales, and residual mana signatures—still lingered in the soil. To the rest of the world, those fossils were useless chunks of calcified stone. To Nox, they were nourishment. To Kaelen, they were currency.
Nox opened one golden eye, stretching its front paws forward before letting out a tiny, squeaky yawn. It leaped gracefully off the bed, landing on Kaelen’s shoulder with absolute silence—a seamless demonstration of its innate Silent Tread ability.
"Morning, buddy," Kaelen whispered, scratching the creature behind its small, triangular ears. Nox purred softly, a low vibration that thrummed pleasantly against Kaelen's collarbone. "We can't stay in the fossil pit forever. Garrick will suspect something if we keep digging around those old bones, and we need real money if we want to buy rations, gear, and proper monster cores."
If Kaelen wanted to earn a living without shoveling beast dung for copper bits, he needed access to the Mercenary Guild.
In the Kingdom of Solis, the Mercenary Guild was the backbone of local commerce and defense. They issued hunting permits, bought monster parts, posted bounty contracts, and regulated party formations for exploration outside the city walls.
Kaelen carefully tucked Nox inside the inner pocket of his thick canvas coat, leaving just enough space for the little creature to peer out with its golden eyes, and headed down the creaking attic stairs.
The Iron Docks branch of the Mercenary Guild was housed in a sprawling, two-story timber structure near the harbor, its stone foundations stained black by grease and river mud. Inside, the hall roared with noise—the clinking of ale mugs, the coarse laughter of veteran guards, and the harsh bargaining of merchants trading in beast hides.
Dozens of young summoners and mercenaries stood before the massive wooden notice board mounted on the back wall, scanning parchment flyers for entry-level extermination contracts: Goblin Scouting, Dire-Rat Eradication, Horned Toad Harvesting.
Kaelen took a steadying breath and walked up to the registration desk, where a tired-looking woman with graying hair was stamping parchment forms.
"Next," she droned without looking up.
Kaelen stepped forward, placing his copper-bordered civilian identity token on the wooden counter. "Good morning. I'd like to register for an F-Rank Novice Hunting License."
The woman picked up his token, pressing a small quartz crystal against it to verify his System record. A moment later, a pale red light flashed from the crystal.
She stopped stamping. Slowly, she raised her head, her sharp brown eyes taking in Kaelen’s patched trousers, worn boots, and pale face.
"Kaelen Ashford?" she asked, her voice dropping slightly.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Class: Failed Summoner. Primary Summon Combat Rating..." She paused, squinting at the crystal as if hoping for a misprint. "Combat Rating One."
A quiet chuckle echoed from a nearby table where four young men in leather armor were drinking cheap ale.
"Did she say Combat Rating One?" one of them muttered, nudging his companion. "Hey, isn't that the dock boy from the Awakening Ceremony? The one who summoned a feral kitten?"
"Holy light, it is! I thought the rumors were exaggerated!"
Kaelen ignored the whispers, keeping his eyes fixed on the receptionist. "I know my rating is low, but the Guild charter states that any citizen of legal age with a bonded summon can register for F-Rank perimeter hunting."
The receptionist sighed, leaning back in her wooden chair and crossing her arms. "Kid, the Guild charter was written under the assumption that an F-Rank summoner would at least have a Bronze-grade badger or a horned rabbit with a Combat Rating of fifteen or twenty. A rating of fifteen means your beast can bite through leather and kill a wild hog if you work together."
She pointed a quill toward the inner pocket of Kaelen's coat, where Nox's tiny black ears were visible.
"Your beast has a rating of one," she said coldly. "That isn't a combat summon. That's a house pet. If you step outside the city gates and run into a pack of stray Grey Wolves, your beast won't even serve as a decent appetizer. You'll die in ten minutes, and the Guild will have to pay a retrieval fee to recover your corpse."
"I don't need a retrieval team," Kaelen said firmly. "I just need a basic hunting pass for the outer clearings."
"No," the woman snapped, sliding his token back across the wood. "I won't sign your death warrant. Guild rules explicitly state that any summoner with a Combat Rating below ten must either be part of a registered party with a certified Vanguard or obtain a special guarantor waiver. Otherwise, no permit."
Kaelen stared at his token. "A party?"
"Go ask around the hall," she said, already reaching for the next stack of papers. "If any registered party is crazy enough to take a Failed Summoner with a one-rating beast onto their roster, bring their leader here and I'll stamp your pass. Otherwise, go back to the docks."
Kaelen swallowed his pride, picked up his token, and turned toward the crowded hall.
For the next hour, Kaelen walked from table to table, enduring every variation of rejection the Mercenary Guild had to offer.
