"Let’s finish orientation. Boss fight edition."
The Guardian did not care about my onboarding. The follow-through took off the pillar and tried to fold into the floor. Ribs shrieked, my spine rang like rebar, and Tiles cracked into my shoulder blades.
[Absolute Regeneration Activated]
[Major trauma detected: spinal contusion, rib fractures (2). Temporary cooldown: 4s.]
The little tir flickered red in the corner while the room pushed on my lungs like it wanted them flatter. Tail hissed past my ankles and carved sparks. I rolled because walking belonged to better n. Heat poured through like a bad battery.
[Absolute Regeneration Restored]
[Injuries recovered: spinal contusion, rib fractures (2).]
Blade Dancer yanked my legs forward before my brain agreed. Low swipe—I dropped lower than I told myself to, jacket rasping steel—Fangpiercer bit under a plate and the runes stung my palm.
[Fangpiercer Critical]
[Armor Penetration: 30%]
Black blood spattered my boots. The Guardian flinched the way a train notices a pebble: grudging and insulted. It sucked mana and its chest plates shifted—not much, just a crack you could miss if you wanted to live. My brain went, hey idiot, that opening is for you. I sprinted into it and shoved the point where "no" turned into "fine." Sothing deep inside buzzed wrong in my teeth, like chewing on tinfoil. Good. Keep annoying it.
The chestplate fell to crush . I wasn’t there, so it pancaked a tile instead. Then a backhand threw into the rib wall. Blue roots cracked against my spine and lit up like veins under glass. Dust rained down in clumps, filling my mouth with grit. For a second I saw Mara’s mouth by lamplight and my brain tried to run a horny slideshow at my funeral. I laughed once because apparently I’m just built wrong.
[Absolute Regeneration Activated]
[Major trauma detected: shoulder dislocation (R), dermal abrasion (back). Temporary cooldown: 3s.]
It raised both claws for the stamp. I rolled through the middle because I’m compatible with bad ideas; claws shaved my back; the tir blinked in the corner like a smoke alarm that resents you; then the heat slamd the joint ho.
[Absolute Regeneration Restored]
[Injuries recovered: shoulder dislocation (R), dermal abrasion (back).]
I stuffed Fangpiercer into the throat seam while the plates were still trying to pretend they were invincible.
[Fangpiercer Critical]
[Armor Penetration: 30%]
Deeper than last ti. The seam knew my na now and hated it. Black heat splashed my cheek.
It answered with a knee to my chest that made my heart clock out without notice.
[Absolute Regeneration Activated]
[Major trauma detected: sternum fracture, pulmonary contusion. Temporary cooldown: 5s.]
I backpedaled over tile ribs, tir red in the edge of my eye, and its tail clipped my thigh hard enough to make my leg file for resignation.
[Additional trauma detected: quadriceps tear, femoral contusion.]
A bench exploded when a claw suggested it should. Splinters bit into my arms like angry bees. I used the bench anyway, pushed off, and bought space with panic.
[Absolute Regeneration Restored]
[Injuries recovered: sternum fracture, pulmonary contusion, quadriceps tear, femoral contusion.]
Fire burned out and left power behind. "Compatible with reckless idiots," I told the knife between breaths. "Congrats on finding your guy."
I was already stabbing before thought caught up—shoulder, elbow, and yep, chest plate again, because apparently I hold grudges longer than I’ve ever held a girlfriend.
[Fangpiercer Critical]
[Fangpiercer Critical]
[Fangpiercer Critical]
[Armor Penetration: 30%]
The lines bled black. The roar shook dust out of the ribs overhead. I almost grinned and then it swatted sideways like garbage. Again!
[Absolute Regeneration Activated]
[Major trauma detected: scapular fracture, rib fractures (3), internal bleeding. Temporary cooldown: 6s.]
Floor ridges lifted under its stomps and skipped across the floor like a rock on a pond. It inhaled again; the plates cracked open that stingy little seam; I braced because the tir was still blinking no. It lunged anyway. I went under on speed, not wisdom, and slashed the armpit seam just to piss it off.
[Fangpiercer Critical]
[Armor Penetration: 30%]
The heat finally hit like a fuse burning out.
[Absolute Regeneration Restored]
[Injuries recovered: scapular fracture, rib fractures (3), internal bleeding.]
