I felt the familiar, urge to use the amulet again. Despite managing a short nap, I couldn’t shake the restlessness that had been gnawing at me. Wasting the day in bed wasn’t an option, so I got up and wandered into the common room. Sharla was sitting cross-legged on the ground, deeply engaged in conversation with a Chihuahua man dressed in flowing robes. She was positioned to be eye-level with him, her expression serious and attentive. Not wanting to interrupt, I decided to call out the spear trainer again.


    The Cocker Spaniel woman materialised, tail wagging enthusiastically as she greeted me.


    “Hello, sir! Ready for some more beginner drills?” she barked excitedly, the volume startling the Chihuahua man, who began trembling violently.


    I winced and raised my hands in apology. “Not today. I’d like to focus on some crowd control moves with my spear,” I said, producing the weapon.


    Her eyes lit up as she eagerly equipped her own spear, and we got to work. She started with the windmill attack Sharla had shown me previously. It felt good to revisit the move, especially with her detailed corrections. She pointed out that I should keep my shoulders square and relaxed to generate more force, which I hadn’t realised before. From there, she showed me how to transition the windmill into thrusts, slashes, and defensive parries.


    We moved on to other techniques, including a wide swinging arc, a push-and-jab, and quick thrust-and-withdraw motions. It was a lot of information to take in, and I found myself struggling to memorise the precise footwork and hand placements. My progress with the quarterstaff had been more intuitive—every time I levelled up, new movements and ideas seemed to flow naturally into my mind. Combat practice and sparring smoothed the gaps over time, but this felt much more like learning theory. Without physical feedback, the techniques were harder to grasp.


    The trainers were helpful, but I realised I needed to get back out into the field to put these moves into practice.


    Milli, meanwhile, had decided to forgo sleep entirely and gone into town to do some “face time” with potential raid volunteers. She had looked disappointed she couldn’t come with us but understood that her role in organising the larger mission was critical.


    “Don’t think you two are getting out of the hard work,” she had said before leaving. “You’re both going to be out there the moment you get back.”


    Sharla and I knew how important the raid was, but skipping training felt like an unacceptable risk. If we weren’t sharp enough for battle, it wouldn’t matter how well we organised the raid—it would all be for nothing. Both Sharla and Milli had plateaued at level 3 in all their frequently used skills, earning experience so slowly it hardly seemed to make a dent. Sharla, in particular, had been frustrated with her lack of progress in her healing skill.


    That’s why she had been talking to the Chihuahua man. He had suggested an unsettling solution: deliberately taking hits from low-level enemies and then using her healing skill to treat the wounds.


    “It works even better if you’re healing someone else,” he’d said. Sharla had glanced at me then, but I refused flatly before she could even ask. The thought of her intentionally getting hurt—or worse, asking me to volunteer—made my stomach turn.


    Sharla had tried to reassure me. “It’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ll make sure it’s only minor wounds—nothing serious.”


    But my unease lingered. Just a few nights ago, she’d confided in me about how much she hated how healing trivialised pain and injuries. Now, here she was, about to put herself in harm’s way for the sake of levelling up. It felt wrong.


    Even so, I didn’t push further. After all the tension between us recently, I didn’t want to start a fight—not when things were finally starting to feel normal again. I just hoped she’d be careful.


    We took another goblin quest and set out. While walking through the streets, I noticed a man dressed in the signature khaki pants of Ed’s men. He had a chainmail shirt on and a shield strapped to his back, making him easy to identify. As we passed, I caught him pointing at me while talking to someone.


    “Ed sure doesn’t waste any time,” I thought. “He must be trying to prove he’s serious about helping us.”


    We decided to head through the north gate. The goblin numbers in that area were growing the fastest, making it the most efficient spot to grind out kills in the short time we had.


    Not long after entering the forest, we came upon a group of six goblins bickering over a carcass. They were so engrossed in their argument that they didn’t notice our approach. I lunged forward, sweeping my spear in a wide arc. Planting my feet and heaving, I cleaved through three of them in a single slice.


    Sharla sprinted ahead, grabbing one of the goblins and tossing it back a full six feet. It collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, stunned and struggling to get up. She pulled her warhammer from her back, spun quickly, and with a vicious swipe took another goblin’s head clean off.


