Hunter Hero Chronicles
Prologue: The Forgotten Class
By Ghoully
I am Thorne Marshwalker.
A bit about me.
My Height: 5'11"
My Hair Color: Black and Slicked Back In Style
My Skin Color: Tanned
My Eyes Color: Green
My Build: Slender but toned (agile but strong)
And My Class….
A Hunter-Class…
That's the part most people never get past. The second they hear it—Hunter-Class—they've already made up their minds. I see it in their eyes. The way they glance, then glance away, like I'm a smudge on their vision.
See, in the world of Catastros, where monsters roam and dungeons breathe, your class defines your worth. It decides whether you're a leader or a liability… a blade to be followed or forgotten.
And Hunters? We're never first pick. Never front line. Never the legend in the tale.
We're just the ones who walk ahead so the rest don't die.
The World We Live In
I was born in the country of Roseland, a storm-scarred land rebuilt over ruins older than written memory. Our country stretches from frostbitten cliffs to ash-covered marshlands, bordering three kingdoms and five active monster zones.
Here, magic isn't rare—it's survival.
Everyone lives by the System—an ancient force we still don't fully understand. It judges your soul, your potential, your fate. At the age of sixteen, every citizen steps forward, touches the crystal, and receives their Class, Base Stats, and sometimes even a Title.
The moment defines you. Locks in your place. The poor pray for support classes. The rich expect elite roles. The rest… hope to not be forgotten.
In Driftwake, my home on the edge of Roseland, I grew up between swamp fog and poverty. My mother sold potions from an open stall—brews for aching joints, burnt hands, or failing crops. My father? A shadow with a bow. A tracker who only returned when the monsters didn't kill him.
We had little, but we had a roof, and stories. Stories of Hunters from the old days. Of men and women who could move faster than light, loose arrows that sang like wind chimes, and disappear before you blinked.
I grew up dreaming of becoming one of them.
The Awakening
On the day of my Class Awakening, I didn't sleep.
At dawn, the village gathered at the center circle. A single, ancient crystal floated above a pedestal, pulsing softly with the same light that powered the entire town.
The Seer called us one by one.
People cheered as the first boy—Kellen—received Sword Saint. He lit up like a bonfire, stats bursting through the air in glowing runes. The girl after him got Arcblade, a hybrid class that made the crowd gasp.
Then came me.
I stepped forward, palms sweating, throat dry. I placed my hand on the crystal and felt it read me—bone-deep, soul-deep.
It flashed… glitched.
Gold text flickered. Then white noise.
"Hunter-Class: Active."
And then… nothing.
No subclass. No bonus traits.
Just a title.
Silence fell.
"What, no 'Hero' attached to it?" someone laughed.
Another whispered, "Did his soul break the crystal?"
The Seer gave me a strange look—half pity, half curiosity—but didn't say anything more.
I walked away while the crowd murmured. My classmates laughed. Some even mocked a bow gesture at me, calling me "Arrowboy."
But I didn't care.
I had my class.
And that was enough.
Two Years Later
I trained on my own. No guilds wanted a Hunter without specialization. No trainers thought I was worth time. But the forest was always open. So I learned.
I learned how to move quietly.
How to shoot from a crouch.
How to kill without sound.
I spent two years mastering the art of being unseen.
And then, when I turned eighteen, I walked into the Guildhall of Ravencross to register officially. I expected a basic license. Maybe a D-rank quest. But what happened changed everything.
The guild girl was young. Friendly. She smiled when I handed her my ID shard. But the second she placed it into the registry crystal, her smile faltered.
"This… this doesn't match protocol. Hold on."
She tapped a few things. The display flickered, then reset.
And then, it showed something neither of us expected.
Subclass: Hermes Walker
Status: Mythic (Obscured from public records)
Skill Unlocked: Movement of Hermes
She froze. Her lips parted. Then, she whispered:
"That… subclass hasn't been seen in generations. I… I didn't think it was real."
I stared at the screen. My mouth dry. I'd spent two years believing I was nothing but a basic Hunter. Now I was something… else.
"Should I tell people?" I asked.
"You could," she said. "But I wouldn't. Not yet. They wouldn't believe you. Not until they see it."
The First Job
I took a starter quest anyway. Slimes outside town. Easy work. Or so I thought.
I walked out of the gates with my bow, three arrows, and a hand-drawn map.
I never reached the field.
Because as soon as I ran… I vanished.
No effort. No spell chant. Just speed.
I appeared twenty meters ahead, disoriented, bow already drawn. I fired on instinct—three shots, one after another.
Each arrow struck dead center.
The slimes dropped instantly. Not even a squeal. No damage to the surroundings. Pure, surgical kills.
I stood in stunned silence, the wind blowing past me like it was late to catch up.
Legacy Begins Here
From that day forward, I understood why the Hermes Walker subclass was feared in old records. Not for its power. But for its untrackable nature.
I wasn't fast—I was untouchable. I didn't fight—I ended fights before they began.
People still scoff when they hear I'm a Hunter. Still joke when I walk into a raid hall. Still snicker when I sit alone in the tavern.
But that's fine.
Because when the dungeon howls… and monsters rise from the dark… and warriors fall…
They'll look back, searching for the one who saved them.
And they won't see me coming.