As the workshop filled with tipsy chatter and laughter, Morris suddenly staggered over, a keg in hand and his hazy eyes suggested he had too much wine. “You know something, Ventus?” He draped an arm over Zi-Cheng’s shoulder, grinning widely as he jabbed a finger in Victor’s direction, “You should get Victor to teach you how to fight.”

“Morris… what are you even talking about?” Elena slurred from across the table, her rosy cheek puffed out again as she wave her fork in the air. “Ven doesn’t even have combat skill. He’d just get smacked around in the arena… like...like a rag doll...or something….”

Though Elena was clearly drunk, her words struck a chord with Zi-Cheng. He glanced at her, recalling how she’d mentioned her skills were healing related with no combat capabilities. In a world where raw strength reigned supreme, maybe she really did understand his situation better than anyone else here.

“Chasing fame and fortune at the arena is just a bad idea,” Zi-Cheng said with a dry laugh, under the influence from the alcohol, his voice laced with enough sarcasm to mask his vulnerability. “This entire arena system is a mess. Who came up with this anyway? There’s no balance, no fairness. It’s like the system was built to actively screw over anyone who doesn’t fit the perfect player profile.”

He then leaned back in his chair and twirled a spoon lazily between his fingers, “Total trash-tier game design, if you ask me.”

Everyone in the room fell into an awkward silence.

Even in their tipsy state, even when none of them had a clue what “balance” and “game design” meant, the sharp edge in Zi-Cheng’s voice, and the disdain from the word “trash-tier” made it abundantly clear what he meant.

“Hey, Ven…” Reese was the first to break the silence, her voice slurring slightly. “You can’t go around saying stuff like that…” She ran a hand through her hair, her eyes half-lidded with a grin. “Criticizing the arena... you’ll end up branded as an Outsider.”

The word “Outsider” hit Zi-Cheng like a splash of cold water, snapping him out of his tipsy haze. His grip on the keg tightened as his eyes quickly shifted to Victor, unsure if his drunken outburst had offended the priest. Yet, Victor just sat there, calmly pouring himself another drink, looking like he couldn’t care less.

“Noooo—! Ven can’t fight, he’ll...get himself...killed….” Elena couldn’t even lift her head as she speak, and simply slumped over the dining table, her face buried in her arms.

Zi-Cheng let out a soft chuckle. People said alcohol loosened tongues, but he never expected Elena to worry about him while she was practically passing out. As his gaze drifted away from Victor, the priest finally broke his silence.

“I don’t think the arena or the invocation system are the only problems,” Victor said casually. “The real issue is how the kingdom’s leadership turns a blind eye to those who can’t fight and allows morally corrupt individuals to exploit their combat ranks for personal gain.”

(No way… Did I just hear him say that...?)

Victor’s tone was light, almost offhanded, yet the words were anything but. For someone in his position, those words were far riskier than the complaints Zi-Cheng said earlier.

“Oh, you are in trouble now…” Reese laughed, leaning forward and wagging her finger unsteadily at Victor. “Pay up...or I’ll tell the thane what you just said….”

“Don’t bully Victor...he’s a...really...nice...person….”

“Elena… you called the priest by his first name… You’re in trouble too...pay up….”

“Go ask...Victor...for money...I’m broke…..”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough from you two,” Victor chuckled, deftly taking their cups away as they slumped over the table like wilted flowers.

While the others were completely wasted, Victor’s steady demeanor told Zi-Cheng that his earlier words were meant for him – and him alone. For someone he had just met, Victor’s willingness to openly criticize the kingdom and its rulers left Zi-Cheng baffled. Why would the priest risk putting himself in such a precarious position?

Zi-Cheng’s gaze followed as Victor stood up, gently guiding Reese to a more comfortable position on the bench, and moving Elena to another room. When he returned, he poured himself another drink, as if inviting Zi-Cheng to join him for a conversation.

Yet, the exhaustion from the past few sleepless days had finally caught up to him. Combined with the soothing warmth of the wine, his eyelids quickly grew heavier. With a faint sigh, Victor glanced in his direction, his expression calm but slightly disappointed.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

(Was he...waiting for this moment to say something…?)

The question gnawed at Zi-Cheng. What could someone of Victor’s stature, a respected priest throughout the kingdom, want with him? Before he could find an answer, the rhythmic sound of Morris’s snoring and the faint clinking of dishes settled over him, dragging him into a deep, well-earned sleep.

Darkness once again surrounded him.

