《Unarmed and Unbroken (MMA LitRPG)》


 League Wars

    "Round 3, start!" the referee yelled.


    I stood in the octagon, facing my opponent. His once light skin was now marked with red bruises from our earlier exchanges¡ªyet his piercing gaze remained as fierce as ever. He looked angry, bald, and dangerous. I wasn''t in great shape either. Exhaustion weighed on me.


    We met in the center of the ring for one last glove tap before slipping into our stances¡ªboth orthodox. We pawed at the air with small jabs, reading each other''s striking range. My opponent, Morris Kenny, was known for his deadly combination of kickboxing and Brazilian jiu-jitsu submissions.


    I stuck to my strategy: maintaining distance with front teep kicks to his stomach and keeping him at bay with straight punches. But this time, as I threw my left teep, he deflected through a downward parry with his left arm, trapping my ankle. My body turned involuntarily, exposing my back. I tried to recover, but a heavy low kick slammed into my left hamstring. Pain shot through my leg, forcing me to buckle slightly. I couldn''t let him see that. I reset my stance, forcing a neutral expression as I circled to the right.


    "What are you doing, Marcus!? You''re down two rounds, and you only have three minutes left! You better fuckin'' finish it!" my coach shouted.


    Two rounds down? Shit. I thought I was ahead. I needed a plan, fast. What were Morris''s habits? His mistakes?


    Before I could strategize, a left high kick whipped toward my head. I barely blocked it with both arms, but the force sent shockwaves through my bones. I couldn''t take too many more of those unless I wanted a broken arm.


    I circled away, refocusing. I''d noticed a pattern¡ªevery time I threw a left jab, he countered with a right leg kick. No wonder my left leg was battered. Fine. If he wanted to cripple me, then I''ll fucking take his consciousness with it.


    I widened my stance, planting my left foot. I turtled up in a high guard, extending my left arm in a feint. The moment he reacted, I committed.


    I leaned forward before pivoting with my back foot, throwing a right straight into the bruise on his stomach¡ªjust as his low kick smashed into my left thigh. Pain exploded through my leg, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. FUCK!


    Morris folded forward in slow motion.


    This was it!


    A sloppy, diagonal left hook of mine crashed into his jaw, turning him to my right. I twisted my hips and unleashed a right high kick. My shin connected with his skull. The sickening impact echoed through the arena. The crowd erupted as Morris staggered, his back now completely exposed.


    Adrenaline surged as I lunged, jumping onto his back, wrapping my left arm around his throat while my right clamped down. My legs coiled around his torso, locking in a rear naked choke. Gravity took over, sending us crashing to the mat. I squeezed with every ounce of strength I had left.


    Darkness.


    And then¡ªhands prying me away. My eyes snapped open. The referee had broken my chokehold. Morris lay limp as the barbaric crowd cheered further.


    I... won.


    "And tonight''s winner, by submission in Round 3, now with 13 wins and 7 losses¡ªMarcus ''Demolidor'' Pereira!" the announcer boomed.


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    ¡ª


    "Damn, it feels good to watch that clip over and over again," I muttered, replaying the fight on my phone. My body ached. I just wanted to pass out.


    Wait¡ªhad I done my dailies?


    Sighing, I limped to my PC and booted up League Wars. Must... finish... daily quests.


    Today''s dailies were easy. Kill a dozen slimes, visit a vantage point in the jungle map, and participate in a world boss event. My greatsword-wielding warrior should make quick work of them.


    Too tired for complex rotations, I switched to a longbow and picked off the slimes from a distance. One thing I like about League Wars is how you can change your skills with just a simple weapon change and have class-based utility skills to go along with it. However, certain weapons are locked into certain professions, and each profession had different skills with the weapon. For example, a warrior will fight up close with an axe at hand, but a ranger will throw them at mid-range instead... and a warrior cannot wield a scepter.


    Then, I teleported to the jungle map, riding my dragon mount. A notification popped up in my mailbox.


    A message from the GM?


    I hit auto-walk and opened the letter: "Greetings, DemolidorXLV! We reviewed the survey results and found your answer¡ª''MMA Fighter''¡ªthe most intriguing. We''ll be hearing from you soon." ¨C [GM] Anders.


    Right, the game had sent out surveys asking about our real-life jobs. What did they mean by "hearing from me soon"?


    I shrugged it off and continued. My dragon mount landed on a sturdy branch, and I activated the vantage point, giving a beautiful overhead view of the jungle along with its tall trees and wild vegetation. One quest left.


    Checking the world boss schedule, I saw The Great Jungle Wurm was currently terrorizing the forest map. I teleported in through a waypoint and dashed toward the battlefield. The boss was at 25% health, but... my eyelids were getting heavy.


    Just a little more...


    ¡ª


    A loud crash jolted me awake.


    I turned, eyes widening. A boulder had obliterated the city''s gates, sending soldiers flying. Screams rang out. A flaming vase crashed to the ground, spreading fire through nearby homes.


    What the fuck just happened?


    I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding. Four-legged creatures stormed through the gates, trampling the soldiers¡ªcentaurs!?


    Wait... wasn''t this the tutorial area for humans?


    I sprinted to the side, searching for a weapon. A rack of arms caught my eye. I grabbed a spear¡ª


    "Weapon unusable by current profession!"


    What!?


    I grabbed a greatsword¡ªsame error. Desperation mounting, I tried an axe, sword, staff, scepter, pistol, rifle¡ª


    "Weapon unusable by current profession!"


    "Then what the fuck is my profession!?" I shouted.


    A new message box popped up:


    "Profession: Brawler (MMA Fighter)."


    Are you fucking serious!?


    Before I could process it, galloping hooves thundered toward me. A centaur warrior closed the distance, spear raised.


    I barely got my guard up before its spear slashed across my stomach. White-hot pain flared through my body. Blood gushed. I gasped, stumbling back¡ª


    Then a thrust to my throat sent me breathless on the floor.


    Soon, the heat from my wounds faded. Cold seeped in. Darkness swallowed my vision.


    A final message appeared:


    "You have perished."


    Below it, a single option:


    "Return to previous checkpoint."

 Defense of Graywatch

    I reached out into the dark abyss and tapped the "Retry from Checkpoint" button that lingered. Within an instant, color, sound, and scent returned. I was back again, woken by the sound of a catapult launching a rock into the walls. Everything was happening just as it had last time.


    Shaking my head, I ran deeper into the city. Every house I passed was either burning or crushed by boulders. Wasn''t I supposed to be a fabled commander in this game? Why was I running like a rat?


    "Help us..." A faint voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I tracked it to a house with a collapsed roof, debris flooding the doorway.


    "Hello!? Are you still there? I''m here to help!" I called, lifting debris away from the entrance. As I cleared the wreckage, a chilling thought clawed at the back of my mind. What if I died again? Was this my last chance?


    "Are you two okay?" I asked as I freed a mother and her child. They only nodded, too shocked to speak. I had to get them to safety.


    Shouts echoed from afar. The centaurs had broken through. Without hesitation, I grabbed their wrists and ran. Where? I had no idea. I''d figure it out later.


    From the corner of my eye, I spotted a soldier rallying civilians. We were close¡ªbut the sound of galloping grew louder. They were catching up. Not if I...


    "Go! Run to that man and DO NOT LOOK BACK!" I shouted, pointing to the soldier before turning to face my death again. At least... I saved them.


    I recognized that face. The same monster that had killed me before. I took my stance¡ªleft foot forward, right foot back, fists raised, eyes locked on his spear.


    As he swung, I pushed off my front foot, stepping back to avoid the blade. He followed with a thrust¡ªI bent my legs, twisted my torso, and slipped my head to the left before weaving under it. I hopped back, resetting my stance.


    This shit was so unfair. With that spear, he could strike from a safe distance. Even if I closed in, I couldn''t wrestle him¡ªthose horse legs were a nightmare. Kicking his thighs would be useless; they were as thick as tree trunks.


    The centaur reared up, preparing to charge. I sidestepped right, pivoting off my foot, spinning away from him like a matador dodging a raging bull.


    He had three attacks¡ªa thrust, a swipe, and a charge. But how could I counter that weapon? Think, Marcus. Think!


    A memory surfaced¡ªa seminar at my MMA gym. A weapons expert had said, "There is no ''self-defense'' against an armed assailant. You either run, or you cripple them before they kill you." The knees. That was my shot.


    I shifted my stance, elbows tucked in, fists guarding my cheeks, imitating Mike Tyson''s peek-a-boo style. Distance control would decide this fight.


    I dashed diagonally left to test his next attack before I performed a backstep, narrowly avoiding another spear swipe. I dashed diagonally to the left again to close the distance, and as he retracted for a thrust, I slipped left again, pivoting to his blind spot, forcing him to turn. That was my opening.


    "Shh!" I exhaled, launching a right oblique kick. My foot smashed into his front knee in a downward angle with a sickening crack as it folded inward.


    "AARGH!" he roared in agony. Before he could swing wildly, I leapt onto his lower body, further twisting his injured knee. He thrashed, but my left arm coiled around his neck like an anaconda while my right arm folded over my left hand and pressed onto the back of his head, locking in a rear naked choke. His hands clawed at my arms, his struggles weakening until¡ªfinally¡ªhe went limp.


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    I collapsed with him. He''d be out for a while¡­ but what if he woke up and slaughtered civilians? I had the chance to end it now. But wasn''t killing wrong? He had killed me once before...


    I took a deep breath, clearing my thoughts. Focus on the motion. Eliminate the threat.


    "Focus on the motion. Eliminate the threat," I whispered, gripping one of his horns and his goatee. With a sharp twist, I snapped his neck. The centaur was dead.


    "MY BROTHERS, KILL THAT HUMAN!" a centaur bellowed in the distance. A dozen of them galloped forward, bows drawn, arrows nocked. This was it. I was about to be executed.


    Time slowed as their arrows loosed, black streaks cutting through the air. Then¡ªa shadow loomed over me.


    A figure clad in full plate armor leapt between me and the centaur''s corpse, raising a shield. A faint, whispered prayer conjured a shimmering blue barrier. The arrows struck, but none found their mark.


    "On your feet," the figure commanded, voice like honey beneath her steel helmet. She extended a hand, hauling me up effortlessly.


    "Knights of the Six, rally to me!" another voice rang out. I turned¡ªand my suspicions were confirmed. Alfonse Reiner, the humans'' champion, stood ready, Lightbringer in hand. The same guy from the tutorial. He and his knights surged forward, clashing with the centaurs in a brutal melee.


    The Guardian beside me fought well but used only basic mace and shield techniques¡ªjust like in the tutorial. No advanced skills. Just as expected.


    With their leader dead and the human army pushing forward, the centaurs retreated. But I knew what came next¡ªa centaur priest would summon an earth elemental to destroy the city. The players were supposed to fight it.


    Me? Hell no. What the fuck were my punches going to do against a giant rock monster?


    Still¡­ I couldn''t just stand by. There had to be more survivors.


    I scoured the city, calling out, lifting debris, guiding civilians to the evacuation site. Most were injured men, women, children¡­ even some farm animals.


    From across the city, I saw it¡ªthe earth elemental. A massive creature of rock and roots, pulsing with magic. Alfonse and his knights were already engaging it. The battle was reaching its climax.


    I picked up a fist-sized rock. Maybe I could at least look like I participated. I ran closer, took aim, and hurled it with all my strength.


    The rock sailed through the air¡­ and tapped the elemental''s hand.


    Yeah, great job, Marcus. That did fucking nothing.


    Then, a crushing wave of pressure settled over me. My instincts screamed. Had I just¡­ initiated combat with that thing?


    Seconds later, light exploded from the elemental''s body. A shockwave knocked back everyone nearby. Good thing I was far away.


    I rushed in as Alfonse and his soldiers recovered. The Guardian lay unconscious. Damn it. I couldn''t leave her here.


    Grunting, I hoisted her armored form onto my shoulders and staggered toward the evacuation camp.


    "Medic?" I called upon arrival, searching for help.


    A hooded healer approached. "Another casualty?"


    She lifted the Guardian''s helmet, revealing a woman with golden hair and a face as serene as sleeping beauty''s. Even battered, she was breathtaking. The healer extended her hands, golden light washing over her.


    "She''ll recover," the healer said. "And you? Any injuries?"


    "Just sore all over. A bed would be nice."


    She gestured to an empty cot. I collapsed onto it, sighing. The tutorial was over.


    I''d wake up now, right? This was just a dream...


    As my eyes shut, the world darkened.


    A message appeared in the void.


    Tutorial Completed. New Title Earned: Hero of Graywatch.

 MMA vs Monsters

    I sit up, rubbing my eyes as a yawn escapes my lips. Have I stopped dreaming already?


    A ray of sunlight seeps through the tent''s entrance, bathing the interior in soft gold. Tent... I''m still here? The memory of that message prompt flashes in my mind. Hero of Graywatch? I barely did anything.


    Stepping outside, I see the city''s reconstruction well underway. Wagons loaded with wood and stone creak under the weight of their cargo, drawn by oxen and horses. Foremen bark orders, guiding workers as they hammer and saw. I thought all this would stop after the tutorial¡­ wait.


    A chuckle escapes me as I recall an old joke. Only after reaching level 80 was the tutorial truly over. There was always more to learn, more to explore. I guess I should start leveling up¡ªthough I don''t see any floating icons or UI elements like in the game. What should I do? Say "Status" like in those manhwas?


    "Sta¡ª"


    A commotion interrupts me. A crowd surrounds a beaten man tied to a wooden pole, his face swollen and smeared with blood. Several burnt poles stand nearby, blackened remnants of past executions.


