The Hunter’s Guide to Monsters - Chapter 114

Krow didn’t want to concede anything to that bastard, but there was an element of truth to Amonrei’s words on the superiority of seeking levels.

Every 10 levels, players gained the ability to choose class skills. Every 15 levels, a tier gap separated higher levels from lower levels.

Recommendations even in the future insisted that the Redlands newbie forge forward to Lvl 20 as soon as possible. Most guildclans generally recruited from Lvl 15.

Krow fought three players in the span of two days – of those, he only decisively won one and that was because the other was overconfident and had Common armors.

Those weren’t odds he liked.

Choosing to continue with his exploration and village quest system would be a mistake.

That was why he wanted a butcher apprentice..

Butchering monsters was massively time-consuming. If he had an apprentice, he could concentrate a greater part of his attention on hunting.

Technically, he could hire a butcher to do these things for him.

But hiring wouldn’t increase his butcher mastery.

He’d checked the forums.

Having raised apprentices to wright rank increased the chance of gaining a master-rank skill when a player promoted from first wright to master. It also speeded up subclass mastery.

Talebrech had been his apprentice for an in-game week now, and Krow had already advanced to second-wright rank as a butcher.

Of course, that might also have been the fact that they were taking advantage of Krow having previously scouted the locations of various monster nests and were going from nest to nest systematically.

In addition, Krow was now Lvl 15.

The other reason he wanted an apprentice tied into why he was notified of completing a quest he thought he’d ignored.

That is to say, indirect quest completion happened when different members of a party fulfilled the conditions of different parts of a single or parallel quest.

It wasn’t unusual for an NPC to accompany players or player groups on a quest.

But outside of specific quests, it was complicated. There was no such thing as a party invite to NPCs. And yet, according to a craftmaster on the forums, quest completion via NPC needed the non-player to be a member of the party.

Krow was extrapolating, as the craftmaster was talking about multiple non-player smiths assisting in making a large order of swords.

Apprentices and wrights in a workshop apparently counted as a craftmaster’s permanent party.

In the warmaster forums, there weren’t many posts about long-term cooperation with non-players.

Some tried, but gave up because players leveled up faster and the non-players couldn’t keep up.

The craftmaster forums indicated that it took 3-7 days for an NPC apprentice to learn a skill. Players apprenticeships mostly ended once the player learned the skill from the master, usually after just a day or two of chores and errands.

Talebrech, because of their schedule, gained the basic skill Skinner in four days.

Krow was fairly certain the rumors concerning the ‘brutality of his training methods’ came from how he brought the kid back to his parents exhausted and carried on Krow’s back all four days.

Which was why he was surprised when Hulach’s wife brought their younger son Atimur to request an apprenticeship as well.

“Do you even like your son?”

He was fast gaining the reputation of being a sadistic master, you know!

And each apprenticeship contract meant she had to pay 20 golden drax for her child to be tortured— trained, he meant.

She raised her brows slightly, silently chastising the inane sentence.

Krow cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. “Right.”

“Maga is a friend. She says Talebrech can barely walk but he is happy and enthusiastic.” She patted her son’s shoulder. “Atimur has little interest in herb-growing. Learning another trade would not do him disservice.”

Krow eyed the boy, who only looked back at him curiously.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” He started. More minions was always better after all. “But I hunt monsters. I cannot keep my eyes on them all the time, in addition to the many dangers.”

Thoughtful, she studied him, her gaze a bright silver. “If I recall, wrights are afforded two openings for apprentices.”

“Yes,” Krow sounded the word slowly.

Wrights could only have two apprentices at one time. Masters were limited to ten.

There was a look in her eye that was very firm. A steady silver gaze and dark scale pattern on her jawline, all inherited by the son at her side.

“If you can be assured of their safety, will you hold one of those places for my son?”

“Of course.” That answer, he didn’t need to think about.

She smiled and stood. “Then we will see you tomorrow, if that is alright?”

