The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary - 06 - Developing a Pure Core

Hunting was nothing new to Thill.

During his days as a mercenary, the deep forests had become like a second home. He would often wander alone, moving silently through the dense foliage, hunting both animals and monsters to sell or roast by the fire. The nights spent under the stars, the crackle of the fire, and the taste of freshly roasted game became familiar comforts, even in the danger that lurked in those wilds.

For someone like him, hunting was as natural as breathing. A means of survival, and, at times, a reprieve from the noise of life.

Thill had mastered traps, snares, and all sorts of machinations to ensure his success in a hunt. But now, simplicity would suffice. He carried only a bow and a quiver of arrows—nothing fancy, just effective.

Kneeling on the grassy plains, his eyes caught sight of droppings. He inspected them closely, the scent and texture telling him all he needed to know. Alongside the droppings, a clear footprint of a boar pressed into the soft earth.

“Hmm, looks like it’s fresh,” he muttered to himself.

He traced the lines of the footprint with his fingers, then pinched the droppings, gauging the warmth. ‘…twenty to thirty minutes, maybe,’ he thought, wiping his fingers clean on the grass. The boar was close.

As he rose to his feet, his mind wandered back to the hunts of old. In those days, it wasn’t just animals he tracked. Monsters with hide thick enough to repel steel, or worse—those who could hide their presence, lurking in shadows, waiting for the slightest mistake. The satisfaction of bringing down such creatures was thrilling, though the risks were higher.

He grinned to himself. Today’s hunt was simpler, almost nostalgic.

Thill moved quietly through the tall grass, his sharp gaze scanning the landscape ahead. The rustling of leaves, the subtle sound of hooves against the dirt—all told him the boar wasn’t far now. He knocked an arrow, the string of his bow creaking ever so slightly as he pulled it back, his breath steady.

A low grunt echoed through the clearing. Thill crouched low, inching forward, his eyes catching the faint movement of a dark figure between the trees. The boar.

With a fluid motion, he aimed and released. The arrow whistled through the air, striking its mark. The boar staggered, letting out a sharp squeal before collapsing to the ground with a thud.

Thill walked over to inspect his catch, standing over the creature as it lay still. He placed a hand on the boar’s side, muttering a brief word of thanks—an old habit from his mercenary days. After all, even when hunting was second nature, respect for the life taken remained essential.

As he began preparing the animal for transport, Thill’s thoughts once again drifted back to the past. There was a time when every hunt meant survival—when every kill kept him alive for another day, far away from the comforts of home. The cold nights under the stars, the thrill of the chase, and the satisfaction of outsmarting both beast and monster had been his existence. Back then, hunting was not a choice but a necessity.

Now, it served a different purpose. The hunt grounded him, kept his senses sharp, and reminded him of who he once was. Even though his body had grown weaker with the passing years, there was a comfort in knowing that, no matter how much the world around him changed, the hunt—the chase—remained constant.

With a grunt, Thill heaved the boar’s heavy body, draping it over his shoulders. Its weight—roughly seventy kilograms—pressed down on him. He stumbled slightly under the load, his legs straining.

‘Geez… I can’t believe I’m having this much of a hard time with a boar,’ he thought, adjusting the carcass on his back as he struggled for balance. Once, this would have been nothing. He would’ve carried it as easily as a sack of grain, hardly feeling the strain.

As he began walking back toward the village, the realization settled deeper. He was no longer the warrior he once had been. The strength that once surged through his body, allowing him to take on monstrous creatures and powerful foes, had faded with time. His body had become a shadow of its former self, and that was a dangerous weakness.

‘I need to train again. If I want to keep my family safe, I need to regain the strength I once had.’ The thought lingered, reminding him of his responsibilities. In a world where power was everything, being weak meant putting those you loved at risk.

In this world, strength was paramount, especially for those not blessed with the gift of magic like Theodore. Thill had never been one of the gifted. For people like him, those who lacked the essence to wield magic, there was no choice but to rely on their bodies. Magic could reshape reality, summon storms, and bend the elements, but for Thill, his path had always been through raw physical power.

Here, men and women like him turned to another essence—the essence of the body itself. Through it, warriors could attain levels of power that rivaled the might of mages. Strength. Speed. Endurance. Agility. Intelligence. These were the fundamental elements that defined a warrior’s core, shaping them into legends.

From knights who defended the kingdoms to adventurers who roamed the wilds, those without magic relied on their physical prowess to rise. Power ruled this world, and those who could command it held their fates in their hands.

Thill had long ago learned the secret of this power, understanding the mystical evaluation known as the [Pure Core Levels]. Every person, whether mage or warrior, was born with a core deep within their body—a source of potential. For warriors, this core could be awakened, refined, and elevated.

A basic warrior was one who had only unlocked a single core within their body, a novice in the eyes of the world. But those who ascended the ladder of the nine [Pure Core Levels] became legends, their bodies capable of impossible feats. Those who reached the ninth core were considered among the mightiest of their kind, capable of toppling armies with a single strike.

