"I'm telling you, lad, my rewards are top-shelf. You won't find better in these parts."
Old Sergej leaned in, his voice dropping to a gravelly conspiratorial tone. "Entry into Ashfall Town alone will set you back ten Velar. Joining the Mercenary Guild? Another ten. You won't find a lick of honest work otherwise."
He gestured to the bundles of greenery on the table. "Now, if you just want the coin, fine, you'll get your pay, but you won't learn a damn thing about harvesting these herbs. If you want the knowledge to go with the silver, you'll have to pay for the privilege like everyone else."
The player looked sheepish, shifting his weight as he stammered out an apology. "Grandpa Sergej, you've got it all wrong. I—I really do appreciate the reward, truly."
"Hmph. I know your type," Sergej grunted, eyes narrowing. "You youngsters are all the same, too ambitious for your own good, dreaming of the big cities, but a man should only eat what he can digest. Even if you make it to the city, can you even swing the three Velar a day it costs just to keep a roof over your head and a hot meal in your belly?"
The player suddenly found his boots very interesting and could not meet the old man's gaze.
Sergej sighed, his mood shifting to one of genuine curiosity. "Though, there is one thing I've been meaning to ask... why in the gods' names is your name 'Potat0_Lord'?"
---
It had taken a dozen clumsy strikes to find the groove, but he was finally in the zone. He wasn't just swinging blindly anymore; he was working with the rock, saving his strength instead of burning it all on stubborn stone.
A familiar, soft chime rang in his ears, and a translucent window flickered into view. A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
━━━━━━━━━━━ [ SKILLS ] ━━━━━━━━━━━
Name: Mining
Type: Utility / Gathering Passive
Rarity: Common
LVL:03/10
Effects:
* Efficiency: Increases extraction speed by 5%.
*Yield: +3% chance to find [Raw Ore] instead of [Stone Rubble].
*Endurance: Reduces Stamina drain by 4% when using mining tools.
*Maintenance: Slightly increases the Durability retention of Pickaxes.
Note: Requires 50 successful extractions to level up.
(Current: 01/50)
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"Adrien, are you still sour with me?" Vera's voice cut through the rhythmic clinking of the mine, instantly ruining his concentration.
"Vera, focus on the coal." Adrien snapped.
"It's hard to focus when your scowl is vibrating the air, Adrien. Just tell me what's wrong."
"You know exactly what's wrong."
"No," she sighed, leaning on her pickaxe. "I really don't."
Adrien spun around, his eyes blazing in the dim lantern light. "What possessed you to accept that quest from Gabrijela?"
Vera rolled her eyes, a gesture of casual dismissiveness that only stoked his anger. "You're still on about that? It's just a quest, Adrien, a simple delivery."
"It is not just a quest, you're playing with fire."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you? Then explain to me why you agreed to become her courier."
"Why not?" Vera countered. "Besides, because of that, you managed to charm your way into the library and some extra coin."
Adrien's voice dropped to a low growl. "I did that to make ourselves look expensive so they'd leave us alone, not so you could dive deeper into their drama. Why did you meddle?"
A flash of genuine heat crossed Vera's face. "Why? Maybe because I saw an opportunity to actually help someone for once!"
"Help?" Adrien's voice took on a mocking, jagged edge. "Maybe you—"
He caught himself, biting back the words before he said something that would leave a permanent scar on their partnership, and he took a steadying breath.
"Let's say this goes south, and let's say we get caught. Do you have any idea what happens next?"
"We will be penalised and punished," Vera said flatly.
"Punished?" Adrien began to pace the narrow tunnel, his boots crunching on grit. "Gabrijela will be 'punished' by being grounded to her silk-sheeted bed. Baroness Jovana will scream at her, and Marko will get a stern warning and a slap on the wrist. That's it."
He stopped and pointed a coal-stained finger at her. "But we aren't the Baroness's niece. W, and we aren't the Branch Manager of the Mercenary Guild. Marko won't lift a finger to save us, and the Baroness will make a bloody example of us to ensure no one else helps her niece smuggle love letters to some beau. Did you see the look of pure disdain Grabrijela gave us? And Marko, I wouldn't trust that man as far as I could throw this pickaxe."
