When I arrived at the North Outskirts, the first thing I noticed was the sheer number of people gathered there. Guards from the government stood near the entrance, watching the flow, while adventurers and clan members moved in and out constantly.
Different armor, different weapons, different auras—it was a chaotic mix of strength and intent. Some stood relaxed, chatting like this was routine, while others radiated a quiet danger even at rest.
Yet no one stopped me.
There was no inspection, no questioning—just a brief glance before they looked away. I was ignored, just another face in the crowd. It made sense. Thousands of people passed through here every day, all chasing power, money, or survival. If they tried to inspect everyone, they wouldn't last a single day.
This place wasn't governed the same way. It was no man's land—a border without ownership, where rules blurred and strength mattered more than authority. Because of that, people were allowed to come and go freely.
I walked deeper past the outer line of guards, and the atmosphere shifted almost immediately. There was less control, less structure—but more tension. That's when I started noticing the groups.
Clans.
You could recognize them instantly. Their insignias were displayed proudly on their shoulders, each one carrying its own design and meaning. Some symbols looked ancient, as if they had been passed down for generations, while others were newer, sharper, more aggressive. Power, identity, pride—it was all there.
They moved together. There was no doubt about it—they were organized, disciplined, and dangerous.
The North itself felt strange. A few houses still stood, but they were old, broken, and abandoned. Walls were cracked open, windows shattered, and doors hung loosely as if they had given up long ago. They were nothing more than empty shells now, remnants of a life that used to exist here.
But between those ruins, there was life.
Tents filled the spaces between buildings—dozens, maybe hundreds of them. Some were simple cloth shelters, while others were reinforced with frames and makeshift defenses. This was clan territory—temporary, but active.
And then I noticed something else.
Children.
They were young—too young. Some couldn't have been older than ten. Yet they were training like everyone else. Swinging wooden weapons, running drills, sparring under supervision. They fell, got back up, and kept going without complaint.
"…They're raising them here?"
I watched one child struggle to hold his stance, his small body trembling under the effort. The adults around him didn't step in. There was no hesitation, no pity.
That's how it worked here.
They threw them into danger early and forced them to adapt—or break. Growth came through survival, not comfort. The weak would fall, and the strong would rise.
Clans really were different.
Cold, efficient, and practical.
Not far from the tents, I spotted a fracture. It was subtle—a faint distortion in space, like the air itself had cracked. The space around it shimmered slightly, similar to heat waves rising from the ground.
So that's it.
My gaze lingered on it as a thought formed in my mind. Maybe this was why the North Outskirts weren't secured. Or maybe… they simply didn't want it secured.
This place functioned as a farming ground—a controlled chaos where people could harvest power. Monsters, experience, growth—resources you couldn't obtain within safe zones.
If something like this existed in the Deadlands—
it would be too much.
Too dangerous.
Not for beginners.
That place—
Was for veterans.
The kind who had already faced death…
and survived.
I exhaled slowly.
I had too many questions. Why was this allowed? Who actually controlled this area? How deep did this system go?
But there were no answers here. Only the ones in power knew the truth, and they weren't talking.
Hours passed as I walked, observed, and listened. I paid attention to how people moved, how they reacted, how they survived in this environment.
Eventually, I started noticing whispers.
Murmurs.
About me.
Even if they couldn't clearly see my face, a lone figure walking through the outskirts stood out. It was unusual.
"…He's alone?"
"…No team?"
"…Either strong or stupid."
Some eyes lingered on me longer than necessary, while others dismissed me entirely. At 5'6, I didn't exactly look like a child anymore.
So they assumed.
Wrongly.
I ignored them and continued searching for a vacant fracture—something not crowded or contested. I needed something manageable, something I could use to test myself.
Then I found one.
The distortion was faint and unstable, its energy noticeably lower than the others nearby.
Level 1.
Perfect.
I stopped in front of it, feeling the air around it shift slightly. It felt thin and unstable, like getting too close would pull you in whether you wanted it or not.
I took a slow breath, then another.
Prepared my body.
My mind.
My grip tightened around my weapon as my senses sharpened.
No distractions.
No hesitation.
I stepped inside.
For a brief moment, there was nothing but darkness. No sound, no sensation, no sense of direction—it felt like floating in an empty void.
Then light returned.
When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the outskirts.
I stood in a forest.
Tall trees stretched endlessly upward, their thick trunks towering above me. Their branches twisted together overhead, blocking most of the light and casting the ground in dim, uneven shadows.
The terrain was rough, with roots spreading across the ground like veins beneath skin. Leaves crunched under my feet with every step, dry and brittle.
The air felt heavy.
I didn't move immediately. Instead, I scanned my surroundings carefully, listening and feeling for anything out of place.
The forest didn't feel empty.
A faint breeze passed through, rustling the leaves—but even that didn't feel natural. It felt intentional. Like a signal.
Then I saw it.
A flicker of movement to my left.
A fox stepped out from the shadows. It was small and lean, its red fur dirty and matted, its body looking underfed. But its stance was sharp, alert.
And its eyes—
They glowed faintly.
Unnaturally.
Another appeared behind me.
Then another.
"…Tch."
I counted quickly.
Five.
Not a full pack, but more than enough in a place like this.
They didn't attack immediately. Instead, they began circling me slowly, moving with control and purpose. One stayed in front, two moved to my left, one positioned behind me—
And one disappeared.
My grip tightened.
These weren't normal animals.
They were thinking.
That kind of coordination wasn't instinct alone—it was learned.
Then it happened.
The missing one lunged from my blind spot.
Fast.
Too fast.
I reacted instantly, activating Quick Step, but I was just a fraction too slow. Its claws grazed my shoulder, sending a sharp sting through my body.
"Damn—!"
Before I could recover, two more rushed in from the front without hesitation. Their speed was unnatural, forcing me to step back and create space.
One leapt toward my throat.
I reacted on instinct.
I slashed.
The blade cut across its side, sending it crashing to the ground with a sharp cry—but it didn't die.
Tougher than expected.
Another attacked immediately after, forcing me to raise my weapon.
Claws scraped against steel with a harsh sound, and the impact pushed me back slightly. My footing slipped on the uneven ground.
They were chaining attacks.
Not random.
Not wild.
Coordinated.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to calm down.
Predict.
I focused, activating my observation as I studied their movements. Every shift in weight, every twitch of muscle, every change in rhythm—it all became clear.
They were working in sequence.
One distracted.
Another flanked.
"…Got it."
I adjusted my stance slightly, leaving a small opening—a deliberate weakness.
A bait.
One of them took it immediately, lunging straight for my chest.
Perfect.
I activate quckstep and twisted at the last second and thrust my weapon forward, piercing straight through its neck. It let out a sharp yelp before going limp.
Dead..
I kicked the body off my blade just as another lunged from the side. I turned and slashed deeper this time, cutting cleanly through as blood sprayed across the ground.
It dropped instantly.
The remaining ones hesitated.
That moment of hesitation was all I needed.
I moved first, closing the distance before they could regroup. One tried to run, but I chased it down without slowing.
Another jumped at me in desperation.
I use quickstep to sidestepped and countered with a single, efficient strike.
Dead.
Silence fell for a brief moment.
The last fox backed away slowly, growling low, its confidence gone. Its glowing eyes stayed locked on me, calculating, uncertain.
For a second, we simply stared at each other.
Then it turned and ran.
The forest grew quiet again, but the silence felt heavy, oppressive. The bodies lay scattered around me, blood seeping into the soil.