VI
I woke up to the faint light streaming through the curtains, and the first thought that struck me was simple yet pressing: I needed a bodyguard. While my Time-Stop skill was useful, having someone to watch my back in this unpredictable world seemed like a prudent idea.
For example, what if I was attacked while asleep?
Stretching out of bed, I glanced at the suit draped over the back of a chair and groaned. Splotches of paint from last night's impulsive artistic venture had stained the fine fabric. Painting in formal wear? What was I thinking? With a sigh, I searched the wardrobe in my suite. To my relief, I found simpler suits neatly sealed in plastic. Not as eye-catching, but they would do.
After changing, I made my way downstairs for breakfast. Shinemere Inn was less of an inn and more of a high-class hotel. The breakfast spread was luxurious, and for once, I felt like indulging. Of course, I paid for it. This wasn't Silvermire Inn, where they'd shortchange you with everything. Every detail here was crafted to subtly squeeze more worths out of the guests. Even the complimentary chocolates displayed in the room were likely traps for exorbitant charges if touched. I left them alone.
After breakfast, I approached the front desk and settled my bill for the suite, paying for two additional nights in advance. "Room 207," I informed the clerk. "I've left some personal belongings in the room—a wrapped painting and art materials. Please ensure they remain untouched." The clerk nodded with a professional smile, but I knew better than to trust anyone blindly. I made a mental note to keep track of the painting, though I doubted anyone would go through the trouble of unwrapping something that looked like a mundane package.
The stained suit was next on my list. I found a laundromat nearby that specialized in dry cleaning, and the clerk there assured me it would be ready by tomorrow.
With my errands done for the morning, I walked back into the bustling streets of Amsten. The city was alive with chatter, carts rolling over cobblestones, and the occasional sound of hammering from nearby forges.
My mind drifted back to my earlier thought—finding a bodyguard.
So, I walked.
The air was heavy with the stench of rot and dampness as I walked through the slums of Amsten. The bustling life of the city seemed a distant memory here. The streets were narrower, the houses cruder, and the people wearier. This part of town wasn't for the faint of heart, but I wasn't here to play hero—or victim. The idea of hiring a bodyguard lingered at the back of my mind, but for now, I had a more pressing plan.
I traced the pathways from my memory, piecing together the mental map I'd built in the countless hours spent playing Questworks. As I walked, I kept my eyes peeled for a shovel. Buying one was unnecessary when the skill of theft came so easily now. I spotted one leaning against the side of a shed, conveniently unattended. A quick glance confirmed no one was watching, and I snatched it up. Another guilty pleasure added to the growing list.
A few more turns and twists, and I found it: a dirt path leading out of the slums.
"Found it," I muttered to myself, gripping the shovel tightly.
The squat, decrepit buildings gave way to a sparse line of trees, and soon I was surrounded by a makeshift forest. My pace quickened, my memory guiding me to a small clearing.
And there it was—a lone, dilapidated cross jutting out of the ground, marking an unnamed grave.
This was it. Time for some good old-fashioned grave robbing.
The sweat began to bead on my forehead as I dug into the hard, unyielding earth. Being Level 1 didn't make this any easier; my strength was limited to that of an average adult. While my stats might have been slightly buffed compared to a regular civilian, it didn't change the fact that I was a long way from superhuman. The work was grueling, and I had to pause frequently to wipe the sweat from my brow.
"Whew~! This better be worth it," I muttered, pausing to catch my breath before continuing to dig. Finally, the sound of the shovel hitting something solid reverberated through the clearing.
I wiped the sweat from my face, grinning in satisfaction as I cleared away the remaining dirt. Beneath me lay a casket, its wooden surface weathered and cracked. I pried the lid open, my anticipation growing with each creak of the wood.
Inside lay the shriveled corpse of Stella Amsten.
Her name wasn't carved into the grave, but I knew it was her. This wasn't my first time digging up this grave—at least not in the traditional sense. In Questworks, this was part of the quest Legacy of Amsten, a storyline that delved into Stella's forgotten legacy as a vampire hunter and the founder of the city.