    "LET ME GO, YOU NPCs!" he shouts, his brown hair disheveled, his leather armor caked with dirt. A quiver and a longbow lay discarded at his feet. A Hunter-class player?


    "Heretic!"


    "Lich spawn! Burn him!"


    "Burn him to the ground!"


    The hatred in their voices is palpable. But why? He called them NPCs¡­ and they called him Lich spawn. Is he undead?


    I turn to an older man beside me, his arm in a cast. "Excuse me," I say.


    "The hell do you want... wait wait wait... is that you?", the older man asks with a scowl before doing a double take. His eyes widen, scanning me from head to toe. A pit of unease coils in my stomach. If he realizes I''m a player too¡­


    "¡­Who are you again?" I keep my expression neutral. A habit from years of fighting¡ªnever let your opponent know you''re hurt.


    He studies me, then smirks. "Body of an athlete, tattoos, cauliflower ears, and that piercing gaze¡­ You''re the Hero of Graywatch."


    "I''m no hero. What did he do?" I nod toward the tied-up player as the crowd pelts him with garbage.


    "Bah! He''s one of those goddamned ''players.''" The old man spits on the ground.


    "Player? What''s that?" I feign ignorance.


    "Madmen who think they''re more than us. Corrupted by the madness of the Dragon Lich."


    The Dragon Lich. One of the game''s main antagonists. His undead hordes plagued the continent, mindless husks bound to his will, spreading his curse like a disease.


    "¡­I see. Have they ever¡ª"


    "HE''S A PLAYER TOO! THAT GUY WITH TATTOOS!" the Hunter screams.


    My heart stops. My face doesn''t change.


    The crowd turns.


    "The Hero of Graywatch? No way¡­"


    "¡­But he saved so many lives! How could he be corrupted?"


    "I don''t believe it! He saved my sister¡­ but what if it was all an act?"


    Murmurs ripple through the mob. I remain silent, calculating my next move. Defend myself? Defend him? I hate the idea of abandoning a fellow player, but he sold me out in a heartbeat.


    A man steps forward. One eye is covered by a bloody bandage. In his other hand, he holds a lit torch.


    "If you really are our hero¡­ prove it. Burn this dragon minion."


    The torch is placed in my hands. The crowd parts, forming a path to the pole. The Hunter trembles, eyes wide with horror.


    "Please! Help me¡ªyou''re a player too, right!? If we work together, we can kill these stupid NPCs! It won''t even matter!"


    My grip tightens on the torch.


    Is this what being a player means? Seeing these people as nothing? Maybe they''re right. Maybe he is corrupted.


    "What do you think?" My voice is firm as I hold the flame near the rope binding him. Smoke curls into the air. The Hunter thrashes, shrieking.


    "I TAKE IT BACK! YOU''RE NOT A PLAYER! BUT PLEASE, SAVE ME! YOU''RE A HERO, RIGHT?!"


    I lower my gaze. If I free him, the townspeople will come for me next. And if I let him go, what kind of havoc will he wreak in revenge?


    I can''t allow that.


    "I''m no player."


    The torch touches the rope. Fire engulfs the bindings, licking up the wooden pole. The Hunter''s screams pierce the air as the crowd erupts into cheers.


    "¡­And I''m no hero either."


    I watch as he burns, my stomach churning. The stench of charred flesh sears itself into my memory. But I don''t react. I can''t.


    The people of Graywatch return to their tasks like nothing happened. I just have to live with that.


    I take a deep breath and leave the city, following the stone road south. The landscape is exactly as I remember¡ªwooden bridge to my right, stables to my left, an archery range ahead. The only thing missing is the crowd of players showing off their gear by the entrance. Do I still have my skins? My emotes? Doubtful.


    A man in a navy-blue uniform stands at a crossroads, peering through a spyglass.


    "Hey. What do you see?" I ask.


    "Hello there, citizen! I''m an officer of the Coridian Explorer League."


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    Uhh¡­ okay, sure. I asked for that.


    "I see. What are you doing here?"


    "Well, after the attacks on Graywatch, we''re ensuring other settlements weren''t ravaged before moving on. We''re also updating our maps and securing waypoints."


    "Maps? Waypoints?" I echoed, feigning cluelessness.


    The explorer launched into an explanation I already knew by heart. In the old game, maps had a completion system¡ªfully exploring them earned rewards. Waypoints acted as fast travel checkpoints, allowing teleportation for a small fee. Completing a map granted special gear and a personal message from the Explorer League.


    "You seem like you''d make a great explorer! Here, take this."


    He handed me a blank map and a compass. The map was enchanted, filling itself as I explored. The compass, attuned to magic, pointed toward places of interest¡ªvantage points, hidden secrets, and people in need of help.


    "Now that we have that out of the way..." The explorer gestured toward the bridge.


    "Agriculture is the backbone of Corrleon, but centaur raids and bandit attacks have left our farmers and fishermen struggling. The miners aren''t faring much better¡ªearth elementals and kobolds infest the tunnels."


    The map in my hands glowed. Golden heart symbols appeared in various locations¡ªfavor quests. The more I contributed, the more they filled up.


    "Now don''t just stand there¡ªhelp them, soon-to-be explorer!" the scout said with a grin before turning back to his spyglass.


    I nodded and crossed the bridge.


    A curious sight caught my eye¡ªthree pillars stood in a field, each topped with a rotating black kettle sprinkling water over the crops. To this day, I still don''t understand how it works, but that wasn''t my concern right now.


    I walked up to the farm, where an elderly woman in overalls and gloves stood, looking troubled. As I approached, the compass in my hand vibrated. A waypoint registered on the map.


    "Hello, ma''am. I''m here to help."


    The old woman glanced up. Her despair quickly melted into delight.


    "Well, well! If it ain''t the Hero of Graywatch! Won''t you be a sweetie and lend old Annie a hand on the farm?" She grasped my calloused hands, pleading.


    I chuckled at the realization¡ªI went from war hero to farmhand in no time.


    "Sure, madam. What can I do?"


    Annie wasted no time instructing me on farm duties¡ªwatering crops, slathering her special fertilizer onto withering cornstalks, entertaining the cows, shoveling manure, and dealing with the occasional bandit or wurm. It was almost comical¡ªone moment, I was a war hero, and the next, I was knee-deep in farm work.


    So, I got to it. Watering crops, spreading fertilizer. As I worked, my compass vibrated intermittently, signaling my golden heart progress. Everything was going smoothly¡ªuntil the ground trembled beneath me.


    A few feet away, the soil split open, and a wurm burst forth¡ªa massive, grotesque creature with spiraling teeth lunging at the livestock.


    "Hero! Take care of it, please!" Annie cried.


    "You got it, boss!"


    Without hesitation, I grabbed a rock and hurled it at the beast. The impact made it reel, its eyeless face turning toward me. It screeched¡ªa high-pitched, grating sound¡ªand spat a glob of acidic saliva. The burning pain seared my torso, but I barely flinched. My pulse quickened with exhilaration. Time to see how MMA fares against a monster.


    The wurm lunged. I pushed off my feet, executing a precise backstep, narrowly dodging its bite. As it recoiled, I charged forward, fists raised. A stiff left jab snapped its head back. Its flesh was squishy¡ªsoft enough that repeated blows to the neck might hinder its lunges.


    Adopting a boxer''s stance, I spread my feet wider, keeping my posture low. The beast struck again. I countered¡ªa sharp left jab, then a straight right¡ªeach punch snapping its head back and disrupting its momentum. What about kicks?


    I feinted a retreat, baiting it into another lunge. The moment it struck, I pivoted on my heel, swinging a tight left hook into its neck. Its head whipped to the side, leaving the perfect opening. I followed through¡ªpivoting my hips, folding my left arm up to guard, and unleashing a devastating right roundhouse kick as I whip across with my right hand for added power. My shin smashed into its flesh with a sickening thud, sending it reeling. The beast gagged, vomiting a mixture of blood and green bile.


    Time to finish this.


    I reset into my stance, then lunged forward, dropping into a deep step as I shot my arms around its slick body. Gripping my right wrist with my left hand, I squeezed my elbows together, locking the hold.


    I rose onto my toes, arching my back¡ªthen exploded upward. The wurm lifted off the ground. Twisting my torso midair, I slammed it down in a thunderous suplex, the impact rattling the earth. The creature convulsed, vomiting a final mix of blood and acid before falling still.


    Dead.


    "Oh my¡­ aren''t you a strong and handsome fella?" Annie cooed, her voice carrying an almost sultry tone. Yeah, she''s definitely buttering me up to do the rest of her farm work¡­ and it''s working.


    I stood up, still catching my breath, my body slick with sweat and wurm slime. Before I could even wipe my face, Annie''s voice rang out in panic.


    "Bandits! Help!"


    My head snapped toward the barn, where a group of bandits was hauling crates of goods. No time to think. I charged forward, still riding the high from my fight with the wurm¡ªuntil my feet skidded to a halt.


    A bandit stood in my path.


    He wore rugged leather armor, a red bandana across his face, its white pattern resembling jagged shark teeth. A wickedly sharp dagger glinted in his right hand.


    "Easy there, mate," he sneered. "You better stop unless you wanna fuckin'' die."


    Die? I just killed a goddamn monster. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I''m fuckin'' invincible.


    I raised my hands, settling into my stance¡ªleft foot forward, right foot behind, hands up.


    "Now this will be fun~," the bandit chuckled. We began circling each other.


    His biggest threat was the dagger. If I could secure wrist control, he''d be nothing.


    I dashed in, feinting a left jab. He flinched. Gotcha. I seized his wrist with my left hand, forcing it downward¡ª


    "...Are you fuckin'' dumb?"


    A searing pain ripped through my wrist.


    I barely had time to register what happened. The bastard had lifted his wrist just enough to drive the dagger straight through my hand.


    My breath hitched as white-hot agony flared through my arm.


    Before I could react, he tore his wrist free, switched the blade to his left hand, and grabbed my injured wrist.


    Then he stabbed me.


    Once.


    Twice.


    Three times.


    Four¡ª


    I lost count as the blade tore into my gut. My vision blurred. My knees buckled. I felt something rising up my throat before I coughed¡ªhot, thick blood spilling past my lips. No¡­ no way. Am I¡­ dying? Just like that?


    No.


    I clenched my jaw and threw my head forward with all the strength I had left. My forehead crunched into his face.


    "ARGH¡ªFUCK¡ª!"


    He reeled back, blood soaking through his bandana.


    I seized my chance. Throwing my right arm over his left shoulder, I leaned forward, hooking his ankles with my right foot in a sloppy takedown. We crashed to the ground.


    Pain burned through my body. My limbs felt weak.


    If I''m going down¡­


    I turned my head, eyes locking onto his exposed throat.


    Then I''m taking you to fucking hell with me!


    I opened my mouth and bit down.


    My teeth sank deep into his flesh.


    He screamed. He thrashed. Blood filled my mouth, warm and metallic. I ripped and gnawed, tearing away at his carotid vein. His frantic movements slowed.


    But so did mine.


    The burning pain faded into something cold. So cold. My fingers went numb. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges.


    Then¡ªnothing.


    I have died.

 No More Half-Measures

    The sound of an oar cutting through water echoed in the pitch-black darkness.


    "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"


    A raspy voice slithered through the void. Moments later, an astral-blue orb ignited at the center of the room, casting eerie light on a robed figure. Red eyes flared beneath the hood, their glow reflecting off the curved blade of a scythe.


    "Such an unyielding soul¡­ Even in death, you fight to exist. You would be so delicious¡­"


    The figure leaned closer.


    "...But today is not your time."


    "Rise."


    The blue flame flickered¡ªwhispering, conversing with the hooded figure in a silent language.


    "You have died, but you may be resurrected... for a price. Sacrifice your body, your memory, or your peace of mind."


    Silence stretched as the soul deliberated its choice¡­ then flickered twice.


    "I see."


    The robed figure reached forward, skeletal fingers grasping the flame. With a tug, white, translucent threads unraveled from its core. Holding them in his palm, he twisted the strands together, condensing them into a small, rectangular screen.


    Within it, a memory played.


    A young boy sat in a workshop, tinkering with a motorcycle alongside his father. When the engine roared to life, they exchanged a look of pure joy¡ªlaughing, celebrating a shared victory. The scene looped, again and again.


    The skeletal figure parted his jaws¡ªand devoured it.


    "Delicious," he sighed. Then, rowing his boat into the abyss, he left behind a final warning.


    "But try not to die again, will you?"


    The blue flame swelled, engulfing the room in its glow until¡ª


    I gasped awake, bolting upright as my hands clutched at my stomach. My wounds¡ªwhere were they? My abs were intact, no scars, no pain. Even my wrist was fine. It was as if nothing had happened.


    Was it all a dream?


    I sat in the same tent. Everything was normal¡­ yet a tear slipped down my cheek.


    Why was I thinking about my father? He was fine. He had to be. But deep in my chest, something was missing. A hollow ache clawed at my gut, dragging me down.


    I lost something important. I knew it.


    And I couldn''t even remember what.


    For the first time since arriving in this world, I let myself break. Tears fell freely as I sat there, alone in the tent. I wanted to go home. I never asked for this. I just wanted to have fun. I didn''t want to die.


    What did I do to deserve this?


    I bit my lip, forcing myself to stop.


    "...Pathetic," I whispered, wiping my face.


    No. I wasn''t a victim. I wasn''t going to sit here and mope.


    I had to think.


    I needed to get stronger. If I could reach Level 80, maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªI could go back.


    Taking a deep breath, I forced my thoughts into order.


    Was I in a time loop again? Would today play out the same way? The player tied to the pole, the scout with the spyglass, the farm where I got killed by bandits¡­


    How could I have avoided my death?


