Knowing that the moment I touch [Accept] I'll be thrown back to the streets, I pause to take a breath, reviewing my rewards, skills, and stats.
[New Skill] Open dungeon.
[New Skill] Leave dungeon.
[Ⱡ10.000 Added to Inventory]
[Beginner’s Leather Boots]
[Potion of Health]
[Potion of Aura]
[Lucky Giftbox]
[Ring of Recovery]
[+3 Skill Points]
Once again, the armor I’ve received doesn’t exactly make me feel battle-ready, but it’s still better than running around in plain shoes. I slip the leather boots on, feeling marginally more prepared.
Then there’s the giftbox: a small, white package tied with a bright red ribbon. Holding my breath, I untie the ribbon and open the lid to reveal…
[Beginner’s Amulet]
“God, I hate this game.”
Despite the irony stinging, I decide to put it on. Instantly, everything changes.
[New Effect Discovered] Almost there: Beginner’s set 3/3.
Experience gain increased by 10%
All pieces now provide 2 armor.
I can feel the change immediately—a faint, tangible aura of protection settles around me. Looking down, I notice the leather armor has taken on an almost primal texture. Small thorn-like spines are sprouting along its seams. It’s like wearing the hide of some ancient forest creature.
“Okaaaay… Now that’s a bit more like it.”
Next, I inspect the new ring, which has an intricate engraving I hadn’t noticed at first.
[Ring of recovery]
Restores the wearer in mind and body—Single use.
Without hesitation, I slide it on. A subtle warmth flows through me as it adjusts to my finger.
“Stats,”
Name: Vesper Bolt
Age: 17
Level: 7 (50%)
Race: Human
Aura: Unlocked
Stats:
Str: 15
Dex: 15
Con: 10
Int: 18
Wis: 10
Cha: 15
Points: 18
This time, knowing there’s no risk of some mafia crime boss coming after me as I look through the menu, I take some time to really try and pay attention to everything.
Strength: Measures the force you can bring to bear on the world around you, from lifting and carrying to unleashing powerful blows.
Dexterity: Reflects your finesse, reflexes, and instinctive swiftness in movement and action.
Constitution: Defines your resilience and endurance, your capacity to withstand both physical strain and harsh conditions.
Intelligence: Captures the speed, clarity, and sharpness of your mind, as well as your capacity for reason and insight.
Wisdom: Embodies your perception, intuition, and the depth of your inner awareness, extending even to realms unseen.
Charisma: The force of your presence and persuasion, able to inspire trust, loyalty, and influence in those around you.
Now, with no looming of an angry crime boss rushing towards my location, I finally have the time to study the menu in more detail.
[Observe] Lvl 5 (97%)
Each description feels like it’s holding something back, like there’s more to these stats than meets the eye. But, just like with the armor, my skill level isn’t high enough to unlock the deeper information.
As much as I’d rather avoid this tedious exercise, I decide to finally commit to leveling up my skills. Rising to my feet, I begin circling the boss’s chamber, examining every object, every forgotten relic and twisted tome, locking my gaze on every intricate detail I can find and taking whatever has a chance of not being junk.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Being in an otherworldly library surrounded by bizarre, possibly cursed artifacts makes it easier to concentrate, and soon, my skill starts leveling up rapidly. Even so, the process of intensely scrutinizing random, inanimate objects still feels bizarre.
But I’ll either have to do this in every dungeon or accept the title of Beacon’s Resident Stalker.
[Observe] Lvl 8 (86%)
Once I make sure there’s nothing else for me to do, I assign my points and exit the dungeon.
Stats:
Str: 16
Dex: 20
Con: 15
Int: 20
Wis: 12
Cha: 18
❖
Stepping out from my personal tear in reality, I’m immediately surprised by how dark it is outside. I must have stayed longer than I thought, but it was still well before midday when I entered. Time clearly isn’t moving at the same pace on the outside.
A chill settles in my gut as I look around, trying to confirm if this is even the same day I left. But every newspaper I find in the alley is covered in grime and several days old.
Growing uneasy, I step out of the shadows into downtown Vale, suddenly aware that I have no place to crash after hours of training. I’m exhausted, reeking of sweat, and starting to wonder what my next move is.