The gear she was buried in was just as I remembered it—prime vampire hunter equipment. The sight of it brought a rush of nostalgia, mixed with the thrill of knowing it was mine for the taking. In the game, you'd have to surrender everything—her gear, her journal, even her corpse—to complete the quest. But this wasn't a game anymore. There were no quest markers, no obligations, no rules.
I reached into the casket and carefully retrieved the journal, the key item for the Legacy of Amsten quest. Flipping through it, I found its contents indecipherable, written in some kind of code. No surprise there. It had always been a plot device in the game. I'd figure it out later.
My attention turned to her hand, where a black ring adorned her bony finger. The Dark Omens ring. I slipped it off her finger and held it up to the light. In the game, this ring was the only item the player was allowed to keep. It boosted wisdom, intelligence, and charisma while also granting a unique ability: the power to sense hostility. The effect manifested as an increased evasion rate, representing the player's heightened awareness of killing intent.
I slid the ring onto my ring finger. It was cold to the touch, but it fit perfectly.
I crouched by the casket, taking a moment to compose myself.
The shriveled corpse of Stella Amsten lay before me. My hands moved cautiously as I began frisking the body, a morbid task that, from a different angle, might've looked like I was fondling the dead. Not exactly my proudest moment.
Still, my efforts weren't in vain. This world was far more detailed than the game, and I suspected there might be treasures here that weren't part of the Questworks loot table. My fingers brushed against the hilt of a weapon, and I pulled out a gleaming rapier.
"Hello there," I muttered, holding it up to inspect its craftsmanship. The blade was polished to perfection, a testament to the care Stella—or someone else—had taken before her death. I set it aside on the dirt and continued my search.
Next, my hands found the hilt of a dagger, still sheathed. I unsheathed it with a practiced motion, admiring the blade's sharp edge—too sharp, as it turned out. My thumb brushed against it, and a small cut opened up.
"Damn it," I hissed, instinctively pressing my thumb to stop the bleeding. A single drop of blood escaped, falling directly onto Stella's face. Specifically, her mouth.
I froze.
The crimson droplet sat there for a moment before slowly being absorbed into her withered lips.
A chill ran down my spine. I stepped back, putting pressure on my thumb as my mind raced.
Nothing happened.
I exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. "Not a vampire," I muttered, trying to convince myself. Stella Amsten had been a blood mage, after all. But still, if she had turned out to be a vampire, it wouldn't have surprised me. The lore didn't explicitly say so, but tropes and clichés had a way of creeping into stories like this.
I climbed out of the grave, shaking off the unease. That's when I noticed something that made my stomach drop.
The rapier was missing.
I turned back to the casket, dread creeping in.
The corpse was gone.
My breath caught in my throat as I instinctively gripped the dagger, its sheathe forgotten on the ground. My eyes darted around the clearing, scanning the shadows cast by the surrounding trees.
The wind stirred, carrying with it a faint rustle of movement.
I wasn't alone.
The presence circled me, staying just out of sight. The sun filtered through the canopy, its light dappling the ground. If Stella had somehow turned into a vampire, daylight would debuff her—or at least, I hoped it would.
"Stella?" I called out, my voice steady despite the tension in my chest.
No response.
I shifted my stance, dagger at the ready, and scanned the area again. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves.
Then, a whisper of movement behind me.
A sudden chill ran down my spine, sharp and unnatural. It wasn't fear—Dark Omens was working. Unlike in the game, where its effects were purely mechanical and based on probability, here it felt visceral, personal. I could sense the killing intent like a needle pricking the edge of my consciousness.
It hit me: the power of the ring wasn't just a passive stat boost anymore.
The second I felt that murderous intent, I activated my Time Stop skill. The world turned monochrome, freezing in its tracks. I scanned my surroundings, ready to move, but something was wrong.
A sharp prick on my neck.
I lunged forward in panic, narrowly avoiding whatever had grazed me. Turning around, I saw her—the shriveled form of Stella Amsten, her rapier poised mid-thrust. Her face, twisted with rage and hunger, was frozen in the eerie stillness of my skill.
"Definitely a vampire," I muttered, my voice steady despite the icy knot forming in my gut.
There was more flesh on her now than before, but she still looked like a skeleton with barely enough meat to hold her together. I glanced at her level display: Level 40.
