The Huntsman Of Death:A Gamer's POV As Side Character

The surreal events Ashton had just experienced were enough to shake him to his core, leaving no room for sleep.

His heart felt heavy, overshadowed by swirling thoughts as he replayed everything in his mind.

Meeting that mysterious figure dressed in white, witnessing the unexplainable miracle—it was like stepping into a dream he couldn’t wake up from.

"Judgment..."

He whispered the word to himself, the name still lingering in his thoughts. Was the card he chose really just a coincidence? It seemed too perfect. A class tied to justice and the title of Judgment?

It felt unreal.

Unable to shake the unease, Ashton moved to his desk. He picked up a small vial of holy water, a symbol of protection in his faith. With steady hands, he sprinkled it over himself, feeling the cool droplets run down his skin.

Then, he reached for a brooch adorned with the sacred symbol of Goddess Rebecca. Placing it in his palm, he poured a small amount of his mana into it.

A gentle light erupted from the brooch, bathing him in a warmth that felt like a protective embrace.

"There isn’t any trace of evil aura or spirit," Ashton murmured, his voice steadying. "If I’d come in contact with anything evil, it would have reacted for sure."

This small ritual calmed him, but it didn’t erase his doubts entirely.

"I can’t believe a place like that exists just to nurture people," he muttered under his breath.

"Nothing in this world is free."

Ashton’s mind wandered further. Even the purest of relationships weren’t truly free.

Husbands and wives had expectations of love and companionship. Parents raised their children with hopes, aspirations, and the expectation of being cared for in their old age.

Sure, there were selfless people out there, but life had taught Ashton to be cautious. From his conversations with Lukas, he had learned a harsh truth:

Either trust everyone completely or trust no one at all.

Anything in between would only lead to confusion and mental instability.

Though Ashton wasn’t ready to adopt such an extreme philosophy, he knew one thing for sure—he needed to stay on guard. No organization started out openly harmful, but given time, even the kindest intentions could twist into something dark.

"Even bandits," he murmured, "who claim to steal for their families end up ruining the lives of countless others."

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone.

RING! RING!

Ashton snapped out of his musings and glanced at the screen. Seeing the caller’s name brought an instant smile to his face, as if all his worries and doubts had been swept away.

With a newfound warmth in his chest, he picked up the call.

"I hope I’m not disturbing you too late,son," came the soft, familiar voice on the other end.

.....

In the secret basement of the Royal Knights’ base in Huntington’s inner district, the air felt cold and heavy, like the calm before a storm.

A blonde-haired man stood under the dim light of a flickering lantern. His sharp, chiseled face was usually calm and composed, but now it twisted with unease. He clenched a crumpled letter in his hand, his piercing blue eyes scanning it over and over, trying to make sense of the ominous message.

This man was Sir Richard, the Captain of the 1st Platoon of the Royal Knights. Known as a leader of unmatched strength and intelligence, he carried the weight of the knights’ reputation on his shoulders.

People spoke of him as a future Grand Commander, destined to lead the entire order. His swordsmanship was legendary, his strategy flawless, and his presence alone could rally his men even in the direst moments.

Behind him, Andrew stood tall and alert, his sharp features emphasized by the faint glow of the lantern. His polished armor gleamed, reflecting the flickering light, and his expression was one of quiet intensity. As one of Richard’s most trusted lieutenants, Andrew was known for his ruthless efficiency and unwavering loyalty.

Andrew broke the silence, his voice steady but tinged with suspicion. "Sir Richard, should I track down the messenger? If this is some sort of prank, we can make him talk."

Richard didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the letter, the tension in his jaw evident as his mind raced. Then, with a heavy sigh, he placed the crumpled paper on the table and turned to Andrew.

"We could," Richard said slowly, his voice low and controlled, "but if this letter is true, we are dealing with something far bigger. Torturing the messenger won’t give us answers. First, we need to verify it. If it’s real, we must act immediately to stop this conspiracy."

Andrew nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Shall I summon Bishop Stellon for divination?"

"I’ve already called for him," Andrew said with a faint smirk.

Richard allowed a small grin to break through his otherwise serious expression. "You never miss a step, Andrew."

Moments later, the heavy wooden door creaked open. An elderly man entered, his presence immediately commanding attention. Bishop Stellon, draped in ornate robes covered with ancient symbols, walked with deliberate steps. His long brown beard flowed past his chest, and his eyes, though aged, glimmered with wisdom and power.

In his hands, he carried a blood-red candle. Its faint flame flickered strangely, casting eerie shadows across the room.

The moment Richard and Andrew saw the candle, a wave of unease washed over them. Their confident expressions faltered, replaced by looks of barely concealed fear.

"Bishop Stellon… is that…" Andrew’s voice trailed off as he stared at the candle.

Stellon nodded solemnly. "Yes. This is the Truth Seeker Candle."

Richard and Andrew exchanged a glance, their throats tightening. The candle was no ordinary artifact.

It was crafted from the remains of a Demi-God who had followed the Seer’s Class. Its power was undeniable, but so were its risks. The Truth Seeker Candle was known to ask questions—questions so profound that failing to answer them could twist one’s very perception of reality.

"I brought it because divinations involving the higher realms are often clouded," Stellon explained, his voice calm yet heavy with meaning.

"Is that the only reason?"Andrew asked skeptically.

"This will ensure clarity. Now, tell me, what do you wish to uncover?"

Richard didn’t answer directly. Instead, he gestured toward Andrew, who handed the crumpled letter to the bishop. Stellon unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the jagged handwriting.

As he read, the calmness in his face melted away. His hands trembled slightly, the candle shaking as the weight of the words sank in.

"June 5th. 1 AM. The Malcolm family will conduct a summoning ritual to call upon an Evil God," Stellon read aloud, his voice shaking.

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He lowered the letter, his face pale and his eyes wide with horror. He looked at Richard and Andrew, his expression grave.