The crab moved like a nightmare—its hulking bulk sliding sideways through the bog with unnatural speed. Its massive claws snapped with explosive force, gouging the earth and sending chunks of wet muck flying in every direction.
Cade stood frozen on the outskirts of the fight, breath ragged, heart slamming in his chest. The Fenbreaker Landcrab, Professor Sanders had called it. And it was enormous—easily the size of a truck, armored in thick plates of sea-green chitin that glistened with swamp water.
In the chaos, it took him a moment to realize the people weren't just fighting it. They were working together, coordinating their efforts to take the behemoth down.
A giant of a man stood at the front, shield raised high in one arm and a short sword in the other. He was a wall of muscle and discipline, planted like a fortress as the crab's nearest claw swung down with bone-shattering speed.
The man didn't dodge. Didn't flinch.
Instead, his shield flared—a split-second pulse of golden light as the claw hit—and with a crack the massive pincer was repelled, flung backward like it had struck a wall of steel.
Cade blinked. The man hadn't budged.
He was tanking the crab. Holding its focus. Taking every hit and somehow shrugging it off.
"How...?" Cade muttered, awed.
To the crab's side, a shirtless man darted between legs with impossible agility, his muscles rippling like coiled steel. No weapons. Just fists.
Just his bare fists.
Cade watched, dumbstruck, as the man punched the crab's leg joint, his blow landing with a sharp crack that sent vibrations rippling through the chitin.
Nearby, a blonde woman with short, roughly chopped hair let out a savage cry as she bounded across the battlefield with a pair of handaxes. She was wild, primal—her movements more beast than human. She sprinted past a flailing claw, leapt onto one of the crab's rear legs, and clung to it with her thighs, hacking at the joint like a woman possessed.
A loud shriek echoed across the bog, but it wasn't human.
The crab was in pain.
Beneath the creature, a fourth melee fighter worked with careful precision—a slender man in flowing blue robes, wielding a long spear with elegant, fluid motions. He darted in and out under the crab's bulk, jabbing up into the crevice where its segmented legs met the body. Targeting the weak joints Professor Sanders had called out.
Cade took it all in, overwhelmed by the raw violence and coordination. Every swing, every dodge, every blow—it all worked toward a purpose. A strategy.
"They've done this before," Cade whispered.
To his right, Amanda's voice cut through the noise. "What level is that thing? My [Identify] just shows question marks."
Professor Sanders frowned, flipping open his notebook even as he watched the fight. "Same here. [Analyze] confirms the leg joints are vulnerable, but its level's too high to read. It must be outside our assessment range."
Amanda paled. Cade saw her glance toward the others still fighting. Nadean darted beneath the crab, blades flashing. Sasesh stood further out, wand in hand, lips moving silently as he concentrated.
A sudden gurgling screech tore through the air. Cade's head snapped up.
One of the crab's eyestalks had folded backward, twitching violently—an arrow protruding from its base.
Cade turned, spotting the archer at the far edge of the bog: a figure cloaked in black, hood up, bow still raised. He lowered it slowly, face unreadable at a distance.
"That shot..." Cade breathed. "That had to hit something important."
The crab reeled. Its claws jerked up protectively toward its face, instinctively shielding the wounded eye. Then it twisted, its massive body rotating with disturbing speed to face the archer.
The blue-robed spearman didn't see it in time.
One of the crab's legs smashed into him mid-pivot, sending him flying sideways like a rag doll. He hit the ground hard, sliding several feet before going still.
"Shit!" Cade shouted.
Nadean and the shirtless man dodged back as the crab turned, avoiding its massive limbs by inches. But the axe-wielding woman didn't jump off.
She held tight, legs wrapped around the crab's limb like a vice.
And then—
CRACK.
The leg snapped at the joint.
Cade staggered back as the crab shrieked in agony. The limb gave way under the weight of its own body. The woman tumbled free with a satisfied grin, landing in a roll.
"Dammit, Kyle! Dodge!" the shield-bearing giant bellowed.
Cade's eyes whipped back to the archer—Kyle—who stood his ground, bow lowered, watching the crab now barreling toward him.
It was fast—too fast.
It scuttled sideways, claws wide, covering distance like a freight train. It would flatten Kyle in seconds.
Cade's breath caught in his throat.
Then, suddenly—
Crunch.
The sound was sickening.
The crab lurched. Its momentum halted mid-charge. It shrieked—once, high and sharp—and then collapsed, its entire weight slamming into the bog. Legs spasmed and twitched then fell still.
The battlefield froze.
For a second, no one moved.
Cade blinked rapidly, trying to understand. Did someone kill it? What just happened?
Amanda and Professor Sanders looked equally baffled.
Then Cade saw him.
Sasesh.
He stood near the rear of the group, wand hanging limply in his hand. His face was pale. Sweat poured down his brow, and his entire body trembled.
And then, with a gasp, Sasesh collapsed to his knees.
"Sasesh!" Cade took a step forward, panic shooting through his limbs.
"I'm fine!" Sasesh wheezed, voice sharp and hoarse. "I'm... fine..."
Cade hesitated, uncertain—until his eyes caught something near the crab's body.
He moved, walking in a wide arc around the beast, boots squelching through the muck. And then he saw it—jutting from the soft earth beneath the crab's collapsed body was a massive stone spike.
Rough, jagged, perfectly placed. It had pierced the crab's underbelly at an angle—so precise that its own momentum had driven the impalement home.
Cade stared at it in awe.
Sasesh hadn't been idle. He hadn't flung any flashy spells or dramatic waves of stone. He'd waited. He'd prepared.
He knew he couldn't use his magic while the others were swarming around the crab—not without risking friendly fire. So he waited, charging his magic, shaping it, setting the trap.
And when the crab overcommitted—when its defenses dropped and it scuttled away from their allies—Sasesh struck.
The silence after the fight felt almost deafening.
For a few long seconds, no one moved. The only sound was the distant hum of swamp insects returning to their rhythm. Steam rose faintly from the puncture wound in the crab's underside, curling around the jagged spike that pinned it in place.
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Then Amanda moved.
Cade watched her break into a run—mud splashing around her boots as she sprinted toward the melee group. Professor Sanders followed, slower but steady, already calling out to Sasesh in concern.
Cade stayed where he was for half a heartbeat, torn between following and staying still. He glanced toward the crab again, then at the fallen spear-wielder, who was still lying motionless in the muck.
"Shit," Cade muttered under his breath.
He knew his limits. If he ran over there, he'd just be one more body in the way. Amanda knew what she was doing—and if anyone could pull that guy back from the brink, it was her.
So instead, Cade turned around.
Movement caught his eye. A figure in a long, dark cloak striding toward him. The archer. The one who had landed the shot to the crab's eye.
Up close, the man looked younger than Cade expected—nineteen, maybe twenty at most. His hood shadowed sharp features and wary eyes that flicked over Cade without stopping. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, bow still in hand, one arrow half-nocked like he didn't quite trust the peace yet.
Cade took a step forward, forcing a tired grin. "You must be Kyle," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Cade."
The archer's mouth tightened. He didn't take the hand. Just gave a short, stiff nod and walked past without a word.
Cade blinked, his hand still hanging awkwardly in the air. "…Cool. Great talk."
He let the moment linger for a beat before exhaling through his nose and turning to follow the archer's path toward the others.
The cloaked young man moved deceptively quick. He didn't appear to be rushing, but by the time Cade started trudging through the mud, Kyle had already reached the rest of the fighters clustered near the fallen crab.
By the time Cade got halfway there, he could hear the muffled sound of cheering. Relief.
He couldn't help but smile faintly. If they were cheering, that meant the spear-wielder was alive. Amanda had made it in time.
Cade slowed his pace, breath steadying as he approached. The adrenaline was fading now, replaced by a deep fatigue and the faint, unsteady relief of survival.