Vera let out a long, weary sigh. "I get it. It's risky, but we'll succeed. Just have a little faith."
"Faith isn't a strategy, Vera. Can you guarantee we aren't just the bait? Can you guarantee Marko isn't using two no-name mercenaries to distract the Baroness's guards while the real courier slips out the back?"
"Now you're just being paranoid."
"I'm not being paranoid; I'm thinking ten steps ahead so we don't end up in a dungeon. If they kill us, fine, we respawn. If we're lucky, we respawn outside Ashfall and run for the border. But if she decides to throw us in a hole to rot? That's a game-ender."
Vera went quiet for a moment, the weight of his logic finally sinking in. "Fine. I messed up. If we're about to get caught, I'll eat the damn letter. No evidence, no crime."
Adrien froze, staring at her with a deadpan expression. "Oh, don't you worry. If it comes to that, I'll personally help you chew it."
They fell back into a tense silence, the only sound the rhythmic strike of iron on stone. Inwardly, Adrien knew why she'd done it. People of Gabrijela's pedigree were just birds in gilded cages, rarely allowed to choose who they loved, forever bound by bloodlines and status, and Vera had seen a bird trying to fly, and she couldn't resist the urge to help her.
They fell back into the rhythm of the work, the silence between them heavy with the dust of the mine. Eventually, the last of the coal was shovelled into the final hemp sack. Together, they hoisted the dead weight onto the rickety wooden cart, which groaned under the burden.
Vera wiped a streak of black soot across her forehead, leaving a dark smear against her pale skin. "I hope this is enough. If we have to come back down here for one more bag, I might actually just lie down and let the damp take me."
"It has to be enough," Adrien muttered, testing the weight of the cart. He gave it an experimental shove; the wheels screeched in protest. "Any more and we won't be able to move the damn thing, let alone get it up the incline."
Vera leaned against the cavern wall, her eyes drifting toward the tunnel leading to the surface. "I really wish we could have afforded that horse."
"Me too," Adrien grunted, adjusting his grip on the cart's handles. "But the math doesn't work, Vera. We put down a ten-Velar deposit just for this heap of junk on wheels. A horse would have cost fifteen to rent, and this quest only pays out seven to ten. We'd be paying for the privilege of breaking our backs."
Vera made a face, half-scowl and half-pity. "True. And did you see the state of them? Those poor beasts at the stable were so malnourished, I'm surprised they were still standing. It was horrendous."
"The joys of skipping the starter village," Adrien said dryly.
He braced his boots against the uneven stone floor, his muscles tensing. "Alright, let's haul this 'treasure' out of here before the lanterns flicker out."
The trek toward Ashfall was a gruelling slog. Adrien strained against the cart's leather harness, pulling with everything he had, while Vera braced her shoulder against the back, her boots slipping on the loose gravel of the trade road.
"I officially hate this game," Vera panted, her voice cracking with exhaustion. "First, those steam-crawlers, now this. My hands are actually going to fall off, Adrien. I'm not kidding, they're numb."
Adrien didn't answer. He couldn't. His breath came in ragged hitches, his focus entirely on the rhythmic crunch-thud of the wheels, but as they crested a small rise, his instincts screamed a warning.
A flash of steel in the treeline. The snap of a dry twig."AMBUSH!" Adrien roared and threw himself into a lateral roll.
A split second later, a rain of black-fletched arrows hissed through the space where his chest had been, thudding into the dirt with sickening force. Lead bullets tore through the air, one grazing his shoulder with a white-hot sting that drew a jagged line of red.
Vera froze for a heartbeat, her eyes wide, before the adrenaline kicked in. She yanked her revolver from its holster, the hammer clicking back with a lethal snick.
The world slowed to a crawl for Adrien, as a cold, crystalline clarity where every movement felt like a choreographed dance. An archer rose from the brush, fingers trembling as he drew his string. Before the man could even find his mark, Adrien's carbine barked once. A neat red hole appeared in the archer's forehead, and he slumped back into the ferns.