    The remaining goblins froze for a moment before one of them yanked a massive curved tooth from its loincloth, wielding it like a dagger. It lunged at Sharla, who had seen the attack coming and braced herself, lowering her shield to take the hit.


    I spotted the thrust just as the goblin wound up and instinctively shot my spear forward. The blade passed cleanly through its chest, killing it instantly.


    “Ryan! What are you doing?” Sharla’s voice was sharp with anger as she spun to face me, her eyes blazing. “I told you I was going to let them hit me!"


    “Fuck that,” I shot back, walking toward her, my grip on the spear tightening. “Is that seriously what we’re resorting to? What’s next? Are you going to ask me to stab you? Where does this end?”


    I stopped a foot away from her, not breaking her hard stare. “What about that thing?” I pointed at the writhing goblin she’d thrown. “You can heal it, right? Instead of letting them stab you, why not just heal the last one left standing, and then we finish it off?”


    Her mouth opened, then closed again as she tried to form an argument but came up short. The idea of prolonging the goblin’s suffering felt distasteful, but it was better than watching Sharla deliberately take hits.


    “Can we please just try it, Sharla?” I asked, my voice softer but insistent.


    She let out a deep sigh, her expression shifting to one of weary resignation. After a long moment, she walked over to the writhing goblin and murmured a prayer, casting her healing spell.


    The goblin’s leg snapped back into place, and it immediately began to crawl away. Before it could get far, I stepped forward and drove my spear cleanly into its heart. It stopped moving instantly.


    Sharla stared at the goblin’s lifeless body for a moment before glancing at me. Her expression was conflicted—part frustration, part relief. I didn’t need her to say anything to know she was still uneasy about the decision, but at least this way, she wasn’t putting herself directly in harm’s way.


    “Thank you,” I said quietly, pulling my spear free.


    She nodded slightly, turning away as we prepared to move on to the next group.


    The experience Sharla gained from healing monsters was noticeably less than when she healed me, but slightly more than if she healed herself.


    “Should probably let the trainer know about that,” I said as we finished off the last of a group of goblins we’d encountered.


    “The way he talked, it was like healing people was some sort of holy sacrament,” Sharla replied, wiping her warhammer clean of gore. “I wouldn’t be surprised if healing monsters was some kind of religious taboo.”


    We had stretched our time out as much as we could without risking Milli’s wrath. Both Sharla and I managed to gain a level in our focused skills. Sharla’s healing spell now worked from about ten feet away, with a much shorter cooldown—down to nearly a minute. My spear had gained a bleed effect, weakening enemies over time. Though I still planned to use my quarterstaff for most fights, it was nice to have a more lethal option up my sleeve.


    I refrained from using my “Hazard Hunter” skill for now; neither of my level 3 abilities showed visible experience gain, and I suspected that pushing them higher would require venturing beyond the forest’s boundaries.


    Back at the tavern, chaos greeted us. Milli was surrounded by a large crowd, frantically trying to answer a barrage of questions from people eager to sign up for the raid. They overwhelmed her with inquiries about training schedules, logistics, and meeting locations. I could smell Ed’s handiwork all over this—the sheer number of people made it clear.


    Sharla and I pushed through the throng and started answering questions as best we could. It was another power-play. While we couldn’t reasonably complain about Ed sending us so many people, it exposed just how unprepared we were for the reality of organising something on this scale.


    After nearly an hour of wrangling the crowd, we had thirty-eight people signed up. Many of them were recent class recipients, likely taking over from players who hadn’t survived. Sending them away wasn’t an option, but we’d need to work hard to get them up to speed so they wouldn’t get immediately stomped.


    When there was finally a break in the onslaught, we slipped away from the tavern. Milli, now satisfied that we’d met our recruitment quota for the day, insisted on heading out on another quest to “balance things out.” Sharla and I exchanged a look but ultimately agreed—it was easier than arguing.


    We kept it simple, skipping any grinding for skills. By the time we returned to the tavern, it was late afternoon, with only a few hours of daylight left.