Yet, even beyond the ninth core, there was a realm few had ever touched. A realm where the body transcended mortal limitations. Those who went beyond the peak were no longer human—they were considered God-like beings, warriors who could challenge the heavens themselves.

Thill had once stood among those warriors. He had roamed the world, mastering the ancient techniques of the Tempest Blades of the Gale, seeking only to survive in a world ravaged by conflict. His mastery of the blades allowed him to cut through the air with the speed of the wind, his strikes like the fury of a tempest. He had been unstoppable, a force feared and revered across the land.

But now, even with his mastery of the Tempest Blades, he could feel the strain. His once god-like body, capable of cutting through armies, was limited by the weakening of his core. He could only exert so much power, his body no longer able to handle the intensity it once did.

‘The stronger I grow through each level of the [Pure Core Levels], the stronger my skills as a warrior become.’ He reminded himself, the determination burning in his heart. He was no stranger to starting over. He had done it before, and he would do it again.

As Thill approached the village, the familiar sights and sounds enveloped him—the laughter of children playing, the chatter of neighbors, and the savory aroma of home-cooked meals wafting through the air. Yet, even among the warmth of community, he felt a growing distance, an ache reminding him that he was not the same man he once was.

He dropped the boar in the designated area behind his modest home, a small cabin with worn wooden walls and a thatched roof. It was humble but filled with memories—of laughter shared, meals cooked, and nights spent in the embrace of those he loved. A place he fought to protect, not just from external threats but from his own shortcomings.

“Thill!” A cheerful voice called out, breaking his reverie and drawing him back into the present. It was Thalia, his younger sister, her bright smile lighting up her freckled face as she approached with a basket of freshly picked vegetables balanced on her hip. The sight of her—the way her eyes sparkled with joy at his return—filled him with warmth. He felt a swell of pride knowing he was able to bring something back for them.

“W-whoa, you’re back,” said Thomas, who stood a few paces behind her, eyebrows raised in surprise. His tone was a mix of astonishment and admiration.

“I can’t believe you actually brought something back,” he added, the disbelief evident in his wide eyes.

Thomas was right to be surprised. After all, they never once imagined that their big brother was capable of hunting a boar all on his own. The memory of their childhood, filled with playful banter and competitive games, rushed back. Thill had always been the cautious one, the older brother who took care of them, not one to rush into danger.

“When did you learn how to use a bow in the first place?” Thomas asked, incredulity lacing his voice.

“Oh, I learned it here and there…” Thill replied, shrugging nonchalantly, trying to brush off the question while his heart raced.

“Look at how big it is! I’ll get the butchering knife. We’ll get started on letting this boar bleed out,” Thomas exclaimed before disappearing into the cabin, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Meanwhile, Thalia stepped closer to her brother, her eyes wide with curiosity as she gazed at the impressive creature he had brought back. “How did you find something like this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might scare away the reality of the moment.

“I got lucky. I found a few droppings on the ground and followed its footprints,” he said, pride creeping into his voice as he recalled the thrill of the hunt.

“Really? And you knew how to do something like that?” she asked, her brows knitting together in disbelief.

“It’s only hard if you don’t use your head right,” Thill replied, a teasing grin forming on his lips as he ruffled her hair, a gesture that brought forth a familiar, lighthearted sibling banter. Thalia scrunched her nose in mock annoyance, brushing his hand away.

As he hung the boar by its feet, Thomas returned, brandishing the butchering knife like a badge of honor. “Here you go, big brother!” he said, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Thankfully, Dad taught me how to kill a boar… now, watch closely while I demonstrate how to butcher it properly,” Thill instructed, his tone shifting to one of seriousness. He gestured for his siblings to gather around, their expressions shifting from playful excitement to focused attentiveness.

He knelt beside the hanging boar, the earthy scent of the forest still clinging to its fur. As he carefully began the process, he explained each step, his hands deftly guiding the knife. “You need to respect the animal and make sure it’s done right,” he said, his voice steady and calm.

Thomas leaned in closer, his eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and slight unease, while Thalia watched intently, absorbing every word. “First, you make a clean cut here, and then you let the blood drain out properly,” Thill continued, demonstrating with practiced precision.

The atmosphere around them shifted from the joyous reunion to a moment of solemn respect for the life taken. Thill’s heart swelled with a sense of responsibility; he was not just a brother but a protector and provider, carrying the weight of his family’s survival on his shoulders.

“Remember, this is not just about the meat,” he said softly, glancing at his siblings, “it’s about honoring the life that was given for our nourishment. Every meal we have is a gift, and we should never forget that.”

With each careful movement, he shared not only a skill but a lesson, intertwining the threads of family, respect, and survival into the very fabric of their bond.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow around them, the small clearing behind their home became a sacred space—a moment suspended in time, where Thill not only taught his siblings but also reaffirmed his own role as the steadfast anchor of their family.