[3/10 Of Castle Mass Release! Shout out to Dragonman009128 for the gift!]
Creed stared at his phone, eyes wide and jaw slack, as if the numbers on the screen had personally slapped him across the face.
10,000 credits per month!
For a tiny, shoebox-sized one-room apartnt!
He blinked once. Twice. No matter how many tis he refreshed the page, those cold, heartless numbers stayed the sa.
'Are these landlords bloody shylocks?' Creed's thoughts ran wild with frustration.
'What, do they throw in free gold bars with every month's rent? Maybe a back massage from a Stage 5 beauty?'
His imagination didn't help. He pictured a smug landlord sitting on a throne of credits, cackling evilly as innocent people like him were forced to sell their kidneys just to rent a bathroom.
But then, logic slowly kicked in. 'Alright, maybe it's not that ridiculous,' he reasoned, exhaling slowly.
Living in a Tier 3 Bastion ca with privileges, after all. The biggest? Safety.
There were stronger defenses, better technology, and higher-class citizens who didn't attract as much trouble.
Or at least, trouble ca in the form of political assassinations and backstabbing billionaires, not random beast hordes devouring your neighbor.
Still, knowing the price of peace didn't make him any less broke.
Creed sighed and switched his search, narrowing it down to "cheapest hotel rooms in Section 7 Infernal Ice."
He almost scread when he saw the result: 500 credits per night!
"Five. Hundred. For a glorified closet with a bed?" He nearly threw his phone across the street but rembered that it was basically the last functional possession he had left after his bracelet.
'At this point, I'm better off sleeping in a trash can wrapped in bubble wrap!'
But deep down, he knew it was necessary. He couldn't just wander the streets like so lost stray.
"I'll stay for a few days," he muttered, making a ntal note to figure out a solution to his serious money problem before his funds dried up faster than water in the desert.
.....
Three hours later...
The room wasn't bad.
All white walls, minimalistic furniture, and a single bed that looked too fluffy for its own good.
Creed slumped onto the bed, and imdiately, his body sank into the softness like a marshmallow lting in hot cocoa.
"Damn, that's too comfy..."
He didn't realize how tired he was until his eyes started fluttering shut.
His muscles ached, his back felt like it had wrestled a truck, and his brain was screaming for a full system shutdown.
Just as sleep was about to claim him, a sudden flash of purple light filled the room.
"Oh, hell no..."
Before Creed could react, Lilith appeared out of thin air, looking like a demoness straight out of every man's darkest (or best?) fantasies.
Her eyes burned with a crazed, lusty glow, and before he could even sit up, she straddled him like a conqueror claiming her prize.
"W-Wait—" His protest died in his throat as she leaned down, her hands already working at the zipper of his trousers with the efficiency of soone on a mission.
Creed's brain scread one thought above all else:
'I DON'T HAVE ANY STAMINA SERUMS!'
His bittersweet emotions warred with sheer terror. 'I barely survived last ti—she'll kill this ti. Is this what they an by dying happy?'
F*ck!
.....
The next morning...
The Infernal Ice Bastion's Adventurer Union was alive with its usual chaos.
The massive grey lobby buzzed with noise, filled with dozens of adventurers moving in and out like a living river of ambition and desperation.
The towering ceilings echoed with the sound of laughter, argunts, and the clinking of weapons.
There were all kinds of people—so dressed in flashy armor, others in sleek suits, and a few in robes that shimred with faint magical energy.
Every single one of them carried the air of soone who had stared death in the face and decided to punch it in the teeth.
Then, the doors opened, and in limped a man who imdiately drew all the wrong kinds of attention.
Tall, handso, with sharp features and golden, slightly ssy hair, Creed stepped into the lobby wearing a simple shirt and pants.
His appearance wasn't what caught everyone's eye, though—it was the way he walked. No, limped.
"Why's he walking like that?" One adventurer whispered.
"Is that a new movent technique?" Another joked.
Creed didn't hear them, though. His face was pale, lips pressed into a tight, solemn line.
His eyes stared ahead as if haunted by sothing far worse than monsters or near-death experiences.
'Last night... I survived by a damn miracle!'
Fourteen rounds. Fourteen! He didn't even think that was physically possible for a human being to endure!
Every inch of his body ached like it had been personally beaten by a gorilla wielding a frying pan.
His legs felt like overcooked noodles, and his back... well, let's just say bending down was now considered a high-risk activity.
"This... is a pitiful life," Creed muttered, dragging himself toward the front desk like a soldier returning from a war zone.
He straightened his back (with a wince), clenched his fists, and took a deep breath.
'Enough's enough. If I'm going to survive in this damned bastion, I need money. And if the universe won't give it to , I'll take it.'