    When we walked in, one of Ed’s men was leaning casually against the bar, chatting with Josiah. The man wore a linen top but kept the signature khaki pants, wearing them like a badge of office. As soon as he saw us, he wrapped up his conversation and walked over.


    Sharla and Milli kept moving, but I stopped to talk to him, watching him cautiously. I didn’t recognise his face, but the connection to Ed was clear.


    “Hey, glad I caught you,” he said, flashing a bright smile. His teeth were too white, his expression overly friendly. “Ed wants to know if you’ve changed your mind about letting us help out.”


    “Tell Ed that if he really wants to help, he should focus on getting these people trained instead of just sending waves of recruits to prove a point,” I said dryly.


    The man laughed, an easy, practised sound. “Hahaha, yeah, he can be a real jokester sometimes. I’ll pass along the message.”


    He offered his arm, clearly intending to add me to his contacts. I ignored the gesture, turned on my heel, and headed upstairs. Once inside the apartment, I let out a long sigh.


    Milli and Sharla sat on the couch, their heads bent together as they discussed how to organize the new raid members into manageable training groups. Sharla’s role was clear: she’d be leading the drills. Milli, naturally, was planning the logistics. Their voices rose and fell in quiet determination, their energy unwavering.


    I sank into the other couch, leaning back with a heavy sigh. The tension from my earlier meeting with Ed''s man lingered, gnawing at me like an itch I couldn’t scratch. I replayed the conversation in my mind, picking it apart like a vulture with a carcass.


    "They weren’t even trying to be subtle about it," I murmured to myself. Sending another emissary was Ed’s way of gloating, his admission that he knew exactly how much power he wielded—and how little we did.


    Eventually, the planning wound down, and we all decided to turn in. I felt a strange mix of relief and dread. Another day down, another charge earned. The cravings were unbearable, clawing at my sanity like a rabid animal. I lay down on my bed, clutching the amulet in my hand, and consumed the charge. The moment it hit, I felt the familiar rush, the intoxicating wave that swallowed me whole. But as the bliss faded, it left behind the same hollow ache, a shadow darker than before.


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    As I began to descend into the fog, a message blinked into my interface.


    <hr>


    Hoarthin:


    Got you a fight. Meet me at the back of the church grounds. We have a bit of paperwork to do before we make this official.


    <hr>


    “Why won’t anyone give me a fucking break?” I groaned, exasperated. Beneath the frustration, though, a flicker of excitement stirred. Another chance. Another charge. My pulse quickened at the thought.


    Dragging myself to the shower, I turned the dial to full heat, trying to scrub away the haze clinging to my mind. When that didn’t work, I cranked it to cold, letting the icy water shock my system. It didn’t do much to shake the grey fog, but it would have to do.


    I needed an excuse. The girls couldn’t know about this. Not yet. I stepped out of the shower and quickly typed up a message in the group chat, brainstorming as I towelled off. I hesitated, reading over the message before I hit send.


    <hr>


    Ryan:


    Hey, I just got a quest. I need to go work for the church for a bit. I shouldn’t be back too late.


    Sharla:


    What? Why? That seems really random. Can I see the quest?


    Milli:


    What did you do to the church, Ryan!?


    <hr>


    I’d been prepared for this. Earlier, I’d spent some time drafting a fake quest card, carefully mimicking the system’s sarcastic tone. Still, my heart raced as I pasted it into the chat, worried they’d see right through it.


    <hr>


    Ryan:


    New Quest:


    Son of a Preacher Man


    Description:


    The church has branded your callous actions as an affront to their teachings. Lucky for you, they’ve moved on from burning heretics at the stake. Not only did you kill someone of your own species, you didn’t even try to ask for forgiveness. It’s been a month! That’s cold, dude. Report to the church to receive your penance.


    Reward:


    You might not go to hell.


    Milli:


    Why don’t you invite us? We could go with you?


    Sharla:


    If they expect you to go outside the settlement at night by yourself, they’re going to be sorely mistaken.


    <hr>


    I let out a long, slow breath. They’d bought it—at least for now.


    <hr>


    Ryan:


    If they ask me to do anything dangerous, I’ll let you two know before I try anything. @Milli, I tried to invite you two already, but it won’t let me.