“…sure.” Warily, he watched her walk away.

That was the look of someone with a scheme.

He wasn’t wrong.

A day later, Krow ended up on the edge of the forest with two teenaged apprentices, three also-teenaged hunters, and one dangerous old mafmet.

The old mafmet, Ameleo, and his haphazard collection of refugee children had been offered a place in the village and had accepted.

The issue was employment. So that blasted village head just tossed the problem to Krow, who the older of the refugees would apparently ‘have many shared interests with’.

Since the three hunters were to a one glaring at him, Gysavur obviously had no clue what he was saying.

“Problem?”

“You’re the reason we lost.”

Krow hummed as they walked the woodland toward a monster nest. “Lost?”

“The fight with the farmers!” the lone boy of the trio snapped.

“I’m sure I wasn’t in that fight,” Krow stated.

“You made Gaven and Rurel scream like they were being gutted.”

The lookouts?

“Yes. We surprised each other,” Krow acknowledged. “None of us appreciated it, my eardrums especially.”

He glanced back, where Old Ameleo was conversing cheerfully with his apprentices.

“If you were in the fight, you—”

The mafmet girl spoke for the first time. “That’s enough. We have work to do.”

The boy looked like he was going to argue, but subsided of his own accord. He still sent Krow sullen glances every now and then.

“Have you hunted Glassmouth Moles before?” Krow asked.

They shook their heads.

“Ah, then look for…” Krow stopped, studied the tree beside him, then climbed nimbly. He wrenched off the chunk of unsightly brown mushroom and showed it to them. “For some of this. The scent is irresistible to the moles when crushed. Make sure you don’t touch the white parts.”

“Why?”

“You’ll keel over and die,” the boy dramatically swooned. Both girls planted an elbow in his ribs.

A worn gesture, it looked like something they were used to doing.

“I was going to say you’ll be scratching yourselves for days,” Krow corrected dryly.

They made baskets from the long grass and started collecting mushrooms, his apprentices and the old mafmet too.

Once they had enough, Krow brought out a large pot from his Travelpack.

He dumped the mushrooms into the pot, broke off the soft wood of a nearby fallen tree and fashioned it into a pestle. He started crushing the mushroom. “These are called goblinboot mushrooms. You’ll know why in a moment.”

He up-ended a cask of water into the crushed mushroom.

The cries of dismay at the explosion of malodor had him smiling.

“This mushroom is actually used in the creation of a number of cosmetic products, though mostly fragrances.”

“You’re making that up!”

“No.”

The oils of the mushroom were potent, the smell lingered in air for a long time.

“Now dig a hole in the middle of the clearing and we’ll pour it in.”

Glassmouth Moles had an incredible sense of smell. If a small chunk of goblinboot mushroom had fallen to the ground, there would be moles from a kilometer away competing to find and eat it.

Krow poured part of the concoction in.

“Not all of it?” the mafmet girl asked.

“There are three other clearings.”

After setting up the lures, they set up traps to prevent the moles from diving underground again.

Then they waited.

And waited.

A stomach growled, long and loud, followed by others.

The old mafmet chuckled. “What a thing, for hunters to grow hungry.”

As if to spite him, everyone started bringing out various portable food items. Krow crunched into a rime-apple.

Ameleo’s chuckle only grew stronger. He casually brought out a paper-wrapped packet. Jerky, from the smell.

“You! I thought those were all gone, uncle!”

“It’s always best to have an extra stash.” The old mafmet turned to Krow. He held up the packet of delicious-smelling dried meat invitingly.

His two apprentices looked up at him for permission, excited.

“They say mafmet cured meats are the best in the world.” Krow followed his apprentices to the old tree stump the others were using as a table. The hunters were already gnawing on their own pieces.

Krow snagged one for himself.

The meat created an explosion of flavor as soon as it touched his tongue, smoke and spices, salty, sweet, with a hint of bitter. He paused to savor the taste.

“Not bad.”