Volume 1: Bo'an Awakening & The Calamity Storm
Chapter 31
Bo'an Hunter Union
July beat down upon Bo’an City with the blistering, merciless fury characteristic of the frontier plains. The shimmering asphalt radiated distorted waves of heat, suffocating the camphor trees lining the broad avenues into limp, wilted submission, while the abrasive screech of cicadas droned on with mind-numbing persistence.
The three-month summer vacation had officially begun.
For the vast majority of students at Feng Lan Magic High School, this was a golden respite—a season to indulge in lavish coastal getaways along the southern bays or retreat into their clans’ private cultivation sanctums, kept blissfully cool by enchanted magic-stone chillers. Scions like Ling Bai and Li Peng had already secured their clans’ substantial cultivation stipends and abundant resource allocations, gearing up for the brutal, cutthroat trials awaiting them in their sophomore year.
Yet that rose-tinted world had never held a place for Lin Feng.
Early that morning, upon stepping out of the ramshackle single-story house with its cracked cement-corrugated roof in the squalor of Labor Alley, he had lingered for a long time, watching his father’s gaunt, bowed back. Lin Hai had risen at four o’clock. His weathered frame was wedged deep beneath the undercarriage of a battered magic-stone truck, his cracked, calloused hands—permanently stained with grime and grease—methodically tightening loose bolts one by one. Hauling night shipments of raw ore along the perilous perimeter highway bordering the wilderness was the only way the honest, unassuming man could scrape together a few meager coins to keep up with their crushing cost of living.
Over in the corner of the veranda, his little sister, Lin Xiaomo, sat quietly in a rusted iron wheelchair. She wore an off-white homespun dress with frayed hemlines, her paralyzed legs resting limp and motionless beneath a thin, faded blanket. Ten years ago, a localized monster stampede had breached the suburban settlement, permanently stealing away Xiao Mo’s ability to walk. A magical physician had once bluntly stated that only supreme White Magic elixirs—costing millions of magic coins—could ever hope to regrow and regenerate the meridians corroded by that demonic miasma.
Millions of magic coins! That astronomical sum was a sheer, insurmountable precipice weighing down upon his family’s existence.
Every time Lin Feng recalled his father stooping and bowing outside the gates of the Ling Clan estate, swallowing every ounce of dignity just to beg for a chance at his school admission, a sharp, suffocating ache flared in his chest. He had sworn an inviolable oath: never again would he allow his father to humble himself before anyone. And Xiao Mo’s legs would walk again—she would stand tall and step freely beneath the bright, open sky.
To make that a reality, only two things held absolute authority in this world: raw power and endless wealth!
Clang... clang...
The rhythmic chime of a mana-driven tram dragged Lin Feng back to the present. He raised his eyes toward the monumental architectural titan rising before him.
After more than an hour of brisk walking through the bustling commercial quarters, he had arrived at the city’s western plaza. Towering directly ahead was a gargantuan, polygonal skyscraper constructed entirely from ash-gray granite, its beveled corners sheathed in matte-black titanium alloy specially treated to withstand magical corrosion. Soaring over thirty stories straight into the azure firmament, the monolithic spire resembled a titanic greatsword plunged hilt-up into the earth.
Above the ten-meter-tall bronze archway hung an imposing, familiar relief: two crossed magical scythe-blades piercing through the howling skull of a Black-Eyed Frenzy Wolf, beneath which gleamed blazing, gold-leafed lettering:
BO’AN MAGIC HUNTER UNION.
This was the beating heart of the city’s hunting community—a crucible where blood, steel, and ruthless survivors gathered after crawling back from the maw of death. It was the sole bulwark shielding the city’s outer perimeters from the voracious fangs and claws of the roaming wilderness beasts.
Lin Feng tugged the brim of his nondescript baseball cap lower over his brow, tightened the shoulder straps of his rucksack, and pushed through the heavy, reinforced revolving glass doors.
Hiss...
As the doors slid shut behind him, a deafening wave of noise and an overpowering cocktail of scents assaulted his senses at once.
The ground-floor grand hall was cavernous, its vaulted ceiling hoisted high by massive granite pillars carved with defensive warding runes. Beneath crystal chandeliers fueled by crude magic crystals that cast a murky amber glow, hundreds of rough-hewn figures bustled and milled about in a chaotic tide.