Sasesh was still seated nearby, wand lying beside him in the dirt, his breathing shallow but steady. Professor Sanders crouched at his side, murmuring something low and reassuring.
Cade lingered a few paces away, watching the scene unfold—the two groups mingling, voices rising in cautious joy.
By the time Cade finally reached the others, the mood had shifted entirely.
Relief, joy—even laughter—rolled through the gathered survivors. The towering corpse of the Fenbreaker Landcrab loomed behind them, but the group had pulled away, huddled now in loose clusters. Most were still catching their breath, sharing quick congratulations, retelling their own view of the fight with wide eyes and animated gestures.
Cade hovered at the edge of it all, unsure where to insert himself.
Nadean was already deep in conversation with the axe-wielding woman—the one who had ridden the crab's leg like a mechanical bull. The two of them were grinning like old war buddies, animatedly miming the creature's leg breaking. Amanda knelt beside the formerly unconscious spear-wielder, whispering something Cade couldn't hear as she double-checked his condition.
Professor Sanders now stood off to the side, chatting calmly with the giant man Cade had seen take the brunt of the crab's fury. Beside them, Kyle stood in silence, hood still up, arms crossed, eyes flicking between conversations like he didn't quite trust the good mood.
Sasesh remained seated nearby, but now he was upright, leaning against a thick root, exhaustion clear in the slump of his shoulders. The shirtless bruiser—the one who had been punching a crab like it owed him money—hovered beside Sasesh with unabashed excitement, slapping the mage's back in hearty celebration. Sasesh winced with every thump but didn't tell the man to stop.
Cade watched all of it with a growing sense of distance.
No one greeted him. No one even looked in his direction.
It wasn't hostile. It wasn't cold. It was just social inertia. Everyone had clicked instantly with someone—some existing connection or shared adrenaline—but Cade was the odd one out.
He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced once at Nadean and the axe woman, then at Sasesh and the punch-happy guy.
Amanda, he decided. At least her and the spear-wielder were fairly quiet.
Cade walked toward her, keeping a respectful distance as she checked over the still-seated spear-wielder. His bruises were turning purple already, but he looked stable, breathing easier now that Amanda had done her work.
Cade opened his mouth to speak—about the crab, about the healing, maybe even an apology for last night.
But then the voice cut through the group's chatter.
"Alright everyone, let's gather together."
It was like thunder wrapped in velvet—deep, resonant, and immediately authoritative. Cade turned, not surprised to find the source was the same man with the shield—the one who had been tanking the crab's monstrous claws.
The man stood straight-backed, his armor scratched but intact, his presence commanded their attention. His dark skin gleamed with sweat in the sun filtering through the trees, and his short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair gave him an air of seasoned calm.
People responded to him instantly. Conversations paused. Smiles faded to attentive expressions. Even Kyle uncrossed his arms.
Amanda rose but kept a hand to hold the spear-wielder down in his vain attempt to stand. Sasesh pushed himself to his feet with a grunt but only made it a few steps before sitting back down again near the circle.
Once everyone had roughly gathered, the large man continued.
"Of all the people I expected to find in a place like this, Vikram here was damn near last on the list," he said, one massive hand clapping gently onto Professor Sanders' shoulder.
Cade blinked. Vikram?
He double-checked his mental notes until Professor Sanders gave a sheepish wave and said, "That's me. Professor Sanders to the rest of you, of course. But yes—Vikram, in another life."
The large man smiled. "I met Vikram a few years ago. I was his physical therapist after his knee replacement."
A few raised brows rippled through the group, Cade's included.
"This man," the tank continued, turning toward the members of his group now, "was an inspiration to me and my other patients. Recovered faster than anyone I'd worked with. Kept the mood light, helped others stay on track. So listen up—Kyle, Miriam, John, and Kranti—you treat him with more respect than you'd give me."
Cade mentally noted each name as they were said.
Kyle, the standoffish archer.
Miriam, the feral axe-wielding woman.
John, the spear fighter Amanda had healed.
Kranti, the excited bare-knuckle brawler still hovering near Sasesh.
As the man finished, Professor Sanders nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Bryan. It was a pleasure working with you back then."
Bryan. So that was the tank's name. Cade filed it away.
Professor Sanders cleared his throat and addressed the group. "As Bryan mentioned, I'm Vikram. But please, for your own safety, continue calling me Professor Sanders. Only those with tenure may use my first name."
That earned a ripple of chuckles.
"Now," he continued, tone more formal again, "as Bryan and I were just discussing, it seems we're the first groups to run into each other. Unless anyone here has seen others?"
No one responded. Just heads shaking.
"Then we have a decision to make," Professor Sanders said. "Bryan and I believe it's in everyone's best interest to combine groups and travel together. Yes, it means more mouths to feed and more people to coordinate. But it also means more fighters. More skill variety. More eyes and ears to watch each other's backs."
He gestured toward Amanda.
"If we combine, you'll have access to a proven healer. Just ask John."
The spearman grinned, still rubbing his ribs. "She saved my ass. No question. I thought I was toast."
Professor Sanders smiled. "And Bryan's group brings something we sorely lack—a proper front line. His class allows him to keep the enemy's attention and absorb the damage we can't. I think we can all agree that not being the one targeted by a crab's claw is a valuable asset."
Cade saw more than a few nods ripple through the group.
And then Professor Sanders' eyes flicked toward him—just briefly. Cade felt it. A hesitation. A stumble.
"…It'll also help…balance out some of our current disadvantages," Professor Sanders said delicately.
Cade tried not to let it sting.
Professor Sanders adjusted his glasses and glanced around the circle. "Now, I've always believed that cooperation works best when it's chosen, not imposed. We're not running a dictatorship here. Everyone gets a say."
Cade caught Sasesh mutter under his breath, "Not everyone should get a say," but the Professor either didn't hear him or refused to acknowledge it.
"So," Professor Sanders continued smoothly, "if anyone objects to combining our groups, say so now. If you'd prefer to go your own way, no hard feelings. But if we're doing this, it has to be unanimous. Group harmony matters."
The assembled survivors exchanged glances. For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy in the humid air.
Then Bryan raised his shield-bearing arm. "You already know where I stand. My people and I agree—it's smarter together."
Amanda was next, hand rising without hesitation. "We've already seen how much difference a coordinated group can make."
Nadean smirked and lifted hers. "I like these guys. They hit hard."
Sasesh sighed dramatically but still raised his hand. "Fine. But I'm not babysitting anyone."
Laughter rippled through the group, light but genuine. One by one, the rest followed—Miriam, Kranti, Kyle, John—all raising their hands in turn.
Finally, Cade.
He hesitated just for a moment, his hand hovering halfway up. His gaze drifted across the faces around him—fighters, people who'd fought together, who bled together. And for once, he wasn't sure if he belonged among them.
But then Amanda caught his eye, offering a small, weary smile.
Cade lifted his hand the rest of the way.
"Unanimous," Professor Sanders said, satisfaction softening his features. "Excellent. Then, from this moment forward, we move as one group."
Bryan nodded. "Sounds good to me. And since it's already past midday, I'd say we've earned a rest. We'll set up camp here for the night, patch our gear, recover mana, and plan our next move tomorrow."
That suggestion didn't sit well with everyone.
Miriam—the blonde with the axes—crossed her arms. Her accent was thick, her tone blunt. "Aye, I disagree with that last bit. Look around, Bryan—this is a bloody bog. The ground's half soup. We'll wake up floating."
Before Bryan could respond, Sasesh lifted a hand from where he sat slumped near the crab's corpse. "Don't worry about it," he said, voice rough but steady. "I'll take care of the ground. You'll sleep dry. Probably."
Miriam arched a brow, clearly unconvinced, but Bryan gave a slow nod. "That'll do. Everyone rest, eat, and tend your wounds. We'll regroup at sundown."
