The apartment greeted him with silence.
Sailor closed the door behind him, took off his sneakers, and stood in the hallway for a few seconds without moving. The hunter's card was in the inner pocket of his jacket. He could feel its weight, even though the metal weighed almost nothing.
He went to the kitchen, poured water from the filter, and drank it standing at the window. Outside, an ordinary city evening stretched on: the streetlights were already on, cars moved along the road, someone on the neighboring balcony was watering flowers. Life did not know that something had changed today. It did not care.
Sailor put down the glass, left the kitchen, and lay down on the couch without changing his clothes. He stared at the ceiling.
Hunter.
The word had a strange taste. Not bad, just unfamiliar, like new shoes not yet broken in. He repeated it to himself once more and tried to feel something ceremonial. Nothing came. It was simply quiet and a little empty, the way it always is when you do something important and then find yourself alone.
He brought up the system screen.
It appeared immediately, without delay, bluish and sharp in the dim room. Sailor looked at the lines and thought about how none of this had existed two days ago. Not the screen, not the card, not this warmth in his chest that had not gone away since the awakening.
[ Name: Sailor ]
[ Race: Human ]
[ Type: Anomaly ]
[ Class: None ]
[ Level: 1 ][ 0% ]
[ Strength: 12 ]
[ Agility: 10 ]
[ Constitution: 11 ]
[ Mana: 15 ]
[ Stat Points: 0 ]
[ Skills: — ]
[ Talent: Nameless Contract ]
[ Trait: Dragon's Will ]
There were still no skills. That did not anger him, he simply noted it as a fact. Everything would come when it came. Supervisor Korin had said the same thing in different words: anomalies do not develop according to the standard pattern. No textbook, no map. Just forward, and see what happens.
He closed the screen and closed his eyes.
He had taken his first assignment at the Association before leaving. The printout was on the table: a rank C tower, eastern industrial district, reconnaissance of the lower level. Not a clear-out, just reconnaissance. A partner would be assigned in the morning.
Sailor did not know who it would be. He hoped for someone reasonable. Not a hero, not an idiot.
We'll see.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
The phone vibrated around nine in the evening.
He was not surprised. Every week, almost to the day. His parents were creatures of habit.
The screen read: Mom (China).
He smiled before he had time to think. Accepted the call.
«Sailor!» His mother's voice sounded as though she had not called him three days ago but had not seen him for six months. She always said his name that way when she called, with an exclamation point, a little louder than necessary. He had long since grown accustomed to it and somehow was always glad. «How are you over there? Did you eat properly today?»
«I ate,» he said, though he had only eaten in the morning. «Everything's fine, Mom.»
«Fine is not an answer,» she said. «What did you do all day?»
Sailor paused for exactly one second.
«Ran some errands,» he said. «Took care of some paperwork.»
Technically that was true.
«What paperwork?» His mother immediately grew alert, which was also familiar. She would have grown alert even if he had said he was processing paperwork for a library card. «Is everything all right? Did something happen?»
«Everything's fine,» he said calmly. «Work stuff. Don't worry.»
She did not quite believe him, he could tell by the pause, but she let the subject go. She switched to his father, to news from Shanghai, to how the neighbors had renovated and now had a beautiful entryway, to how a local store had started carrying decent Russian products and she had bought buckwheat because she had missed buckwheat.
Sailor lay on the couch and listened.
This was one of those strange feelings that are difficult to explain: you are thousands of kilometers away from someone, staring at the ceiling of your apartment, and their voice is so close it sounds as though they are sitting right there in the kitchen with you. And you are simultaneously glad of it and feel something like a quiet longing. Not sharp, not painful. Just quiet.
«Dad, say something,» his mother said. She was clearly handing over the phone.
«Hey,» said his father. Brief, as always.
«Hey,» said Sailor.
«How's it going?»
«Fine.»
«Good,» said his father, and it was impossible to tell from his tone whether he believed it. Most likely not. His father rarely believed the word fine, but he never pushed. He simply remembered and waited. «Call if anything comes up.»
«I will,» said Sailor.
His mother took the phone again, they talked a little more about nothing, she told him to take care of himself and not forget to eat, he promised, they said their goodbyes.
The screen went dark.
He lay in the silence and thought about how soon he would have to tell them the truth.
Not yet, he decided. Let there be something worth telling first.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
In the morning he arrived at the Association at eight.
The lobby was full of hunters, more than yesterday. Some were picking up assignments, others were filing reports, a group in heavy armor was arguing about something near a map board. Sailor found the assignment desk and gave his name.