    If I hadn''t gone for wrist control, maybe I wouldn''t have taken that stab. But that bastard switched grips so seamlessly, he''d have just stabbed me somewhere else.


    If only I had protection¡­


    Wait. Armor. Why didn''t I think of that before?


    I pushed out of the tent, expecting chaos. Instead, everything had settled. No commotion. Just three burnt wooden poles in the corner¡ªa haunting reminder of what I had done.


    I shook my head and moved on.


    Jogging down the road, I found the scout again. The same conversation played out¡ªhim introducing the trouble spots, handing me a map and a compass.


    So NPC events repeated¡­ but player interactions didn''t?


    What if those players had been like me¡ªtrapped in a game they couldn''t escape? And I killed them?


    I shoved the thought away. Now wasn''t the time.


    Leaning on the bridge railing, I sorted through my options.


    How do I get armor?


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    From what I remembered, gear could drop from monsters, be given as quest rewards, bought from shops, or crafted. Maybe I had something in my inventory already.


    I must have looked insane, standing there and muttering commands as I tried to open menus. Eventually, I pulled up a few screens from the original game¡ªInventory, Hero Status, Character Build, Training, Crafting.


    Most of it was the same. But some features¡ªlike Character Build and Training¡ªwere locked. And I had no extra bags to expand my inventory.


    I needed to level up more.


    And looking back¡­ fighting monsters wasn''t my only path forward.


    This game rewarded experience in more ways than combat. Maybe I didn''t have to rely on violence to grow stronger.


    Funny. A brawler avoiding fights for survival.


    I slapped my cheeks, snapping myself back to focus.


    I didn''t care how long it took.


    I would get stronger.


    No more half-measures.


    That old farm wasn''t going anywhere.


    And I was playing to win.


    I returned to the ruins of Graywatch, where the air buzzed with the sounds of rebuilding. The people were focused, determined. I figured I should help too. Scanning the area, I looked for someone in charge. My eyes landed on a gruff-looking man with a white bandana, a chestnut beard, and a cast on his arm¡ªwait, wasn''t he the same guy from last time?


    "Excuse me, are you the foreman?" I asked.


    The man sized me up, his gaze lingering on my eyes.


    "Hero of Graywatch. What the hell do you want?" he said with a snarl.


    That attitude pissed me off, but I wasn''t here for that.


    "I''m no hero. Call me Marcus," I replied.


    He nodded, then got straight to business. Most of the houses had been burned or destroyed in the invasion, and the fields outside the city were trampled beyond use. When I offered to help, he paused for a moment before smirking.


    "Well, get to fuckin'' work, kid."


    And just like that, my day turned into a blur of hard labor. I hauled planks of wood, sacks of cement, and buckets of water. I swung a sledgehammer to break down unstable walls and tilled the soil with a hoe. By sunset, my body ached, my hands were raw with splinters and blisters¡ªbut at least I got paid. Three silver coins.


    That night, I followed the other laborers to a run-down inn, where I bought a bowl of chicken stew and bread for fifty copper coins. The taste was familiar¡ªlike any other chicken stew¡ªbut there was something else. A hint of umami? Curious, I discreetly checked my status screen while eating. Just as I suspected, the food granted small buffs to vitality and stamina regeneration. If I wanted to survive in this world, I needed every advantage. Maybe I should look into cooking someday.


    After a few rounds of drinks with the crew, I rented a tiny room and collapsed into bed.


    As days passed, I fell into a rhythm.


    Mornings started with laps around Graywatch, broken up with shadowboxing drills. After breakfast, I spent the day working¡ªhauling supplies, repairing buildings, and helping restore farmland. I even picked up some basic carpentry and farming skills along the way. Nights were dedicated to training. I practiced boxing and Muay Thai combinations against a makeshift punching bag tied to a tree. I wished I had someone to practice grappling with, but I made do.


    One day, as I carried another stack of planks, the foreman gave me a look.


    "You sure you ain''t tired, kid? You''ve been runnin'' ''round too much. Take a damn break."


    "Nah. This is easy work, old man." I smirked and kept moving.


    By the end of the first week, I noticed some changes. The work didn''t grant experience points like combat did, but my attributes had improved. My strength and endurance increased¡ªI could lift heavier loads, swing harder, and last longer.


    Food played a bigger role than I thought. I learned that "magic" in this world infused meals, enhancing recovery and performance. Meat provided health-related boosts, while carbs like potatoes increased stamina. Other food types¡ªfats, vegetables, lipids¡ªwere still a mystery to me since they were so damn expensive.


    But things didn''t stay peaceful for long.


    One morning, the foreman rounded us up.


    "We''re runnin'' low on materials, and the Knights of the Six ain''t sendin'' shit our way. So we''ll get our own! We''ll show ''em Graywatch don''t need no damn handouts!"


    The laborers cheered. The plan was simple¡ªhead into a nearby forest, gather wood, mine ore, and collect herbs. The only problem? The forest was crawling with slimes, wolves, and worse.


    Had I prepared enough for this?


    With my wages, I figured I could afford some armor. I made my way to the Graywatch General Goods store.


    "Welcome, my friend!" the merchant greeted. He was dressed too finely for a man running a shop in a ruined city¡ªblue tunic trimmed with gold, pants, and polished brown boots. Lucky bastard.


    I browsed the armor on display, activating my innate appraisal skill to check their stats. As expected, all of it was garbage-tier common gear. Not a single rare item in sight. But something caught my attention.


    Why could I equip everything? Normally, in RPGs, warriors wore plate, rogues used leather, and mages had robes. But I¡ªthe Brawler¡ªhad no restrictions.


    Interesting.


    I grabbed a full set of common-tier plate armor and brought it to the counter. My appraisal skill estimated its worth at around eight silver coins.


    "That''ll be forty-five silver coins," the merchant said with a grin.


    "¡­The fuck?" I blurted out.


    The merchant raised a brow. "Something wrong, sir? This fine armor comes from the capital itself! It''ll protect you against the Dragon Lich!"


    He was ripping me off.


    I reached over the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him close. "Why the fuck are you scamming me?" I growled.


    "S-sav¡ªget your hands off me! You call yourself the Hero of Graywatch, and this is how you act!?" His forehead glistened with sweat, but he refused to budge on the price. Either he was desperate, or he knew he could get away with it.


    Reluctantly, I let him go.


    "What can I get for ten silver coins?" I asked, glaring.


    After some hesitation, he brought out a mismatched set: metal gauntlets, shin-plated boots, and fur armor.


    "I''ll be generous and offer you a discount for what you''ve done," he said with mock politeness.


    I checked their value¡ªfour silver coins. This bastard was still overcharging me.


    I sighed and handed over the money. A week''s worth of wages¡ªgone. But it was better than being unarmored.


    As I left, the merchant called after me. "If you don''t like my prices, make your own damn gear next time!"


    ¡­Yeah. Just you wait. I will.


    Before regrouping with the laborers, I stopped by the inn to buy another bowl of chicken stew and bread. The extra stamina and health buffs could make the difference in a fight.


    At the city center, the foreman handed us gathering tools¡ªan axe, pickaxe, sickle, and hammer. A group of hunters would escort us, and a few oxen were brought along to carry supplies.


    Once everything was ready, the foreman raised his hand.


    "Move out!"


    And with that, our expedition began.

 Styles Win Fights

    Once everything was settled, the gathering crew set off. With hunters covering our front and back, I expected a long trek past the bridges and farms... but instead, we took a different route, following a dirt path east of Graywatch.


    "Dressed well for the occasion, eh!?" the foreman jeered, drawing hearty laughter from the other laborers. I squinted at them, unamused. Yeah, real funny seeing me decked out in metal gauntlets and greaves, wading knee-deep through a small river. After crossing, we herded our oxen mounts together and continued forward¡ªstraight into a wide cave tunnel I had never seen before.


    Inside, torchlight flickered against the damp stone walls, revealing three paths: one exit to the left, another to the north, and a third tunnel leading deeper underground. This wasn''t on the map when I played...


    "What is this place, pops?" I asked, stepping up to the foreman.


    "This used to be a working mineshaft until the centaurs raided it. Bastards sealed off the deeper tunnels with earth magic. The Knights of the Six fought to reclaim it, and now it''s an emergency bunker. Safer to travel through into the forest," he explained.


    That triggered a memory¡ªthere was a dynamic event in League Wars where players had to defend miners. Dynamic events looped regardless of success or failure, and I had always assumed that failed ones simply reset. But if failed events had real consequences in this world... then that meant I needed to hurry if I wanted to save that lady''s farm. But first, I had to get stronger.


    Taking the northern exit, we climbed up a hill. At the top, a dense forest stretched before us, filled with towering trees of varying heights. There were only two types I recognized¡ªthe brown-barked, green-leaved Tier 1 Green Wood Trees, and the orange-leaved, white-barked Tier 2 Birch Trees. Large boulders littered the landscape, marking deposits of Tier 1 Stone and Tier 2 Limestone. I''d never seen resource nodes this abundant before.


    "Alright, you lot know the drill¡ªget to work!" the foreman barked.


    The laborers grabbed their axes and stone hammers from the oxen saddles, splitting up to harvest materials. The hunters accompanying us ventured deeper into the woods, likely scouting for threats. As I approached a Green Wood tree, I felt a faint vibration in my pocket. My compass.


    Curious, I pulled it out, and it lit up. At the same time, my map¡ªpreviously blank¡ªbegan to fill in on its own. The location name appeared at the top:


    Greenshade Forest.


    For a brief moment, a bar flickered in the corner of my vision. Was that my experience bar?


    I observed the other laborers. Those gathering stone lifted their hammers high, bringing them down repeatedly until cracks spread across the boulders. Once weak enough, the entire rock shattered. For trees, they first scraped off some bark before chopping, likely to make the process smoother. Unlike the horizontal swings I had expected, they aimed downward, letting gravity do some of the work. That made sense.


    "Timber!" someone shouted.


    We all turned to see a tree tipping over, sending laborers scrambling out of its path. It crashed to the ground with a deep thud, drawing a round of cheers before the worker split the fallen log into smaller sections.


    Alright. I got the gist of it.


    Boxers used to chop wood to develop strength and explosive power. If it worked for them, it''d work for me. After scraping away some bark, I gripped my axe, twisted my torso, and swung. Thwack. The blade sank into the wood. I exhaled sharply, like a boxer throwing a punch, and swung again. Thwack. Over and over, I kept chopping¡ªforty-seven strikes later, the tree began to tip.


    "Timber!" I called out. The others briefly cheered before returning to work.


    As the tree hit the ground, golden orbs flickered in my vision. My experience bar had filled slightly. When I chopped the fallen log into six portions, I gained even more experience. If I did the math right, five more trees should push me to the next level.


    Then I noticed something odd.


    When I reached for a log, a "Store to Inventory" option appeared in my vision. My eyes darted around¡ªno one was watching. I hesitated, then tapped the air. The log distorted, vanishing as if sucked into a small black hole.


    I murmured, "Inventory."


    A menu popped up, confirming that the log was now inside my storage. Convenient. We were supposed to load these onto the oxen, but a few "missing" logs wouldn''t hurt, right?


    Over the next two hours, I felled five more trees¡ªthree Green Wood and two Birch¡ª"borrowing" a total of 18 Green Wood logs and 12 Birch logs. The rest, I loaded onto the oxen. Then, at the bottom right of my vision, an icon appeared. When I tapped it¡ª


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Level Up!


    Wait¡ªI was level 0 this whole time!?


    No wonder I got my ass handed to me by that bandit. No wonder that centaur nearly cut me in half. I had been completely unarmed, unarmored, and level 0. Jesus Christ.


    Before I could fully process how incredibly stupid I had been, another message appeared:


    "Brawler Profession registered. Please demonstrate profession skills."


    Demonstrate? Did it mean... shadowboxing? Right here? In front of everyone?


    Yeah, no thanks.


    I needed some space. I approached the foreman, who was counting our supplies.


    "Hey pops, mind if I go deeper? There''s more wood and stone that way," I said, jerking my thumb toward the deeper parts of the forest.


    The foreman paused. "There''s bound to be wild animals or monsters out there. You sure, kid?"


    I nodded. He studied my gear, scratched his head, then sighed.


    "Fine. Take an ox with you. It''ll save you the trouble of hauling stuff back."


    As I turned to leave, he called after me, "You better come back alive, Marcus¡ªand with the damn ox!"


    I raised a fist in response. I won''t die needlessly again. I promise.


    Leading the ox, I ventured deeper into the forest. Eventually, I found a wide clearing. This should be far enough. Now¡­ how do I "demonstrate" my profession?


    If I wanted to be an MMA fighter, I needed two striking and two grappling martial arts. My choices had been clear from the start:


    Boxing. Muay Thai. Wrestling. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.


    I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders, and got into my stance. Time to put on a show.


    First, I demonstrated Boxing. I took an orthodox stance¡ªleft foot forward, right foot back¡ªforming an "L" shape with my feet. My chin tucked in, elbows close, fists raised in a traditional high guard. From there, I moved fluidly, throwing left jabs, right straights, hooks, uppercuts, and overhands in a free-flowing shadowboxing session. Next, I worked on my head movement¡ªslipping left and right, weaving under imaginary strikes¡ªbefore raising my hands to practice my catches, parries, and blocks. I finished with footwork drills: shuffling, pivoting, and switching between orthodox and southpaw stances.


