Waking up the morning after the meeting with the demon priest, my head was still racked by doubt and a mountain of questions. However, there was no way to satiate these thoughts. I could not just go up to the priest and interrogate him. I would only receive a harsh punishment in return.

I was very reluctant to prepare for the hunt. My body told me to just stay in bed all day but I knew that was not possible. If I did not come willingly, I would be taken there forcefully anyways. Pulling myself out of bed, I prepare my leather armour which is now not only a horrendous patchwork, but also in terrible condition. It would be more accurate to call it a loosely strung together collection of various pieces of leather. I need something new.

Equipping my weaponry, I revisited the oh so familiar armoury. Either taking a rare like to me or instructed by the head priest, I was allowed to take armour of a bit better quality. I got new leather gauntlets and a chestplate along with leg guards. They were still patchwork horrors, but less so. Going by their feeling, they seemed a tad studier than what I had before.

In the once nice courtyard, I met up with my two partners. I really did not know how to feel about this. While on one hand, he was uneasy of these children the sadist picked. They must have a few screws loose like him to get acknowledged by him (except for me, I am a most sane individual). But, on the other hand, I did need new teammates. The problem with Tom and Beep was that, although I hate to admit it, they are simply too strong compared to me. Our difference in ability is too staggering. If we hunt weak monsters, then they would not grow since the experience they would get would be tiny. If we hunt strong monsters, I cannot grow since I would get only a pittance of experience since my contribution would be minimal. We stifle each other’s growth during hunts. People of similar level, or just less starkness between me and my teammate(s) in power, would be preferable.

Some of the most pious students stayed up throughout the night in vigil. They looked on the verge of collapse from exhaustion. The church was harsh on the living but caring to the dead. For many of the fallen, this was the first time they had someone be truly affectionate towards them. It is a shame that they could only be treated like this when they could not experience it. This pulled on my heart strings. When did I stop thinking of them as kids? Since when did I start thinking of them as cruel, ruthless enemies? They were just taught with the ethos of survival of the fittest. They did not know any better, they were just doing what the adults told them was right. The sin laid with Church practices.

But, although I found them pitiable, I knew that I had to treat them the same way as they do to me lest they think me a pushover and I become “prey” as they call it. I had to treat them like mortal enemies. The clashing ideas of children should be treated well and that I need to be cold to survive raged throughout my mind. Morality vs survival. While the choice was obvious, it was no less gut wrenching. I had to survive. Although I have faced death before, it only strengthened my desire to live rather than numb it. I was not someone who is ordained by the gods or whatever with overpowered abilities (Well more accurately I was, but fucked it up). I was just a peon, a regular human. The only thing I had to my advantage was my brain. If I had the protagonist stereotype of being as dense as black holes and the intelligence of a brick, I would have been long dead by now. However, I could not completely convince myself to give up my morals.

My thoughts were disturbed by a gut punch, physical this time. Staggering backwards hugging my stomach from the pain, it took me a moment to look at whoever the assailant was. It was Diego. “How long are you going to daydream, cunt? I’m already in a terrible mood since I have to work with the infamous runt. Let’s not start off worse than it is,” he said, each word coated in contempt. He was wearing what he did the day of our first meeting. Pucci, however, no longer had their robe. It was replaced with quality looking leather armour underneath a black robe. Around their waist was a belt with several pouches. Favoritism much? I want that shit too!

Sensing my envy, Pucci shrugged as if saying, “What are you going to do about it, huh?” Although arrogant, it was true I could do nothing as of now. Diego continued to prattle on about himself and how I should be honored to work with him. If he were an adult, I would have wanted to punch him in the face. The little pity I held towards him died then. The lizard looked equally done with him. There seems to be at least one thing we agree on.

These are the brats I have to work with but what can I do? I have to bite the bullet. No time like the present, time to hunt a golem.