«Your partner is already waiting,» said the registrar. Then she remembered something and added: «And stop by the storage room before you head out. Room three, tell them it's your first outing, they'll give you a starter kit.»
«A starter kit?» Sailor was mildly surprised.
«For new hunters,» she said, already looking back at her papers. «Basic gear. Nothing fancy, but better than nothing. They give it to everyone on their first assignment.»
He nodded and went to find room three.
The storage room turned out to be a small space at the end of the corridor behind the staircase. Behind the counter sat an older man with a mustache and the bored expression of someone who had seen far too many first outings.
«First time?» he asked without looking up.
«Yes,» said Sailor.
The man got up, disappeared into the back of the storage room, and returned with a large canvas bag. He set it on the counter and began laying out its contents one by one, naming each item without inflection, as though reading a shopping list.
«Reinforced jacket, light protection class, holds against hits up to rank D inclusive. Tactical gloves. Knee pads. Boots with runic sole reinforcement, what size?»
«Forty-two,» said Sailor.
The man put one pair aside, brought another. He continued laying things out.
«Combat knife, magnetite-coated steel, effective against undead and dark monsters up to rank C. Runic lantern, does not drain, does not go out under magical interference. Basic first-aid kit: three restoration potions, bandaging material, a stimulant in case of loss of consciousness. And this.»
He placed a small rectangular tag on a chain on the counter. Dark metal, the Association's emblem engraved on its surface.
«Hunter's tag,» said the man. «A backup for your card. If the card is lost or destroyed, the tag confirms your identity. Wear it on your body, not in your pocket.»
Sailor looked at everything laid out on the counter.
The gear was simple, without unnecessary embellishment, without anything superfluous at all. A jacket with light plates inside, not the armor mid-rank hunters wore, but not just fabric either. A knife with a matte blade, a comfortable grip that fit the hand. Everything functional, everything real.
This isn't a game, he thought. This is for real.
The thought was obvious. But for some reason it was only now, standing at this counter and looking at the knife and the first-aid kit, that it finally sank in all the way.
«Sign here,» said the man and slid a sheet across.
Sailor signed. He put everything in the bag.
«Better put the jacket on now,» the man added as an afterthought, when Sailor was already turning to leave. «Not because of the rules. You just need to get used to it beforehand. New hunters who put it on right outside the tower move like robots for the first half hour.»
Sailor stopped.
«Thank you,» he said.
The man just waved a hand and settled back into his seat with the look of someone who had forty more of these conversations ahead of him.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
He changed in the restroom. The jacket fit snugly, restricted his movement a little at the shoulders, but the man from the storage room was right: better to get used to it now. He put the knife in the sheath at his belt. He hung the tag around his neck and tucked it under the jacket. He pulled on the gloves and clenched and unclenched his fists a few times.
He looked at himself in the mirror above the sink.
He looked like a hunter. Not an experienced one, not a strong one. Just a hunter. That was already something.
He went out into the lobby.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
A man in his early thirties was standing by the window. Short, stocky, closely cropped hair. The jacket was worn, clearly a working one, not for show. Two knives in sheaths at his belt, plain, without decoration. He was looking at his phone with the expression of someone who had been asked to do something minor and annoying but had found it awkward to refuse.
Sailor walked over.
«You the new one?» The man looked up from his phone. His voice was even, without hostility, just a statement of fact.
«That's me,» said Sailor.
«Max,» said the man, and he did not offer his hand. Just gave his name and put the phone in his pocket. «Rank B. I'm taking you on your first outing, not because I want to, but because that's what it says in my contract with the Association. Any questions?»
«None yet,» said Sailor.
Max gave him a brief once-over, lingering on the jacket and the knife.
«Starter kit?» he asked.
«Yes,» said Sailor.
«Fine,» said Max. Not a compliment, not a judgment. Simply noted. «Let's go.»
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
The tower stood in the industrial district behind some old warehouses. Sailor saw it from the road: a black spire rising above the flat rooftops, dark and out of place among the rusted gates and concrete fences. The Association's perimeter had been set up around it, orange cones and tape, with a small patrol a little further on.
The guard at the entrance checked their cards, nodded, and let them through.
They stopped at the tower's entrance. There was no door, or rather no doorframe at all, just darkness inside, dense and motionless, like a wall of black glass.
«First rule,» said Max, not turning around. «Don't go more than ten meters from me. Not because I'll miss you, but because if something hits you and you're far off, I won't get there in time. Understood?»
«Understood.»
