Unable to repay my student loans, I had no choice but to work part-time as a demon hunter.

The butler, Evans, strode over carrying a lantern, his face beaming with undisguised joy.

For the butler, the Deep Claw Demon meant the disappearance or murder of a servant, the arrival of reporters, and basement repairs. The young lady would suffer from insomnia, while the count would only coldly retort, "Why weren't you prepared beforehand?"

Now these troubles are sliced ​​up and packaged, and a single ship can take them away.

Is there anything more joyful than this?

"You two have worked hard." Evans smiled, stopping where he wouldn't step in the blood. "So... is the problem solved?"

Gordon quickly assessed the situation and concluded that this incident actually exposed the growing problem of alien demons in the Blackwater River.

A few minutes passed between the dripping water and the arrival of the first batch of alien demons.

Given the Blackwater River's current speed tonight, the water will only be enough to carry that small amount of precipitate downstream for a little over a hundred meters. Therefore, the first to arrive and die will be those who were already lingering nearby.

The subsequent killings lasted for several tens of minutes, a long enough time for the "pheromones" thrown into the water to spread to the surrounding area for several kilometers, exposing all the large and small demons chasing the smell of blood and the commotion.

"We've killed quite a few Deepclaw Demons, and none will come to retaliate overnight. The rest know this isn't a good place for a stroll," Gordon said succinctly. "But if we want to resolve the Silverfish Box problem, tonight is just the beginning."

Evans breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't worried because the Earl would be back soon.

"That's enough." He then took out a small silk purse and handed it to Gordon. "This is just a small token of my appreciation. Mr. Gordon is still a student, and he'd like to buy a few textbooks and a new coat. This should be sufficient."

"I owed Charlotte 18 silver pounds, and I'll pay her back with this." Gordon settled the matter once and for all. "But before we discuss my affairs... I'd like to ask, how much did Vera receive?"

"One gold pound." Vera, without turning her head, used the tip of her sword to pry open a section of the mysterious creature's cartilage.

"One gold pound?" Gordon thought it was at least ten gold pounds.

"Hmm," Vera said, "half a gold pound in advance. That's why I said this family is stingy."

Gordon turned his gaze back to Evans, the butler's expression unchanged.

"Mr. Evans. She wants to go into the water, kill monsters, and delve into the dirtiest and deepest parts of the ancestral home, risking pollution and the loss of limbs. You'll give her one gold pound," Gordon said.

Vera stopped swaying.

This was the first time she had heard someone speak up for her, so much so that she couldn't tell if it was sarcasm or kindness.

"Mr. Vic, you misunderstand. The Hunter Administration has a reference price for temporary commissions of Tier 2 trainee hunters. Miss Vera also accepted the offer. This price is not against the market rate," Evans said matter-of-factly.

The so-called market conditions are just an excuse; they have nothing to do with whether they're reasonable or not. Vera doesn't understand this, but Gordon does. Understanding means there's profit to be made, and it also means he can't pretend he didn't see it.

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"Because she was hungry, because she was short of money," Gordon said, "that's why she accepted that insulting offer. It's not fair. Look at her, she's practically stealing church meals."

"I've never managed to get any," Vera said. "I always arrive too late; only God knows who ate them all."

"Of course, I started queuing up at dawn," Gordon said.

"Aww..." Vera only realized today that there are mountains beyond mountains.

"..." Evans clearly did not want to raise the price.

Speaking of...

1 gold pounds.

Gordon looked at Vera.

Hunter ranks are divided into six levels: Apprentice, Trainee, Professional, Elite, Expert, and Master.

Vera is a second-tier trainee hunter with a chaotic life, gluttony, lack of money, and incoherent speech, as if she randomly picked a few words from her mind and strung them together.

But tonight, she slaughtered the Deepclaw Demons one by one. Without hesitation, and without making a mistake.

Why did the gang leader at the old fish market split the money according to the agreement? Half of it was because the goods were genuine, and the other half was because Vera was standing next to him holding a black sword.

A hunter who can clear out water monkeys like minions is currently only valued at 1 gold pound.

He suddenly realized that many absurd things had happened tonight, and what was even more absurd was that no one had ever hired her long-term.

What's more interesting than making money is finding a hunter who doesn't even know she's worth anything.

"What if I... hire you?" Gordon turned to Vera.

"What are you doing?" Vera looked up at him.

“Similar things,” Gordon said. “You’d even take jobs that involve going to someone’s house in the middle of the night to cut down water monkeys. I bet you don’t have an agency, a source of long-term clients, or a doctor who would seriously examine your health.”

Vera lowered her head to wipe her sword.

Gordon's gaze lingered on her. Her clothes were wet, clinging to her waist, abdomen, and thighs. The muscles hidden beneath her trench coat were beautifully defined and deadly, as if they could strangle Gordon at any moment, like a shark.

She was a little taller than everyone else present. If she were a weapon, she would be the kind of weapon any man would want to possess.

"I don't need a doctor."

