I wake up to find myself being violated. Not by my tall, crazy, sexy goblin girlfriend—no, that would be too much to ask—but by a hairy dude with hands like bony twigs and a face that looks like it's melting off his skull. Lovely!
His mug’s right over mine, rummaging through my pockets, feeling up my abs, chest, and anything else his bony hands can grab. The stench—honestly, a pile of crap would smell like roses next to this guy. He leans in even closer, ears practically brushing my nose, probably checking if I’m still breathing. That’s when I let loose, screaming my guts out. He nearly jumps out of his skin.
Crying louder than me, he backs off, and I try to sit up, but a wave of vertigo slams me back down. Pain jolts through me while my head spins endlessly. When the world finally stops tilting, I’m surrounded by a dozen hairy, smelly guys, all staring at me with raised brows.
My first thought is: These guys don’t look like newbies. Not at all. They’re seasoned fighters, armed to the teeth with bloody weapons and armor. And those stoic expressions? They just top it off.
When did the scene change? I wonder, raising a hand. One of the guys grabs it and yanks me up, helping me sit. Oh, right—must have been when I was out cold.
“Thanks,” I mumble, wincing as a sudden pang hits my back. I stretch to ease the pain and get the meet and greet over with. “Colt, nice to meet you all. Hope you’re not too disappointed that I’m not as impressive as I look.”
“No one is,” grumbles the tallest, bulkier guy before striding off. The rest follow, dispersing and finally letting some fresh air in. I take a deep breath, and to my surprise, it eases the pain a bit. A few more breaths and I hope it’ll disappear completely—but no such luck. It just lingers.
Grunting, I plant my hands on the ground and push myself up. On my feet at last, I take in my surroundings, realizing the sheer brutality I missed out on by blacking out.
Wait, how did I black out again? I look around, searching, and spot the reason in the distance. A big goblin—[Raider Orc – Lvl - 27]—no, wait, it’s an orc. A great sword is embedded in its chest, blood dripping out as it slumps on the ground, dead.
It must’ve been a punch, since the orc’s weapon is nowhere to be seen. And boy, did it pack a lot. But whoever took it down—probably the bulky guy, the only one not carrying a weapon—must be even stronger.
Behind the orc’s body, a fire rages, slowly consuming a giant pile of goblin corpses. They were so eager to kill just a moment ago, but now… ashes. I almost want to say, “That’s what you get for messing with us,” but then I notice the newbies' bodies, scattered like broken toys around the fire. Judging by the way their heads are thoroughly smashed, they served their purpose—cannon fodder. They must have lured the orc out, and then the actual fighters finished the job. It’s that raw, man-against-man brutality that always wins in the end.
I sigh, relieved I didn’t get roped into that slaughter, but a bit saddened by how easily death finds you in this tutorial. Until you’ve leveled up enough, it’s always lurking right around the corner.
I give the orc a thumbs up for saving me in a roundabout way, then turn and head toward the group huddled around a rock. As I march over, I check my gear—everything’s intact, including the potions in the satchel. That thing’s got some good cushioning. And lucky me, the bony guy didn’t steal anything.
As I approach, the group pauses their strategy meeting, turning to look at me with eyes that clearly say I’m not welcome. Just as I’m about to ask, “Where should I go, then?” one of them cuts me off.
“What’s your class?” It’s the guy with a waistline like a barrel, his armor barely holding it together. He grips a two-handed ax, giving me the once-over.
I return the favor, scanning him from head to toe, and consider evaluating him. Immediately, a shallow ache pulses in my chest, a warm, fuzzy sensation swirling there. Then, a screen pops up.
[Target acquired. Evaluating. . .]
I wait for the details as the man starts to glare. To keep the conversation going, I casually reply, “What do you think?” lifting my hands to show off everything tucked under my cloak.
He stares for a beat, then exhales, irritation twisting his blood-caked face. “I asked you a question,” he grumbles.
“And I answered. Come on, how hard is it to guess?” I flash a grin, and just then, the screen changes.