The circle began to break apart, conversation blooming again in the aftermath of the vote. Kranti threw an arm around Sasesh's shoulders, laughing loud enough to wake the swamp. Nadean was still chatting animatedly with Miriam, comparing the weight of their weapons. Kyle had moved from the group to a few paces off where he perched on a half-buried log, silently fiddling with his quiver.
Cade lingered at the edges as usual, hands in his pockets, watching it all unfold. Watching them.
There was movement. Energy. They had a sense of direction he hadn't felt in days. No, in years.
He'd spent the last day tripping over roots, missing swings, earning pitying glances. But maybe, with this many people, his lack of a class wouldn't matter so much. Maybe he could still pull his weight somehow. Maybe he wouldn't be the weak link forever.
Cade exhaled slowly, a faint smile ghosting across his lips as the sound of laughter carried through the humid air.
The camp came together slowly.
Not because anyone was dragging their feet—quite the opposite. Everyone was exhausted from the adrenaline wearing off after the fight, but they moved with purpose. The dead crab loomed in the background like a monument to the two groups coming together to work as one.
Cade watched the others begin to settle, then quietly turned and slipped into the trees.
No one noticed.
He didn't have a class. He had no spells to cast or weapons to swing but he could gather firewood. He could at least do that.
The bog wasn't as swampy deeper into the brush. Still humid, still wet, but not ankle-deep in water like the clearing had been. Cade picked his way carefully over roots and stones, eyes scanning the undergrowth for anything dry enough to burn.
He had a decent bundle going when he heard soft footsteps behind him.
He turned. Kyle stood a few feet away, bow slung across his back and a quiver hung off of his hip. His expression was unreadable, his hood still casting shadows across his face.
"You always wander off alone?" Kyle asked.
Cade straightened, adjusting the bundle under his arm. "Didn't think anyone would care."
"You're not exactly hard to notice," Kyle replied. "You didn't help during the fight."
The words weren't accusing. Not cruel. Just blunt and factual. Cade winced anyway.
"I couldn't," he said, forcing himself to meet Kyle's eyes. "I—don't have a core."
Kyle's head tilted slightly.
"No class. No profession. Nothing," Cade continued, because he might as well own it. They were going to find out sometime anyway. "Even the System entity didn't know why I was sent here. One minute it thought I was supposed to be in a different Tutorial, one for people like me where the automatic core formation failed. The next thing I knew it said I'd end up in a different Tutorial, one for people with cores. Then it just wished me luck and off I went."
Kyle stared at him for a moment longer, then gave a short exhale through his nose. "That sucks."
Cade blinked. "That's it?"
"What do you want me to say? It sounds like it wasn't your fault." Kyle shrugged. "Still probably a bad idea to be out here alone, though. You're an easy target if something finds you."
"I figured I could at least collect firewood," Cade muttered. "Try to help."
Kyle gave a small nod, stepping past him to inspect a patch of dry bark along a tree's base. "Good attitude. Most people would just sit on their hands and cry about their bad luck."
They didn't talk much after that. Just worked. Quiet and efficient. Cade tried to keep pace with Kyle, who moved through the trees like a shadow, spotting good wood long before Cade's eyes could pick it out.
After a while, Cade's arms were full, his torn up shirt damp with sweat, and Kyle gave a small jerk of his chin toward camp.
Without a word, they headed back together through the fog-dappled trees.
By the time Cade and Kyle made it back to the clearing, the camp had transformed.
A raised plateau of dry, packed earth now sat where the soggy marsh had been, elevated just enough to keep the waterline at bay. It was wide enough for a fire, space to sit, and even stretch out if you weren't picky. Sasesh sat slumped on a stone outcrop nearby, his wand lying across his lap. He looked utterly drained—pale, sweaty, dark circles under his eyes.
Cade slowed as he took it in, jaw tight.
Sasesh had done that. Alone, probably. And it had to have cost him.
"Damn," Kyle muttered behind him, clearly impressed despite himself. "That earth mage is pretty strong, huh."
Cade nodded and they continued walking towards the newly raised plateau.
The rest of Bryan's group looked equally amazed. They were already on the dry ground, unpacking what little they had and staring at the raised platform like it was a miracle.
Cade dropped his bundle of wood near the center. "Sasesh really went all out again."
"He's pushing himself too hard," Amanda said from nearby, clearly worried as she watched Sasesh rub at his temples. "He needs to slow down."
"He won't," Cade murmured.
The wood he and Kyle collected was dry, or at least dry enough. Still, he needed more than just kindling and sticks—something solid to build the fire on. He turned to Bryan, who was currently talking to Kranti.
"Hey, Bryan," Cade called out. "You think you could help cut a few flat pieces of wood from the thicker branches? We'll need a flat base to start the fire."
Bryan raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "Sure?"
With a few practiced swings of his short sword, Bryan split some flatter pieces from the driest, most solid sections of their haul. Cade thanked him, then knelt down and began setting up the bowdrill using his last shoelace.
Professor Sanders appeared beside him, curious. "Doing that again? I suppose it did work well last time."
Cade nodded. "Would you mind using it? I'm, uh, not exactly the fastest at it."
Bryan gave him a confused look. "If you know how to use it, why not do it yourself?"
Cade forced a casual shrug. "Professor Sanders has a better feel for it than I do. I don't want to screw it up and waste the lace."
That was only partly true. He just didn't want to spend half an hour fumbling around only to fail to light the fire—not in front of this many people.
The professor didn't question it. He crouched down and took the bowdrill, placing it properly and working the motion with care. This time, he was ready when the kindling flared. He let go right as the spark caught, jerking his hands back with a small grin.
The fire sputtered to life.
A collective cheer rose from the group, but it was mostly directed at the fire itself, or maybe Professor Sanders. Bryan clapped the professor on the shoulder with a booming, "Well done," but didn't say a word to Cade.
Cade watched his last shoelace curl and blacken in the flame, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.
Worth it.
As the group started gathering around the growing fire, Kranti plopped down next to Cade with a grin, handing him a roughly cleaned piece of crab meat skewered on a broken branch. "Hope you're hungry," he said. "This thing's more protein than I've eaten in a month."
"Thanks," Cade said, accepting it gratefully.
The two sat in companionable silence as the sky slowly darkened above them, the fire crackling steady between them, the scent of smoke and crab drifting through the clearing.
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Kranti tore into his roasted crab leg segment like a man who hadn't eaten in days—grinning, cracking shell, and making a mess of it. Cade watched with faint amusement as he picked at his own piece.
"So," Cade said between chews, "you and Sasesh seem close. You two know each other before all this?"
Kranti's grin widened. "Oh, yeah. Me and Sasesh go way back. We trained together for a bit before the System but he stopped coming to the gym a few months after he got into his postdoc. Didn't think I'd see him again, honestly."
"That's actually kind of awesome," Cade said. "I worked with him. Before the Tutorial. Same lab."
Kranti froze mid-bite, eyebrows raising. "Wait—are you Cade Whitehollow?"
Cade blinked. "Uh. Yeah?"
Kranti laughed softly, leaning back. "Hah. Okay. That explains a lot."
Cade frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"
Kranti shook his head, suddenly evasive. "Nothing, man. I just heard the name before. Didn't connect the dots until now."
Cade studied him, trying to read the tone, but Kranti looked away, pretending to poke at the fire with a stick. Cade let it drop.
"So," he said after a pause, forcing the conversation into safer territory, "doesn't punching armored crabs hurt? I mean, no offense, but why did you choose to use your bare fists?"
Kranti chuckled, flexing his knuckles. The skin there was red and rough, but not broken. "Hurts like hell. But I'm used to it and the System helps out quite a bit. I used to do bare-knuckle boxing before all this so choosing my class was a no brainer."
Cade blinked. "You're serious."
"Dead serious. Broke more fingers than I can count, but you learn where to hit—and how." He raised a fist and mimed a quick jab, the motion so precise it barely disturbed the air. "You don't swing for show. You put your weight behind it, hit smart, not hard."