"You need to," Gordon said. "Bingeing isn't about having a large appetite. If you look at a piece of bread like you're going to fight it, that's not normal. The bread can't beat you at all. There's no need to hate it so much."

"..." Vera thought for a moment, "I've consumed a lot of source essence, and now I don't know which part is causing the trouble. Can you cure it?"

"Not now," Gordon said, "but I'm willing to help you and give you a medical checkup. You can work for me, and the profits will be transparent. If you think I'm cheating you, you can quit anytime. And I'll treat you to dinner."

"Deal." Vera nodded readily.

I live in…

"It's alright, the scent is more important." Vera walked behind Gordon, bent down and sniffed, then marked it.

Charlotte watched the deal go through.

"Great, Gordon. Problem solved." Charlotte walked over with a smile, adjusting her position, her purpose clear: to position herself between Gordon and Vera.

"Want me a ride?" Gordon looked in the direction of home.

"Go back? No, no..." Charlotte turned to Evans, "Prepare two guest rooms for them to rest. It's so late, they shouldn't be running around anymore."

"Miss, the ancestral home has just been rescued, and the guest rooms haven't been cleaned yet..." Evans hesitated, "Never mind, to be fair, they are, after all, outsiders."

"These 'outsiders' have solved the old house's problems, and Deepclaws won't be coming for a while, that's enough." Charlotte's tone was gentle but firm. "Go do it, immediately."

……

The guest rooms at the Monford family home are excellent, extremely luxurious, and could even be said to exceed Gordon's most beautiful imagination of the world.

A bed. A real bed—you sink into it, your weary body sinks in, and your noble soul is elevated.

The curtains. They're there to block the envious glances of the poor.

[The carpet. It's better than what you've eaten in the past month.]

A fireplace. Forget about it; it's an unimaginable daily expense.

Gordon walked to the bedside and reached out to press the mattress.

The first feeling was that it was soft, very soft. His hand gently sank into it and then slowly bounced back. I really don't know what material it was made of.

That's why rich people always seem so relaxed and at ease. At least they really sleep well, while poor people wake up feeling unwell and assume everyone else is like them.

Gordon drew the curtains and went straight to sleep.

He had a thick wad of 35 gold pound notes in his arms.

It seems that the student loan problem is not insurmountable.

The Royal Academy of Sciences University is expensive, so student loan services naturally emerged. When signing the papers, they are all smiles and treat you like a student, but when it comes to collecting debts, they are fierce and ruthless, wishing they could beat you to death.

Many people find themselves owing more and more money after years of repayments, postponing marriage, buying a house, and the day they can truly start living their lives.

Gordon is escaping this cage.

As long as he can pay it off before graduation, he'll be as free as a bird soaring into the sky or a fish swimming in the sea! ...Although, tonight's events made him reluctant to associate himself with any metaphors related to fish.

As I lay down, the fatigue dissipated from my spine, and my nerves relaxed inch by inch.

The "Unbroken String" essence within the body still emanates a faint rhythm deep within the brain, giving people a strong sense of security.

[The Unbroken String: Deepening Integration]

In a hazy, half-asleep dream, Gordon vaguely saw the silver fish casket.

Something was wriggling deep inside the box, slowly taking shape.

……

As dawn approached, Guy Monfort, the 10th Earl of Monfort, returned to his ancestral home on White Elm Road, his mind burdened with the weighty question of the Deep Claw Demon.

The car stopped at the main gate. A servant helped the Earl down.

Then there was a man dressed in a grey and white hunting outfit. He was around thirty years old, tall and thin, with a short black cloak draped over his shoulders, two pistols at his waist, and richly dressed with a pure silver badge in the shape of a white raven on his collar.

Arthur Gray.

Tier 3 professional hunter. Owner of "Grey's Private Demon Hunter Agency" on Wycliffe Street. The Lundnim Morning Post ranked him as the fifth most trustworthy hunter in the city.

This ranking is quite subtle.

The first place is an officially partnered hunter, the second place has a noble backer, the third place is a noble himself, and the fourth place just died last month, but the newspaper forgot to update the list.

The fifth-ranked person is the only strong individual who can be hired with money.

"You've dragged this out for too long," Gray said.

"Mr. Gray, I tried to contact you as soon as I received the confirmation," Monford said.

"It's pointless," Gray said impatiently. "This is how clients are. I knew it. If you hear a sound from inside the wall, you'll say it's rats. If a servant goes missing, you'll say it's theft or elopement. By the time we get in, things are usually beyond repair."

"The Montfort family will pay the extra money," the Earl said.

“Money can get me a job,” Gray said, “but it can’t buy back the time you’ve wasted. When we open that door, we’ll find a pile of corpses.”

"Mr. Grey..." The Earl's face turned cold.

"Your Excellency, if you only want a few polite compliments, you can go to your butler," Gray sneered. "If you want to solve the problem, you'll have to listen to me."

As the two entered the ancestral home, the butler, Evans, was already respectfully waiting in the foyer.

"How is the situation?" the count sighed.

"Reporting to you, sir, the matter... was basically resolved last night." Evans glanced at Gray discreetly.