---- Results ----
Name: Nethan Turmer [Level: 29]
Race: Human (E)
Class: Warrior (Heavy)
Title: Player, Death Crusher, Storm Chaser, Iron Willed, Orc Defiler
Tendency: Single minded almighty
Stats:
Appeal: 35 ┃ Constitution: 51
Dexterity: 48 ┃ Strength: 62
Perception: 41 ┃ Mana: 38
Intelligence: 29
Advance Points: 7
Skills: Intermediate Combat, Advance Ax Defense, Basic Mana Art, Attack Sense, Death Grip, BoltX
----
Guy’s packing! Too high up the food chain for me to tangle with, though, I think, genuinely impressed. I dismiss the screen and say, “You’re a warrior and still can’t recognize another?”
“Best you are a muppet,” he scoffs, turning back to his group as they share a chuckle at my expense. “Stop comparing yourself to a warrior. And just fuck off.”
Rude, but in a place like this, where primal instincts run wild, everyone’s an asshole. Including me, which kind of cancels it out.
I nod and back away, glancing around. Suddenly, that warm feeling in my chest flares up, turning into a burning sensation that feels like it's squeezing the life out of me. Instinctively, I rub my chest, and the sensation fades. Weird! Must be the mana acting up—or the lack of it. Didn’t realize it could strangle me, though. Note to self: Use the Evaluate skill sparingly until you’ve got more mana—or at least figured out what’s causing the burn.
Heaving a deep sigh, I notice someone waving at me from the shade of a tree. Oh right, did I forget to mention I’m still in a forest, surrounded by greenery? It’s daytime, but with rain clouds blotting out the sun, it’s anyone’s guess what time it actually is.
“Hello there,” I say, strolling up to the guy. He’s young, early thirties at most, completely absorbed in polishing his sword. The blade’s already gleaming. Meanwhile, the guy’s drenched in blood, head to toe. Odd, right? Or maybe he’s just the type who cares more about keeping his weapons clean than himself.
Since he’s hanging out away from the seasoned fighters, he’s probably a newbie, just like me. “Colt Steel here, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
I extend a hand, and he shakes it with a smile, albeit pained. “Glad to have a friend to share the death experience with.”
“Absolutely,” I grin, taking a seat beside him, though I keep my distance to avoid the bloody smell. “I’ll make sure I die second, so I can at least mourn you for a bit. That’s okay with you, right?”
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The man chuckles, setting his blade aside. “I like your sense of humor, Colt.”
“And I like your honesty, um….” I trail off, hoping he’ll fill in the gaps.
“Brad, Brad Stane,” he says, catching on and introducing himself.
“Brad Stane,” I repeat. “Unique name. Has a nice ring to it.”
“Bad stain, I know,” Brad snorts, rolling his eyes. “So, anyway, what are you? What class?”
I hold up my cloak, revealing the sword and dagger. “What do you think?”
“A light warrior,” he says without missing a beat, no doubt in his voice. Then he sneers. “We've already got enough of those here, including yours truly. You should’ve picked something different to stand out.”
“I don’t want to stand out. I’m good where I am,” I correct him.
“Only until you actually do some warrior stuff,” he sighs. “But hey, who am I to lecture? You do you, buddy.”
“Yup.” I let the silence hang for a moment before adding, “So, Brad, mind telling me what was going on here before I dropped in?”
“The overseer didn’t tell you before you jumped?” Brad raises an eyebrow.
“Nope,” I shake my head. “He was too busy admiring himself.” I mentally kick myself for wasting time asking about his, uh, dick and whatever it lets out. Stupid move on my part.
“Ah, that he does. Weird guy,” Brad shrugs it off. “But you should have asked. Info’s always good to have.”
“Yeah, should’ve done that,” I sigh, regretting the missed opportunity. “So, anyway, what happened here?”
Brad opens his mouth, but then hesitates, thinking it over. “Honestly, you don’t need me to tell you anything,” he says with a weary smile. “Just open your quest window, it’s got all the details.”