"That's impressive," Cade said honestly. "I'd probably shatter my hand just trying to punch one of those legs."
Kranti laughed again. "Yeah, don't try it."
The conversation drifted for a bit—small talk, bits about how strange the swamp smelled, how the crab meat was weirdly sweet. Cade felt himself relaxing. Kranti was easy to talk to, easy to like.
Then Cade's curiosity slipped in again.
"So, when you fight," he began carefully, "does it feel different when you use a skill? Like, do you feel it drain your stamina or something?"
Kranti tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Cade hesitated. "You've got stamina, right? We all do. I'm trying to figure out how it actually feels to use it. Like, what happens inside the body when a skill draws from it?"
Kranti's grin faltered slightly. The mood shifted. "Why you asking? Don't you have any skills yet?"
Cade shrugged. "Just trying to understand how different skills work."
Kranti was quiet for a beat. Then, more serious than before, he said, "Look, man. You'll get one that uses stamina eventually. The System wouldn't give you stamina if it wasn't meant to be used. It'll happen when it's supposed to."
"But I still want to understand how it feels," Cade replied. "What's it like when you activate something? Do you feel a pull? A—"
Kranti cut him off with a nervous chuckle. "You really think too much, man."
Cade blinked, caught off guard.
"Don't get me wrong," Kranti added quickly. "I respect that you're trying to learn. I just don't really think about it. I punch and it works. That's enough for me."
"Right," Cade said, forcing a small nod.
Kranti smiled again, but it was thinner now. He stood, brushing dirt from his pants. "Gonna check in with Sasesh, make sure he's not passing out again from pushing himself too hard. Good talk, though."
And just like that, he was gone, heading toward the far side of the camp where Sasesh sat half-slumped.
Cade watched him go, his chest tight with frustration.
He hadn't meant to ruin it.
You did it again, his thoughts whispered. Just like with Amanda. You made it weird.
He sighed, staring into the fire as it popped and hissed. Why didn't anyone want to talk about how things worked? Didn't they care? If he had a class, he'd be tearing it apart, figuring out every mechanic, every pattern, every movement of stamina or mana that made the skill work. But everyone else just seemed to use what they were given and didn't question the why or how.
He clenched his jaw.
Maybe they didn't need to understand. They already had power, but Cade didn't, he only had questions.
The fire crackled softly, and he poked at the embers, feeling smaller than ever.
By the time the sun began to dip below the canopy, the smell of roasted crab filled the air.
Sasesh had expanded the plateau and shaped two shallow domes on top—a pair of hardened earthen shelters large enough to comfortably fit five people each. They were crude, but they held their shape. A dry place to sleep, elevated just above the muck.
The newcomers were awestruck. Kyle and Miriam inspected the shelters from multiple angles, even tapping the hardened walls as if testing for stability. John called it a miracle. Kranti clapped Sasesh on the shoulder with a proud grin that made the mage wince visibly. Even Bryan had murmured something about "engineering genius" under his breath.
Cade kept his distance from the attention, content to let Sasesh soak it in. He deserved the praise. He looked completely drained—skin pale and glistening with sweat, his hands trembling faintly.
The rest of the group sat around the fire that Cade had helped make possible, though no one said as much. It burned steadily now, casting a warm orange light that flickered across tired faces and bent shoulders.
Dinner was simple but hearty: roasted crab, carved from the legs of the giant beast and skewered over the fire. Nadean and Miriam had worked together to strip it down earlier, both covered in greenish ichor by the time they were done but laughing like they'd just won a prize at the state fair.
Conversation meandered between bites. Someone joked about never eating seafood again. Another asked if crabs in the real world screamed when you cooked them. That turned into a story about a trip to Maine. Then about someone's weird cousin. Then about missing lemon and hot sauce.
Cade chewed in silence, sitting near the edge of the firelight. He didn't mind listening, but every story about "back home" struck him as wrong. Not because they weren't real. But because they didn't matter anymore.
They should've been talking about what the System wanted from them. What the Tutorial's rules were and how to maximize their Tutorial Score. About how to improve and how to level.
Not about cookouts from the past.
He glanced around. Bryan was laughing at something Kyle had muttered under his breath. Nadean was halfway into an animated retelling of a botched sparring match between her and Miriam, both of them gesturing with fragments of the crab's legs as if they were rapiers. Amanda looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen her, her face soft in the firelight.
Then Nadean asked, "How'd you guys get so good at fighting together already? You've only been here a day, right? Your group moves like you've been training together for months."
Bryan chuckled, setting down his cleaned-off shell. "We actually knew each other before all this. We were regulars at the same gym. All hit the same lunch slot. Sparring, circuits, lifting. It adds up." He glanced at each of his group in turn. "The first couple fights were rough. Took a while to figure out how to move in sync, especially with Kyle pulling aggro every five seconds."
Kyle rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
"But after a few skirmishes, it clicked," Bryan continued. "Not perfect, but we know each other's rhythm. That helps more than you'd think."
Nadean nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Our group…" she paused for a second and then continued "...we're still figuring it out."
That earned a few small laughs, even from Sasesh.
Time passed slowly. The group shifted from storytelling to fatigue, the fire crackling steadily as the swamp's chorus resumed beyond the safe circle of light. Darkness had fully claimed the bog, thick and heavy, draped in distant croaks and chirping wings.
As the conversation faded naturally, Sasesh stood up with a grunt. "Same as last night," he said. "Three watches. This time we have enough people for two per shift so no one is alone."
"I'll take first," Nadean and Miriam said at the exact same moment. They turned to each other and laughed.
Kranti stretched. "Middle shift for me."
Kyle raised his hand. "Same."
Then Cade quietly spoke.
"I'll take the last watch."
The silence after that felt heavier than it should've. No one said anything for a long moment.
Sasesh turned to him, unreadable. "I'll take it with you."
Cade frowned. "You sure? You've used a lot of mana today. You should rest."
"I took the last watch last night and still had enough to fight today and do all of this. I'll manage." His voice was clipped, no room for argument.
Cade hesitated, then gave a nod. "Alright. If you're sure."
Sasesh didn't respond right away. As he turned back toward the shelter, Cade thought he heard him mutter under his breath, "Not like you could keep watch on your own anyway."
Cade stiffened but he didn't say anything. He just stood slowly and made his way to the second dome, leaving the glow of the fire behind.
Inside, the air was surprisingly dry, the sound of the bog muffled by the thick walls. Cade found a spot near the edge and lay down, his tattered clothes clinging to his skin. His feet were somehow still damp. The warmth from the fire barely reached this far.
He stared at the dark ceiling, trying not to think about how quiet the others had been when he volunteered or what Sasesh had said.
It was becoming more and more obvious that he didn't really fit in here.
But he couldn't leave. Even if he wanted to, he'd be dead within hours without the others.
He was stuck—unwanted, unnecessary, and stuck.
Cade closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
Remove
A rough hand shook Cade's shoulder.
He blinked awake, groggy and disoriented. The air inside the dome was warm and stale, heavy with the faint scent of earth and burnt crab.
"Your turn," Kyle whispered. His hair was messy, his voice hushed but edged with fatigue.
Cade pushed himself upright and suppressed a quiet groan. "Thanks," he muttered.
Kyle nodded and slipped out of the dome. Cade sat for a moment, trying to get his bearings. The dark outside felt unnaturally thick. Through the doorway he could see shadows spilled in long, indistinct lines across the bog.
Most of the others were still sleeping. Amanda curled near the wall with her arms pulled tight around herself. Nadean was dead to the world, one hand resting on the hilt of her blade even in sleep. Professor Sanders snored softly, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.
Cade exhaled. His muscles ached and every movement reminded him just how out of place he was here.
Still, he slipped his now laceless shoes on and walked out of the dome.