The air was thick with the harsh tang of distilled grain spirits, grey tobacco smoke coiling into lingering, phantom ribbons, the sour musk of stale sweat, and—most prominent of all—the dense, iron stench of demonic beast blood caked onto leather armor and weapon sheaths, carried straight from the wilderness by hunters who hadn’t even bothered to wash before drinking.
Along the crude oak tables lining both flanks of the hall, men and women of feral, weather-beaten countenance congregated in boisterous packs. Some sat bare-chested, proudly displaying crisscrossing torso scars left by predator claws as they downed flagons of dark stout and bellowed coarse curses. Others sat cloaked in shadowy corners, meticulously scraping whetstones against enchanted daggers that gleamed with cold, lethal glints. Near the corner bar, two scar-faced veterans were snarling and clutching each other by the collars over an uneven bounty split, while the surrounding throng merely glanced over and burst into roaring laughter, long accustomed to such routine brawls.
Here, there was no room for the hypocritical etiquette of highborn aristocrats, let alone the rosy, textbook theories peddled in high school classrooms. Within these walls, only one absolute doctrine held sway: practical combat and the cold art of survival!
The entrance of a lean sixteen-year-old youth dressed in a plain grey T-shirt and ordinary jeans immediately drew a handful of amused glances from the drinking tables nearest the foyer.
“Hey, look at that. Did a little chick lose its way into the wolf pack?” A scruffy-bearded hunter, sloshing a massive tankard of ale, nudged his tablemate with an elbow, grinning crookedly.
“Probably some sheltered high school brat coming to gawk at the real world,” the hunter opposite him sneered, his lip curling in disdain. “Look at those toothpick legs. A wild boar coughing in the bushes would scare the piss right out of him. Run along home to your mama’s teat, kid!”
Raucous chuckles erupted from the nearby tables. To these hardened mercenaries who licked blood off their blades day in and day out, the city’s coddled magic students were little more than greenhouse flowers—fragile, delicate, and destined to die in seconds if they ever crossed paths with a true demonic beast.
Faced with such coarse derision, Lin Feng’s stride didn’t waver by a hair. Beneath the brim of his cap, his expression remained as placid as a frozen winter lake. Treating the jeering mercenaries as nothing more than thin air, he strode serenely toward the colossal central wall of the grand hall.
There, an enormous mana-powered display screen over twenty meters long blinked continuously with fluorescent ribbons of viridian and crimson text. It was the Union’s Mana Bounty Board, updating wild commissions in real time from every sector of the city and its frontier outposts.
Lin Feng stopped in his tracks, his eyes scanning the slowly scrolling lines:
[E-Rank Commission (Standard): Gather thirty stalks of Nether Blue Grass from the southwestern marshlands outside Perimeter Barrier 2. Requirement: Minimum 2-person squad or Basic Mage with wilderness experience. Reward: 3,500 Magic Coins.]
[D-Rank Commission: Exterminate a pack of Spine-Eating Rats (Low-tier Servant-class, estimated 15–20 beasts) that have breached Northern Granary No. 4. Requirement: Basic Hunter Squad with Fire or Earth Element. Reward: 18,000 Magic Coins.]
[C-Rank Commission: Hunt down a Frenzied Poison Bull (High-tier Servant-class) disrupting the Cang Lei Ridge magic ore supply route. Requirement: Elite Hunter Squad (minimum 4 members, including at least one Tier 3 Basic Mage or possessing defensive Magic Artifacts). Reward: 65,000 Magic Coins. Hides and horns must be submitted to the Union.]
[B-Rank Commission (Urgent): Clear out a nest of Mutated Demonic Spiders in Ventilation Tunnel No. 7 of the abandoned mining zone. Suspected presence of a Warrior-class beast lurking within. Requirement: Squad led by an Intermediate Mage. Reward: 300,000 Magic Coins plus Union contribution points...]
Lin Feng’s gaze lingered long upon the payout figures.