    Next, Muay Thai. I adjusted my stance, keeping the same foot placement but squaring my shoulders more, feet positioned closer together. My weight shifted rhythmically as I lifted my front and back foot in turn, building a steady bounce. I threw a mix of boxing strikes, seamlessly incorporating sharp elbow strikes from different angles, knee strikes to the body, and powerful roundhouse kicks¡ªlow, mid, and high. Each kick swung through like a baseball bat, striking with the shin instead of snapping with the foot like in Tae Kwon Do. After showcasing my kicks, I demonstrated blocks, parries, catches, and "checks," lifting my shin to block incoming kicks. In this stance, head movement was harder, but defending against kicks was far easier.


    Then came grappling. Unfortunately, there''s only so much you can do alone¡ªit takes two to tango. I ran through solo wrestling and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu drills, focusing on movement and technique. One key maneuver was the sprawl¡ªanticipating a takedown, I kicked my legs back and dropped my hips, denying my opponent any leverage while applying pressure to break their posture.


    As I caught my breath, a message popped up: "Profession Mechanics registered. Thank you for demonstrating." I wonder how this will play out in combat...


    After a short break, I turned to breaking stone, collecting eight stone chunks and six limestone chunks for my inventory. My hard labor was suddenly interrupted by the sound of wings flapping nearby. I turned¡ªonly to see a massive bat, half the size of my torso, circling above me.


    I instinctively raised my guard. As if straight out of the game, a name, level, and HP bar appeared above the creature: Level 1 Cliff Bat. It circled once before diving at me, claws extended. I braced myself, gripping the top of my head as I used my gauntleted forearms to block. The bat''s claws scraped against the metal, but my common-tier armor held strong.


    It swooped again. This time, I stepped left, lining up my shot. As it dove in, I pivoted hard, twisting my hips and torso before slamming my fist down in a brutal overhand right. The bat reeled back, its HP bar dropping. I pressed forward, launching a left jab, right straight, left hook, and another right straight, my fists flying in a relentless barrage. The bat''s health plummeted from 80% to 15%.


    I ended it with a left uppercut, sending it higher into the air¡ªonly to follow up with a crushing overhand right, driving it straight into the ground. The creature twitched before finally going still. My experience bar filled again. So, killing monsters is still the fastest way to level up.


    Before I could inspect the bat''s corpse, a low growl made me freeze. I turned¡ªLevel 2 Brown Mountain Wolf.


    I instinctively raised my Boxing guard... but the wolf was too low to reach with punches. Should I switch to Muay Thai¡ª?


    The wolf lunged. No time to think. My instincts took over. I dropped low, legs bent, arms wide¡ªI sprawled, kicking my feet back and slamming my hips down. The wolf snapped at empty air beneath me. Seizing the moment, I grabbed its fur and slid onto its back, locking my legs around its torso.


    Now in a dominant position, I secured a Dagestani Handcuff, gripping its fur with my left arm while my right gauntleted fist rained down on its eye. The wolf whimpered, HP bar dwindling. It thrashed, trying to shake me off, but I clung on, continuing the relentless assault. Then, I saw my opening.


    Sliding my left arm under its throat, I locked my left hand onto my right bicep, securing a rear naked choke. My right palm pressed against the back of its head. I gritted my teeth and squeezed, cutting off its air.


    Then¡ª


    Something caught my eye.


    An axe.


    Flying toward me.


    Time slowed.


    Am I going to die again?

 The Brawlers Curse

    I watched as the axe spun through the air in slow motion, tracking its trajectory with wide eyes¡ªuntil it landed.


    I froze. The blade had buried itself in the wolf''s skull, mere inches from my own. The beast went limp in my grasp, its life snuffed out in an instant. If that had been aimed at me... what could I have done? Should I get a helmet next time?


    As my experience bar ticked up, I heard footsteps crunching through the leaves. I turned toward the source¡ªa towering silhouette emerged from the trees. Broad, fur-clad, and crowned with antlers, he looked like some guardian of the wild. Had I angered the protector of this forest?


    I sprang to my feet, bracing for combat¡ª


    "Hey!"


    The figure greeted me casually before dropping a stag carcass from his shoulders. My tension eased slightly. This was one of the hunters from our expedition. And up close, he was a sight to behold¡ªeasily nine feet tall and built like a fortress. His thick neck and massive frame made him look like a juggernaut. Ginger hair tied back in a man bun, a clean-shaven jaw, and sharp blue eyes gave him the presence of a seasoned warrior, but his expression was more akin to a gentle giant''s.


    A Nord. One of the playable races in the game. Renowned hunters from the harsh, frozen tundras, not unlike Viking clans.


    As he approached, my mind raced through possible tactics. A rear naked choke wouldn''t work¡ªhis neck was too thick. Maybe a triangle choke with my legs? No, he could easily lift and slam me. Joint locks? His arms and legs were too muscular for me to break anything effectively. Cumulative damage, then¡ªcalf kicks, leg kicks, body shots¡ª


    "You did well holding that wolf down," he said, snapping me out of my combat calculations. "I''ve been tracking that elusive one for hours. Didn''t think humans had the guts to wrestle with such a beast."


    "...Uh, thanks. But you almost hit me!"


    "I would have, if I were less skilled," he said with a confident smirk.


    That throw was calculated. If he had wanted me dead, I would be. Terrifying.


    He yanked his axe from the wolf''s skull, then flipped it and held it out to me by the blade.


    "Keep it. For good luck."


    I took it, inspecting it with my Appraisal skill. Throwing Axe. I gave it a test swing¡ªonly for my grip to fail. The same force from the tutorial took over, sending the weapon flying into a nearby tree with a heavy thud.


    A message popped up:


    "Brawler''s Curse is active. Attempting to wield a weapon with intent to harm fills you with anxiety, giving you a slippery grip and forcing you to discard the weapon."


    So that explains why I couldn''t hold swords. But... I was able to hold the axe for a moment. Maybe there''s an exploit I could use with throwing weapons?


    "You throw well. Are you a marksman?" the hunter asked as he retrieved the axe.


    "...No. I have a curse¡ªI can''t hold weapons properly."


    "Ah," he said, nodding. "In my homeland, a curse is merely a blessing ignored. A man might wish for the strength of a tiger, but a tiger would wish for a man''s intelligence. While you may not have the firmest grip, who''s to stop you from becoming an excellent marksman?"


    That... actually made sense. A different way to look at my situation.


    "Thanks. What''s your name?" I asked.


    "Brynjolf Einarson. And you?"


    "Marcus."


    "Just Marcus? Who is your father?"


    Oh, right. Nords typically took their father''s name with "-son" at the end. If he was Einar''s son...


    "My father''s name is Alexandre."


    Brynjolf gave a firm nod. "Then it is an honor to meet you, Marcus Alexandreson." He slammed a fist against his chest in salute. I returned the gesture.


    "The sun is setting, and we need to prepare these carcasses. Will you help me with the skinning?"


    I hesitated. "I have no experience."


    Brynjolf chuckled. "Then it''s a good time to learn."


    He handed me an old skinning knife¡ªa well-crafted blade with a wooden handle engraved with a bear. Even their tools had an artistry to them.


    As we worked, he gave me pointers: cut shallow to preserve the meat and pelt, remove the organs carefully (especially the colon), and salvage bones, fangs, claws, and eyes for their alchemical properties. Maybe I should invest in alchemy later¡­


    I glanced over mid-cut¡ªBrynjolf was already nearly finished with his stag. The guy was a machine.


    "Brynjolf, why are you here? I thought Nords preferred colder climates," I asked as I continued skinning the wolf.


    He sighed, his expression darkening. "...We do. But we had no choice. The Ice Witch''s forces are closing in on our tribes. They hunt us like wild game, turning my brothers and sisters into mindless beasts encased in ice."


    I stiffened. Another major threat in this world. Unlike the Lich, who raised the dead, the Ice Witch corrupted the living, transforming Nords into frozen monsters.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    "We fought back," he continued, anger rising in his voice. "For months, we held out. But every day, her numbers grew while ours dwindled. I begged my people to leave, to retreat¡ªbut they refused. They stayed. And they died."


    He paused. A long, heavy silence. Then¡ª


    "...I was the only survivor."


    The words hung in the air, thick with grief.


    "I tried to reach Geirmundholt''s Great Lodge for aid, but their hunters were stretched too thin. I do not blame them... so I left. I seek redemption however I can. I heard of the centaur attacks on Greywatch, so now... I am here."


    I didn''t know what to say. What could you even say to that? He tried to save his people and was forced to watch them fall. He had no choice but to run, yet he bore the guilt of a coward.


    I placed a hand on his shoulder. A silent gesture.


    He gave a small smile¡ªbut I could tell the pain still lingered.


    We continued working in silence. I managed to salvage fur, teeth, claws, and usable meat from the wolf before moving on to the cliff bat. I noticed something then¡ª


    I was gaining experience. Even from skinning.


    Huh. Maybe there was more to progression in this world than just combat.


    We loaded up the oxen mount''s bags before leading it back to the outskirts of the forest, where the foreman was already tallying the resources. He bought the wood and stone from my mount''s bags for 20 silver coins, while I got to keep the hunting loot for myself. With the supplies secured, we descended the cliff and returned to Graywatch, celebrating the night with drinks at the local inn.


    The foreman mentioned that, with this much gathered, the city should be rebuilt in a week¡ªonce the raw materials were processed.


    As we ate chicken stew, I turned to Brynjolf. "Hey, how much longer are you staying here?"


    "I''ll be leaving once the city is rebuilt," he replied. "Why do you ask?"


    "I was thinking of leaving too after the reparations are done. Want to come with me?"


    "We shall see," Brynjolf answered. He didn''t sound entirely opposed, but he wasn''t committing either. Having him as a companion would make things so much easier¡ªlike getting carried by a high-level player. Speaking of which¡­ what level is he?


    I focused my sight on him, activating my appraisal. Brynjolf Einarsson¡­ Level 20?!


    My jaw nearly dropped. Everyone else in this town was between level 0 and 2, and this juggernaut had just waltzed in, leagues ahead of us all. Is he a player? Should I ask? Though, he didn''t act like one. I mean¡­ I could die to reset the day and see if he''s still here, but¡ªyeah, no. Not worth it.


    "Is something wrong?" Brynjolf asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. I quickly shook my head and steered the conversation elsewhere. We ended up talking about food. He reminisced about eating Roast Dolyak Meat¡ªa furrier relative of our oxen. Meanwhile, all I''d had so far was basic-ass chicken stew. I was mad jealous when he described the taste.


    After dinner and drinks, I rented a room and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. If Brynjolf''s leaving soon, I need to make the most of his time here. Maybe I can get him to coach me in throwing weapons.


    I checked my stats¡ªlevel 2 now. If I play my cards right, I could push to level 8 by the end of the week. With a rough plan in mind, I closed my eyes and let exhaustion take over.


    After eating another bowl of buff-giving chicken stew, I joined the laborers. For the first few days, our job was refining materials¡ªbreaking logs into planks at the lumber mill and chiseling stone blocks at the stonemason''s yard. It was brutal work, but every bit of effort nudged my experience bar upward. By the third day, I hit level 4.


    Once the materials were ready, we spent the next week rebuilding. Brynjolf pitched in, and with his help, we made serious progress. My routine shifted¡ªI jogged in the early mornings, worked on construction until noon, then hunted with Brynjolf in the afternoons, improving my throwing skills and gathering materials. By early evening, I still made time to practice my martial arts with a makeshift punching bag. Exhausting? Absolutely. But I was fueled by this world''s god-tier chicken stew.


    With the experience from hunting, skinning, and crafting, I hit level 8 by the final day. Still 72 levels to go¡­ but one step at a time.


    Sweat dripped from my forehead as I hammered the last two nails into place. I stepped back, wiping my hands on my pants.


    "Hey, boss! I''m done here! Anywhere else that needs help?"


    "That''s the last of it," the foreman said.


    As I climbed down the ladder, he gathered all the laborers and led us toward the town center. People stood outside their rebuilt homes¡ªmany of them survivors of the invasion.


    The foreman leaned toward me and muttered, "Say somethin'' nice, will you?" Then he cleared his throat.


    "Everyone! Once again, we have proven our tenacity¡ªno invasion can truly break us!"


    His voice was steady, but his words carried weight.


    "We lost many that day. But had the Knights of the Six not intervened, we would have lost far more." A heavy silence followed.


    "But¡ª" his tone rose, cutting through the grief. "That day, one brave soul stood among us. Not a knight, but with the heart of one. Someone reckless enough¡ªno, dumb enough¡ªto fight a centaur with his bare hands to save strangers. But most importantly, he stayed. When the battle was over, he didn''t leave us to pick up the pieces alone. He fought for this city, and now, he''s been one of the driving forces behind its rebuilding."


    The foreman turned to me.


    "Everyone, lend your ears to the Hero of Graywatch¡ªMarcus!"


    The crowd erupted. Whistles, cheers, applause. The laborers clapped, stepping aside to make way for me.


    Damn it. What do I even say now?


    "Uh... Listen, I''m really not a hero. I''m just a working man like the rest of you."


    I glanced at the foreman. He shot me the deadliest glare I''d ever seen. Alright, alright, I guess I''ll roll with the motivational speech.


    I took a breath.


    "But lately, I''ve been thinking¡­ why was I given this title? What does it really mean to be a hero?" I paused.


    "Some might say it''s about strength¡ªlike my friend Brynjolf here, who can lift an entire log with one hand. Others might say it''s about protection¡ªlike the Knights of the Six, who risk their lives to defend our people. And sure, those are valid.


    "But after working alongside you all, I''ve come to realize something else. Being a hero isn''t just about strength or combat¡ªit''s about sacrifice. It''s about breaking your back, pushing through exhaustion, and giving everything you''ve got for the people you care about. And by that definition¡ªthe real heroes of Graywatch are standing right here.