He nearly tripped over Sasesh in the darkness.
Sasesh sat cross-legged near the dome's entrance, still as stone. His eyes were half-lidded, hands resting on his knees, posture ramrod-straight. For a second, Cade thought he might have dozed off mid-meditation—but then his dark eyes opened and focused on Cade.
Without a word, Sasesh rose and stepped out into the dark.
Cade followed.
The air outside was cold and damp. The fire had been reduced to glowing coals, and even those pulsed low beneath a blanket of ash. Mist wrapped around the trees in the distance in a slow, clinging crawl.
They stood near the edge of the camp, beside an earthen shelf Sasesh had shaped the day before, its sloping sides slick with dew. The swamp stretched out beyond them, quiet and still.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then, flatly: "You didn't have to volunteer."
Cade frowned, glancing at him. "What?"
"For the watch," Sasesh clarified. His tone was cold and precise. "You didn't have to pretend you're not exhausted by just trying to keep up, and we both know you're not exactly helpful out here."
Cade let out a long breath. "I'm trying, Sasesh."
"Trying doesn't change what you are." Sasesh still didn't look at him. His gaze swept the horizon. "You were an anchor in the lab. Always were. I had to carry half your workload then. Now you're an anchor here. You drag us down."
Cade stiffened.
It wasn't the insult—it was the tone. No heat. No rage. Just quiet certainty.
"You're worse than a weak link," Sasesh continued. "At least a weak link connects something. You just hang there like dead weight."
Cade's mouth went dry. "That's not—"
Sasesh finally turned to face him, and the look in his eyes was ice. "You think gathering sticks makes up for it? You think that makes you useful? You're another mouth to feed. Another body to protect. That's it."
Cade's jaw clenched, but he didn't speak.
"And while we're on the topic—" Sasesh stepped closer, voice low, but brimming now with something more than disdain, "—stop making Amanda uncomfortable. You keep pressing her about how her healing works, even after she's clearly given short answers. She doesn't owe you an explanation just because you're desperate to understand."
Cade blinked. "I was just curious—"
"For fuck's sake, Cade. You burned yourself just to see how her magic worked. What kind of psycho does that?" Sasesh's eyes narrowed. "You think that's normal? You think she's going to trust you after seeing that? That's not curiosity. That's obsession."
Cade looked away.
Sasesh didn't let up. "And it's not just Amanda. What the hell were you doing asking Kranti how his skills worked?" His voice rose slightly, venom curling in the words now. "You just met the guy, and you're already asking him to spill his secrets? What kind of socially inept asshole does that? Kranti should've beaten you into the ground for even daring to ask. He didn't because he's too good a person."
Cade swallowed. "I was just trying to learn. I thought… if I could hear them explain it… maybe something would click in my head."
Sasesh stared at him, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His expression shifted—not in sympathy, but incredulity.
"I wish you hadn't been dragged into this," Sasesh said, his voice tightening. "Hell, I wish you weren't here at all. Without you, this group would be better off. Stronger. We'd actually have a chance to excel, instead of constantly worrying if you're going to trip behind us."
Cade's stomach twisted. "I didn't ask for this," he said softly. "I didn't even get a core, Sasesh. I don't know why I'm here. Even the System entity—whatever that was—didn't seem to know."
Sasesh's eyes didn't soften. "Then maybe you should've stayed behind when the rest of us moved forward."
Cade let out a hollow laugh. "You think I haven't thought about that every hour of every day since this started?" He met Sasesh's glare, voice low and flat. "You're right. I am dead weight. I've thought about everything you just said. And worse."
Sasesh's expression faltered. Just for a second. A flicker of something—uncertainty? Guilt?—passed behind his eyes.
But Cade pressed on.
"I didn't want this," he said. "I wanted a chance to start the way everyone else did. But when the core formation failed, I just wanted a chance to earn it. To prove I could stand on my own. Instead, I got dropped here. Weak, confused, and useless."
His voice cracked faintly. "You think I like being the one slowing everyone down?"
Sasesh looked away, jaw tight.
Cade's shoulders sagged. "You don't need to remind me what I am. I already know."
The wind stirred faintly through the reeds in the distance. A low, almost imperceptible rustle.
Then, quietly, Sasesh said, "If you know all that then why don't you just leave?"
Cade blinked. "Because I'd die the moment I set foot out there alone."
"Then maybe you should die."
The words didn't come with fury. They weren't screamed or spat. They were said with the calm finality of someone who truly didn't care.
Cade felt the world narrow. Felt the air press in around him.
Sasesh looked at him, expression carved from stone. "This world doesn't want you here, Cade. If it did, it would've given you a core like the rest of us. But it didn't. You were left out. Cut off. Forgotten. What does that tell you?"
Cade shook his head. "That's not—"
"Not what?" Sasesh took a step forward, voice rising now. "You think this was an accident? That whatever built the System—something that rewrote the fucking laws of physics, that integrated our entire species simultaneously—just forgot to include you? Get real."
Cade's stomach churned.
"If the System can do all of this—" Sasesh gestured to the swamp, to the mist, and to the dome "—then rewriting you would've been easy. Giving you a core would've been trivial. And it didn't. Why?"
Cade opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
"Because even the System thinks you should've died already," Sasesh said, voice hard. "It scanned you—every cell, every molecule—and it decided you weren't worth the resources. You were a waste of its infinite time. You think that was random? No. It looked at you and saw nothing."
The words struck. Cade looked down, and for a terrifying moment, he couldn't think of a single reason Sasesh might be wrong.
Because some part of him agreed.
Some part of him had already whispered these thoughts. During the quiet moments when no one was looking. When everyone was laughing, joking, and reminiscing. A part of him had said the exact same thing.
He was useless.
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But then, through the thick mire of despair, another part of him stirred.
A spark.
"If it's so all-powerful," Cade said quietly, "why wouldn't it give everyone god-like powers from the start? Why make us fight for scraps? Why make us kill just to grow?"
Sasesh frowned.
"Why group people together based on proximity instead of ability? Why not sort us by potential? Why take three months to reconfigure Earth instead of doing it instantly?" Cade looked up, and there was fire in his eyes now—dim, flickering, but real. "Because the System wants something from us. It's not perfect. It's planning something."
Sasesh stared at him, unreadable.
"Maybe it wants to push us. Maybe it wants soldiers. Survivors. Killers. But whatever it wants, it wants something. It's not some divine being. It's a system. It has rules. Flaws. Limits."
Sasesh's jaw tightened. "Then you're just a glitch in that system. The rest of us? We're moving forward. We're grinding. Getting stronger. Scraping for every drop of power like it wants. And you?" He shook his head. "You're spitting in its face just by standing behind the rest of us, hoping we'll cover for you."
The words hung in the air between them as the silence stretched on.
Cade didn't respond. There was nothing left to say. He didn't move. He didn't look at Sasesh. His hands were clenched at his sides, fingers tight enough to dig crescents into his palms. But he didn't speak.
Sasesh stepped away first, silent and slow. His boots squelched against the damp ground as he walked the edge of his earthen plateau, arms crossed behind his back like a soldier standing at parade rest.
Cade moved in the opposite direction.
He stopped near the old fire pit, where the coals still glowed faintly beneath the ash. He crouched, letting the heat brush his fingers as he stared into the dim orange embers, watching them flicker.
He hated that Sasesh's words made sense.
Hated how they echoed the thoughts already churning in his head.
It was only day three of the Tutorial—and already, Cade was so far behind.
The others had clearly received stats, bonuses, maybe even more Skills with their Classes. He didn't know the exact numbers, but he could feel the gap widening every time they moved. They weren't just faster—they were fundamentally better.
And their Races would level just as fast as his. Probably faster.
The few times they'd fought, Cade had barely participated. He stumbled through the cicada swarm but likely only received credit because they attacked him, he couldn't do anything to fight them off.