“Quest window,” I mutter, not getting much chance to ponder as a screen with all the info materializes right in my face.
---- Player Quests ----
Main Quest: Finish the Tutorial within Sixty Days.
Clear Six Dungeons to complete this Quest.
Time remaining: 59 days, 21 hours, 28 Minutes.
Dungeon Cleared: 0 / 6
----
Current Quest: Clear the Orcondale Dungeon
Rewards: Earn a share in clearing a dungeon, (Compounding shares can grant you dungeon clearance.) while leveling up.
----
Reading the quests, I gasp. “So, we’re in Orcondale?” I ask Brad, who gives a nod. “And that orc—was it the boss?”
“Field boss,” he corrects. “We’re still quite a ways from the main boss.”
A subtle smirk tugs at my lips. Sixty days of excursion? All I have to do is survive, doing what I do best? That’s just another Tuesday for me. Honestly, couldn't ask for more.
* * *
A few hours later.
“Fuck!” I shout, lungs on fire as I tear through the trees, half a dozen goblins hot on my heels, swinging their bloody cudgels and rusty daggers like they’ve got a personal vendetta. And, well, they do!
Remember when I said I can survive doing what I do best, and I couldn’t ask for more? Yeah, well, scratch that! I can’t survive against things that don’t understand reason! And I definitely need more! More weapons, more potions, more stats, more skills—hell, I’d even take a miracle right now.
But no matter how much I beg, nada. I’ve butchered at least two dozen goblins, and all I’ve got to show for it is a big fat nothing. The system won’t even flinch. Meanwhile, Bad Stain is out there throwing a party over his level-ups, jumping five levels from just ten goblin heads. And here I am, stuck in limbo. Just like the overseer said—it's bloody useless, a damn parasite.
And if that’s not enough, I’m starting to lag—seems sitting at a desk all day isn’t exactly the best stamina booster. A quick glance over my shoulder, and I see those green bastards creeping up on me, their weapons just a hair’s breadth away.
Speaking of these green bastards, I’ve got to eat another few of my words—called the newbies pathetic for struggling against mere goblins. Turns out, these little fuckers aren’t so “mere” when they swarm. One or two, maybe even three at once? Easy enough, manageable. But a whole horde? That’s a death sentence.
I keep slashing, but they just keep coming, multiplying like damn roaches. The leader guy with the greatsword called for backup. More cannon fodder teleported in from who-knows-where, but even with the extra bodies, we’re still getting overwhelmed.
Which brings me to my current predicament—sprinting for my life, not enjoying this "excursion" one bit. You know what, screw it! I’m no warrior. I can’t do warrior shit and fight. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t real warriors around who can. There’s a dozen of them, literally hiding in the bushes nearby, just waiting for us to either die off or draw the region boss out of his cave. Then they’ll swoop in, take the kill, and claim all the loot. Not if I can help it.
They started this fight, so they damn well better be part of it. I need to find them.
Cursing under my breath, I dig out the last health potion from my satchel. I grimace as I gulp it down, the familiar awful aftertaste hitting hard. But it does its job, topping off my health and stamina, making me feel like I could take on the world. Except I know better. Ten minutes—that’s all I’ve got before the energy runs out and death comes knocking.
“Come on, you avocado fuckers!” I scream, waving at the mob behind me as I veer left. This is the spot where I saw Nethan the barrel man and all the seasoned fighters take cover. They’re probably still here, lying low with a perfect view of the battlefield. Once I lead the party right to them, they’ll have no choice but to join the dance—hopefully sparing me in the process.
“Muppet!” A familiar voice screams from right in front of me. “Get down!”
I dive to the side, soaring over the bushes and hitting the ground hard. As I roll, I catch a flash of light. In an instant, the goblins’ shrieks stop, followed by the thunderous crash of trees toppling one after another right behind them. Luckily, none land on me. When I get back on my feet, I see the corpses, all neatly sliced in half.