Air slamd back into . Fine. More. I slid across blue slick, dragged the edge along its inner thigh seam to open a slow leak, and almost ate tile when Blade Dancer dragged faster than my knees enjoy. "Be boring, sexy." It was becoming my new motto—the only thread keeping from losing it. I wheezed... before I realized I was already ducking a claw that wanted to edit my skull with red ink. "I’m trying, Mara. Keep the pancakes warm."
It drew in mana again, deeper now. The chest plates shifted more than a tease. Not a door. A seam. Good enough for . I went up the forelimb because I was out of clever ideas—boots slipping, fingers catching ridges—and drove the blade to the hilt into the gap.
[Fangpiercer Critical]
[Armor Penetration: 30%]
The runes flared cold fire through my bones. Sothing scread inside that wasn’t made for ears. The Guardian stuttered like a trono tripping over its own tick. It tried to clap shut on my arm; I kept my arm and fell through hot black haze. The tail whipped my lower back like a train exiting a tunnel.
[Absolute Regeneration Activated]
[Major trauma detected: lumbar strain, dermal lacerations. Temporary cooldown: 3s.]
White static chewed at the edges of my vision. The ceiling doubled, two sets of ribs swaying like drunks. I crawled anyway. The room hated both of us equally.
[Absolute Regeneration Restored]
[Injuries recovered: lumbar strain, dermal lacerations.]
No more fishing. I jamd my shoulder into the cracked chest plate like a chanic forcing rusted tal apart. And then shoved the blade into the bad light because that was my job now.
[Fangpiercer Critical]
[Armor Penetration: 30%]
The buzz inside turned into a tooth-rattling throb I felt in my molars. It side-swiped with everything it had and caught my left arm clean. Sothing snapped and my fingers went bright then useless.
[Absolute Regeneration Activated]
[Major trauma detected: hural fracture (L), rib fractures (2). Temporary cooldown: 5s.]
The tir blinked at like, ’you serious?’ It lifted for the finish. I stepped into its chest because the plates were lifting again and I had decided I was the kind of idiot who bets on timing.
"Rent," I told myself, because I needed a reason that wasn’t glory. "Pancakes. Boobs. Sex."
I hauled with everything dumb in and shoved Fangpiercer through the light. Then the system kicked, heat racing down my arm and cracking the bone straight again—like a pissed-off chiropractor on fast-forward.
[Absolute Regeneration Restored]
[Injuries recovered: hural fracture (L), rib fractures (2).]
The light inside the Guardian died like soone yanked a plug out of a wall. Plates sloughed off in sheets. Fur went to smoke and then to nothing. The tail twitched once like it wanted to write one last insult and settled for dying.
Silence dropped like the room had forgotten how to breathe. Then the dungeon rembered it was also a building. The ceiling ribs tore a crooked line of daylight. The floor tilted under like the whole dungeon had vertigo. Sothing bright condensed above the open chest and fell with a rich little clink my rent calculator appreciated.[Loot Acquired: Mana Stone (A-Rank, Core).]
I did not stare. Into Inventory. My hands were shaking.
More junk rolled out—basalt plate hunks shot with blue, horn wedges, glassy root-fiber, ore veined like soldered lightning, a clear shard that pulsed faint silver like it had opinions.
[Loot Acquired: Guardian Basalt Plate (A).]
[Loot Acquired: Horn Segnt (A).]
[Loot Acquired: Root-Fiber Resin (Rare).]
[Loot Acquired: Mana-Veined Ore (Rare).]
[Loot Acquired: Core Fragnt — Material (Unknown Rank).]
"Pawnshop," I told the corpse. "Rent. Pancakes." I took everything because raccoon logic is undefeated.
I stood there, shaking, dagger still in my grip, watching the Core Guardian twitch once, then finally slump into silence. Only when the roots stopped pulsing and the dungeon exhaled did I let out the breath I’d been strangling.
Then the system lit up my vision like Vegas had just comped a suite.
[EXP Gained: 1,200]
[Level Up → Level 5]
Stat Points 5
[Level Progress: 200 / 500]
[Level Up → Level 6]
Stat Points 5
[Level Progress: 700 / 600]
[Level Up → Level 7]
Stat Points 5
[Level Progress: 100 / 700]
[Level Up → Level 8]
Stat Points 5
[Level Progress: 100 / 800]
"Holy fuck—" I croaked, half-laughing, half-coughing blood. "Okay. That’s... that’s four levels. Sure. Totally normal. Nobody panic."
The boxes waited, patient as a bored clerk. Fangpiercer humd in my grip like it wanted to hurry up and make choices.