His voice was steady as steel.
"It's ti to beco an adventurer."
In this new world, survival wasn't just about hiding behind thick walls and praying the monsters outside didn't get in.
The Dinsion Managent Authority (DMA) was the official organization in charge of defending the bastion, exploring new rifts, and preventing dinsional forces from tearing reality apart.
They were the high-ranking professionals, ard with cutting-edge technology and backed by governnt funding.
But here's the catch: the DMA couldn't handle everything.
That's where Adventurers ca in.
Their job was less glamorous but just as vital. Old rifts—dinsional scars left from previous invasions—didn't just disappear on their own.
If left alone, the beasts inside would grow restless, stronger, and more nurous until they eventually poured out like a tsunami of death.
The result? A catastrophic beast tide that could wipe out an entire bastion.
And since the creatures lurking outside this Tier 3 Bastion were powerful enough to crush unprepared solo fighters, Creed knew better than to play hero.
'Joining a team's my best bet,' he thought grimly. 'I'll register as an Adventurer first, then find a solid squad to run with. That'll keep alive long enough to figure out my next move.'
The inside of the Adventurer Union was more efficient than Creed expected.
The mont he approached the front desk, a cheerful receptionist with short pink hair and bright green eyes gave him a friendly smile.
"Welco to the Adventurer Union! Looking to register?" Her voice was way too bubbly for soone surrounded by people who risked their lives daily.
Creed nodded. "Yeah. First ti."
"No problem! I'll guide you through the process."
The steps were surprisingly simple. First, she handed him a sleek device to scan his identity bracelet, linking his personal data to the Union's system.
Next ca the biotric scan, where his fingerprint, retina, and even his voice were recorded.
"Now, just fill out this quick form," the receptionist chirped, handing over a tablet.
Na. Age. Special skills. Preferred combat style.
Creed filled it out swiftly, listing his abilities vaguely enough not to give away too much but still impressive enough to be taken seriously.
"And done."
A small beep sounded from the counter. The receptionist handed him a black-and-silver badge with his na engraved at the bottom:
[Creed – F-Rank Adventurer]
"Congratulations!" she grinned. "You're officially registered as an Adventurer."
Creed stared at the badge for a second, feeling... underwheld.
F-rank. The lowest of the low.
"Guess everyone starts sowhere," he muttered, pocketing the badge.
"Just so you know," the receptionist added, leaning in slightly, "As an F-rank, you'll need to join a team for any rift-clearing missions. You're not allowed to go solo until you reach at least C-rank."
Creed gave her a lazy salute. "Got it. Where do I find a team?"
"Log into the Adventurer Union's site using your ID. You'll see postings for squads recruiting new mbers."
Fifteen minutes later, Creed sat in one of the Union's lounge chairs, scrolling through the Adventurer Union Network on his phone.
"Ti to find a team worth my ti..." He skimd through dozens of postings, most of which were either too vague or clearly looking for high-ranking mbers only.
Then his eyes caught sothing... interesting.
[Frost Valkyries – Recruiting New mbers!]
Requirents: Exceptional combat ability (Stage 1), must pass an interview... and must be beautiful.
Creed blinked, rereading the listing three tis.
"Wait, what? Only... beautiful girls?" He leaned back in disbelief. "What kinda sexist nonsense is that? What's next, 'must wear pink armor'?!"
But for them to have such a rule, didn't that an that all the existing mbers were also beauties?!
Nice! Creed instantly made his decision.
"They're strong, experienced, and clearly efficient... I need to join this squad."
Without wasting ti, Creed marched back to the receptionist's desk.
"Hey, how do I join a team?"
The pink-haired clerk raised an eyebrow. "You need an invite first. Most teams won't just let anyone in. It's best to send a ssage and request a eting."
Creed's grin widened. "Thanks for the tip."
Opening his phone again, Creed fired off a ssage to the Frost Valkyries.
[Creed]: "I'm interested in joining your team. When can we et?"
The reply ca faster than he expected.
[Frost Valkyries]: "We don't accept n. Our team is exclusively for won. You're a man, right?"
Creed snorted, cracking his knuckles before typing back.
[Creed]: "Says who? When can we et and talk in person?"
There was a long pause. Then, another ssage appeared.
[Frost Valkyries]: "...Go to the 3rd floor if you're serious."
Creed leaned back in his chair, grinning like a man who had just flipped the table during a losing ga.
"Challenge accepted."
_____
Power stone Goal!
20 PS - 1 Bonus Chapter
50 PS - 2 Bonus Chapter
100 PS (Quite an achievent as of now) - 3 Bonus Chapters.
Castle - 10 Bonus Chapters!
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