    "The foreman. The laborers. Every single one of you. I''ve seen it firsthand¡ªyou poured your blood, sweat, and tears into rebuilding this city.


    "So, no. I am no hero. But I''ve had the honor of working alongside them."


    Silence.


    Then¡ªapplause. Deafening applause. The laborers raised their fists, cheering their hearts out. Brynjolf, the gentle giant himself, was moved to tears. He quickly wiped his eyes with his forearm, trying to hide it.


    Graywatch was rebuilt. I hit level 8.


    Now, it''s time.


    Stay strong, Miss Annie. I''ll save your farm.


    And as for you, you fucking bandit¡ªI''ll repay my death a thousand times over.

 A Thousand Times Worse

    After the celebrations, the city prepared for a small afternoon feast, with every household contributing a meal for the community. The foreman tried to persuade us to stay at least until then, but I couldn''t shake the urgency gnawing at me. I had already spent nearly a month preparing for this. Annie''s farm couldn''t wait any longer.


    "Alright then, at least take something with you," Mayor Durand said, his tone carrying a hint of disappointment. He then called someone over.


    "What do you need, Mayor?" the man asked.


    Wait¡ªwait, wait, wait.


    "You''re the mayor!?" I blurted out. The man tilted his head in confusion while Durand¡ªnow officially Mayor Durand¡ªturned toward me with his usual serious expression.


    "Got a problem with that, kid?"


    "No, sir¡ªjust wish I''d known earlier."


    It all made sense now¡ªhow he rallied the people so easily, how he delivered that speech so effortlessly.


    Durand ordered the man to fetch my "reward," and he sprinted off to get it. A reward? Maybe some enchanted gear? A rare or even exotic-quality item? Hopefully not a weapon, though¡ªI already had that covered.


    "Uh, Mayor Durand, sir¡­ I don''t think I ever got your name."


    Durand snorted, then burst into a hearty laugh, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes.


    "You never asked, ya idiot! It''s Durand."


    The runner returned, leading my so-called reward¡ªa saddled ox. The same one I had led into the clearing before.


    "We don''t have much, but you deserve this, at least," Durand said. "Born and raised here¡ªsturdy and loyal. He''ll carry whatever junk you pick up on your travels. Treat him well."


    I stepped closer, cautiously reaching out to pet the ox''s head. It didn''t flinch.


    Durand sighed, crossing his arms. "So, once again, why the hell are you two leaving? You''ve done enough to be permanent residents here. We could use the manpower."


    Brynjolf stood tall, his voice unwavering. "I seek redemption¡ªto restore my honor as a Nord. I will travel the ends of Coridia to find it."


    Durand gave him a nod, as if he understood completely. Then his eyes landed on me. "And you, Marcus?"


    I hesitated. "...I just want to get stronger. To help people."


    Durand scoffed. "Bah. You young''uns and your dreams."


    He offered a handshake to Brynjolf, who took it¡ªgripping firmly, testing each other''s strength before giving a nod of mutual respect. I extended my own hand, only for Durand to swat it away and pull me into a crushing embrace.


    "Stay safe, son," he muttered.


    "...Thanks," I said, patting his back¡ª


    And suddenly, he twisted. My feet left the ground. Before I even processed what was happening, I slammed onto my back, the wind knocked out of me.


    Did this old man just hip-throw me?!


    Durand let out the loudest cackle I''d ever heard from him. Usually so gruff, so serious¡ªyet here he was, laughing like a madman.


    "Wow," Brynjolf said flatly.


    "Still a thousand years too young to beat me," Durand declared smugly.


    Oh, hell no. "Yeah? Want me to prove you wrong?" I shot back, pushing myself up. My competitive spirit flared¡ªI was not walking away with an L.


    Durand just grinned and turned away. "Nah. Got shit to do. Come back sometime, will ya?"


    ...What a weird way to ask if I''d visit.


    With that, I grabbed the reins of my ox and set off down the road with Brynjolf.


    "Want to come with me?" I asked. "I''m doing the same thing¡ªtraveling, helping people."


    "Sure. Thanks for helping me reclaim my legend," Brynjolf said.


    Once we reached the open road, I climbed into the saddle and grabbed the reins. That''s when a message appeared before me.


    Would you like to soul-bind this mount?


    I selected Yes¡ªand suddenly, green light enveloped both me and the ox. A few seconds later, another message confirmed the bond was complete.


    ...Wait. Did Brynjolf see that?


    "Astonishing," he muttered.


    "...Huh?"


    "The most skilled beastmasters take months to bind their spirit to an animal¡­ and you did it in mere moments," Brynjolf said, his voice laced with disbelief.


    Shit. Did that just expose me as a player?


    "...Wow. I don''t know what happened. Guess this ox just likes me," I said, feigning innocence.


    "Hmph."


    I flinched. That wasn''t from Brynjolf. I glanced at my ox. It shook its head.


    Did it just¡­ talk?


    "Perhaps," Brynjolf mused. Then, with a commanding tone, he called out: "Fenrir!"


    Green light engulfed him as well, lifting his massive frame¡ªthen, in seconds, he was astride a saddled white Great Wolf, easily as large as my ox. Seeing the mount-up animation from the game up close was surreal.


    "Let us make haste, brother. Where to next?"


    I shook off the shock and focused. "We turn right past the bridge, then follow the road to a farm."


    Brynjolf nodded, tugging his reins. His wolf shot forward in a burst of speed, kicking up dust.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Hey, you gonna let that wolf beat you?" I challenged.


    My ox inclined its head. "No. Hold on tight."


    Before I could react, it surged forward, accelerating into a full gallop! The wind lashed against my face as we closed in on the wolf''s tail. My ox was blindingly fast in a straight line but struggled on sharp turns, forcing it to slow down before bursting forward again. After a few minutes, we spotted Brynjolf slowing down. We followed suit.


    "Brother¡­ is this the farm you spoke of?"


    I looked ahead¡ªand my stomach dropped.


    It was barely recognizable. The cornstalks were shriveled and dead. The garden was overrun with wurm monsters, their segmented bodies writhing through the soil. The cows were scattered, cowering behind whatever cover they could find.


    And the barn¡­ two bandits stood outside, flipping a coin and laughing to themselves.


    But where was Annie?


    Rage bubbled inside me. "...Brynjolf, take care of the wurms. I''ll handle the bandits."


    "Right."


    Brynjolf spurred Fenrir forward, charging into the garden. He leaped from his mount, twin steel axes flashing in the light. His wolf joined the fight¡ªsomething I''d never seen in the game before.


    "You need help?" my ox asked in my mind.


    I shook my head, dismounting. Slowly, deliberately, I walked toward the two bandits.


    They finally noticed me. Both wore red and white bandanas over their faces, jagged patterns resembling shark teeth.


    I checked their levels. Bandit, Level 5.


    Three levels below me. Easy work.


    "Where''s Annie?" I demanded, my glare locked onto them.


    They exchanged glances, then snickered. One stepped forward, arms crossed.


    "Dead," he said. His voice sent a shiver down my spine¡ªbecause I recognized it.


    The same bastard who had killed me before.


    "...And you''re next."


    A furnace ignited within me¡ªmy core burned, my neck seared with heat¡ªyet I felt eerily calm. My body brimmed with fury, but my mind sharpened like a blade. I wouldn''t hold back. I wouldn''t give them a chance. Before they died, they would know fear and pain.


    "I''m going to rip your eyes out and choke you both with your entrails."


    I settled into my stance¡ªorthodox, left foot forward, right foot back¡ªbut I adjusted, tucking my left arm low across my waist, chin shielded behind my shoulder, right fist tight against my cheek. The Philly Shell¡ªthe ultimate defense, made famous by legends.


    I advanced in short, measured steps. The bandit brandished his knife, but I saw it¡ªhesitation. His eyes darted, uncertain. I stomped forward in a feint, and he panicked, leaping back, swinging wildly.


    He was scared. Good.


    I stalked closer, flicking out my left arm¡ªphantom jabs¡ªnever touching him, just filling the space, pressuring him.


    "Damn it!" he cursed before lunging. His shoulders tensed. His elbow lifted. Slow.


    I stepped in, parrying his forearm with mine, halting his strike. My back foot pivoted, my hips twisted, and I drove a straight right into his face. Bone crunched¡ªhis nose shattered, lip split. The wet thwack of impact echoed, sickening.


    He reeled backward, wobbling. I snatched his face with my left hand, locking my grip, then pivoted into another right straight, smashing into his chin. His body stiffened, then collapsed. Out cold.


    "Y-you monster!" The second bandit stammered, unsheathing a longsword.


    In response, I pressed my boot down on his fallen comrade''s skull, crushing it until his health dropped to zero. My XP bar ticked up. My greaves, now slick with crimson and brain matter, felt heavier.


    "Gregory, no!"


    I raised my hands, high guard, stepping just outside his reach. His sword¡ªa near four-foot extension of his trembling grip¡ªgave him the advantage. I circled, skipping on my toes, calculating. I had to close the distance without getting skewered.


    A shorter fighter in boxing or MMA had to bulldoze their way inside, but a sword was different. A single mistake meant death. I couldn''t tank a stab to the face. Could I fight dirty? An eye gouge? A groin shot? Too far.


    I dashed forward, inches from the tip of his blade, bobbing my head erratically. He twitched. The moment his elbows retracted for a thrust, I slipped left, bending at the hip¡ªdodge.


    Now.


    I smacked the blade aside with my gauntlet, creating an opening.


    No, not yet. Not deep enough.


    Instead, I unsheathed the throwing axe at my belt and hurled it. He barely managed to block, raising his arms, blade catching the axe mid-flight.


    His weapon was occupied.


    I sprinted in, diving low, my left knee planting as I stepped forward. My head drove into his stomach, my arms snatching his hamstring, catching him in a blast double-leg takedown attempt.


    I surged forward. He slammed onto his back, breath blasting from his lungs. His sword clattered free from his hands.


    I pressed my shoulder down, keeping him pinned down as I walk my left leg over his legs, scooting my butt to sit on his stomach in a full mount.


    Before he could react, I yanked his longsword from his fingers and flung it aside.


    Sword versus unarmed was always a losing battle. But grappling? Grappling was different. No luck, no guesswork. If the swordsman could keep a grappler away, they won. If the grappler closed the distance...


    The swordsman dies.


    I rained down punches. My fists caved in his face, over and over. Bone cracked. Skin split. He tried to shield himself¡ªI ripped his wrist away and drove a downward elbow straight into his forehead.


    With each strike, something inside me whispered.


    Weak.


    His skull gave way, flesh and bone crumbling beneath my gauntlets.


    Weak. Weak. Weak.


    My fist rose for another blow.


    Then¡ªpressure.


    A vice closed around my wrist. Not just tight. Crushing.


    Pain jolted up my arm. My bones groaned under the force. I snarled, trying to rip free, but the grip did not budge.


    A voice spoke up. Low and steady.


    "...It is over, brother. Do not let the beast inside you devour your humanity.", Brynjolf said.


    The embers of my fury snuffed out. The red haze receded.


    I looked down. The body beneath me...


    Its face¡ªunrecognizable. Popped eyes. A caved-in skull. Teeth scattered like broken glass.


    My gauntlets, dripping with warm crimson, trembled.


    "...You''re right. I''m sorry."


    I pushed off, exhaling, the battle''s weight sinking in.


    "What about the wurms?" I asked.


    "Already dealt with," Brynjolf said, his tone reassuring.


    I stepped aside, peering past his broad frame¡ªcarnage. Wurm guts were strewn across the garden, steaming pools of acidic bile eating into the earth. A massacre.


    ...And yet, somehow, what he did looked worse than mine. Are we sure Brynjolf gets to be the voice of reason here?


    We moved into the barn. Empty. Almost.


    A rustle behind the crates.


    We followed the sound¡ªan old woman, bound and gagged. Farmer Annie.


    Her clothes were torn, but she looked unharmed. She blinked up at us, her breathing shallow. Relief flooded through me. We made it in time.


    I knelt beside her, reaching for the gag. "It''s okay, ma''am. We''re here to help."


    She flinched.


    My fingers stopped just shy of the cloth. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her body rigid against the wooden floor. My stomach twisted. That wasn''t relief in her eyes.


    It was fear.


    Her gaze darted between me and Brynjolf. Then lower.


    I followed her line of sight. My gauntlets, dripping crimson. My boots, caked in flesh and bone.


    The bodies outside. The destruction.


    She trembled violently, her head shaking, muffled pleas spilling from behind the gag¡ªnot for help.


    For mercy.


    I slowly retracted my hands, heart pounding.


    ...Are we really the heroes here?

 The Broodmothers Wrath

    I pull my skinning knife from my belt and squat down, silently cutting the ropes and gag binding the trembling farmer.


    "Calm down. We''re here to help," I say firmly.


    "Please¡ªdon''t hurt me! I have nothing left to give! Just don''t tell Ivan the Fearless!" she pleads, her voice raw with panic.


    Ivan the Fearless? Haven''t heard that name before. A bandit leader, maybe?


    Her eyes dart to something behind me. I glance over my shoulder¡ªshattered mirror. My reflection stares back in broken shards. Blood-splattered armor, punk aesthetic, messy black mohawk fade. Scarred eyebrow slit, slightly bent nose. No wonder she''s terrified.


    For a second, I wonder¡ªwhy does my body still look the same? It''s been a month. Shouldn''t there be changes? A glitch, or just part of the game''s design?


    Farmer Annie''s breath shudders. She''s still frozen, staring at me. Right. Focus.


    "We are here to protect you and rebuild your farm. Do not be afraid," Brynjolf says, his deep voice steady and reassuring.


    Annie hesitates, then slowly regains her composure. "Oh, thank goodness... I-I thought you were one of them!"