    <hr>


    After a few more exchanges, they dropped the subject, satisfied with my reassurances. I hated lying to them, but what choice did I have?


    Dressed and ready, I slipped out of the apartment and into the night. My footsteps echoed faintly in the empty streets, the cool air biting at my skin. The church grounds loomed ahead, and with them, the promise of another charge.


    Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered how long I could keep this up before everything came crashing down. But for now, I pushed the thought aside. Tonight, I’d focus on the fight. Everything else could wait.


    The church grounds were quiet as I arrived, the air thick with the mingled scents of damp earth and stone. Hoarthin sat on a low stone bench facing a small topiary garden, its serenity marred by heavy gravestones that sat behind thick stone slabs. A smouldering cigar dangled from his lips, the acrid smoke curling lazily around him.


    As I rounded the corner, his sharp eyes caught mine. He took a long draw from the cigar, the tip glowing brighter, then exhaled a thick cloud as he grinned and hopped off the bench. Smoothing out his beard, the golden rings threaded through its braids clinked softly.


    “Took your time,” he said, voice a rumbling baritone. “No matter. You’re filler for tonight, so we’re not exactly running on a tight schedule. Before we get started, sign this.”


    He produced a tightly rolled scroll bound with an iron band. I unrolled it, scanning the text written in blocky runic script, each line neatly translated into English below. The dense legal jargon all but screamed you’re on your own.


    “This isn’t to the death or anything, right?” I asked warily, half-expecting Samantha’s machinations to push me into something lethal.


    “Not at all,” Hoarthin said with a casual wave of his hand. “The nuns wouldn’t stand for that. You might get a bit dinged up, sure, but they’ll patch you right up. No hard feelings.”


    I blinked. “Wait—the nuns know about this?”


    “Know about it?” He laughed, slapping his knee. “They’re the ones who suggested it. Once you players start getting wise to the system, they don’t get many chances to practice their holy sacraments. This works out for everyone. You get a fight, and they get to flex their healing magic.” He tapped the scroll with his cigar, leaving a small scorch mark. “Come on, I doubt you’re a lawyer. Just sign it already. Promise I’m not pulling the wool over your eyes.”


    His yellowed, cracked teeth flashed in a grin. I hesitated but knew I didn’t have much of a choice. With a resigned sigh, I signed the document and handed it back.


    “Brilliant!” He clapped his hands, walking over to a gravestone nestled between two teardrop-shaped bushes. With a grunt, he braced a foot against the slab and shoved it aside. It slid silently, revealing a curved stone staircase spiralling downward.


    “After you,” he said, gesturing grandly.


    I descended, my footsteps echoing in the enclosed space. The stairs wound downward for what felt like forever before levelling out into a wide, dark passage. The flagstone floor was cracked and uneven, the walls lined with large, rough-hewn stone bricks stained with age. Recesses along the walls held stone coffins, their lids intricately carved with worn, faded designs. Torches flickered in iron sconces, their sooty smoke staining the ceiling black.


    The path twisted sharply several times before ending at a pair of towering wooden doors, their dark surface scarred with the marks of age and use. Hoarthin pushed them open with surprising ease, the heavy hinges groaning softly as the doors swung inward. Beyond lay a cavernous room, its vastness amplified by the dim, flickering torchlight. The ceiling loomed at least twenty feet high, casting long shadows that seemed to dance on the rough stone walls.


    At the centre of the room, the floor dropped into a deep, sunken pit, surrounded on all sides by steep wooden pews arranged in a semicircular amphitheatre. The seats were crowded with a boisterous mix of gnomes, dwarves, and humans, their voices echoing off the walls as they drank, shouted, and placed bets with wild gestures. Coins clinked and dice rolled on makeshift tables scattered among the audience, adding to the cacophony of the underground spectacle.


    The stage itself was illuminated by an otherworldly glow, the light emanating from strange, luminous rocks embedded in the flagstones. Their eerie yellow hue bathed the pit in an unsettling radiance, casting harsh contrasts of shadow and light that gave the entire scene an almost surreal quality.


