Chapter 151: Hunting

The boy in the back yawned quietly.

“During the Paleozoic Era,” she went on, “it is said that a malignant being—the Anti-Life Entity—summoned a portal to the Abyssal World. It infected the creatures of the land, sea, and sky, twisting them into abominations.”

She turned. “But then came the Guardians—not knights in shining armor, but souls, transcendent and radiant, who descended to merge with humankind. Their essence became the spark of our evolution—the bloodlines that shaped civilization.”

Her voice deepened as if telling an ancient myth.

“The Abyssal Portal shattered—but its poison lingered. From its ruin crawled horrors beyond imagination, spreading terror across the surface of the mortal realm.”

“Argh, this history is so boring!” the same boy groaned under his breath.

A few students stifled giggles. The teacher turned sharply, eyes narrowing.

But instead of scolding him, she smiled faintly.

“In those dark ages,” she said, “every civilization survived only by the strength of their bloodlines. Magic, power, and sacred arts were the only walls standing between life and extinction.”

“Some bloodlines could transform—into eagles that soared above storms, or fish that glided through ocean trenches. But our bloodline…” She paused, her hand pressing to her chest. “The Thallerion bloodline was different. We wielded the rarest of gifts— the power to weave raw spirit into living weapons. Blades of light. Bows of flame. Shields forged from the very mind.”

The boy leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded.

“Blah, blah, blah…” he muttered under his breath.

“Some even bore supernal suits of power, armor wrought of their own spirit energy, amplifying their combat might to face the endless tide.”

Crinnnnngghhh!!!!

The bell rang.

” The class dismissed. Tomorrow we will have a quiz…just read the book in advance.”

***

“Xerxez,” the teacher’s voice cut through the chatter like a blade of calm authority. “Where do you think you’re going this time? Planning to escape again?”

“Ah—teacher… well…” Xerxez rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a sheepish smile.

“After recess,” the teacher continued, “our lesson will be on bloodlines—and why? Beyond the walls of Thallerion, you must never take form or name for granted. Out there, the people you meet may not even remain human.”

“Hehe… teacher, it’s bad to accuse your student of escaping,” Xerxez said with a nervous laugh.

“I heard you whispering,” the teacher said, arching an eyebrow. “You were planning to hunt in the forest alone. Weren’t you?”

“Who said that?” Xerxez gasped, pretending shock so exaggerated it was almost comical. Did she heard it all?

“Don’t act surprised,” the teacher replied, his tone sharpening just slightly. I know he is lying. “If you’re not lying, then answer me this—do you know why our bloodline struggles to awaken Orion’s gift?”

“My grandpa said…” Xerxez straightened a little. “He said the Draco Entity defeated our mighty Guardian.”

“Well said,” the teacher nodded. “But your answer isn’t from the archives—that’s your grandfather’s tale.”

“Anyway,” Xerxez muttered, gaze drifting toward the window, “what’s the point of reading all those books if we still can’t awaken the Thallerion bloodline? Knowledge won’t change what’s sealed inside us.”

The teacher’s eyes softened, then grew solemn. “Then listen—listen well to these verses.”

“The verse of Thallerion.”

Argh, History again…

[The bloodline of Thallerion lived with honor, sworn to shield the innocent from the ravening spawn of the Abyss. With the gift of Orion flowing in their veins, their ancestors stood unshaken, daring even to face the abyssal creatures that crawled from the deepest pits of night.]

[Yet while Thallerion held fast to their sacred charge, the world beyond fell to strife. Other bloodlines, blinded by pride, turned their powers not upon the monsters of the Abyss but upon one another. Kingdoms rose and fell as the strong colonized the weak, seeking to dominate rival bloodlines. Among them were the Draconian nation—descendants of the Dragon Constellar—who bore the dread gift of transformation, taking the form of scaled dragon-hybrids or soaring wyrms of fire and fang. Their ambition rivaled even their power, and in their shadow, countless realms trembled.]

[After countless centuries, Orion vanished without a trace. Some kings in Thallerion centuries ago claimed he had forsaken his sacred vow to guard the people of Thallerion, while other bloodlines whispered that he had been swallowed in a battle against the Draco Entity—a foe whose darkness could eclipse even his radiant might.]

[In his absence, Orion’s chosen bloodline faltered. Thallerion’s /heirs strayed from the path, their gifts dimmed, their once-pure legacy fractured. Yet within them, the ember of Orion’s blessing endured, faint but unbroken, waiting to awaken.]

