Chapter 2 : The Pack Mule of the Hunter Guild

"Pack Mule." It was the name that followed the woman everywhere. Despite awakening as a Hunter after college, Ozel Kasper's abilities weren't very impressive after fifteen years of being a hunter. 

With her appearance, she would be better suited as a midnight cleaner at the guild's headquarters then as a hunter. A chubby, unkempt woman who preferred to be a hermit over dungeon crawling. If it wasn't for her abnormally high constitution (14 for a Rank D Hunter, a normal human's was barely 8) and a natural immunity to the effects of Dungeon Fog, there would be little need for the Hunter's Guild to keep her on the roster. 

But given her odd gifts, Ozel was given the dangerous job of carrying supplies back and forth from the depth of the dungeons back to the surface world. Being a pack mule was hard enough, but being a woman in a male dominated sphere made it only worse.

In the world of hunters, female hunters were a rarity. With over 60% of the population of hunters being male, the remaining 40% already were at a disadvantage. What few women did awaken as hunters, usually were sent right into clerical work, magical studies, or kept working in guild halls. Kept out of the front lines where they would be seen as hindrances.

Dungeons were full of sexist men who refused to listen to her suggestions or thought it amusing to overload her bags just to watch her struggle with the heavy weight. Who made it clear if she were more attractive and pleased their egos they would be happy to assist her. Ozel didn't do it because she enjoyed the job or found pleasure in her position. Her job was a dangerous, thankless position full of pitfalls and mental abuse made worse by the fog.

Dungeon Fog was highly toxic to normal humans, leading to mania, extreme paranoia, horrid aggression. The longer a person without specialty filters or an armor that could nullify the effects remained in the fog, the more likely they wouldn't return. Or if they did return, they wouldn't be the same person that went in. And that was merely the mental effects, the thick rolling fog would blister and destroy the body. Creating little more than rabid husks of people left behind in dungeons. Left to wander and mentally dissolve into low tier monsters.

If it wasn't for the national ruling that all awakened hunters were required by law to be active, she quit in a minute. She could make more money being a hostess at a dive bar on a slow weekday shift. But she had no choice in the matter, if she refused to work dungeon raids then there was the chance the guild could have her arrested. There was no way she was going to give her step-family the pleasure of her assets being seized. 

So with a heavy heart, Ozel loaded up her backpack with the usual supplies and headed out the door. She eyed the security cameras around her home with a heavy heart. Another weekday dungeon raid. At least the guild covered enough she didn't need an actual day job. Hunting took too many hours of her day, when would she find the time to work even part time? Her body ached under the layers of fleece, the chill of early winter biting at her fingertips.

Day after day it was always nonstop work, yesterday her watch easily picked up over fourty thousand steps. It had been a small dungeon of only three floors but the constant back and forth left her with aching muscles and a throbbing spine. When she got home late into the early twilight hours, she barely had the energy to start a load of laundry before collapsing into bed. 

The day old clothes would have to do. Her normal tracksuit with a thick winter hoodie was the best a hunter like her could hope for. Blessings of protection and stat boosters cost easily thousands of dollars, with the limited supply of clerics focused on boost work. There were only so many skills a hunter could keep, the max being six, and healers were pushed to keep high value healing magic over lowly stat increasers. She relied on old fashion bracers and the thick homemade waist trainer quilted with six layers of fire rat fur infused fabric to keep herself safe. 

The guild only cared about higher hunters, the low ranks had to rely on the scraps to survive.

It would be easier to take the local bus but with the weapons strapped to her backpack, it wasn't allowed. Too much risk for 'normal' humans. She could leave the weapons at home, but she was hopeful the local weapon's smith would be around today. The swords could use a proper sharpening. 

So she had to start her day with a two mile hike down to the dungeon. She watched enviously at the buses driving by, hands tucked into her sleeves for warmth. Thankfully despite her appearance, Oz wasn't quick on her feet. 