For a legendary figure like Stella, that was pathetically low. In the game, she'd have been at least Level 90—a force to rival entire armies. At Level 40, she was more of a mid-tier threat. But that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous.
Hell. I'm a Level 1.
I brandished the dagger I'd taken earlier, its blade glinting faintly even in the monochrome stillness. My first instinct was to disarm her—literally. I tried prying the rapier from her fingers, but her grip was impossibly strong, unyielding even in a frozen world.
With no other option, I raised the dagger and swung at her sword arm.
The blade bit into her flesh with difficulty, as though her body resisted even in this state. I hacked at her arm, again and again, until the limb finally severed. The rapier hung in the air in stopped motion..
I stepped back, breathing heavily. "All right, let's be thorough," I muttered, wiping the sweat from my brow.
Dragging her back to the casket was the next logical step, but even in this frozen world, her body resisted my efforts. It was as though her momentum—her state in super speed—anchored her in place. Even her severed arm refused to budge when I tried to move it.
"Fine. Have it your way."
I turned my attention to her legs, slashing and hacking until I'd severed her feet. Her body became a grotesque mess of dismembered limbs, but I wasn't taking any chances.
Vampires had regenerative abilities, and I wasn't about to become her next meal.
I plunged the dagger into her chest, aiming for the heart. Then her throat. Then her eyes. I stabbed and slashed at every vital point I could think of, her body a macabre canvas for my desperation.
When I was satisfied—or at least as satisfied as one could be in this situation—I dragged the enchanted casket out of the grave and positioned it upright. With a bit of effort, I angled it perfectly so that when time resumed, her mangled form would fall straight into it.
"Now, the deciding moment," I said, gripping the dagger tightly.
I deactivated Time Stop.
The world roared back to life in an instant. Stella's body, propelled by the momentum she'd built before my skill activated, crashed into the casket with a sickening thud. Blood and chunks of flesh exploded outward, painting the ground in a gruesome display.
I didn't hesitate. Activating Time Stop again, I slammed the casket shut and locked it as best I could, using the rusty chains I found lying around.
The world fell silent once more.
I stood there, panting and covered in blood that wasn't mine. "Please work," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
The casket began to shake violently, a force inside thrashing against its confines. Green runes etched into the wood flared to life, glowing ominously as they absorbed and repelled the attacks. The air around me hummed with tension, the power of the enchantments straining to keep whatever was inside from breaking free.
I stepped back instinctively, clutching the dagger tightly. My breath came in short bursts as I waited, unsure if the runes would hold.
The shaking stopped.
Silence.
I let out a shaky breath, my nerves frayed but intact.
"Today has been... very eventful," I muttered to myself, my voice dry with exhaustion.
The casket remained still, the runes dimming to their dormant state. I stared at it for a moment, a mix of relief and dread washing over me. I was alive. That was what mattered.
And then it hit me.
"Ah, shit."
The journal. I'd left the journal inside the casket.
I ran a hand down my face, groaning at my mistake. There was no way I was opening that thing again—not after what just happened. At least I still had the dagger. Small consolation, but I'd take it.
I nudged the casket with my foot, tipping it onto its side with a heavy thud. The runes flickered faintly but didn't react. With a resigned sigh, I grabbed one end of the casket and began dragging it toward the grave.
The work was grueling. By the time I reached the original burial site, my arms were sore, and my legs ached from the effort. But I wasn't done yet.
I dug.
"Deeper is better."
The shovel bit into the dirt, over and over again. I worked until the sun began its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but I ignored it, driven by the need to finish what I'd started.
By the time I'd dug twelve feet down, my muscles burned, and sweat drenched my clothes. I lowered the casket into the grave, its enchanted surface catching the last rays of sunlight.
And then I filled the hole with dirt.
"Rest in peace."
Funny enough, it seemed that wouldn't be the case anymore.
With the casket buried, I turned my attention to the grave marker. I pried it loose from the ground and carried it as far as I could, tossing it into a nearby thicket. If someone stumbled upon this site, I didn't want them to know what was buried here.
I stood over the freshly filled grave, hands on my hips as I surveyed my work.
"And here I thought grave robbing might be the perfect job for me," I muttered, shaking my head.
Clearly, it wasn't.
It would be a long time before I even thought about grave robbing again.