    She explains. The stolen crates? Just a test. A trial run for Ivan the Fearless, a gang leader terrorizing the outskirts of Graywatch. Rumor has it the Coridian Explorer League''s navigation system was hacked¡ªthat explains the scout at the crossroads, desperate to recruit adventurers. The Knights of the Six were supposed to guard the farms... but they never came. Waypoints disabled. No reinforcements. No help.


    If I explore this entire region and turn my map and compass into the Explorer League¡­ maybe I can restore the navigation system. Another incentive to fully clear the map.


    "We''ll try to fix this," I declare.


    Brynjolf glances at me, hesitant, then nods. "...But first, let us rebuild this farm to its former glory."


    We step outside. Gore. Everywhere.


    Blood splattered across the gardens and pathways. I''m surprised Annie hasn''t puked.


    "Sorry for the mess," I say.


    "Oh, don''t you worry ''bout it, sweetheart. They''ll make good fertilizer," Annie replies, her voice creeping back into its usual cheer.


    I blink. Wait. Did she just¡ª?


    Brynjolf stares at the field of wurm carcasses, then turns to me with a sheepish smile. "Brother Marcus¡ª"


    "Nope. Clean up your own mess, you dick," I cut in.


    He sighs, and we both get to work. We dig graves, burying the bandits and wurm remains, then draw water from the well to soak the ground before re-tilling the soil.


    Next, we summon our mounts¡ªhis great white wolf scares off the scattered cows, while I herd them back with my ox. After refilling their troughs and tossing out fresh hay, we reinforce the pens, hammering in loose nails. Just as Brynjolf secures the gate, my compass vibrates.


    I pull it out alongside my map. A golden heart icon flashes¡ªquest complete. My experience bar fills up to halfway. The waypoint on the map pulses blue.


    At the farm''s entrance, the actual waypoint¡ªa massive gray cube etched with intricate patterns¡ªsplits in half. A ray of blue light passes through.


    Then, people step out.


    Knights of the Six... and the Guardian.


    The Guardian, flanked by knights, rushes toward Annie. Brynjolf and I follow out of curiosity.


    "...Farmer Annie..." the Guardian pants through her Armet helmet. After a moment, she pulls it off¡ªgolden locks spill free, big green eyes darting around the farm, lips pressed in concern.


    "We''re so sorry¡ªthe waypoint was malfunctioning. We''ve been trying for weeks to reach all the requests¡ª"


    "It''s fine. Already taken care of, thanks to these two," Annie interjects.


    The Guardian turns to us. Her eyes land on me.


    Then, she double-takes.


    "It''s YOU! Hero of Graywatch¡ªwell, technically, we were both the heroes¡ªbut it''s you!"


    "Uh¡­ hey. Nice to see you again," I reply casually.


    Brynjolf turns to me. "Do you know her, brother?"


    "Yes, he does! He saved my life. He''s my hero!" she exclaims.


    "...Look, I''m no hero. Just call me Marcus. And this is my brother-in-arms, Brynjolf."


    The Guardian straightens. "I see... Well met, Marcus and Brynjolf! I am Liliana Michaela Charlotte of the Haessler family, and it is a pleasure to meet you two gentlemen!"


    ...I already forgot the rest of her name.


    "So... will you two tell me what''s been happening?"


    The four of us talk¡ªabout the scattered cows, the wurm-infested gardens, the bandits. We leave out the gory details, but I mention that once we completed the golden heart on the Explorer''s map, the waypoint reactivated.


    Which means...


    Maybe we just found a way to fix the whole damn navigation system.


    A few knights approached Liliana, whispering in her ear. She nodded in response.


    "I''ll leave it to you two gentlemen, then! Farmer Annie, we''ll assign a few knights on rotation to keep you safe," Liliana said in a reassuring tone.


    She turned back to us, flashing a grin as bright as her golden locks before giving a cheerful wave and slipping her helmet back on. I''d be lying if I said that wasn''t cute.


    Brynjolf coughed¡ªloudly¡ªsnapping me out of my thoughts. When I looked at him, he had the stupidest grin on his face, eyebrows waggling.


    "What?" I asked, already regretting it.


    "Is this what you humans call... ''Love at First Sight''?" he teased before bursting into laughter, giving me a shoulder tap that felt more like a shove.


    "Shut up," I grumbled, throwing a playful jab into his stomach. He doubled over slightly with a grunt. Serves you right, asshole.


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    Despite our protests, Farmer Annie insisted on giving us a pouch of five silver coins for our hard work. She could''ve used that money to restock...


    "Where to next, brother?" Brynjolf asked, climbing onto his massive white wolf. I swung onto my ox mount''s saddle.


    "Let''s see..."


    I pulled out my compass, letting it settle. A faint vibration ran through my palm as the needle locked onto the fields we just plowed. Hollowbourne Fields ¨C Point of Interest registered.


    With that, we set off toward the next golden heart on the map¡ªa river at the base of a mountain. There, a fisherman stood, scratching his head.


    "Excuse me," I called out. "My friend and I are here to help."


    The fisherman turned, eyeing us warily before sighing.


    "Guess it won''t hurt t'' ask for help. Gods-damned centaurs wrecked our fishing lines, nets, and traps. Worse, they riled up a nearby drake nest¡ªnow we got those scaly bastards lurkin'' ''round, eatin'' from my spots!" he ranted.


    Brynjolf and I exchanged a glance. Then, with a nod, we headed for the riverbank.


    "I''ll take this side," Brynjolf said, moving to the right.


    "Gotcha. I''ll take this one."


    I turned to face a drake hunched over a trap, gobbling up crayfish. Staying light on my toes, I strafed to the right, unsheathed my throwing axe, took aim, and let it fly.


    The axe spun mid-air before burying itself into the drake''s leathery hide. It hissed, twisting its snout to locate me before letting out a shriek and charging forward. I pivoted on my right foot, smoothly stepping out of the way of its snapping jaws.


    A quick glance at its HP¡ª85% remaining. Level 4. Weaker than the bandit, but still... how the fuck do you fight an alligator-lizard hybrid!?


    I bent my knees, slightly crouching into a wrestler''s stance. Maybe I should sprawl and move around it like I did with the wolf?


    Before I could decide, the drake lunged again¡ªbut this time, it spun mid-attack, whipping its thick tail toward me. I instinctively raised my left knee, blocking it with my shinguard, but the impact rattled my leg like a brutal calf kick. I stumbled back, resetting my stance.


    That hurt... but so far, it''s only used bites and tail whips. Surely, it won''t get worse.


    It got worse.


    The drake paused, its belly swelling as it sucked in air.


    Oh no.


    I bolted sideways just as a blast of fire erupted from its mouth, scorching the ground where I had stood.


    It can breathe fire!?


    Screw the level gap. I might be double its level, but that means nothing if I get roasted alive. I have to fight this thing like it''s stronger than me.


    I scrambled for any useful knowledge and remembered something from a Discovery Channel documentary. Alligators can crush bones with their bite, but their muscles for opening their jaws? Weak as hell.


    The drake inhaled again. I dodged right, narrowly avoiding another searing cone of fire. It struggled to track me mid-breath¡ªthat was my opening.


    I stayed low in my wrestler''s stance, hands open. As the drake prepared to lunge, I exploded off my left foot, sidestepping at an angle to dodge its bite. At the same moment, I brought my left hand down in a hammer fist, slamming the top of its snout.


    Before it could recoil, I spread my fingers, pressing my weight onto its head to keep its mouth shut.


    "Need help, brother?" Brynjolf called from behind.


    "I''m good! I think I got it!"


    The drake thrashed, its body jerking violently. Holding firm, I bent my left arm, jumped back with my feet, and dropped my hips into a sprawl, pinning its snout down with my torso. As it flailed, I snaked my right arm under its jaw, gripping my own leather armor like a gi choke, locking its mouth shut in a guillotine hold.


    With the drake restrained, I raised my left gauntleted fist¡ªthen slammed it down into its skull. Again. And again. Each strike chipped 6% off its health, targeting its left eye.


    As its HP dropped to 35%, I felt it inhale sharply, its belly expanding.


    Not this time.


    I tightened the choke, pressing my arm and chest against its snout.


    BAM!


    The drake''s own flames backfired, cooking it from the inside out. Its HP plummeted to 0.


    A notification flickered. My experience bar ticked up.


    I''d won.


    I stood up, scanning my side of the battlefield. Just one drake and three skales left.


    Thinking back, if I were still playing as my game character, I''d have cleared this with a greatsword in seconds. Goes to show how much easier things are with a proper weapon.


    I raised my fists into a high guard, stepping toward a skale. It hissed, standing on its hind legs as I settled into a boxing stance. At least I wouldn''t have to do any awkward maneuvering to land clean strikes.


    The level 4 skale lunged, swiping with its claws. I raised my arms, absorbing the impact with my gauntlets as I stepped back, then pivoted to circle around. As soon as I found an opening, I shot out a light left jab, followed by a powerful right straight to its head. The impact sent it stumbling.


    That''s when I noticed something.


    The amount of force I put into my strikes affects my damage output. Its HP dropped to 90%¡ª


    Until an icon flickered below its health bar.


    Three white crosses on a yellow background.


    Regeneration.


    Right, I just remembered¡ªskale-type monsters have a constant healing buff in battle. Some abilities were even named after them because they granted regen effects.


    This thing was restoring 3% HP per tick, way too fast. If I wanted to bring it down, I had to overwhelm it with a relentless barrage.


    I extended my left arm into a long guard, baiting another attack. The skale hissed and slashed at me, but I pushed off my feet, narrowly backstepping out of reach. Before it could recover, I stepped in with my right foot, pivoting into a right straight counter to its head. The blow staggered it.


    I immediately shuffled forward, driving a left hook into its ribs, followed by an overhand right to its skull. Then came a left jab, right straight, a left hook to the body, and a right uppercut to the jaw¡ªeach punch setting up the next in a flawless flow of body-to-head and head-to-body combos. Despite its healing factor, I wore it down, its HP plummeting to 25%.


    Time to finish this.


    I grabbed its wrist and throat, roaring as I slammed it into the dirt with brute strength. Pinning it down, I rained down vicious ground-and-pound with my fists, dribbling its skull into the earth until its HP hit zero. My experience bar ticked up.


    I glanced over¡ªBrynjolf had already finished his enemies. Eviscerated was the only word for it. His battleaxes made short work of them. He looked over, grinning, and gave me a double thumbs-up.


    Alright. No way I could let him down now.


    It took some time, but I took down the remaining drake and skales using the same strategy, chipping away at their HP while stacking my own experience bar. If I had to gauge it, I was at about 75% XP before leveling up.


    Might as well finish the chores and save looting for later.


    Brynjolf and I crossed the river, helping with the menial tasks¡ªrepairing fishing lines, nets, and crawfish traps. Each completed task filled up the map''s golden heart, signaling progress.


    Just as we were almost finished, a young boy ran up to a fisherman.


    "Pa! Look what I found! It''s huge!"  the boy said proudly.


    The fisherman''s face paled. "What the¡ªwhere did you get this!?"


    "From that nest across the river." The boy pointed.


    I followed his finger, my gaze landing on the nest. Then, slowly, realization dawned on me.


    Oh, shit.


    A piercing shriek echoed through the air.


    A massive drake ascended from its burrow, its silhouette casting a shadow over it. Easily the size of a school bus. It crossed the river in seconds, its eyes locking onto us.


    A quick glance at its name and level sent a chill down my spine.


    "Level 6 Veteran Drake Broodmother."


    Before I could react, its throat swelled. Heat rippled off its body as its chest expanded¡ª


    It was about to breathe fire.


    "Move!" I roared, grabbing the kid and diving aside¡ª


    Flames erupted from its mouth, turning the riverside into an inferno.


    Brynjolf and the fisherman barely managed to roll out of the way, cursing as the heat licked at his armor.


    "That beast is going burn the whole place down!" he shouted.


    I balled my fists, adrenaline surging at the massive threat.


    "No it won''t! We won''t let it!"


    The Veteran Drake Broodmother reared back, preparing another attack.


    No time to think. No time to plan.


    I charged.

 Limestone Rocks!

    I sprinted toward the giant drake, its shriek sending shivers down my spine. As I closed the distance, I realized¡ªthere was no way I could hold its jaws shut with a guillotine choke. This one would have to go down through accumulated damage.


    I surged forward, but just as it lunged, I planted on the balls of my feet and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a bone-crushing bite. NOPE. Its reach was too wide¡ªI couldn''t simply cut an angle with footwork alone.


    "Brynjolf! Get its attention!" I barked, stealing a quick glance at him.


    He nodded, his peaceful face twisting into a mask of fury in an instant. With a roar, Brynjolf charged, leaping high and bringing his battleaxes down in a devastating arc. His blades tore into the drake broodmother''s hide, shaving its HP down to 94%. The beast screeched, snapping its snout toward him and lunging with a vicious bite¡ªonly for Brynjolf to slip out of reach just in time.


    Its side was exposed. This is my opening. But what could I do? Trading blows with something this massive was suicide¡ªstraight-up boxing wouldn''t work. Hit-and-run? Is there a martial art that emphasizes mobility?


    I thought of one of the all-time greats¡ªStephen "Wonderboy" Thompson. Dropping my hands to my hips, I took inspiration from his Karate and stood sideways, left foot forward, right foot back, bouncing lightly on my toes. I have to stay mobile. Strike fast. Evade faster.


    I pushed off my back foot, snapping out a left jab, right straight into its exposed ribs, my low guard keeping my balance sharp. Then I sprung back, pivoting hard on my lead foot¡ªleft heel pointing toward its body as I torqued my torso into a spinning back kick. My right heel slammed into its flank before I retracted, pivoted back into stance, and dashed away just as it trashed wildly.