The bounties offered here were intoxicating. Simply participating in the extermination of a low-tier Servant beast pack yielded compensation equivalent to half a year of his father breaking his spine behind the wheel. A single successful C-rank expedition could net a share large enough to cover several months of specialized medicinal treatments for Xiao Mo’s legs.
Yet what truly set the blood pounding through Lin Feng’s veins was not merely the stacks of magic coins.
Against his chest, beneath his thin shirt, the ancient, dragon-carved jade talisman—the Primordial Dragon Pendant—suddenly gave a low, resonant thrum. A familiar surge of soothing warmth seeped through his skin, flowing straight into his Sea of Consciousness. It was reacting—stirring to life in response to the thick scent of beast blood and predatory intent permeating the Hunter Union!
Deep within the boundless, dark expanse of Lin Feng’s Sea of Consciousness, two nascent Stardusts rotated in silent majesty. The deep violet Lightning Stardust, crowned with seven proud Star Cores, crackled with caged miniature bolts of lightning; beside it, the fiery crimson Fire Stardust radiated blistering, untamed heat.
After the harrowing practical trial in the cavern of Cang Lei Ridge, the Primordial Dragon Pendant had quietly devoured the entire Remnant Soul of the peak Servant-class Dark Scarlet Wolf. Once purified, that pristine soul energy had directly nourished his Star Cores, propelling Lin Feng’s Star Orbit casting speed to unprecedented heights. Currently, he could manifest Fire Burst: Crimson Sparks in under two seconds—twice as fast as any top student at Feng Lan High!
The Primordial Dragon Pendant hungered for the souls of demonic beasts to awaken and evolve!
The laws governing this world were brutally ruthless: when a beast fell, its soul fractured into two distinct forms. Ninety-nine percent deteriorated into mindless, fragmented Remnant Souls that dissipated into nothingness within a few fleeting seconds. Less than one percent had the miraculous fortune of solidifying into a complete Soul Essence—an invaluable treasure that great clans and conglomerate factions fiercely competed to acquire for tens of millions of coins to craft high-grade magical weapons, armor, and Stardust Magic Vessels. Even Intermediate and Advanced Mages were entirely powerless to harvest those fleeting Remnant Souls before they dissolved.
Yet Lin Feng’s Primordial Dragon Pendant was a heaven-defying anomaly.
It could automatically vacuum up every Remnant Soul within range of the battlefield without requiring exorbitant soul-containment vessels. Even more astonishingly, the pendant could refine and smelt dozens of Remnant Souls together into a complete, genuine Soul Essence! He could then feed that Soul Essence directly to each of the Star Cores in his Sea of Consciousness, upgrading them all the way to Tier 4!
A Basic spell cast through Tier 4 Star Cores possessed berserk, cataclysmic potency—approaching the destructive devastation of an Intermediate spell!
Envisioning the day his Fire Burst could detonate like heavy long-range artillery, or a sky-cleaving bolt of Lightning Strike could obliterate a terrifying Warrior-class behemoth into drifting cinder, Lin Feng’s fingers clenched tightly into his palms.
The wilderness... I have to step out there, he told himself, a fierce, blazing resolve igniting in his eyes. Only hunting demonic beasts will allow the Dragon Pendant to harvest souls, supercharge my cultivation, and amass enough funds to purchase Stardust Magic Vessels and the miraculous White Magic elixirs Xiao Mo needs to walk again.
Yet cold reality swiftly yanked him back.
Turning away from the digital board, Lin Feng approached the reception counter tucked in the corner of the hall. Behind an ebony desk, a female clerk in a dark blue uniform was diligently stamping documents. Right beside her desk sat an engraved bronze placard outlining the criteria:
HUNTER REGISTRATION REGULATIONS:
1. Must be at least 18 years of age, have successfully awakened magic, and passed the foundational practical combat examination.
2. Students currently enrolled in public magic academies are strictly prohibited from accepting wilderness commissions without written authorization from both the school administration and legal guardians. Violations will result in immediate expulsion and permanent revocation of magical licensing!
Reading the stark, bold characters, Lin Feng furrowed his brows.
He was only sixteen, officially registered as a tenth-grade student at Feng Lan High. If he dared present his citizen identification card, the national mana network would instantly flag the registration and notify the administration. His homeroom teacher, Kang Mu, would drag him back for severe disciplinary punishment without a shadow of a doubt.