The System's rules were clear, no participation, no experience.
Even when he did try to help, he got in the way. Missed his throws. Alerted enemies. Made mistakes that could've gotten someone else hurt.
He didn't want to be the reason they failed. Didn't want to be the excuse that cost one of them their lives.
But what could he do?
He wasn't a healer like Amanda. He couldn't tank like Bryan. He didn't deal damage like Nadean, Kranti, or Kyle.
The only thing he might've been good at was observing—but even that niche was already filled. Professor Sanders had a Skill that let him analyze battlefield data in real time, allowing him to find weaknesses and call them out. Cade couldn't even cast [Inspect], let alone contribute tactically.
He couldn't identify plants so he couldn't even forage effectively.
He was useless.
A shadow behind the group, desperately clinging to relevance. Hiding in the warmth of people far more capable than him.
Cade closed his eyes. Sasesh hadn't told him anything new. He had just said it all out loud and now Cade couldn't unhear it.
He sat in silence for a long time.
The faint glow of the dying fire cast soft light across his face, making the moisture in his eyes glimmer faintly. The mist was thinning now, and the first pale traces of dawn bled across the sky, mixing gray and dull violet above the swamp.
Somewhere behind him, Sasesh paced the perimeter of his raised earth platform. The faint squelch of his boots came and went like a metronome.
Cade stared at the embers until the ache in his chest dulled into something heavier—something solid. His thoughts kept circling back, again and again, to Sasesh's words.
Then why don't you just leave?
Cade didn't belong here. He knew it. Everyone else knew it. Staying only made it worse—for him and for them. They were strong, and they'd keep getting stronger. He was barely surviving.
Cade let out a shaky breath and stood.
He looked over toward Sasesh, who was still standing guard near the edge of the plateau, his silhouette sharp against the swamp. Cade's legs felt numb as he crossed the short distance and stopped a few feet away.
Sasesh noticed him but didn't turn. "What do you want now?"
Cade didn't answer right away. He just sank down to sit beside him, legs crossed, arms resting loosely over his knees. The earth beneath him was cool. For a moment, the two of them just stared out into the bog, watching the soft reflection of the waning moon ripple across the stagnant pools.
Finally, Cade spoke.
"Before all this happened," he said quietly, "I was miserable."
Sasesh's expression didn't change.
"I hated my life," Cade continued. "Hated the work. Hated the lab. I spent years working toward something I thought mattered, but when I got there, it just… didn't. I felt stuck. Like if I quit, all those years of effort would've been wasted. But if I stayed, I'd drown."
Sasesh said nothing, but his jaw flexed slightly.
Cade gave a humorless laugh. "You know what I hated most, though?"
Sasesh looked over at him, silent.
"Myself," Cade said. "I hated that no matter how hard I tried, I could never keep up. Not with my sisters growing up, not in school, not in grad work—and definitely not with you. You were always faster, sharper, better. I tried, but it never mattered. It was like paddling upstream with a toothpick."
He exhaled slowly. "Sure, I graduated. Got the postdoc. But I've always wondered if my committee passed me just to keep their graduation stats clean. Like my only real success was a charity for them."
Sasesh's eyes flicked away.
"When I joined Professor Sanders' lab," Cade went on, "I thought maybe it'd be different. A fresh start. And for a while, it was fun. That competition we had—trying to outdo each other with results—that kept me going. But then it got clearer and clearer that I wasn't even in your league."
He smiled faintly, but it was brittle. "After a while, the pressure just broke me. The failures, the exhaustion, the burnout. I stopped pushing as hard. I stopped caring. I started hiding from people. From myself."
He looked down, fingers curling against his knees. "I used to spend hours online reading about stories like this—about awakenings, magic, and systems. Whole worlds where people could start over, where effort actually mattered." He laughed softly. "I used to wish it would happen to me. I thought maybe if I got a second chance, I'd finally get it right."
Cade's eyes flicked up toward the pale morning light. "Guess I got my wish. But I still failed."
For a while, there was only the soft whisper of wind moving through the reeds.
Then Cade said, "I'm sorry, Sasesh."
That made Sasesh turn to look at him fully, brow creased.
"I'm sorry for how things went in the lab. For making you pick up my slack. For quitting when it got hard. For letting you down. You didn't deserve that." He swallowed. "I know it's too late to apologize, but you were right about one thing—I forced you to carry more than you should've had to."
Sasesh's mouth opened slightly, as if to respond, but no words came out.
Cade went on, voice low but steady now. "An apology doesn't change anything, though. What matters is doing something. Taking action."
He stood. His legs trembled a bit, but his voice didn't.
"I'm leaving."
Sasesh's head snapped toward him. "What?"
"I'm leaving the group," Cade said again, his voice calm and steady now. "You were right. I don't belong here and I don't want to keep dragging everyone down. I don't want to live off pity or fake encouragement. Maybe I'll die out there—probably will—but at least it'll be on my own terms."
Sasesh stared at him, expression unreadable. The early dawn light caught in his eyes, making his brown eyes gleam faintly.
Cade continued, "When the others wake up, tell them I left for my own reasons. Tell them not to follow. Say I wanted to find my own path in the Tutorial. Maybe one day, we'll meet again."
He took a step back, glancing once more at the dome behind them—the faint hum of sleeping breaths from inside, the gentle rise and fall of peaceful chests.
These people were better off without him.
Cade looked back at Sasesh. "Good luck, Sasesh. And thank you for saying what you did. It hurt, but it needed to be said."
Then, before Sasesh could respond, Cade turned and walked toward the treeline.
His boots made almost no sound as they pressed into the wet earth. Within moments, the mist and the trees swallowed him whole.
Sasesh watched Cade vanish from sight.
The trees swallowed him quickly. Not even a silhouette remained.
Sasesh could still see clearly, even in the dark. His improved perception from [Stonebound Sentry] allowed him to see in low light better than any pre-System human. But the trees were dense and the fog within the woods too thick to penetrate. Even with all his upgrades, Cade was gone.
Good.
Sasesh exhaled slowly and sat back against the edge of his plateau.
His hands rested over his knees. For the first time since the Tutorial began, he felt a strange hollowness in his chest. Not regret. He wouldn't call it that. Cade had made his choice. Sasesh had simply spoken the truth aloud. Someone had to.
Still, the weight of it sat heavy on his shoulders. When the others woke up, what was he supposed to say?
Tell them I left for my own reasons.
Cade's words echoed in his head. It was a lie. But it was also easier. Cleaner. Cade had spared them the dramatics. He'd wanted the weight of his departure to be his alone.
Sasesh could respect that, at least.
He stood and resumed his walk along the edge of the plateau. The perimeter sloped gently into the muddy earth around them, elevated just enough to discourage the local fauna from casually stumbling in. It had taken effort to raise, but shaping earth was becoming second nature to him now. The mana cost was negligible and the structure remained intact even after the spell ended.
He ran a hand across the earthen wall as he walked, feeling the grain, the dampness, the subtle connection of mana that still tethered the platform to his core. He let his senses drift, extending through the plateau and into the ground beneath. He'd learned that trick the night before while on watch.
This morning, it whispered of movement on the south side. Two faint disturbances. No voices. No gear clink. Just the slight compression of footfalls in soft mud.
He turned sharply, eyes scanning the gloom, but he saw nothing.
Still, he trusted his magic.
Sasesh gripped his wand, dropped to one knee, and pulsed mana into the ground. The spell flared silently. Earth shifted—and collapsed.
A pit opened five meters ahead and a wet thud echoed up from below.
Sasesh approached the pit's edge, wand at the ready.
Two men crouched at the bottom, eyes wide and unblinking, blood-matted hair clinging to their foreheads. Their leather armor was cracked and stained. The fall hadn't broken them. They landed low, like predators. Blades already in hand.
Rogues. Quick and quiet.