That’s some top-notch precision and even better damage. An impressive skill, one I wouldn’t mind borrowing for a while. Judging by the signs, that skill must be BoltX. Even has a punchy name, I think, stepping out of the bushes, only to duck just in time as an ax whizzes by overhead. It lands in Nethan’s hand as he emerges from behind a tree. Lightning crackles along the weapon’s edge, and he points it at me with a glare that clearly says, “You are so fucked.”
My tongue itches to fire back with “Only after you,” but I stop as a loud, gut-wrenching scream tears through the air, sending a shiver down my spine. Every sound drops dead, replaced by thuds so heavy they make the ground tremble. Whatever it is, it’s very big, and definitely not human.
The seasoned fighters step out of the forest, taking their battle stances as the thuds grow louder. The cries of the men still fighting the goblins flare up, only to be snuffed out in seconds—most likely because they’re now dead. Then, from the treelines ahead, something gets launched into the air, sailing past the fighters and landing on the tree right above me.
Thwack! The mangled body of a man crashes down, splattering me with blood and guts. I gulp, turning away, trying to push down the rising dread. I’m no stranger to death and brutality, but seeing it this up close? Still a bit much.
The wind suddenly picks up, roaring in seconds. I scramble for cover beside a tree as dark clouds converge overhead, swallowing the light. Lightning and thunder crackle through the sky, rattling my bones. Seconds later, rain starts pouring down, soaking everyone. Whoever’s setting the stage for this epic fight clearly knows how to set the mood.
The thuds finally stop, and all the fighters start scanning for the beast to make its grand entrance. It’s definitely the region boss, and I’m betting it’s an orc. But what level? How tough? Will I get to tell Nethan he’s not just fucked—he’s royally fucked? Or will Nethan manage to wipe the floor all by himself? Only time will tell. At least I don’t have to wait long, as the noise kicks up again. And for some reason, I’ve got this feeling it’s coming from right behind me.
I turn to look, starting with, “How did I not—” but the words die in my throat, leaving my mouth hanging open in sheer bewilderment at the scene unfolding in front of me.
An orc—a fucking orc—stands just five trees away. And not just any orc; this one’s towering, easily five times the size of the last one I saw. Its face is twisted in pure rage, and it’s packing two weapons—a massive, rough-hewn hammer in one hand and a cudgel in the other. And, naturally, it’s marching right at me.
I stumble, nearly losing my footing, but manage to pull myself together. I edge around to the front of the tree, hoping to stay out of sight. My boots squelch in the blood of my fallen comrade, and I silently pray he doesn’t think I’m disrespecting him—I’d rather not be standing here either.
Hugging the tree trunk, I try to shout a warning to the fighters ahead, but the storm swallows my voice. Worse, the rain’s so heavy, I can barely see a thing. That orc could sneak up on them, and they’d never know what hit them. If that happens, they’re done for—and so am I. Without knowing where their base is, I’m as good as dead. I can’t let that happen, but the idea of running over there, risking the orc spotting me... yeah, that’s not exactly boosting my confidence.
Fuck! What now? Digging my nails into the tree, I hear a thud right beside me. I freeze, knowing exactly what it is. I can’t bring myself to look up—last thing I need is to meet its gaze and shit myself. Then another thud sounds on my left, and panic sets in. I force myself to peek, and there’s another orc, just as big, if not bigger. And if that isn’t bad enough, there’s a third one to its left, the biggest of the bunch. They all brandish their weapons, looking ready for the fight of their lives.
I’m dead, I can already tell. Just then, something shiny catches my eye—a soft glow emanating over the corpse. I squint, and a screen pops up:
[System root access available. Direct Data transfer enabled.]
[Please specify items: ]
Name: Roben Mei
Class: Warrior (Light)
Title: Base Title & Blade Purist
Stats: Base Stats & Advance Points: 7
Skills: Base Skills & Steel Tie
[Reversion not available]
Okay, with so many fallen comrades, this… well, this changes everything!