There was no city, no workshop, no sound – just a hollow void stretching endlessly in every direction.

“So, this is it, huh?” A sharp, bitter voice sliced through the silence. “You’re just gonna settle down with your new pals, wag your tail like a good puppy with its new owner, and put everything behind you.”

Zi-Cheng’s heart raced as he spun toward the voice, “Who’s there!”

The voice chuckled, low and mocking, “All that whining about betrayal, all that sobbing over your precious game being stolen, and this is where it ends? What a fucking joke.”

“Show yourself!” Zi-Cheng shouted, his fist trembling with rage.

But the voice ignored him, dripping with disdain. “Let me guess. You don’t even fucking remember why you’re here.”

“I’m here because… because we had a deal!”

“A deal?” the voice broke into harsh, joyless laughter that echoed around him. “To hell with the deal. You don’t even know what you promised, do you?”

“I….”

“Exactly. Not a bloody clue.”

The words stabbed at him, relentless and unyielding. The void around him seemed to close in, suffocating him. His chest tightened, his breath hitched, and panic clawed at his ribs.

Then, the sound of pounding rain cashed into his senses, dragging him back.

The suffocating void dissolved into the stillness of the workshop. Zi-Cheng’s eyes fluttered open, his breath shaky as he found himself lying on the old wooden bed in the chief artisan’s private chamber.

Outside, rain hammered against the windows and roof, the downpour filling the room with its chaotic rhythm. Rainwater spilled over the gutters, pooling in the streets beyond. For a moment, Zi-Cheng stared at the ceiling and let out a quiet breath, grateful for the simple blessing of having a roof over his head – or should he?

As he stretched and wandered through the empty workshop, his eyes landed on the dining table. The chaos of last night’s feast was gone. In its place sat a small pouch and a neatly folded note.

“A little housewarming gift to celebrate your new home. Hope you like it!

-- Reese & Elena

P.S.: Victor said you can drop by anytime if you’re interested in learning how to fight.”

Zi-Cheng smiled faintly as he set the note back down. Sitting on the table was the same pouch Reese shown off the night before, a Bag of Holding. Inside, he found two small, finger-sized fire crystals.

“Guess I owe them one after all,” he muttered, walking into the kitchen. There, he spotted a small basket of leftover Egg Peaches from the feast. Reese had mention their medicinal value.

(If I could enhance that healing property further….)

Crack.

He lightly tapped an Egg Peach against the edge of the counter, its shell breaking cleanly. Taking a slow breath, he closed his eyes and activated [Developer Mode].

In this state, the objects around him seemed to shift, their essence and structure laid bare. It was as if he could pick apart their components, identify the flaws, and improve them with precision.

(Just like playing Tetris….)

A faint blue glow bloomed from his palms, engulfing the cracked Egg Peach. The fruit slowly dissolved into a translucent, gel-like substance that shimmered faintly, exuding a light, soothing aroma.

Zi-Cheng opened his eyes and picked up a small knife. Without hesitation, he made a shallow cut across the back of his arm.

The sting lasted only a second. As he applied the gel, a cooling sensation spread across the wound. The pain vanished instantly, and the bleeding stopped as the cut began to heal before his eyes.

“Looks like it worked,” he said softly, watching as the wound closed completely, leaving no scar behind.

In a world without healing magic, potions that could mend wounds quickly were worth their weight in gold. Zi-Cheng thought, perhaps this could be his way of thanking his new friends for everything they had done for him.

With the potions in hand, he made his way to the Sanctuary dormitory next door. Despite the pouring rain, the old building could be seen looming ahead, its white walls and carved stone arches covered in dirt and moss over the years, yet still gave off an air of solemnity.

As he drew closer, his gaze caught on the Sanctuary’s sprawling emblem etched into the archway above the front gate.

(So this is where Elena, Morris, and Victor live….)

Zi-Cheng rested his hand on the cold metal gate, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he imagined Elena’s cheerful face when receiving the gift. But before he could step inside, the sharp sound of clinking armor reached his ears.

“Hey, no entry here!” two guards hurried over, their expressions tense and unyielding.

Despite the unease creeping into his chest, Zi-Cheng managed to keep his tone polite as he asked, “Excuse me, but... what happened here?”

“Haven’t you heard the news?” one of the guards replied sharply. His frown deepened as he straightened, armor clinking faintly with the motion. His grim expression carried the weight of something far worse than Zi-Cheng had anticipated.

“Crimson Plume struck again last night,” the guard said, his voice cold and heavy. “and someone here... was killed.”