They came here to ambush him while the others slept. Who knows what they would have done if they were successful.
Sasesh didn't speak. He watched them. Studied them.
They looked human—at least on the outside. But their eyes were glassy. Smiles crooked. Feral. The Tutorial had already started grinding away whatever humanity they'd once had.
How long had they been hunting? How many people had they killed already?
He looked back toward the misty treeline, where Cade had disappeared minutes before. The idiot was probably already lost—or dead. And if not, he would be soon.
But this? This was a gift.
These two would provide a tidy explanation for Cade's sudden departure.
Cade had been walking for hours now, guided by the thin light filtering through the canopy above. The wetlands were quieter now.
The artificial sun had climbed high in the sky, soft rays scattering across pools of still water and thick stands of cattails. The air smelled of a gross mixture between wet rot and wild mint. For the first time since the Tutorial began, he was truly and utterly alone.
His right hand gripped a thick heavy stick that was double the length of his forearm. The wood was dense, dark, and smooth to the touch. It wasn't much, but it was balanced and solid enough to serve as a makeshift club.
He kept moving southwest, each step sinking slightly into the mud before peeling free with a wet squelch. The path ahead wound through clusters of twisted cypress roots and low ferns. If the group had kept on toward the central lake, that meant they'd head northwest. Cade angled away from that direction. He didn't want to risk crossing paths with them—not so soon after leaving at least.
He decided he'd loop around. Head southwest until midday and then cut directly west toward the quadrant's interior. Toward the dome that had shimmered and enveloped the meeting point between biomes during the descent.
It was a stupid plan but at least it was his. And strangely, that was enough.
For the first time since being forced into this new reality, Cade felt light. The weight pressing on his chest for days—Sasesh's contempt, the others' worried glances, the constant shame of falling behind—had lifted. The emptiness inside him wasn't gone, but it felt clearer now. Quieter. Like a festering wound that had finally started to heal.
He wasn't fool enough to think this was sustainable. He knew the odds and he likely wouldn't last long. But at least his failure would be his own. That thought brought him more peace than he'd had since the System took them.
A sound broke him from his thoughts—a distant hiss, followed by the wet plops of something heavy moving through the shallows.
Cade froze.
Through a break in the reeds ahead, he caught a glint of shiny black chitin. A massive beetle, easily the size of a person, was plowing through the mud. Its wedge-shaped head shoved reeds aside creating a trail of crushed vegetation in its wake.
Cade ducked, lowering his body and holding his breath. The beetle's shell shimmered in the light. Its legs churned like pistons, the sound of each step vibrating faintly through the water.
Nope. There was no way he would take that thing on.
He backtracked carefully, slow and deliberate. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he forced his breathing steady and quietly slipped away until the noise faded.
That was the first creature he'd seen this morning and he wanted to stay far away.
After circling around the beetle's territory, Cade came into a small clearing lit by a sharp shaft of sunlight. A fallen log stretched across the center. At first, he didn't notice the creatures covering it—dozens of small, hand-sized lizards sunning themselves in the warmth. Their skin was a muted brown and glistening with moisture. With their bellies pressed flat they blended in with the pale half-rotten wood.
Cade crouched behind a cluster of vegetation and watched.
They didn't move. Not a single twitch.
It was almost eerie.
He felt a flicker of opportunity stir in his chest. These were small, probably low-risk. Maybe this was what he needed—something easy. Something he could kill.
Cade crept closer, careful to keep his steps as soundless as possible. The skink-like creatures didn't react even when he reached striking distance.
He grimaced, gripping the club in both hands. Sorry about this, he thought, and swung.
The impact cracked through the clearing, a dull thud that sent a shiver up his arms. The lizard exploded into pulp and blood. Before he could process it, a faint tone echoed in his ears and a System notification flared across his vision.
You have defeated [Siltscale Skinklet – Level 1].
Experience granted.
Cade blinked it away then swung again and again.
Some of the skinklets scattered, darting off of the log, but most stayed frozen—motionless and uncomprehending. Cade's club rose and fell, splattering the log in streaks of red viscera. His pulse hammered. His breath came fast. He didn't let himself think as he swung until none were left.
After the last one was pulverized, silence filled the clearing again. The club dripped viscous fluid. Cade wiped it against the grass and glanced at the new System message blinking in his periphery.
You have defeated 14 [Siltscale Skinklet – Level 1].
Experience granted.
He stared for a moment, waiting for the rush that was supposed to come with victory.
It didn't.
He wasn't proud of it. Beating creatures that couldn't fight back felt hollow. But for the first time, he had done something. His race might have earned a sliver of experience, not enough to give him a level, but it was more than he'd had before.
He left the clearing behind and pressed deeper into the swamp.
Hours passed until he came across another animal. This one was a hulking bison with a humped back and a matted coat the color of dried moss. It was large but had looked harmless enough until a thin wisp of green vapor leaked from the hump on its back. Even from a distance the smell of that green vapor made Cade's eyes water. He hadn't hesitated to turn the other way.
The sun crawled higher as he walked. Every now and then, he checked the direction of the light, making sure he was still heading southwest.
It wasn't long until Cade encountered another creature. He couldn't tell what it was as all he saw was a mud mound the size of a small house that breathed. Not loudly, but enough for the muddy hill itself to rise and fall like something massive was just below lying in wait. He hadn't waited to see what it was and promptly skirted around, deciding this was a good time to shift and begin heading west.
Eventually, the trees began to thin, replaced by stretches of ankle-deep water dotted with knuckled roots. Ahead, a massive tree loomed—its trunk gnarled and vast, bark folded in heavy ridges like the skin of an ancient beast. At its base was a dark opening, tall enough for even Bryan to easily stand inside. The entrance tapered upward like an inverted "V," a natural hollow above the waterline.
Cade frowned.
It wasn't the size of the tree that caught his eye—it was what lay within. Two figures. Human-shaped. Lying still inside the hollow's shadow.
He tightened his grip on the club and took a cautious step forward.
Cade stopped about three meters from the tree's base, crouching low behind a curtain of hanging moss. The water around his ankles was shallow here, clearer than most of the swamp.
The hollow in the tree's base was easily large enough to fit several people. Its interior rose high and tapered like an upside-down wedge. Shafts of sunlight spilled through gaps in the bark.
Two people lay inside.
At first glance, they looked like they were sleeping—each on their side, backs turned toward him. One on the left, one on the right. Both were facing the inner curve of the tree wall, almost mirror images of each other. Cade could make out leather armor, travel gear, and boots caked with mud.
They weren't moving.
Cade hesitated. His instincts screamed at him to keep walking—to pretend he hadn't seen them—but another voice whispered that he should say something. If they woke up and saw him looming nearby, they might attack on reflex.
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He took a cautious step closer and raised his voice just enough to carry.
"Hey," he called softly. "You two okay in there?"
No response.
He frowned. Maybe they were asleep. The hollow would make a decent shelter—above the waterline, sheltered from the wind. He could see why they'd picked it. He'd been lucky to have Sasesh's earth domes before; without them, sleeping out here would be miserable. The thought of laying in ankle-deep water all night made him grimace.
He tried again. "Hey, you awake?"
Still nothing. Not a twitch. Not even a shift in breathing.
Cade's grip on the club tightened. The silence felt wrong.
He glanced around the clearing—no movement, no sound of anything approaching—then slowly stepped forward until he stood at the edge of the hollow's opening. He stayed outside, unwilling to actually go in yet. The air within was still, heavy with a faint, metallic tang he didn't immediately recognize.
"Psst," he whispered. "Hey, come on, wake up."
No reaction.
He reached the club forward and gave the nearest figure's pair of boots an experimental nudge.
Nothing.
He pushed harder, shaking the leg. Still nothing.
Cade felt a chill creep up his spine. They have to hear me.
He leaned closer, squinting into the dim light. There was a dark pool beneath the body—at first he thought it was just shadow or trapped water, but the surface didn't reflect light like water should. It was thicker. Darker.