[Distribute 20 points.]
— Strength
— Agility
— Endurance
— Intelligence
— Wisdom
— Luck
"Any chance of a stat called Rent Money?" I rasped. Silence. "Didn’t think so."
I chewed on it a second, then shrugged. "Twelve in Strength. Eight in Agility. Let’s keep the reckless idiot the alive."
[Points assigned.]
[Updated Status]
Level: 8
Strength: 32
Agility: 24
Endurance: 9
Intelligence: 6
Wisdom: 5
Luck: ???
[Level Progress: 100 / 800]
I stared at the numbers until my brain tried to reboot. Strength thirty-two. Agility twenty-four. At level freaking eight.
A week ago, I thought I’d rot at F-rank forever. Carrying potions. Cleaning guts off dungeon tile. Being the guy hunters called "porter" instead of my na. Background noise with rent due. Destined for uselessness.
And now? Now my stat sheet looked like it belonged to soone who ate A-rank monsters for breakfast. I hadn’t earned it. I’d stumbled into it. And the thought made my stomach twist harder than any rib ever had.
If the guild scanners ever saw this, they wouldn’t clap on the back—they’d strap to a table and invoice as "research materials."
I wiped blood off my lip and laughed anyway. "Cool. Totally casual. Just an F-rank trash can casually stat-padding like I’m speedrunning life. No big deal. Definitely won’t attract attention. Exactly the kind of boring Mara asked for."
Fangpiercer humd like it knew better.
The fused-root curtain over the stair sang a thin wineglass note and split. Blade Dancer tugged back through the hall. The hounds I’d killed lay stiff in pools of black. The brute’s den still stank of rot. The breakroom was a graveyard of hunters, their gear silent witnesses. Every step out felt like walking past my own obituary.
Then the rib-wall at the stair split open with a noise like shattering glass. Real wind slapped —bus brakes, fried dough, hot asphalt—and the dungeon stink washed out of my lungs as daylight burned in.
Quarantine Lot C had grown an audience. Tape pushed back. Civilians in clumps. Hunters in armor knots with gossip faces. Inspectors in gray with tablets like warrants. I climbed the rail on legs with no brakes left and staggered onto asphalt pretending not to notice the blood. The guard who beeped my badge looked like he’d swallowed a bee. Phones everywhere. A kid in a towel-cape pointed a foam sword at and whispered, "whoa." Sa, little man, sa.
A woman in gray with INCIDENT LEAD on her chest walked toward . Haircut expensive. Eyes like paperwork that bites.
"Na," she said.
"Ethan Cross," I said. My voice had gravel in it. "F-rank."
You could feel the ripple spread—hunters clamping their mouths, civilians going ohhh, and suits outside the tape calculating what kind of paperwork I’d just beco. Behind , the gate sealed with a last breath of dust.
"Where is your party?" she asked. "Who assisted you?"
"I walked in alone," I said. "I walked out alone." I tried to sound casual, and it sounded like bullshit even to . "Do you have water? Or milk. Hell, I’ll take one of those awful chocolate protein shakes. I’m not proud."
A couple hunters made the swallow-your-laugh noise. Towel-cape kid stared like I’d just spawned in front of him.
Her face didn’t move. "dical. Debrief. Artifact surrender." She glanced at the sealed crack, then back at . "The mont you entered, the gate locked. Our monitors spiked from E-rank to A-rank in under a minute." Then a beat of silence. "So explain why you’re standing here without a scratch while your clothes are soaked in blood."
That set the crowd off like a fire alarm."Impossible!" — "A-rank?!" — "F-rank trash doesn’t walk out of that!"Phones went higher. Armor creaked as hunters pushed for a look. Civilians gasped like a wave rolling down the line.
I stood there in ripped clothes and blood that wasn’t mine anymore, pretending I didn’t notice that the whole southside had decided I was math that didn’t add up. Yeah, too, guys.
"Absolutely," I said, and my fingers found Fangpiercer’s hilt without asking. It humd like a smug cat that would absolutely get arrested.
A quiet line slid where only I could see it:[Path Hint: Crafting Affinity Detected.]
"Path?" I muttered. "Later."
Sirens spun up. Flashbulbs popped. Arcadia didn’t see background noise anymore. It saw a problem to solve fast. Under all of it, the dumb bright thing in stood up again and said fine.
"Be boring, sexy," Mara had texted.
"Sorry," I told the sky, and let the gray suits herd toward a governnt car. "I’m terrible at boring."
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