Without breaking stride, Adrien pivoted, his lever-action carbine coming up to his shoulder. Crack-crack. Two shots, two falling bodies in the shadows of the oaks.
"DIE, YOU BASTARD!"A massive bandit erupted from the thicket, his skin glowing with a sickly, sulfurous yellow, from some strange skill. He swung a rusted greataxe in a wide, murderous arc. At the same time, another bandit lunged from the opposite side, a jagged shortsword aimed at Adrien's kidneys.
Adrien didn't panic; these weren't as scary or higher-levelled as the knight from the crawler ambush. He blurred, dropping low, he drew his second revolver with his left hand while keeping the carbine levelled in his right. It was a symphony of lead. Two shots echoed as one, and both bandits collapsed mid-charge, their momentum carrying their lifeless bodies into the dirt at his feet.
A sharp, ragged scream tore through the air.
"AhhhHHH!"
Adrien's heart plummeted, and he spun to see Vera clutching her arm, a fletched shaft buried deep in her bicep.
"Vera!" Adrien's voice was a jagged edge of panic.
"Focus!" she hissed through gritted teeth, blood slicking her fingers as she leaned against the cart for cover. "Don't you dare worry about me! Finish them!"
At the edge of his vision, a flicker of orange light caught his eye. A bandit was striking a match, a glass bottle stuffed with a gasoline-soaked rag in his hand. Adrien didn't even turn his head. He fired a blind shot over his shoulder, guided by pure instinct.
The bottle shattered in the bandit's hand. A muffled woof of expanding flame followed, and the man's scream became a gurgling wail as he was transformed into a living torch, stumbling blindly into his own comrades.
Adrien didn't stay behind the cart, and like a predator, he sprinted toward the treeline, a ghost in the gunsmoke. He twisted his torso mid-air as a bullet hissed past his ear; he dove into a shoulder roll as arrows grazed his shins.
A 'potato-smasher' grenade tumbled through the air toward him, its fuse smoking. Adrien didn't flinch. He clamped his revolver between his teeth, caught the wooden handle of the grenade out of the air, and lobbed it back with a violent snap of his wrist.
He threw himself behind an ancient oak just as the forest floor erupted. The explosion was a deafening roar of dirt and shrapnel, followed by the heavy silence of the dead.
From behind the cart, Vera watched him, her breath hitching as she tried to wrap a scrap of cloth around her gushing wound, as she stared at the treeline where Adrien had vanished into the smoke.
Vera, who was trying to bandage her open and gushing wound, watched Adrien's movement in awe.
'Where did he learn to move like that? It was as if he were waltzing through the enemy's line of fire.'
The roar of the guns died away, replaced by the jagged, soul-shaking screams of the dying. Then, as the smoke began to curl lazily into the canopy, a heavy, deafening silence settled over the road.
Suddenly, the stillness was shattered, as a lone bandit burst from the treeline, his boots skidding wildly on the forest floor. Panic was etched into every line of his face, his eyes wide and unfocused, darting around for an escape that didn't exist. A raw, animalistic sob escaped his throat as he scrambled toward the open road, but he never made it.
Behind him, a shadow detached itself from the gloom of the oaks. Adrien lunged with the silent, terrifying grace of a predator. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his hand flashing upward.
The heavy blade of his machete punched through the back of the bandit's neck, the steel erupting from his throat in a spray of crimson. The man's scream died instantly, replaced by a wet, bubbling wheeze. With a cold, mechanical efficiency, Adrien braced a boot against the man's shoulder and wrenched the blade free.
The bandit slumped forward, the life draining from him as he hit the forest floor. Adrien stood over the fallen man for a fleeting second, his breath steady despite the violence of the encounter. He wiped the steel clean with a sharp motion, his eyes already scanning the surrounding trees for any remaining threats.
With the immediate danger having passed, Adrien rushed towards Vera's position to offer her his aid.