Maybe I could just stop someone and ask what day it is... I mean, what’s the worst that could—
A sudden scream rips through the night. “No, please, let me go!”
Instinct takes over. I’m sprinting off the main street, rushing through the cramped spaces between tall buildings. Ahead, I see a man knocked to the ground by someone in a White Fang mask. The attacker shoves a woman, snatches her purse, and bolts.
And just like that, all my pent-up frustration channels into a burst of speed. He takes off into the night, but I’m faster—way faster. Just as I’m about to reach him, another masked figure darts out of a side street, laughing as he slips on a stolen backpack. We lock eyes for a second, surprised, before he swings at me with a metal pipe.
The impact lands on my aura, barely phasing me. I answer with a punch to his face, then push forward after the first thief. But as I weave through the alleys, it becomes obvious this isn’t just a random attack—there’s a coordinated wave of assaults going on, masked men scattering into the night as shouts and footsteps echo all around.
I slow down, realizing that taking on a dozen armed thugs alone might not be the best idea I’ve had today. Instead, I keep to the shadows, quietly tailing the group, watching their movements and trying to figure out where they’re all heading.
The long chase comes to an end after twenty or so minutes, once they arrive at a worn-down warehouse near the docks. A little surprised at just how easy it was to find out about their little hideout, I start circling the building.
If these morons are dumb enough to run straight home, maybe I’ll get lucky and find…
An open window.
Only problem? It’s on the third floor—way out of reach for a silent entrance. I’m about to move on when something swift and dark flashes overhead, sailing through the window with a faint, metallic whirr. It’s so fast I barely register that it’s a person before they’re gone, vanishing into the shadows of the building.
Great. Now I have to see what’s going on in there.
Going for a far less epic maneuver, I slip around to the back, put on my own mask and start slamming my combat knife into the flimsy lock holding the door closed, hoping there’s no-one standing right at the other side to hear what I’m doing. After a bit, the lock falls to the ground and I make my way inside, following the muffled sounds of voices and laughter.
“I told you this was easy money, man! Sometimes you gotta stop being a damn sheep and take a risk!” one voice says.
“Alright, alright, I’ll admit it was a good call this time. But we’d better start moving this stuff soon. Last thing we need is the VCP crashing in on us,” another replies.
“The VCP? Please. Those clowns are too busy chasing Faunus freaks to care about us.”
There are seven or eight of them gathered under a single working light in the main warehouse space, half-heartedly cramming loot into wooden crates and using them as makeshift seats. Judging by the layout of the building and how many of them I saw on my way here, there must be at least another four hiding somewhere not too far away. I stay low, listening in.
“Are you sure this stuff’s good?” one thug mutters, eyeing a crate suspiciously. “I’m not in the mood to lose a hand here.”
“Relax. Guns, cash, bombs—it’s all here. All we gotta do is act like those filthy anim—”
Before he can finish talking, a dark figure drops from above, slamming into him with a brutal kick. Silence echoes through the room as the others jump to their feet. Just as I expected, a door at the far end flies open, more thugs rushing out. I slip quietly into the shadows, making my way into that small room and watching the scene unfold through the inner window.
Honestly? It’s not hard to guess who just crashed their little afterparty. A tall figure in dark clothes and a full mask looms over the gang, leaving only her fierce eyes visible beneath a black hood and balaclava. And if that clue wasn’t obvious enough, her obsidian-black weapon surely is.
“Who thought this was a good idea?” she demands, her voice full of frustration. “Who told you to run around pretending to be the White Fang?”
Her blade gleams as she draws it and points it at them, but the gang members exchange a few looks and start laughing.
“Oh? Looks like we got a hero on our hands,” one wheezes like a pig. “Guess we’re not the only ones running around in masks looking for trouble. Who knows… Maybe we could have some fun together.”
They start circling her, eyes glinting with malice. I stay hidden, going through the small office, looking for anything useful. All I find is a scroll and some money I can’t even count, piled on a table covered by cards.
Meanwhile, the fight’s already started.