    “This is the spot,” Hoarthin said, descending a set of stone stairs that led to a cordoned-off area. A dozen fighters of varying species were gathered there, most of them dwarves. One particularly muscular gnome with smeared blue warpaint stood out, his intimidating presence commanding space around him despite his stature. Two goblins conversed in their harsh, guttural language, their eyes darting suspiciously.


    Everyone had a glowing red number painted somewhere on their body, save for the gnome. I was still scanning the room when a figure emerged from the shadows—a nun, her black habit blending seamlessly with the dim light. Before I could react, she swiped a finger across my chest, leaving the number 47 glowing brightly on my shirt.


    I opened my mouth to protest, but Hoarthin cut me off with a raised hand.


    “Relax. It’ll disappear when you leave the room.”


    The glowing rocks cast his face in strange shadows, and I couldn’t help but notice the predatory gleam in his eyes. This wasn’t just a fight. This was a spectacle—and I was the entertainment.


    I squatted on the floor, leaning against the cold stone wall. Hoarthin had left and taken a seat a few rows back from the arena, blending into the rowdy crowd. A soft chime echoed through the chamber, signalling the start of a match. The gnome stood, his muscled frame glistening under the glowing stones’ sickly light, and swaggered into the arena to an uproar of cheers. Moments later, a glowing red number appeared on the back wall: 39.


    One of the dwarves rose solemnly, his heavy boots thudding on the stone as he made his way into the pit. The crowd immediately turned on him, jeering and booing, throwing insults like rotten fruit. A gong sounded, and the arena erupted in raucous cheering.


    I shifted uncomfortably. From where I sat, I couldn’t see much of the fight; the angle of the room allowed only fleeting glimpses. A voice interrupted my thoughts.


    “It’s better if you don’t watch. Psyches you out.”


    I turned to see a stocky dwarf with bright red hair and a neatly cropped square beard. He leaned closer, his breath reeking of ale.


    “How’d they rope you into this?” he asked, his tone almost conversational.


    I didn’t answer, only giving him an uneasy glance.


    “Was it money?” he pressed. When I shook my head, his face lit with a knowing smirk. “Ah, a woman, then! Always one of the two.”


    Heat rose to my face, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Yeah, something like that,” I muttered.


    From the arena, a roar of jubilation cut through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of terrified screams. The crowd’s wild energy washed over us like a tidal wave. The dwarf, seemingly satisfied with my half-hearted response, leaned back in his seat.


    Another number flashed on the wall: 47.


    The red-haired dwarf cocked his head, looking at me with something that might have been pity. “Your turn. Don’t worry—the nuns are real good at fixing folks up.” He laughed as though that was supposed to be reassuring.


    I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, and forced myself to my feet. The walk into the arena felt like a dream—or maybe a nightmare. The amphitheatre’s cacophony of voices swelled as I descended into the pit. A dark, wet bloodstain greeted me, stark against the yellow-lit flagstones. In the corner, the gnome sat nonchalantly wiping his hands on the floor, leaving streaks of blood in their wake.


    The crowd jeered as I entered. I caught sight of Hoarthin among them, his face lit with a smug grin as he gleefully joined in the mockery. I ignored the noise and took my place opposite the gnome. He stood slowly, stretching his neck with a sickening CRACK and flexing his hands. His muscular frame, though small, radiated raw power.


    The gong rang out, and before I could steady myself, he charged. His fists were up in a boxer''s stance, weaving and bobbing as he closed the distance with frightening speed. I barely had time to extend my quarterstaff before he was on me, jabbing out with a small but vicious fist. I deflected the blow, the staff vibrating in my hands from the impact.


    Before I could react, he spun on his heel and delivered a backfist to my knee. Pain exploded through my leg, and I buckled, stumbling as I tried to maintain my footing. The gnome leapt, winding up for a punch aimed squarely at my head. Instinctively, I retracted my staff and extended again as fast as it allowed, the end catching him square in the stomach. The force sent him flying backward, his small body skidding across the glowing tiles.


    I tried to press the attack, but my injured knee betrayed me, and I stumbled again. The gnome was back on his feet in an instant, closing the gap and delivering an uppercut that turned my vision into a kaleidoscope of stars. I hit the ground hard, my head spinning, my vision was bathed in red, he turned to the crowd and raised his arms, riling them into a frenzy.