It only took half an hour for her to make the walk to the normal gathering spot. The local construction site was still on work hiatus from the dungeon appearing within the framework of the soon to be built apartment complex. The Black Lotus Guild had a stranglehold on this specific low C Rank Dungeon, camping out to recapture it when it spawned very few weeks. No dungeon lasted in the world for too long, a few weeks at max. Though the monster infested zones were slowly staying longer and longer, displacing the normal people who were defenseless against attacks. Dungeons left destruction in their wake, leaving normal people little opportunity for recovery. 

She knew the hunters of the area well enough, the same dungeons opened like clockwork throughout the months. The usual group of hunters gathered around a coffee cart. Men greet one another with laughter and gossip, ignoring the lower ranking hunters as they unload the guild's van of supplies for the day's work.

"Oi, Johnson! There you are. You skipped the last meeting."

"Wife was bitching about the hours from all the extra dungeon runs. But I don't see her complaining about the money I bring home." 

"Is that so? Well nothing better than a raid to fill your pockets more."

"Well that's if you come back! More people are wandering the dungeons now."

The two men laughed loudly, filling their cups with more coffee. The cart attendant all smiles as she brewed more liquid caffeine into the large canteens. 

Oz huffed as she made her way down the dirt path to join the group, her boots well worn and feet already aching.

'I need to buy a new pair as soon as I get my deposit.' She thought miserably, she tapped her toes on the hard earth to ease the ache in her heels. Her third boots this year, and it was still the first quarter. She could fix many things, but shoe cobbling she didn't mess with. The warmth of the paper cup was well welcomed, at least the coffee was free and fresh. She took a needed sip of the overly sweet caffeine and breathed out the long stream of steam.

"Ah there's our pack mule." One of the men finally noticed her standing there beside them. "If you're here then we shouldn't have much to worry about." 

His cruel smile made Oz's stomach flip, she only gave a quiet nod in reply. Dungeons were ranked just like people were. From Rank A all the way to Rank F. The dungeon was a low C rank, rather safe compared to the more dangerous unstable dungeons scattered about the city. Of course that meant the pay from the guild would be far lower, perhaps not much more than a few hundred dollars for the day's trouble. A slap in the face considering the profit made from the harvested materials inside. A harvested dungeon could have returns in the millions for the guild. However, money trickling down to those who harvested was unheard of.

It wasn't the money that worried Oz, she was lucky enough that her grandfather left her a trust fund and a home. It was the danger of the dungeons. No matter how stable or how low ranking, there was still the danger of not returning. A level one monster could still kill a person with the right strike. 

If she died, then her property would go to her next of kin after the Guild released them. Her greedy aunt made it very clear she coveted the property Ozel had. A comfortable penthouse apartment atop one a popular mixed use tower, massive compared to the modern apartments of the city. The private roof deck had one of the best views of the city, blocked off with tall privacy fences. Underneath there was a modern gym, a popular spa and one of the more popular convenience shops. The local subway was right across the street. It was a true dream apartment.

On the market the apartment would go for millions if not more, and Ozel knew her aunt wanted it more than anything. Enough where she wondered if her aunt would be desperate enough to bribe another hunter to perhaps do the unspeakable. Hunters were a greedy lot, it wouldn't take much to pay a hunter into murdering another.

There was a saying in the hunter circles : Dungeons were the best alibi. It was impossible to prove any crime, given how dungeons despawned and only hunters could descend past the first level. Normal humans were blocked by a forcefield, unable to pass further. It was a well known secret that dungeons were a hot spot for crime and murder, people dragged into the depths to be lost in the fogs or bodies left to rot.

Oz stepped away from the coffee cart after tossing her cup to join the growing group. Already whispers flew about the hunters. 

"It's rare for a dungeon to remain stable for so long. It has been over a month since it de-spawned."

"It could be a permanent dungeon, I heard one settled into some mall in upper New York." 

"It just feels wrong."

"Of all places it could have been worse. Didn't you hear about that dungeon that spawned into a local school? Damn shame, good thing a hunter was there but so many kids got caught in the crossfire."