    My strikes were not as hard-hitting as Brynjolf''s slashes, but the damage was adding up.


    With Level 20 Brynjolf at my side, this was becoming a cakewalk. He slashed and crushed through the beast with brute force and savagery, while I floated like a butterfly, and stung like a bee with rapid punch-kick combinations, both of us dwindling its HP down...


    Until the drake adapted.


    The Broodmother feinted, luring Brynjolf into committing to an attack¡ªthen SNAP! Its massive jaws clamped down on him, fangs sinking deep into his flesh. His roar of agony sent a chill down my spine, his towering frame trembling under the beast''s grip.


    "Brynjolf, no!"


    I surged forward, slamming punch after punch into its scaled hide, desperate to pull its aggro. My fists might as well have been raindrops on stone. The drake only bit down harder, its stomach swelling ominously.


    Oh, shit¡ª


    BOOM!


    A fireball erupted from its gut, launching Brynjolf like a ragdoll. His charred body crashed and tumbled across the grass, smoke trailing from his armor.


    "I''ll gut you for that¡ª"


    But before I could react, the Broodmother whipped around.


    WHAM!


    Its massive, spiked tail slammed into my legs like a battering ram.


    FUCK!


    Agony detonated through my bones as I was ripped off my feet, sent spiraling across the battlefield. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, and I barely registered the dirt and debris scraping against my skin before coming to a violent stop.


    I tried to move¡ªpain flared up my leg. A red status icon blinked in my vision.


    "Crippled. Movement is restricted."


    ...No need to tell me that, system.


    I pushed myself up, but my left leg buckled instantly, unable to take my weight. Every shift sent sharp, searing pain up my calf. If that tail had hit just a little higher... I''d be paste.


    I clenched my teeth. What the fuck am I doing thinking about that when I''m about to die!?


    I snapped my head up. The Broodmother''s HP sat at 40%, but it wasn''t slowing down. If anything, it looked angrier. It lowered its head, muscles coiling, charging.


    A shiver crawled down my spine. I felt the weight of panic settle in my gut.


    I might die again...


    I don''t want to!


    I forced my body to move, limping sideways as I fumbled through my Inventory, scanning frantically. Something¡ªanything!


    The Broodmother stopped. Its chest expanded and prepared for another fire breath.


    My breath hitched. Oh fuck¡ª


    Instinct took over. I ripped out the first thing I saw¡ªchunks of limestone from Greenshade Forest in my inventory¡ªand chucked them at its gaping maw.


    The rocks barely did any damage, bouncing off its scales¡ªuntil one plunked straight into its throat.


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    The drake reared back, ready to exhale¡ª


    BOOM!


    A small explosion burst inside its mouth. The Broodmother screeched, staggering as its HP plunged to 30%.


    Was it... the limestone?


    A memory surfaced. Back when I was helping rebuild the city, a laborer tried refining limestone into blocks. He tossed a raw chunk straight into the kiln, treating it like metal.


    Boom.


    The damn thing cracked apart violently, sending shards flying and scaring the shit out of us.


    An old mason had just clicked his tongue and muttered, "Limestone doesn''t melt¡ªit breaks down." He explained: heat transforms it into quicklime, releasing gases and building up pressure. But if the rock contains moisture, things get worse. The trapped water rapidly turns to steam, expanding inside until¡ªpop¡ªit shatters.


    And the deposit we mined from? It was out in the open, and completely exposed to the rain.


    The drake shook its head, then locked eyes with me before charging.


    Its body tensed, coiled like a spring, muscles rippling as it prepared to lunge.


    I can''t dodge. I can''t run. My leg was fucked. The system told me I was crippled, but my body already knew.


    I swallowed, heart hammering. Is this how I die?


    No.


    No.


    If I''m going out, I''m taking this bastard with me.


    My fingers curled tighter around the chunk of limestone, knuckles white with tension. If it was going to rip me apart¡ª


    Then I''d blow its fucking insides to hell in return.


    I braced myself for the bite¡ª


    Until a dark figure rushed into my peripheral vision.


    Brynjolf.


    Roaring like a viking drunk on rage, he charged, hurling one of his battleaxes into the drake''s front leg before cleaving it clean off with the other. Blood sprayed across the grass as the beast cried, its HP plummeting to 10%.


    Its mouth gaped wide, flames flickering in its throat¡ªone last, desperate attack.


    But its maw was angled too high, out of reach. If I missed this shot, we were finished. I needed something¡ªanything¡ªto knock its head down.


    "I got you, boss."


    My ox mount barreled forward, chin tucked, and slammed into the drake''s side with bone-rattling force. The beast lurched, its head snapping downward¡ªright into my line of fire.


    I locked onto the inferno swirling past its teeth. This was it¡ªmy only chance.


    With a roar, I hurled the limestone straight into its furnace of a mouth.


    BOOM!


    The rock blocked the fire¡ªpressure surged¡ªuntil the heat finally detonated. A chain reaction erupted inside its throat, sending an explosion bursting outward. The drake let out one last, guttural shriek before crashing to the ground with a heavy THUD, just a few feet away. Smoke curled from its nostrils.


    It was dead.


    Brynjolf and I collapsed onto the grass, gasping for breath. Our bodies refused to move, still thrumming with adrenaline. Despite the pain, the battle had been exhilarating.


    I turned my head to look at him, managing a weak fist bump. He bumped it right back.


    As my mind started drifting, I felt my compass vibrate in my pocket and I noticed an icon blinking at the bottom right of my vision. I tapped it.


    "Level 9!" Along with minor stat boosts, it seems like the "Training" menu has been unlocked. I''ll experiment with all that stuff later.


    I force myself to sit up despite the aches in my body. My leg was still banged up from the impact. Shit, does that mean I have to go to the doctor now? How''s Brynjolf doing?


    Brynjolf whistled, calling his great white wolf mount to him. The wolf sat on its stomach, allowing Brynjolf to reach something from his saddle pack. It was some sort of weird cream.


    "What''s that, brother?", I asked.


    "Troll ointment.", Brynjolf said before gritting his teeth as he applies it to his burnt torso. I inspected him with my appraisal skill, and I saw his HP going up rapidly, and the burn marks dissipating from the ointment. Is that a healing skill? That''s so handy! Why don''t I have one?


    The fisherman and his son ran up to us, with the fisherman apologizing profusely for his son''s recklessness. While sitting down, I told them that we''re both fine and just need some time to rest.


    "...Also, do you have some spare cloth I can use?"


    The fisherman then returned shortly with torn rags. So be it if I don''t have a heal skill, I know how to patch my own wounds.


    I ran my fingers over the joint, checking for fractures. Nothing felt out of place, but the swelling meant I needed compression¡ªfast. Tearing a strip from the rag, I wrapped my foot tight, starting from the arch and working my way up in a figure-eight pattern. Stabilize, but don''t cut circulation. After looping it around my calf, I tied it off and flexed my foot, testing. It was stiff, but bearable.


    I stood up and I was able to walk fine moments after that. The crippled debuff disappeared... huh. What came next shocked me.


    A message from the system popped up. "Basic Mending unlocked in Training tab."


    I immediately tapped the air to close the message, then muttered "Training" to open the screen in my vision. The tab was filled with empty squares. The other classes have a list of skills to train. Not to mention that this skill only popped up when I discovered it accidentally.


    I tapped again, inspecting its description. "Basic Mending. Treat your wounds with bandages. Heals an amount of HP and cures crippled, burning, and bleeding status effects."


    "...Huh. Ain''t that handy."


    "Brother?"


    I turned to Brynjolf, then my stomach drops at a realization.


    "...You''ve been touching the air, brother. Is something wrong?", he asks in a curious tone. Crap, did that expose me as a player?


    "No. I was counting in my head."


    "In your head? My townspeople have to use an abacus to perform arithmetic. You humans are that smart, huh?"


    "I''m sure Nords can learn that too, friend."


    With our wounds tended to, Brynjolf and I made our way to the fisherman. I double-checked my map¡ªlooks like the favor quest was already marked as complete. As a reward, the fisherman handed us a small pouch jingling with three silver coins, along with a little something extra.


    "We ain''t got much, but this''ll serve you well."


    He handed each of us a fishing rod made of bamboo. I''ve never really tried fishing in real life, let alone in-game. Guess it wouldn''t hurt to give it a shot tomorrow.


    As we were about to leave the shack, we noticed the sky had darkened. The inn was a fair distance away, but with our mounts, we could¡ª


    "How ''bout you stay the night? Dinner''s on us. We''ve been savin'' some o'' our best crawfish just before them centaurs raided." The fisherman grinned, eyes glinting with pride.


    I glanced at Brynjolf, who seemed to momentarily salivate at the thought. Can''t say I blame him¡ªback home, these things were expensive.


    We took him up on the offer and spent the night in his humble home. As we waited, the fisherman surprised us with a seasoned crawfish boil that filled the room with a rich, savory aroma. I inspected the effects¡ªextra strength and stamina. Not bad. I should get this recipe.


    Despite Brynjolf barely fitting in the seat, we felt at home. The fisherman shared tales of his greatest catches, Brynjolf countered with stories of his hunts, and I, not wanting to be left out, shared a few MMA fights of my own¡ªdisguised as tavern brawls. The fisherman''s son listened, wide-eyed with admiration.


    After dinner, we settled onto makeshift beds of hide and straw in the spare room. Not exactly luxurious, but after a long day, it felt surprisingly comfortable¡­ or maybe that was just exhaustion speaking.


    "I wish you a good night''s rest, brother. Good work today," Brynjolf said.


    "Thanks. You too, brother."


    He turned onto his side and almost immediately drifted into soft snores. Meanwhile, I stared at the ceiling, mind buzzing with plans.


    That mining region still needed our help. Maybe clearing it would activate the waypoints near Graywatch, making travel safer. Then there was Ivan¡ªthat bastard was still a looming threat. And I was close to level 10¡­ I wondered what my Build tab would unlock.


    I exhaled, letting the stray thoughts drift until my consciousness faded into sleep.

 The Art of Eight Limbs

    "Man, this sucks."


    "Bear with it, brother."


    We were up the moment sunlight crept through the fisherman''s home. After thanking him for his hospitality, we couldn''t resist asking for his crawfish recipe. Unfortunately, it was a secret family dish. Still, he promised to cook it for us now and then. I guess if I want to figure it out, I better develop my palate.


    Luckily, no one had stolen our battle loot overnight. We rounded up the corpses by the riverbank and started field-dressing them one by one. Most of it was my haul¡ªalong with the broodmother¡ªsince Brynjolf''s more¡­ barbaric methods didn''t leave much intact.


    We extracted fangs and hides from the skales and smaller drakes, but skinning something as massive as a broodmother? That was another level of exhausting.


    "Hey. Thanks again for yesterday¡ªI couldn''t have done it without you," I said in my mind.


    "No problem," my mount replied.


    We spent half the day looting the beast. I was getting better at skinning, but compared to Brynjolf''s expertise, I could barely hold a candle. At least the experience filled my XP bar up to a quarter.


    Once we finished, we returned to our mounts and split the loot. I secured half of the exotic meat on my ox mount''s saddle, storing the rest in my system inventory. With our burdens settled, Brynjolf and I rode into Greenshade Forest, seeking shade beneath the towering trees.


    "Know how to cook this?" I asked, pulling out a slab of exotic drake meat.


    "Hm¡­ no, but we can try."


    We dismounted and ventured deeper into the woods. If nothing else, this was a chance to learn something new.


    "How do you start a fire, friend?" I asked.


    Brynjolf squatted down, picking up a rock and examining it. "Depends. The easiest way? A fire starter kit. A good hunter never leaves without one."


    "Right. And if you don''t have one?" I asked, helping him gather rocks.


    "Then you get creative. I''ll teach you both, brother."


    We spent a few minutes collecting dry, non-limestone rocks before returning to our resting site. After forming a firepit, we grabbed our axes from our mounts and approached nearby trees, scraping off bark from both greenwood and birch. We also gathered fallen branches and twigs along the way.


    "Why are we stripping the bark again?"


    "To start a fire. Birch bark makes good tinder. You can also make cordage from the inner bark¡ªuseful when you don''t have a fire starter. Come, friend."


    Once we had a surplus of bark, we sat by the firepit. Brynjolf demonstrated how to extract fine shavings by scraping the inner layers with a knife, then tearing them into strips for better ignition. He also showed me how to cut a small strip of bark to make cordage, twisting and turning it until it formed a sturdy rope.


    Then, he pulled out his fire-starting kit¡ªa knife and a rod that looked like flint. With a single strike of the knife''s back edge, sparks flew like it was New Year''s Eve. That could start a fire with ease.


    "Now, you learn the hard way."


    With my cordage ready, I took a curved stick, tied the cord around one end, then notched the other end with my knife, pulling the cord through the gap. The result: a bow drill, not too tight, not too loose.


    For my spindle, I fashioned a stick into a dull pencil shape. Then, using my knife, I cut a thicker branch in half to serve as a fireboard.


    Now, everything was in place.


    I laid the fireboard down, securing it under my left boot. With my bow drill in hand, I looped the spindle between the cord, positioning its tapered end into the fireboard''s surface. Pressing down with my left palm, I began sawing back and forth, spinning the spindle, building friction¡ª


    And then, the real test began.


    For several minutes, I went at it as hard as I could, trying to build enough friction¡ªbut nothing. Maybe I was going too fast? I slowed my strokes, using gentler movements, but that didn''t work either.


    Brynjolf chuckled at my struggle. "It''s all part of the learning experience."