[Twenty years ago, came the Cyprioxians. A people draped in faith and fanaticism, they were not merely rulers—they were zealots who bound the unseen forces of the world to their will. Through their prayers, they bent magic, suppressed natural talent, and shackled the very essence of ability itself. They believed Crux entity is a god, thus their doctrine was law, their prayers was weapons, their temples fortresses of power.]

[Where Orion’s blessing sought to uplift, the Cyprioxian creed sought to chain. They declared themselves chosen, proclaiming that no gift, no spark, no light could flourish unless sanctified by their god. And so, under their rule, the descendants of Thallerion were silenced, their inherited strength suppressed, their souls caged in a lattice of divine tyranny.]

[Even the last traces of Orion’s promise lay dormant, smothered beneath the weight of Cyprioxian dominion—a people whose religion made them masters not only of flesh, but of spirit itself.]

[The blessing of Orion still ran in the veins of Thallerion, yet the people had forgotten how to awaken it. Once hunters, fearless and unyielding, they had grown complacent. Behind their towering walls they cowered, convincing themselves that safety was strength, and that silence was peace. It was, in truth, a coward’s life.]

****

“And so, I—Xerxez Herzthroven, young prince of Thallerion—will not accept such chains! Goodbye!”

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done talking yet!” the teacher shouted.

“It’s recess!” Xerxez called back, already sprinting for the door. “My dream to be a hunter begins now!”

The teacher froze, exasperated. “That prince! He’s escaping again!” She slumped against her desk, half-crying, half-laughing. “My king, forgive me… I tried my best to keep him still—huhu…”

***

Somewhere outside of Thallerion’s border, near the river of Cirtax.

Today, he slipped beyond the palace gates, marching alone beneath the verdant canopy of ancient oaks. The colossal trunks rose like watchful knights, and the emerald leaves whispered in a tongue older than kingdoms.

“Beasts, abyssal creatures, entities, sorceries, guardians… what other mysteries did Grandpa leave untold?”

Yet even the vivid tales of abyssal horrors told by his grandfather could not quench the fire of his adventurous spirit. That’s right!

“I am the only begotten son of the Monarch of Thallerion. I was born in the Betelgeuse District. Mother said my name was passed down through our lineage — from my grandfather, Zerceux, to my father, Cerceux, and now to me — Xerxez. That’s our family’s naming tradition.”

His mother, Queen Xurien Wrez Herzthroven, often caught him sneaking away. She would scold him with furrowed brows and stern words, yet her reprimands always softened into song. Music bound them—mother and son—voices weaving together in secret chambers, their melodies carrying both laughter and lament.

“I’m sure my mom will scold me again if she found out I’m escaping again.. I’m sure teacher Lynzyer will report it to my parents.”

While his father, King Cerceux Herzthroven, looked upon Xerxez with a different eye. Where the Queen sought to guard, the King sought to sharpen.

Sometimes, in the quiet palace yard, amidst the statues of their ancestors, he trained the boy’s hands to steady and his breath to still.

Apples balanced atop stone heads became their quarry, a glowing blue arrows loosed with steady aim. Each strike was a promise—the promise that Thallerion’s blood had not run dry.

“But this escape… it isn’t rebellion — it’s a test. I’ll prove to my father that I am truly of Orion’s blood — a hunter born. His training will not be in vain.”

His steps fell soft against the moss-clad earth, muted as though the forest itself wished to keep his presence a secret.

Overhead, robins trilled their bright songs, their voices echoing like a choir woven into the canopy of ancient oaks. Chirp!!!

Every crunch of fallen leaves beneath his leather shoes marked his passage deeper into the green cathedral, where the air was damp with bark, soil, and the faint sweetness of blooming ivy.

Across his back lay a bow, its polished curve. At his hip rested a quiver of arrows, their fletching like feathers dipped in, whispering of flight and purpose. Yet the true weight he bore was not of weapon or quiver, but of destiny hidden beneath his royal-blue jacket and the simple white tunic of a boy still caught between dreams and the burden of a forgotten crown.

He traced the knotted branches above with eager eyes, as if the forest had laid out a map just for him.

Then he saw it: a faint shimmer, soft as dawnlight. Perched high in the crook of an ancient oak rested an ancient robin’s nest, its threads glinting blue in the dappled sun. His pulse quickened, a thrill coursing through him—this was the treasure he had come for.

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