THE DREAM HUNTER

In general, Rem Duncan is a complete “country bumpkin”.

At the age of sixteen, he had never left his hometown, and the farthest place he had ever been was Willow Fire Town.

Growing up, apart from chopping firewood and hunting, he took care of his alcoholic father every day.

His father’s name was Todd Duncan, a local homeless man. If he had to find a profession, he would undoubtedly be a “professional alcoholic.” As long as there is a coin at home, he will definitely take it to the town to buy wine.

After drinking too much, I started to disappear. Sometimes he appears in someone else’s pigsty, sometimes he falls asleep hugging someone’s tombstone, sometimes he falls next to a toilet full of feces and urine... You can never know his feet tomorrow. Where will it take him.

One night in the middle of the night, he unexpectedly climbed into the bed of an old widow in the village... The next day, the old widow cried and shouted that she wanted to hang herself, and Todd almost had his legs broken because of this.

Even so, Todd still didn’t learn a lesson. He even said that he would be a drunkard even if he died. Unexpectedly, his prophecy soon came true.

At noon that day, Rem was waiting at home for his hungover father as usual. It was not until two o’clock in the afternoon that he saw someone walking towards the house. However, the person who came was not Todd, and someone found Todd’s body in the river.

Todd always boasted that he was a famous swordsman when he was young, but Rem had never seen the old guy use a sword. The only thing in the house that resembles a sword is probably the blackened firefork in the furnace.

“Maybe in drunken dreams, dad is the majestic swordsman he talks about.” Rem sometimes thought.

The local bards who passed by would tell some legendary stories about swordsmen. Whenever this happened, the young Rem would listen intoxicatedly, dreaming that one day he would be able to wear a golden helmet and armor, and hold a sharp sword. , there is no opponent in the Zongheng battlefield!

He also asked his father to teach him swordsmanship, but the old guy who claimed to be a master of swordsmanship only taught Rem how to use one weapon-an axe!

Don’t think that it is a thunder battle ax made by dwarves, and don’t misunderstand that it is a double-edged ax wielded by pirates. In fact, it is the most common ax, the kind used for chopping wood. It costs sixty coins a piece in the blacksmith shop.

Todd very thoughtfully prepared eight round targets of different sizes for Rem to practice throwing. The targets were as big as wine barrels and as small as wine bowls. At first Rem was asked to stand ten meters away and throw, and later he was asked to hit the target accurately while running.

Todd also seriously taught Rem that the highest state of using an ax is not speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness, but the word “skill”. He even found a bunch of radishes for Rem to practice carving...

For ten years, Rem has been practicing chopping wood and shooting targets. Although sometimes he would inevitably suspect that his father’s “axe skills” were just a trick, Rem still didn’t give up.

This may be the best memory between father and son.

Todd’s funeral was plain and unadorned, bordering on shabby. Just like the man himself, it seemed as though he had never truly existed in this world.

Todd’s fate was unfortunate. He was laid to rest in the cheapest pine coffin, wearing a brand-new pair of shoes that Rem had saved up for two months to buy. The bottle of juniper berry liquor he held in his hands was all he had. The liquor had been obtained by trading in the worn-out axe, and the shoes had been a treasured possession that Rem had never worn.

Yet, Todd was also fortunate in a way, for he had the company of fine spirits even in his eternal slumber beneath the earth.

There was no sorrow, no fear, and in fact, no discernible emotions. Rem’s mind was blank, and he stood in front of the grave in a daze, until he was awakened by the hooting of an owl at midnight.

“Goodbye, old man,” Rem whispered softly.

Rem pondered all night whether to continue as a hunter or chase his dreams. After all, a person always needs to eat, and hunger is the greatest enemy of the poor. As a hunter, at least he wouldn’t easily go hungry.

Although still young, Rem was already considered an experienced hunter. It was not an exaggeration to say that he was one of the finest hunters within a hundred miles. Besides deer and wild boar, he had even single-handedly killed a lone Thornwolf—a type of low-level monster. In its aggressive state, its fur stood up like a hedgehog, and its massive fangs could snap a hunter’s spear in one bite. These wolves were usually found in the misty forests of the West, but one had unexpectedly appeared on the plains not far from Rem’s home.

Rem almost wet his pants that day. When the wolf pounced on him, he lost consciousness completely and instinctively swung his axe with all his might... When he opened his eyes again, the Thornwolf lay lifeless, its body severed.

Rem couldn’t believe what he saw. He stood there, stunned, for a while before snapping back to reality. Then, with great excitement, he dragged the Thornwolf’s carcass back home.

Surprisingly, when he returned home, his father Todd didn’t express any joy. Instead, he berated his son, calling him a fool for ruining the valuable fur!

Todd was furious and exclaimed, “Oh my God! Do you have any idea how much a complete Thornwolf pelt is worth? Twenty silver coins! Enough to buy me so much wine! You foolish boy, it’s now worth only a tenth of that! Damn it!”

The old man wasn’t wrong.

When Rem took the wolf pelt to the town, it instantly attracted a crowd, but when people realized it was a damaged pelt, they turned away. In the end, the pelt was sold for a mere two hundred coins.

Rem’s dream was to become a swordsman, just as his father Todd had boasted. That desire had never wavered. He wanted to wander the world, achieving great deeds. And when he grew old, he would return triumphantly to his hometown on a magnificent horse. He believed that was the true image of a man, rather than wasting away in this desolate town like his father. Hunting could fill his belly, but what future did it hold?

Sometimes, a person’s thoughts are like sparks splashing, once ignited, they become unstoppable. After a night of contemplation, Rem made up his mind to venture out.

“Even if I start as a laborer, with my strength, I won’t starve. If I’m lucky, maybe a mercenary group will take notice of me,” he thought.

Though his stomach growled, Rem began to imagine a brighter future. After rummaging through his belongings, he could only find the darkened firefork, as he had no axe left. It was the only “weapon” that wasn’t really a weapon.

Rem tucked the firefork into his belt and left without looking back. Apart from the two pieces of black bread in his pocket, Rem had nothing. He was unburdened and free.

Little did anyone know that this small step Rem took when leaving home would propel history forward by a giant leap! According to later minstrels, it should be called “the wheel of history rolling over a hard stone.” Yes, Rem was that hard stone.