«Second rule. If I say stop, you stop. You don't think, you don't look around, you just stop. Questions after.»
«All right.»
«Third rule,» Max finally turned and looked at him. His gaze was calm, without drama. «If you feel something strange, you say so immediately. Not later, not once you've figured it out yourself. Immediately. You're an anomaly, you might sense things I can't. That's useful. But only if you don't stay quiet.»
Sailor nodded.
Max turned back to the opening.
«The assignment is straightforward,» he said. «Reconnaissance of the first level. We note what's there, we don't go past the second floor. If it's clear, we leave, file the report, done. Tower C, the lower level was cleared out long ago, today we check whether anything new has appeared. Most likely not. But most likely isn't certain.»
He stepped into the darkness.
Sailor followed.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
Inside it was colder than outside. That was the first thing he felt: the temperature dropped about five degrees immediately, as though he had stepped into an old cellar. The air smelled of stone and something else, something foreign that had no ordinary name.
After a few seconds his eyes adjusted. The tower glowed faintly from within, the walls giving off a dim grey-blue light, as though the stone itself were slightly alive. The corridor went straight ahead, the ceiling was high, the floor was even.
Max walked calmly, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife, not gripping it, just resting. He looked ahead, occasionally to the sides, his movements practiced and economical.
Sailor walked just behind him and tried to breathe steadily.
He was not afraid. Or he was afraid, but not in the way he had expected. More of a tension, dense and even, like the feeling before jumping from a height. Not fear, but readiness. The jacket restricted his shoulders slightly, he felt it constantly, and strangely enough that helped, it reminded him that he was here, that this was real.
The warmth in his chest grew a little brighter. He noticed that.
The first monsters appeared about five minutes in.
There were three of them. They resembled people, but only from a distance: arms too long, heads set too low, movements jerky, like marionettes on bad strings. They stood at a fork in the corridor and did not notice the humans right away.
«Dark infantry,» said Max quietly. «Rank D. Slow, but if they get a hold of you, you'll know about it. Stay behind me.»
He moved forward without hurrying.
What happened next, Sailor remembered very clearly. Not because it was beautiful or dramatic. But because it was fast, and very businesslike. Max did not run, did not shout, did not make any elegant moves. He simply closed the right distance, the first knife came out of its sheath and found its mark before the monster could react. The second. The third. Twenty seconds, maybe less.
Done.
The bodies dissolved slowly: not blood, just a dark mass that settled and faded into the air like smoke.
Max wiped his knives and looked at Sailor.
«Alive?»
«Alive,» said Sailor.
«Good. Let's keep going.»
Sailor followed and thought about how his own system had not even had time to register the threat. The monsters were dead before he had understood that something needed to be done. The knife at his belt had never left its sheath.
I have a long way to go, he realized. That did not sting. It was simply a fact.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
The first level turned out to be clear. Several corridors, two halls, one dead end. Five more monsters, all killed by Max, Sailor stood alongside and watched and memorized. How Max moved. Where he looked. How he held his hand. How he chose his moment.
Once, Sailor actually managed to act in time. A monster came in from the side while Max was occupied with another, and Sailor reacted before he thought: the knife came out of its sheath on its own, the strike was clumsy and imprecise but sufficient. The monster fell back, Max finished it a second later.
Max said nothing. He only glanced over briefly.
Sailor put the knife away. His hands were not shaking, and that surprised him a little.
They did not go to the second level; the assignment did not require it.
They came out after half an hour. Outside it was sunny and loud with city noise, and that contrast after the silence of the tower hit harder than he had expected.
While Max filled out a short report with the patrol officer, Sailor stepped away a few paces and looked at the tower from outside. The same black surface, the same silent spire.
He removed one glove and looked at his palm. An ordinary palm. Nothing had changed on the outside. But inside, something had settled into place. As though he had taken the first step in the right direction, and now the road felt a little more real.
«Hey,» Max called.
Sailor turned.
«Next time don't hesitate,» said Max evenly. No hostility, no mockery. Just a fact. «You had three chances to move in and help. You didn't take them. I get it, first time out, but remember: standing and watching isn't a tactic. It's just standing and watching.»
«I helped once,» said Sailor.
Max looked at him for a moment.
«Once,» he agreed. «But you were holding the knife like a shovel.»
Sailor did not argue. That was also true.
Max nodded, put away his papers, and walked toward the perimeter exit. Sailor followed.
The system blinked quietly.
[ Experience gained ]
[ Level: 1 ][ 11% ]
Eleven percent.
He smiled to himself. A long road ahead.
That's all right.