Something was wrong.
He swallowed, then extended the club and prodded the body's back.
The form wobbled loosely, then rolled over.
Cade's breath caught.
It was a man in his mid-thirties, his eyes half-open, his face slack. His throat had been slit from ear to ear. A clean-edged deep gash. The pool beneath him wasn't water. It was blood. Dark, half-coagulated, soaked deep into the hollow's wooden floor.
Cade jerked back a step, nearly tripping over his own feet. The air in his chest froze.
Dead.
He's dead.
He'd seen corpses before at funerals and the one cadaver lab he took in grad school but this was different. This was fresh. He forced down a rising wave of nausea and looked around wildly, scanning the swamp outside for movement. The shadows seemed to press closer. The hum of insects suddenly felt too loud.
Nothing moved.
He looked back at the tree. The second body still hadn't stirred.
"Shit," he whispered.
His heart hammered. What had killed him? A beast? A person? Some sort of magical trap in the hollow?
After a moment, Cade forced himself to breathe again. If something had killed these two, it wasn't here now or it would've attacked him already.
Still, he wasn't about to take chances.
Keeping one hand tight on his club, he crouched again and peered deeper inside. The man lay sprawled near the left wall, still clutching a weapon—a long-hafted axe with a double head, one side a wedge of metal, the other a sharp spike. The weapon looked heavy, but solid. The man's armor matched—thick leather reinforced with metal studs. He looked built for melee combat, a frontliner.
Cade's stomach turned. Whatever, or whoever did this had slit his throat before he could even swing.
He turned his attention to the other body on the right side. This one was smaller, a woman by her frame, dressed in lighter armor of flexible leather. An old-fashioned wooden longbow was cradled loosely in her arms. A quiver of arrows rested between her and the tree wall.
She was lying on her side, facing away. Her chest didn't rise.
Cade didn't want to look. But he had to know.
He reached the club across the hollow and nudged her shoulder. Nothing. He pushed again, harder. The body shifted, rolling onto its back with a wet sound as it slid through the pooled blood.
Her throat was cut too.
Cade flinched, stepping back instinctively. The smell of iron he'd been ignoring hit him full in the face, thick and nauseating. He looked away, forcing air through his teeth.
"Fucking shit," he whispered. "What the hell happened to you two?"
He didn't see any signs of struggle. Whoever killed them did it cleanly—quickly. Maybe in their sleep. Maybe it was someone they trusted.
He stared for another long moment before realizing how quiet his mind had gone. Fear had burned away into cold practicality.
They were dead. And they weren't using their gear anymore.
The thought came unbidden, shameful—but logical. His fingers tightened around the club as he stared at the axe, the bow, the armor. All of it was real equipment given by the System. He could survive longer with that gear than without it.
Still, he hesitated.
Taking from them felt wrong. But so was dying for lack of it. Desperation gnawed at him louder than the guilt.
He stepped back out of the hollow and drew a long, shaky breath, forcing the bile down.
He needed to be smart. If the killer was still nearby, sticking around was suicide. But so was entering the hollow if whatever killed them was inside. If he pulled the bodies out, he could loot them quickly without exposing himself to any potential traps that lay within.
He looked once more at the two bodies.
"Sorry," he murmured. "I don't know what happened to you. But I'll make sure your things aren't wasted."
He stepped closer, braced his feet against the slick ground, and reached for the man's boots.
The body was stiff. Rigor mortis had set in meaning they died at least a few hours ago but no more than a day or two.
Cade exhaled slowly and started to pull. It took some coaxing but eventually he was able to pull the man's body out into the open.
The leather was soaked through, slick with blood and swamp water, but Cade didn't let himself hesitate. He crouched and tugged hard, his fingers slipping on the soles until, finally, the first boot came free with a heavy squelch. The body shifted slightly, the arm flopping against the ground.
The second boot took longer. Rigor mortis had set in deep—the man's legs locked stiff, the muscles refusing to yield. Cade had to brace a knee against the ground and pull until the leather slid loose.
He stared down at the man for a long moment after that, chest tight.
"Sorry," he said under his breath, and then started on the armor.
It was heavy—real leather reinforced with bands of metal riveted along the chest and shoulders. Sweat and blood had darkened it nearly black, and it reeked of iron and musk. Cade undid the straps one by one, his movements methodical. He tried not to look at the face. Tried not to think about the fact that the man's eyes were still half open.
When he finally pulled the armor free, he wiped the inside with a damp scrap of his own shirt before sliding it on. It was too big across the shoulders, loose around the arms, and a little tight in the midsection where Cade's belly filled it out more than the man's muscular frame had.
Then came the axe.
It was heavier than he expected. The haft was worn smooth with use, and the head gleamed in the filtered light. One side a broad, brutal blade, the other a tapering spike built to pierce through armor.
Cade gripped it with both hands and tested the motion.
The axe dragged him more than he controlled it—its momentum pulling his swing wide, awkward, and off-balance. It was clearly meant to be wielded one-handed by someone stronger, someone with the stats to make it look effortless.
Unwieldy or not, it was better than a stick.
He found a leather loop attached to the side of the armor—a weapon holster—and slid the axe into it. It wasn't perfect, but it kept his hands free.
Next, the woman.
Cade pulled her out of the hollow more carefully, unwilling to jostle her the way he had the man. Her smaller frame made her easier to move but Cade still struggled to get her out in the open. After a few minutes of maneuvering he was able to lay her down next to the man.
Her armor was lighter—cleaner, more flexible, built from layered hides shaped for movement. It looked well-made, but too small for him.
That, and stripping the man had been unsettling enough. Stripping the woman of her armor felt different. More wrong for some reason.
Cade stood still for a moment, the thought pressing at the edge of his mind. Was that a double standard? Maybe. But out here, with death still thick in the air, he didn't have the luxury of debating morals and biases.
He pushed the thought aside and focused on what he could take without crossing the line—her weapons.
Her bow was still clutched in her hand. Cade pried it gently from her stiff fingers and laid it aside. The weapon was simple wood with a white wrapping at the center. The quiver at her hip held maybe twenty arrows, each feathered with blue fletching and tipped with triangular metal heads. When he ran a thumb along one, he accidentally drew a bead of blood.
"Ow! Damn that's sharp," he muttered while unconsciously bringing his thumb to his mouth.
He looped the quiver's strap over his shoulder. It sat awkwardly against the armor, but it would work. He picked up the bow, tested the string's tension. It felt taut and he could only partially draw it back, but it was better than nothing.
His father's archery lessons came back in flashes. His dad had tried to get Cade into bow hunting when he was a teenager but he'd never been a good shot. He knew enough not to shoot himself in the foot and that was about it.
Finally, he spotted a slim dagger strapped to the outside of the woman's leg. He hesitated, then unbuckled it and slid it free. The blade was thin but wickedly pointed, the leather sheath smooth from use. He slid it into a side pocket on his new armor where it fit loosely but within reach.
He took a step back and surveyed the two bodies.
A quiet shame burned in his chest, but he pushed it down. He couldn't afford to dwell.
Cade looked at them both—at the man's half-open eyes and the woman's still expression—and spoke softly.
"I'll put your things to good use," he said. "And if I find whoever did this to you, I'll make sure to make them pay for what they did. I promise."
His voice barely carried, swallowed by the swamp's damp stillness.
He thought briefly about burying them. But the ground was too wet, too thick with roots and muck. He had no tools and no time to spare. Even dragging them out of the hollow had been exhausting and time consuming. The swamp would claim them soon enough.
Cade adjusted the axe at his hip, slung the bow over his shoulder, and turned away.
He didn't look back.
Each step through the shallow water felt heavier now, but the weight of the armor, the weapons, even the mud dragging at his boots—it all grounded him. Reminded him he was still moving.
Still alive.