"Quiet down everyone." Barked the only man in a suit, the Guild Rep. Mr Smith never entered beyond the front entrance of the dungeon, instead remaining outside to direct supplies and take note of transported goods. 

Oz fidgeted with one of the holes of her hoodie, Mr. Smith was a cruel taskmaster who cared more about profit over the lives of hunters. The Guild turned a blind eye to his methods because he brought in results.

"Today we have a high quota, if the dungeon decides to despawn we have no idea when it will come back. We need to clear it today. Three teams will cycle so we have a constant flow of supplies. Breaks will have to be shortened and I expect everyone to pull their weight!" Mr. Smith spoke loud, his voice boomed over every other voice.

Oz felt his glare on her and looked away. She would be stuck moving nonstop. Oz bit at her lip in worry.

A loud wave of complaints rang through the morning's air. She did her best to ignore them, her back already aching at the thought. Normal humans and hunters had to go in and out in shifts, unable to handle more than a few hours at a time. A cleric classed hunter worked to the side, placing holy crystals in patterns to create a nullifying zone. When a team came out they would have to rest in the light of the nullifying zone to purify the effects of the fog.

'I should have packed more snacks in my bag.' She thought with a miserable sigh, there was no way she would get enough breaks today to recover her stamina. Mr. Smith's concern for his workers was nonexistent if you were anything under a high rank fighter. Highest Rank Hunters first, followed by healers, followed by lower hunters then at the bottom the lowest of the low, her. 

She complained enough times to know it would fall on deaf ears. Even if she was the lynchpin in supply flow, it didn't matter. Usually she took whatever chance she got to sit and breathe deep in the dungeons, hidden behind walls to catch her breath. Her bag had plenty of easy snacks, tuna pouches, jerky, peanut butter and nuts Thankfully the water within the dungeons were purified and safe to drink, she could refill her flask there. She stocked up with stamina pots and jellies. 

Like a baker, the scraps were left behind for her to use. Far from superior healing drafts or cleansing drinks, she brewed modest healing and recovery sips for herself. Enough to keep up her health. She kept her tinkering interest in Alchemy to herself. Already she was working like a dog, the guild wouldn't take more from her. 

Oz adjusted her bag and let the cool winter air brush past her face. The cold emotionless void filled her senses, it was easier not to think as they loaded up and readied themselves. 

There were about ten hunters making up each group, 7 combat, a healer and a supply worker. After three hours teams would switch out, recover then return. Oz would do what she did best, follow the main team to the furthest point then start the constant back and forth. Pushing a cart full of materials up and returning with fresh supplies back to the raiding teams. She didn't have a healer following her, monsters that survived the attacking teams seemed indifferent to her appearance. All she had to protect herself was what few weapons she gathered on her own. 

All materials and loot dropped was property of the Guild, using anything found while raiding might come with a stiff fine. No matter if it was a matter of self defense. She saw many a newbie fined into massive life debts by using a dropped weapon to defend their lives against a monster. 

Instead she picked up the random scraps left behind like a dog, pocketing bits of monster fur, flowering plants, and sweeping up remains of ore dust. One man's trash and all that. She refused to let a monster's life go to waste because others just looted furs and pelts. Monsters despawn with each death so thankfully there was no wasteful line of corpses. Perhaps that was why hunters reacted with such apathy to the death they rained down.

She fidgeted with the straps of her leather gloves, the only protection she had against the cold metal of the cart. She frowned at the fraying edges, she needed to get a new pair soon too.

'Everything's just falling apart around me.' Oz thought with a groan, she was going to have to put in for a day off. Supplies had to come first, she needed a full restock of her equipment. Today was the last day she could push these boots.

"Team A and Pack Mule! You're up!" Mr. Smith said far too excitedly, his greed was practically oozing out of his ill fitting suit. She pulled the protective cowl up over her nose, latching it over her ears before following after the well stocked group.