The first few thugs go down easily—no match for a trained fighter with an unlocked aura who handles them like overgrown toddlers. But soon, as they realize they’re in trouble the situation escalates violently. Most of them are carrying blunt weapons, but a couple pull out simple firearms and open fire, barely missing their own allies in the crossfire.
The girl leaps back, becoming a blur as she springs off the wall, taking another jump mid-air to land on the catwalk above. The thugs stop for a moment, their eyes tracking her in disbelief.
Seeing my chance, I slip behind one of them, silencing him with a quick takedown before moving on to a second. Then, without warning, a deafening explosion tears through the warehouse, the sheer force of it slamming me against the wall. My head spins, ears ringing painfully as the entire structure trembles.
It takes me a moment to start thinking again.
It seems someone panicked and threw a bomb in her direction, hoping to blast her off the catwalk—and unfortunately, they succeeded. Just as my vision comes back, I watch her plummet from the shattered platform. She hits the ground hard, struggling to rise to her feet. She clutches her stomach, and though she’s forcing herself upright, it’s clear there’s no longer any fight there.
If I don’t act now, she’s done for.
I pull out [The Contender], swallowing hard as a fleeting vision of turning this entire gang into red mist flashes through my mind. Instead, I aim at the ceiling and kill the lights with a single shot. With the room thrown into darkness, I pull off my mask, knowing she can see me, and sprint toward her as bullets start to fly. Her blade arcs toward me in reflex, though her weakened arm can’t muster the strength to thrust it fully forward. I sweep her off her feet and press her against my chest, absorbing the painful impacts of bullets slamming into my back and shoulders.
You never truly realize how hard it is to run while carrying someone almost your own size—especially while dodging live rounds. Choosing not to be cheap, I focus on my [Ring of Recovery], feeling a surge of strength reignite in my limbs as I rush out of the warehouse, leaving behind the docks with inhuman speed.
❖
I make a small cut on my hand, letting a few drops from a healing potion seep into it, watching the wound slowly start to close before I turn to my unconscious guest.
I’ve placed her on the beat-up mattress that’s been unceremoniously lying in the corner of the room ever since I first arrived. She’s breathing steadily, but blood seeps through her dark clothes. With no time to doubt, I peel away the fabric around her abdomen, revealing a jagged piece of metal embedded deeply, just above her hip. Steeling myself, I yank it out in a single pull, watching her body convulse in pain. I quickly cover the wound with the healing liquid, watching the color return to her skin.
Knowing there’s nothing left for me to do, I sit back, letting my mind go blank for a while. Then I head to the sink to splash water on my face, and just as I glance back, she jumps upright, back arching as pain visibly jolts through her. I fill a glass with water and bring it over, wishing I had something stronger to offer—until I remember Jaune’s half-empty bottle.
As I approach with the drinks, her eyes, sharp and wary, track me closely, one hand slowly inching toward her small gun. Usually, I’d take a more understanding approach, but the last twenty-four hours have tested every ounce of my resolve. I am exhausted.
“I chose to let you keep that, to help you feel safe. Do something stupid and I’ll put your ass right back where I found it.”
She blinks twice, startled, the caution in her gaze momentarily replaced by something softer. Almost embarrassed, she reaches for the water instead, her eyes darting around the room.
“Yes, it’s a dump. And yes, I’ve been living here.” I flash her my invitation to Beacon, hoping it’ll mean something. “Let’s just say I’m looking to set a foot on the bottom so I can push myself back up.”
She cleans her lips with her sleeve, her breath suddenly going wild as she clearly moved far too much far too quickly. Once she steadies herself, the girl finally speaks.
“It’s... not so different from where I’ve been staying,” she admits, trying to sound polite. “I’m heading to Beacon too, but… I hadn’t really considered a month in some overpriced hotel before I left it all behind.”
I give a small smile. “Worst part? I finally got enough cash for a decent place.” I toss down what little I just took from the warehouse. “But not many places let you in with an unconscious girl in your arms. Well… not the good ones, anyway.”
I swear I can see her tilt her head, as if hiding a little smile.
“I’m Vesper, Vesper Bolt. Got a name, danger?”
“I’m…” she hesitates for a second before clenching her fist. “I’m Blake, Blake Belladonna.”