"A party member?" a burly spearman with a Bronze-grade Iron-Claw Bear snorted, wiping ale from his mustache. "Kid, we're heading into the Whispering Woods to hunt Spine-Porcupines. My bear takes the front line, and our archer handles the ranged damage. What does your beast do? Purr at them?"
"I can scout," Kaelen offered, keeping his voice steady. "I know the forest terrain outside the South Gate. My beast is quiet. It won't draw aggression."
"Scout?" a ranger in a green cloak laughed, shaking her head. "A scout needs a beast with sharp scent tracking or high vision stats like a Wind-Hawk. A CR 1 creature has zero stat scaling. If a shadow-stalker sneaks up on us, your cat won't even notice until its head is off. Try the street sweepers' guild."
At another table, a group of young academy dropouts were recruiting for a slime-clearing squad in the sewer drainage channels.
"Look, Ashford," their leader said, offering a mocking, sympathetic smile. "We feel bad for you, we really do. Being branded a Failed Summoner is tough. But nobody wants a weak beast in their party. If you get hurt, our reward money gets docked for negligence. Nobody's going to risk their paycheck for dead weight."
Dead weight.
The phrase echoed through Kaelen's head with painful clarity.
In the eyes of society, a summoner was only as valuable as the beast at his side. Without a high Combat Rating, you weren't a partner—you were a burden, a liability, an obstacle to be avoided.
Suddenly, the heavy iron doors of the Guild Hall swung open, and the noisy tavern fell into an abrupt, respectful hush.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
A group of seven youth stepped inside, clad in pristine leather armor and polished iron pauldrons. At their lead walked Valerius Vance, his scarlet cape draped over one shoulder and his Crimson Flame Drake walking proudly at his side. The Gold-grade reptile was already the size of a large hunting hound, its ruby scales gleaming under the magic lanterns and smoke drifting lazily from its nostrils.
[SUMMON: CRIMSON FLAME DRAKE] [COMBAT RATING: 380]
"Grand Overseer's praise," a Guild officer greeted them eagerly, rushing over with a leather ledger. "Master Valerius! House Vance has already pre-approved your party's registration. We have a Silver-Rank Culling Contract reserved for you in the Northern Foothills—Gryphon fledglings."
"Silver-Rank already?" a nearby mercenary gasped in awe. "He hasn't even attended his first semester at the Academy!"
"That's a Gold-grade Flame Drake for you," another whispered with deep envy. "With a CR of 380, he can incinerate an entire goblin camp before they even draw their bows."
Valerius accepted the silver-stamped contract with a casual wave of his hand, enjoying the reverence of the room. As his eyes swept over the tavern, they landed directly on Kaelen standing alone near the notice board.
A smirk curled Valerius's lips. He deliberately walked over, his heavy steel-shod boots thudding against the floorboards.
"Still lingering around places you don't belong, Ashford?" Valerius asked, his voice ringing clearly across the quiet hall. "I heard you were begging parties to take you in. Tell me... did anyone offer you a spot as their official mascot?"
Laughter rippled across the tavern. Several mercenaries chuckled into their mugs, while Valerius’s party members grinned mockingly.
Kaelen didn't flinch. He met Valerius's gaze with cold, quiet discipline. "I don't need a mascot spot, Valerius."
"Clearly," Valerius sneered, leaning in slightly. "Because nobody wants a weak beast. This isn't the stable yard, Kaelen. Out there in the wilds, weak things get eaten. If you have any sense left in that poor head of yours, you'll go back to shoveling manure before you end up in a wolf's belly."
Valerius turned on his heel, his crimson cape sweeping through the air as he led his party toward the VIP counter.
Kaelen stood alone in the center of the hall, the weight of a hundred dismissive glances resting on his shoulders. He turned and walked out the door without saying another word.
The cool sea breeze outside swept away the suffocating stench of ale and sweat, but it couldn't erase the cold reality of his situation.
Without a party, the Guild wouldn't issue him a permit. Without a permit, he couldn't take official contracts or sell monster parts at the Guild market.
If the system won't open the front door, Kaelen thought, his jaw tightening as he walked down the cobbled alley toward the lower docks, then I'll walk through the back.
Twenty minutes later, Kaelen stepped into the warm, soot-filled interior of Old Bram’s smithy.
The old blacksmith was leaning over a glowing anvil, hammering a red-hot iron rod into a wagon axle. Sparks flew into the dark air with every rhythmic blow. When he saw Kaelen enter, Bram paused, wiping his sweaty brow with a leather apron.
"You look like a man who just got spat on by a noble, boy," Bram grunted, setting his heavy hammer down. "Guild give you trouble?"