Even more perilous: his movements would fall squarely onto the Ling Clan’s radar!
After their humiliating disgrace at Cang Lei Ridge, Ling Bai and the tyrannical clan head, Ling Zhuofeng, loathed him to the bone. If the Ling Clan discovered that an impoverished peasant like him dared to sneak out beyond the walls to hunt, they wouldn’t hesitate to pull strings in the shadows, orchestrating an “accident” to strangle him in the cradle.
And above all else: he possessed the miraculous Innate Dual Elements—Lightning and Fire!
In a remote border city like Bo’an, awakening the Lightning Element was an astronomical rarity occurring in less than one in ten thousand individuals. If he displayed Lightning magic under the civilian identity of student Lin Feng, the entire city would be thrown into an uproar, and his greatest secret would be laid bare to the world.
I cannot operate under my real identity, Lin Feng concluded instantly. I need a completely independent, anonymous persona—a hunter shroud that reveals neither my face nor my origins.
Decisive as ever, Lin Feng pivoted on his heel and strode out of the raucous hall.
Emerging from beneath the granite archway, he didn’t return to the main boulevard. Instead, he took a sharp turn into a shadowed alley tucked along the skyscraper’s left flank.
This was Black Iron Alley—a notorious black market catering to rogue freelance hunters, trafficking in secondhand enchanted gear, contraband herbs, and off-the-books defensive relics of questionable provenance.
In stark contrast to the gleaming avenue outside, this passage was dreary and dank. Corrugated iron awnings jutted overhead, blocking out the midday sun and casting sallow, muddy shadows across the cobblestones. Rickety storefronts lined both sides behind tightly shuttered grates. The pungent smells of herb-treated beast leather, smoking magic-coal embers, and corroded iron hung heavy in the stifling air.
Lin Feng moved with measured, soundless steps. After venturing some two hundred meters into the winding alley, he stopped before a battered shop nestled beneath the skeletal branches of a withered locust tree. Hanging crookedly above the rotted timber door was a tarnished tin sign:
HIDDEN SCALE PAVILION.
Ding...
A rusty brass bell jingled softly as Lin Feng pushed the door open and slipped inside.
The shop interior was cramped and dim, illuminated only by the sputtering wick of a crude magic-oil lamp perched atop the counter. The walls were cluttered with patched beast-hide armor, venom-resistant gauntlets, and an assortment of dulled short swords.
Behind the counter, an emaciated old man with beady, rat-like eyes sat with his feet propped up on the wood, puffing emerald plumes of smoke from a long copper pipe. Hearing the chime, he swept his gaze over Lin Feng from head to toe, the corner of his mouth curling into the crafty smirk of a seasoned black-market fence.
“What’s your poison, honored customer? Beast-claw resistant leather? Contraband military coagulants? Or perhaps... an off-the-grid persona to slip through the frontier checkpoints without those watchdog bureaucrats poking their noses into your business?”
Lin Feng stepped forward, showing neither hesitation nor intimidation. He pitched his voice into a low, gravelly timbre:
“I need a high-grade combat cloak with a deep hood—waterproof, and capable of suppressing minor mana fluctuations. And a mask.”
The proprietor arched a sparse eyebrow, took a slow drag from his pipe, and let out a dry, rattling chuckle.
“Understood. Another predator fond of hunting in the dark. Give me a moment.”
Shuffling his worn leather slippers across the floorboards, the old man disappeared behind a ragged canvas curtain. A few minutes later, he reemerged carrying a dust-caked wooden chest and a black velvet bundle.
“This here is custom gear left behind by a scout hunter who met his end in the marshes,” the shopkeeper said, unfurling the cloak across the counter.
It was an obsidian duster cloak fitted with an exceptionally deep hood, dark as a moonless midnight. The fabric was dense yet remarkably supple, feeling smooth and cool to the touch—like serpent scales.