    Desperation surged through me. While his back was turned, I swung my staff low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He sprawled onto the floor with an audible thud, the crowd erupting in laughter. His face twisted into a murderous glare, and he scrambled to his feet, his rage boiling over.


    I steadied myself, the pain in my knee dulling as adrenaline took over. Holding my staff in a defensive stance, I watched him carefully. My Flaw Finder skill activated, highlighting a loose glowing stone on the floor. It was precariously placed, and I circled around to position it between us.


    The gnome lunged again, ducking low as he closed the distance. Timing my move, I kicked the stone hard, sending it skittering directly into his path. His foot landed squarely on it, and he lost his balance, pitching forward with a sickening SMACK as his face met the flagstones. Blood sprayed across the floor staining it red.


    I didn’t hesitate. I brought my staff down in a calculated, restrained strike to the back of his head. The impact left a visible indent, and his body twitched before going still. I stepped back, breathing hard, as the amphitheatre plunged into stunned silence.


    The nuns rushed in moments later, their glowing hands already at work as they placed the gnome on a stretcher and carried him through a concealed door. The crowd erupted, half of them shouting in outrage while the rest cheered and exchanged coins.


    I caught a glimpse of Hoarthin, his earlier smugness replaced by a scowl as he begrudgingly handed a heavy bag to someone next to him.


    The room emptied quickly after the crowd settled their wagers. Most of the remaining fighters walked up the stairs in silence, their faces a mix of exhaustion and disappointment. The dwarf who had spoken to me earlier cast me a glance—this time filled with a mixture of surprise and respect. He gave me a curt nod before heading out, leaving me alone in the holding area.


    I waited for Hoarthin to come collect me, but as the minutes dragged on, my patience wore thin. My job was done, and all I wanted was to get back to the apartment and use the charge I’d earned. With that thought pushing me forward, I climbed the stairs leading to the church grounds.


    The cold night air greeted me as I stepped outside. Hoarthin was there, leaning casually against the wall, the orange glow of his cigar illuminating the harsh lines of his face with every drag.


    "You cost me a good chunk of Crowns tonight,” he said, the smoke curling around his words. “Good thing for you is that you''re gonna have plenty of chances to make it up to me." He spat a glob of brown onto the ground, then jabbed another scroll toward me.


    "Here’s your contract. Read it, sign it. You''ll need a stage name, so don’t skip that part."


    I unrolled the parchment, scanning the dense text. It was more of the same legal jargon that had filled the first contract. Near the bottom, two blank spaces waited for my alias and signature. I hesitated for a moment, then carefully wrote The Nightingale.


    Hoarthin peered over my shoulder and groaned loudly when he saw my choice.


    “Fuckin’ edgy wannabe,” he muttered, not quite under his breath.


    I shot him a sharp look, but he waved it off with a dismissive flick of his cigar. "Next fight’s day after tomorrow. I’d suggest getting some training in—you got lucky tonight."


    I stopped him as he turned to leave. “What was that, exactly? Why didn’t anyone else fight after me?”


    Hoarthin turned back with a crooked grin, his teeth faintly stained by years of cigar smoke. "Rilbrin—that gnome you beat—he’s been losing fights left and right. Tonight was his last chance to prove himself. You took him down, so you’re in the rotation now. First come, first serve. The others? They’ll have to wait till it’s your turn on the chopping block."


    With that, he stubbed out his cigar on a nearby tombstone, pulled another from his pocket, and lit it in one fluid motion. The embers flared as he walked off into the shadows, leaving me alone with my thoughts.


    When I was certain Hoarthin was gone, I made my way back to the tavern. The walk was quiet, the streets deserted save for the occasional flicker of torchlight. By the time I reached the apartment, both Milli’s and Sharla’s rooms were dark. I smirked faintly, guessing Milli must’ve finally figured out how to shut off her annoying quest voice. "Wish she''d figured that out a few weeks ago" I muttered bitterly.


    I slipped into my room, closing the door behind me. My hands trembled as I pulled the amulet from under my shirt and activated the charge I’d earned.


    The familiar sensation rushed over me, I sank into the bed, letting the euphoria wash away the events of the night for a brief, blissful moment.