    "I''ll get the cooking started, but you won''t have any until you start your own fire," he said with a smirk.


    "I''ll have a fire going before you''re done cooking," I shot back, feigning confidence.


    I kept my spindle spinning but stole a glance at Brynjolf. Using the branches we gathered and the birch strips he prepared, he struck his firestarter against his blade, sending sparks into the pit. A few embers caught, and with a couple of breaths, smoke curled into the air before flames flickered to life. Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed a few large rocks, setting them atop the fire like a makeshift pan.


    Wait¡ªwhy the hell was I watching him?


    I snapped back to my spindle. Still no smoke. My arm ached, the muscles stiffening with every movement. Was I doing this wrong? I had followed Brynjolf''s instructions to the letter, but the fire refused to come.


    Gritting my teeth, I tried again, experimenting with different stroke speeds. Slow. Fast. Medium. Nothing. Maybe I wasn''t strong enough. Maybe I wasn''t skilled enough. A hunter, a warrior¡ªhell, even a decent traveler¡ªshould be able to start a fire. So what did that make me?


    Then, a new scent hit me.


    The sound of sizzling meat filled my ears, the rich aroma of drake steak wrapping around me like a damn spell. My stomach clenched, hunger gnawing at me like an impatient beast. The juices hissed against the hot rock, and for a moment, my focus wavered. I could almost taste it.


    I wanted it.


    But I didn''t deserve it.


    Not yet.


    Damn it, no. I refuse to be useless.


    I forced my focus back to the task, tuning out the hunger, the exhaustion, the aching in my arm. My strokes became steadier, more deliberate. I wasn''t just grinding wood anymore¡ªI was carving my own damn will into this fireboard.


    Seconds blurred into minutes. My grip faltered. My breath came in ragged bursts. I was on the edge of surrender when¡ª


    There.


    A thin wisp of smoke curled into the air, faint but unmistakable.


    My heart pounded. I lifted the fireboard, careful not to scatter the embers, and poured the smoldering charcoal into a bundle of birch strips and shavings. Lifting it up, I blew into it¡ªonce, twice¡ªuntil flames burst to life, hungry and wild.


    Brynjolf gestured for me to add it to the fire. I did, feeding the flames until they crackled and danced alongside his.


    "Good work, my brother."


    "Thanks."


    Brynjolf had already finished searing the drake steaks by the time I had finished. I sat beside him, borrowing another pair of utensils from his camping kit. I cut it straight from the hot rock with a knife, and ate it with a fork.


    I tore off a chunk of the drake meat and bit down¡ªtough as hell, like chewing on old leather. It had a smoky, slightly burnt taste from cooking over the fire, with a hint of something¡­ off. A little fishy, a little gamey, like overcooked bird mixed with dried-out eel, if that makes sense. The outside was crispy and bitter, while the inside was chewy and dry, barely holding any juice.


    But then, underneath all that roughness, there was something else¡ªa deep, rich savoriness that clung to my tongue. It was faint, almost hidden beneath the burnt edges, but it was there. Thick, heavy, and strangely addicting. Like the way broth lingers in your mouth after a long sip, except¡­ warmer, fuller. I couldn''t explain it, but it reminded me of the "umami" savoriness that I had with this world''s chicken stew.


    I swallowed, the aftertaste lingering¡ªchar, salt, that weird metallic tang, and that strange, lingering umami, like the ghost of magic itself.


    "Not bad," I muttered, stretching my sore jaw.


    Brynjolf laughed. "You''ll be chewing that ''til morning."


    He wasn''t wrong. But whatever that strange flavor was, it had me reaching for another bite.


    Half an hour later, we''d finished eating, and my jaw felt like it had been through a battle of its own¡­ but damn, it was worth it. On top of a decent health and stamina regen boost, the meal granted me a 15% chance for a critical strike and 15% extra critical damage. That was insane! I only just noticed that my XP bar had climbed to the halfway mark¡ªguess all that camping experience paid off.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Eager to put my new buffs to the test, we packed up and rode toward the mining site. The entrance was a gaping cave mouth, reinforced with wooden beams and columns. A group of miners stood outside, scratching their heads, looking frustrated. Brynjolf and I dismounted and approached them.


    "Hey. Something wrong?" I asked.


    "Yeah¡ªwait a second." One of the miners squinted at us, studying our faces.


    "Marcus? Brynjolf?"


    "Huh?"


    We stared at him for a moment before realization struck.


    "Andrew!" we both called out.


    He was one of the laborers we''d worked with back in Graywatch. We exchanged firm handshakes, grins breaking across our faces now that we recognized each other.


    "Andrew, my brother, what''s going on here?" Brynjolf asked.


    Andrew filled us in. The Knights of the Six had finally been properly stationed at Graywatch, Hollowbourne Fields, and the Crawfish River¡ªareas we had just helped secure. With the region stabilizing, the workers figured it was safe to return to the mines. But when they got here, they found the place overrun by kobolds¡ªrat-like humanoids that had taken up residence inside. To make matters worse, a massive rock elemental was blocking the deeper tunnels.


    "Gotcha," I said, cracking my knuckles. "We''ll handle it."


    "Thanks, I knew we could count on you two. Stay safe."


    With a final fist bump, Brynjolf and I stepped into the mineshaft.


    The path was still dimly illuminated, but as we ventured deeper, the space around us tightened. The narrowing walls pressed in, a sensation that made me uneasy. As a fighter, I relied on footwork, weaving and dancing around my opponents¡ªbut here, my movements felt caged.


    It wasn''t long before we spotted three kobolds chipping away at ore deposits with their pickaxes. I inspected their level, and all of them were level 5. Wasting no time, I launched forward, boots pounding against the dirt.


    The kobolds turned, startled by my sudden charge. I closed the gap in an instant, my left fist snapping out in a quick jab that cracked against a kobold''s jaw. As it reeled, I stepped in hard, my right foot already pivoting¡ªthen drove a right straight into its face. The impact felt different. Heavier. Stronger. The kobold tumbled backward, rolling twice like a ragdoll. A quick glance at its HP bar¡ªdown to 60% in one hit.


    A critical strike?


    I didn''t pause to admire it. The second kobold swung its pickaxe, but I cut it off mid-motion with a sharp left jab to the head. Using the momentum, I stepped into a crushing overhand right, sending it squealing as it stumbled back. Without missing a beat, I smoothly switched my stance to southpaw¡ªright foot forward, left foot behind.


    Then I launched a left uppercut straight into its chin.


    The kobold flew through the air before slamming into the cavern wall with a sickening thud. Another critical hit. Its HP plummeted to 45%¡ªall from a three-punch combo.


    Beside me, Brynjolf made quick work of the last one, cleaving through its arm with a brutal axe swing before finishing the job without hesitation.


    That left two still. They stood frozen, wide-eyed, gripping their pickaxes like they might actually do something. I couldn''t help but spin my right arm, as if warming up. Was it sadism that made my blood rush? Or just the thrill of seeing how much damage I could dish out with these food buffs?


    "They''re gonna hurt like hell today, these knuckles o'' mine." I muttered, my voice low and deliberate.


    I walked toward them, letting the words sink in.


    Then I beat them to death.


    Fists flew, crashing into their bodies with relentless force, dribbling them against the cavern walls like a damn tennis ball. They barely had a chance to react before their HP hit zero. By the time I was done, my XP bar was filling up nicely at the bottom of my vision.


    Without a word, Brynjolf and I pressed forward.


    The next chamber held three more kobolds. Two were chipping away at ore deposits, but the third¡ªpurple-furred and standing a bit taller¡ªbarked orders in a guttural, dog-like language I couldn''t understand.


    Didn''t matter.


    I took off in a sprint, closing the distance in a blink. The nearest kobold barely turned before my right hook smashed into its skull, sending it hurtling into the wall with a heavy thud. No chance to recover¡ªI pinned it there with a relentless barrage. Left hook to the body, Right hook to the head, Left uppercut to the ribs. Then a brutal left uppercut to the chin, launching its head back¡ªfollowed by a crushing right straight that cracked the cavern wall behind it.


    Critical hit.


    Its HP dropped to zero instantly.


    Meanwhile, Brynjolf bulldozed into the second miner. Before it could even lift its pickaxe, he cleaved through its arm, then finished it with two vicious overhand slashes.


    One left. The purple one.


    I locked eyes on the purple-furred kobold. Level 6 Kobold Overseer.


    It raised its crude stone rod, chanting in a rough, guttural tongue. The ground trembled. Chunks of rock tore free from the cavern floor, pulling together in front of it¡ªmerging, shaping¡ªuntil an earth elemental loomed before us, nearly filling the entire tunnel with its massive form.


    I hesitated.


    Brynjolf didn''t.


    With a furious roar, he lunged forward, axes flashing as he swung a diagonal strike at the golem''s torso¡ªonly for the unthinkable to happen.


    His blades barely cut a few centimeters deep. For the first time, Brynjolf could not hack through something with his axes.


    The elemental retaliated instantly, its massive fist slamming into Brynjolf''s torso, sending him stumbling backward.


    Then the overseer shrieked.


    A second tremor ran through the cavern as six more kobolds burst from a freshly dug tunnel behind us, their beady eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight.


    Shit.


    "Brynjolf! I''ll handle the overseer and the golem¡ªkeep our flanks secure!"


    "Understood!"


    Facing the earth elemental, I charged forward.


    As I closed the distance, the overseer screeched and thrust its rod toward me. A strange weight settled over my body¡ªI could feel my movements sluggish, my limbs heavy.


    The fuckin'' rat cast a slow spell on me!


    The elemental''s massive fist came swinging. Normally, I''d have dodged it with ease, but now¡ª


    FUCK!


    The punch slammed into me, sending me hurtling into the tunnel wall. Pain exploded in my ribs as I coughed from the impact. Is this karma?


    I landed on my feet, gritting my teeth through the pain. I only had seconds to think. That damn kobold was going to keep slowing me, meaning I''d keep getting hit. And if Brynjolf''s axes barely scratched this thing, then my punches wouldn''t do shit either.


    ¡­Unless I used the right kind of striking.


    Which martial art thrives on taking hits and returning the punishment tenfold?


    I shifted my stance.


    Taking inspiration from one of the greats¡ªRodtang "The Iron Man" Jitmuangnon¡ªI squared up, my left heel lifting slightly off the ground as I adjusted into a solid, ironclad Muay Thai stance.


    Alright, big guy. Let''s see if you can hit harder than I can take.


    I marched forward, unfazed as the overseer cast another slow spell on me¡ªnot that it made much difference. At this pace, I was already moving like a juggernaut.


    They say Muay Thai is the art of eight limbs¡ªfists like swords, elbows like hammers, knees like maces, and shins like axes.


    A massive punch crashed into me, staggering me back a few steps. My vision swam for a moment¡­ but it didn''t hurt.


    I stepped in without hesitation, my left hand gripping the elemental''s rocky torso. Twisting my entire body, I drove a diagonal right elbow into its core, the impact reverberating through my arm. Thud.


    Another punch came. I raised a long guard to absorb the hit, but the sheer force still sent me stumbling¡ªyet still, it didn''t hurt.


    I surged forward again, this time grabbing hold with my right hand, twisting into a diagonal left elbow strike with every ounce of power I had.


    I gritted my teeth, locked in this brutal exchange, trading blows for blows. The elemental''s attacks battered me, my body screaming in protest, bile rising in my throat from the accumulated damage. But I won''t give in. I won''t give up!


    And with every strike, my elbows chipped away at the same spot¡ªover and over again like a hammer. I will break it before it breaks me.


    The elemental struck my long guard again, the sheer force ripping the plating off my gauntlets. My arms were completely numb... but I still stepped in.


    Gripping its rocky torso, I twisted into a lateral right elbow strike. A sharp crack rang out¡ªa critical hit. Fissures spiderwebbed across its stony chest.


    The golem staggered, stunned. Now''s my chance. I pivoted hard, driving a lateral left elbow into the same spot. The impact shattered its torso, revealing a glowing blue marble¡ªthe core.


    I saw it wind up for a massive right hook. Too slow.


    Pivoting instinctively, I launched a right straight counter. Even slowed, my fist struck first. A sharp crack emerged, and the core shattered.


    Straight punches beats looping hooks every time.


    The elemental collapsed into a pile of lifeless stone.


    I turned to the Kobold Overseer. It cowered, taking hesitant steps backward, its free hand frantically casting slow spells to keep me at bay. It was trying to escape.


    Until¡ª


    A blur sliced through the air.


    Its arm flew off, severed at the joint, the enchanted rod tumbling from its grasp. The kobold let out a shriek. I glanced back¡ªBrynjolf stood there, bloodied but victorious, six dead kobold miners at his feet.


    I turned forward again, breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling in quick bursts. Rage flared in my core, spreading with each exhale. My scowl deepened.


    Then¡ªI broke into a sprint.


    The overseer barely had time to react before I seized the back of its neck and yanked it down into a tight clinch, breaking its posture. It thrashed, but I held firm.


    Left knee to the stomach. Right knee to the ribs.


    Still gripping its neck, I yanked it sideways and drove a crushing right elbow across its jaw. The kobold cried out in agony.


    I wasn''t done.


    Alternating knee strikes pummeled its stomach until its body went slack. I hooked my right foot behind its leg and swept it off balance, shoving it to the ground.


    I followed¡ª sitting on its stomach in a full mount.


    Then came the elbows.


    Hammering down on its head. Again. And again. And again. Until its HP drained to zero.


    Only when the life left its body did the fury begin to fade. My breath steadied, my fists uncurled.


    Then, a vibration from my compass in my pocket.


    A notification flashed after, across my vision:


    "Level 10! Character Build Unlocked. Story Chapter Unlocked."