“Woven from the silk of a Servant-class Dark Night Demon Spider blended with enchanted hemp threads,” the old man boasted, tapping the fabric with a yellowed fingernail. “Completely waterproof, dust-repellent, and tough enough to withstand light acid and ordinary claw slashes. The most valuable perk, however, is that this night spider silk naturally absorbs and disperses faint mana ripples. Slip this on, and you can blend seamlessly into the nocturnal wilderness without worrying about beasts with sharp mana senses catching your scent. Two thousand magic coins.”
Lin Feng ran his fingertips along the hem, feeling the tight, resilient weave of the fibers. He gave a firm nod.
“Fair. What about the mask?”
Grinning to reveal a row of stained teeth, the old man untied the velvet wrapping.
Resting inside was a matte, silver-gray metal mask cast from an alloy of lead and enchanted silver. Craftsmanship was remarkably intricate; it spanned from the bridge of the nose upward to cover the forehead and upper cheekbones, leaving only the firm line of the jaw and lips exposed. The metal surface was brushed to eliminate reflective glare, etched with undulating grooves resembling crackling lightning intertwined with raging flames. The eye slits were deeply set and angled sharply toward the temples, inset with paper-thin, one-way enchanted lenses. From the outside, observers would only see two bottomless, frigid black voids; from within, however, the wearer enjoyed crystal-clear vision even in pitch-black gloom.
“Enchanted silver alloy—naturally disrupts psychological probing magic and facial recognition wards,” the old man whispered slyly. “That one will cost you another thousand coins. Three thousand in total. Not a single coin less!”
Three thousand magic coins! That was virtually the entirety of the bounty money Lin Feng had saved from the Cang Lei Ridge expedition and his exhausting odd jobs beforehand—a sum that could feed his entire family for three full months.
Yet Lin Feng didn’t hesitate for a heartbeat. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew a crisp stack of paper currency and counted out exactly thirty hundred-coin notes, arranging them neatly on the counter.
The old merchant snapped up the banknotes with lightning speed, his calloused thumb skillfully skimming over each bill to verify the anti-counterfeit mana runes. The wrinkles on his withered face stretched into a beam of sheer delight.
“Pleasure doing business! Feel free to try them on, honored guest.”
Lin Feng picked up the cloak and mask and stepped toward a tarnished bronze mirror standing in the corner.
He slipped off his baseball cap, shoved it into his rucksack, and draped the Dark Night Demon Spider cloak over his shoulders. The hem fell smoothly, draping from his shoulders all the way to mid-calf, while the cavernous hood pulled up to swallow his dark hair in shadow. Next, he pressed the enchanted silver mask over the upper half of his face and fastened the elastic clasp behind his head.
Click.
The buckle locked with a crisp snap. The mask adhered flush to his brow and the bridge of his nose, feeling weightless like a second skin, sending a refreshing, icy clarity rippling through his senses.
Lin Feng raised his head to gaze into the murky bronze mirror.
Reflected in the glass, every trace of the gentle, impoverished sixteen-year-old youth from Labor Alley had vanished without a trace.
In his place stood a tall, enigmatic silhouette exuding a bone-chilling aura. The pitch-black cloak devoured every contour of his physique, while the silver mask completely obscured his features, leaving visible only a pair of resolute, tightly pressed lips and deep, abyssal eyes that glinted with the lethal sharpness of a freshly unsheathed blade.
Even the proprietor standing behind him couldn’t help but shudder. The copper pipe in his grip trembled slightly as he caught that frigid gaze burning from behind the silver visage. He had dealt with hundreds of battle-hardened mercenaries over the decades, yet the unnerving calm and glacial detachment radiating from this youth carried an indescribable, suffocating weight.
Lin Feng clenched his fist. He could feel the elemental mana within his Sea of Consciousness surging in perfect resonance with the rhythmic pulse of the Primordial Dragon Pendant.
From this moment on, he was no longer the destitute student Lin Feng of Feng Lan High.
A brand-new moniker had forged itself within his mind—an identity that would dye itself in the blood of the wilderness’s fiercest beasts, harvesting every remnant soul to ascend to the zenith of magic!
“Fan Shen.”
A cold, razor-thin smirk curved beneath the silver mask. Lin Feng spun on his heel, his black cloak billowing like the wings of a night raven as he swept past the timber door of Hidden Scale Pavilion, striding purposefully back toward the boiling cauldron of the Bo’an Hunter Union...