"They won't issue a permit without a party," Kaelen said plainly. "And no party will take a summoner with a CR 1 beast."
Bram spat into the forge fire, making the coals hiss violently. "Idiots. Every single one of 'em. They look at a System number and think they know the whole world."
The blacksmith walked over to a cluttered wooden workbench at the back of the shop, rummaging through a pile of iron scrap and discarded toolheads. A moment later, he returned holding an object wrapped in oiled rag.
He tossed it to Kaelen.
Kaelen caught it. Unwrapping the rag, he found an eight-inch iron hunting knife. The blade was simple—thick-backed, utilitarian, and forged from leaf-spring steel—but the edge had been honed to a razor-sharp finish, and the hilt was tightly wrapped in grip-leather.
"Bram... I don't have the money for this," Kaelen said softly.
"Didn't ask for money," Bram grunted, picking up his tongs. "That was sitting in my scrap pile doing nothing. If the Guild won't give you a legal permit for the main roads, you go out through the broken drainage wall near the West Watchtower. The guards there are lazy; they don't check for hunting passes. The clearings past the West Wall are full of feral iron-beetles and stray dire-rodents."
Bram pointed a thick, soot-stained finger at Kaelen's chest.
"Nobody regulates unranked hunting out there, Kaelen. That means no Guild cut from your kills. But it also means no guards if you get surrounded. You bleed out there, you die out there. You sure you want to do this?"
Kaelen gripped the hilt of the iron knife. The dark, sturdy blade felt solid and balanced in his hand.
In his pocket, Nox poked its head out, letting out a soft, low growl that sounded surprisingly vicious for a creature its size. Twin golden eyes burned with quiet intensity.
Kaelen looked up at Old Bram and nodded. "I'm sure."
An hour later, Kaelen sat near the crumbling stone ruins of the West Watchtower, hidden behind a clump of tall, yellowing thornbushes.
Through a gap in the ancient masonry, he could see the boundary line—a rusted iron palisade that marked the edge of human civilization in Oakhaven. Beyond the palisade lay the vast, dark expanse of the Whispering Woods, a dense primordial forest where ancient trees stretched into the foggy sky like giant gnarled fingers.
Before stepping into the wild, Kaelen summoned his System interface.
[EXTINCTION POINTS AVAILABLE: 125] [ANCIENT BESTIARY — NOX (VOID-STALKER)] [AVAILABLE UPGRADES / BLOODLINE RECOVERY:]
[1. SENSE ENHANCEMENT: SHADOW SENSE (50 EP)] — Grants the Void-Stalker the ability to detect thermal, spatial, and mana signatures through darkness and obstacles within a 30-meter radius.
[2. PHYSICAL ENHANCEMENT: AGILITY BOOST I (50 EP)] — Increases movement speed and reflex response by 25%.
Kaelen didn't hesitate. "System. Purchase Shadow Sense and Agility Boost I."
[SELECTION CONFIRMED] [DEDUCTING 100 EXTINCTION POINTS...] [EXTINCTION POINTS REMAINING: 25]
A subtle, dark pulse of energy erupted from Kaelen’s core, flowing directly into Nox through their soul bond.
The small black creature stiffened for a second. Its golden pupils narrowed into sharp, vertical slits, and its fur rippled as if brushed by an invisible wind. A faint dark aura swirled around its paws before settling into its skin.
Nox let out a low, satisfied purr, flexing its tiny claws against Kaelen’s sleeve.
Kaelen checked Nox's updated stats:
[NAME: NOX] [SPECIES: VOID-STALKER (JUVENILE)] [BLOODLINE REPAIR: STAGE 0.2 (0.5% RECOVERED)] [ABILITIES: SILENT TREAD, VOID-CLAW, VOID ABSORPTION, SHADOW SENSE (NEW), AGILITY BOOST I (NEW)] [PUBLIC COMBAT RATING: 1 (ILLUSION ACTIVE)] [TRUE COMBAT RATING: 62]
A True Combat Rating of 62.
That was higher than most Silver-grade beasts possessed at Level 1. And yet, to the rest of the world, Nox remained a pathetic, worthless CR 1 cat.
Kaelen smiled—a cold, determined smile.
"Let them think you're weak, Nox," Kaelen whispered, strapping the iron knife to his belt and pulling his hood over his head. "The less they expect from us, the harder they'll fall when the time comes."
Kaelen slipped through the gap in the stone wall, stepping over the rusted iron palisade and sinking into the dark, damp soil of the Whispering Woods.
The city of Oakhaven faded behind him. The wild had opened its jaws.
And for the first time in his life, Kaelen Ashford was ready to hunt.