The Weakest Hunter In Nigeria

Morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains of Olutola Ojetola's modest apartment, casting a warm glow on the worn but tidy room. He groaned, rolling over to check the time on his phone. The city of Lagos was already alive with its usual symphony of sounds—honking cars, vendors calling out their wares, and the distant hum of countless conversations.

"No time to waste," Olutola muttered to himself as he swung his legs out of bed. Today was the day of the hunter evaluation, a chance to prove himself and climb the ranks.

He moved quickly but deliberately, dressing in his hunter gear with practiced efficiency. Each piece of armor, every weapon, meticulously maintained and placed for quick access. He caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror above the dresser.

"I can do this. I have to do this," he whispered, steeling his resolve.

Stepping out into the bustling streets, Olutola clutched his belongings tightly. Lagos was not a place where you could let your guard down. He navigated through the throngs of people, eyes scanning for any potential threats while also mentally preparing for the day's challenges.

As he moved through the crowd, a figure bumped into him from behind, and Olutola felt a slight tug at his pocket. Years of living in Lagos had honed his instincts. He spun around, his hand shooting out to grab the wrist of a young pickpocket.

"Trying to steal from me?" Olutola said, his voice calm but laced with warning.

The boy, no older than fifteen, froze, eyes wide with fear. He tried to pull away, but Olutola's grip was ironclad. A small crowd began to gather, intrigued by the commotion.

"Please, sir, I didn't mean to—" the boy stammered.

Before he could finish, a gruff voice interrupted. "Let the boy go, or you'll regret it."

Olutola looked up to see a group of rough-looking men approaching. Their leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. The crowd parted to let them through, murmurs of anticipation rippling through the onlookers.

"Looks like we have some entertainment," one spectator whispered.

"Yeah, but that guy doesn't look like he's afraid," another replied, watching Olutola with interest.

Olutola released the boy, who quickly scurried away, and turned to face the newcomers. His heart pounded, but he kept his expression neutral. These men were clearly part of a gang, and they were used to intimidating their way through the streets. But Olutola was not an ordinary man.

"You really think you can steal from me and walk away?" Olutola asked, his voice steady.

The leader laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Big words for someone who's outnumbered."

Olutola felt a surge of adrenaline, his system activating instinctively. Information flooded his vision, highlighting the strengths and weaknesses of each opponent. He allowed himself a small, confident smile.

[System Analysis]

- Target: Gang Leader

- Strength: High (Experienced street fighter)

- Weakness: Overconfidence, slow left side

- Suggested Action: Exploit left side, quick disarm

[System Analysis]

- Target: Henchman 1

- **Strength: Medium (Good with a knife)

- Weakness: Poor footwork

- Suggested Action: Keep distance, attack legs

System Analysis]

- Target: Henchman 2

- Strength: Low (Inexperienced, relies on numbers)

- Weakness: Easily intimidated

- Suggested Action: Intimidation, swift takedown

"Let's see how tough you really are," Olutola said, taking a step forward.

The leader lunged, swinging a heavy fist. Olutola sidestepped effortlessly, his movements almost a blur. He countered with a precise strike to the man's midsection, sending him staggering back. The crowd gasped, the whispers growing louder.

"Did you see that? He's fast!" one onlooker exclaimed.

"Who is this guy?" another murmured, eyes wide with amazement.

The gang members hesitated, glancing at each other nervously. Olutola didn't give them a chance to regroup. He moved with the fluidity and precision of a seasoned hunter, taking down each opponent with calculated efficiency. A kick here, a punch there—each move was deliberate, leaving no room for retaliation.

Within moments, the fight was over. The gang lay on the ground, groaning in pain, while Olutola stood tall, barely breaking a sweat. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, the tension replaced by admiration and excitement.

"Wow, that was incredible!" someone shouted.

"He's a real hunter, no doubt about it," another agreed.

Olutola looked around, meeting the eyes of the spectators. He nodded slightly, acknowledging their praise but keeping his focus. He had a bigger challenge ahead.

As he continued on his way to the Hunter Association headquarters, the events replayed in his mind. The power he had gained from his system had given him the confidence to face any threat. He was ready for whatever the evaluation would throw at him.

Olutola navigated through the throngs of people, making his way to the imposing structure of the Hunter Association headquarters. The grand foyer was a hive of activity. Hunters of all ranks and from various guilds mingled, their conversations a mix of nerves, bravado, and strategy.

"Hey, Tola!" a familiar voice called out.

Olutola turned to see Chike, a fellow hunter from the Iron Fangs guild. Chike's usual jovial demeanor was tempered by the seriousness of the day.

"Chike, good to see you," Olutola replied, managing a smile.

"Ready for the big day?" Chike asked, his voice betraying his own nervousness.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Olutola said, trying to project confidence. "How about you?"

"Nervous as hell, but we'll get through it," Chike admitted. "We have to."

They made their way to the evaluation arena, a massive space designed to accommodate the various tests and challenges. The air was thick with anticipation, the buzz of conversation creating a constant hum. Olutola took in the sight of hunters from different guilds, each one a potential ally or adversary.

The first part of the evaluation was a series of individual tests. Olutola found himself facing a simulated creature, its mechanical limbs moving with surprising fluidity. He took a deep breath, centering himself.

"Focus, Tola. You've got this," he whispered.

The creature lunged at him with mechanical ferocity. Olutola dodged to the side, countering with a swift strike. Each movement was precise, a testament to his training. Around him, other hunters were engaged in their own battles, their grunts of effort and the clang of weapons creating a symphony of combat.

In the stands, spectators watched with bated breath. Groups of melon eaters leaned forward, eyes glued to the action. They whispered among themselves, betting on outcomes and discussing the skills on display.

"Look at that guy in the red armor," one spectator said. "He's from the Silver Blades. I hear he's a top contender."

"Yeah, but did you see the girl with the staff? She's been taking down those creatures like they're nothing," another replied.

As Olutola continued his fight, he couldn't help but overhear some of the comments from the stands. It was a reminder that this was more than just a test—it was a performance, and the audience was judging every move.

The simulation ended with a decisive strike, and Olutola stood panting, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He had passed the first test, but there were more challenges ahead.