The guard's knuckles rapped against the wood again.
From inside, the ragged voice groaned."Who is it? I told those people not to mind me."
"I don't know—maybe a lost refugee," the guard answered, smirking. His next words twisted my stomach."You might make it a feast if you saw her."
…A feast?
My skin crawled beneath the robe.The silence in the hallway stretched like a noose around my neck.
I knew it.Knew exactly where this was heading.
No crops. No livestock. The chained women.This wasn't a stronghold—it was a cage.
And now, I was knocking on the lion's den myself.
The hinges whined as the guard shoved me inside and slammed the door shut behind me.
I froze.
In the center of the room sat a man who could only be described as… obscene.Layers of fat spilled over the arms of his chair, his cheeks glistening with sweat despite the cool air. The stench of grease and sour wine clung to him like a cloak.
This was the Commando?This… fat pig?
My mind raced. Outside, people starved, their bodies wasting away to skin and bone—yet here he was, feasting on their misery. A plate of meat scraps sat half-finished at his side, juices staining his already-filthy tunic.
His small, greedy eyes fixed on me like I was another dish set before him.
"Oh, finally… a delightful feast indeed," the Commando crooned, his greasy lips curling as his eyes traced me like a starving dog sizing up a carcass.
"I don't appreciate compliments here," I snapped back, my voice sharp despite the mask.
He chuckled, a wet, throaty sound. "It's a shame your face is hidden. But oh… even that veil cannot hide the vigor you kindle in me." His fat fingers twitched on the armrest, as if already imagining reaching.
My stomach twisted. This wasn't admiration—this was hunger.
And I swear, no matter how weak this avatar feels, no matter what this Lobby throws at me—I'll trample this pig's face into the ground.
He slammed his fist on the armrest, the wood groaning. "Don't play coy with me, girl! Remove that mask!"
My hands curled into fists inside my robe.
"I said take it off!" he barked, spittle flying from his jowls. "Show me your face. Dance if you must—give me a show worth the food you'll eat tonight. Or do you think you're too noble to entertain your Commando?"
The walls seemed to close in as the pig's eyes narrowed, his breath heavy with impatience.
Inside, my chest was pounding. I could feel the avatar trembling, desyncing under the pressure. But I clenched my teeth.
I am me, not some doll for this pig's pleasure.
If this bastard thinks I'll bow to him—then he's the one who will bleed in this room tonight.
"You must be mistaking me for someone else," I said quietly. "I didn't come here to dance. And I didn't come here to obey."
His grin faltered, just for a moment, before turning into a sharp snarl.
"You little—"
I threw some stones I had sharpened on my way here.
"Arghh!" The Commando grunted, clutching his arm where one lodged deep into his flesh.
"You bitch," he snarled, his jowls trembling with rage. He raised his palm toward me, fat fingers curling unnaturally.
The ground beneath me pulsed. A glowing circle of glyphs erupted under my feet, its edges burning hot against the mud.
Shit.
The circle flared—then detonated.
The blast tore the air apart, flinging me through the wall and out into the muddy street. My back screamed in pain as I hit the ground, mud caking my face, my chest tight from the impact.
Through my blurred vision, I saw him emerge from the wreckage of the door, his massive frame outlined by the haze of smoke.
The Commando. That fat pig. His hand still glowed with threads of magic, dripping sparks as if he'd just torn power from the world itself.
"You dare draw my blood? A refugee rat?" His guttural voice shook the air.
Around us, villagers gathered, their eyes glimmering not with pity but morbid excitement. The guards chuckled, gripping their spears, watching like hyenas circling a wounded deer.
The Commando sneered, extending his arm toward me again.
"Entertain me more. Crawl, beg, break for my amusement."
The circle began to form again beneath me, its lines carving into the ground with violent light.
The circle exploded, fire and light swallowing me whole.
Or at least, that's what they thought.
The Commando's grin froze as I stepped out of the smoke, brushing ash and dust off my robe. A tear spread across the hem—too bad, it was the only decent clothing I'd scavenged.
"You… how dare you survive that," the pig hissed, his beady eyes narrowing.
"Well… I suppose I was lucky." My voice came steadier than I expected.
But it wasn't luck. Not entirely.
My Sense caught the rising heat seconds before the glyph erupted, warning me like a sixth instinct. My skin prickled, my ears rang, my body screamed at me to move.
And Agility—that overlooked stat—gave me just enough to twist my body out of the circle's heart before the core ignited.
I landed rough, scraped and winded, but alive.
"Impossible," he growled, lifting his fat, glowing hand again. "A worm with no class, no affinity—daring to defy me?!"
Around us, the guards muttered in disbelief, their eyes darting between me and their master. The villagers stayed hushed, frozen, waiting for blood to spill.
I clenched my fists. Strength: 4. Speed: 3. Nothing impressive. But I could read the flow of his magic now. His movements weren't random—Sense mapped them, like ripples on a pond. And Agility… Agility could answer it.
This fight wasn't brute against brute. It was predator versus prey.
And I refused to be prey.
Too bad for this pig, there's one function even great Interlinkers scoff at. A function most tossed aside like trash because they never understood how to use it.
Outline.
A strange little window that flickers into view, giving you only two seconds of insight before vanishing. Most say it's useless, redundant compared to the cheap "Study" skill Interlinkers could buy once they gained their class.
Study tells you what something is. Outline tells you what it means.
Its reasons. Its fractures. Its flaws.
Most ignore it because it doesn't apply outside this realm. But right now? I wasn't in the outside world. I was here—living, breathing, cornered in this rotten village with a fat bastard about to roast me alive.
"Outline," I muttered.
[System function activated]
The window flickered before my eyes. A crude sketch of the Commando's bloated body appeared, pulsing red in certain spots. Two seconds ticked down.
– Weakness: Over-reliance on chant delay. His magic triggers slower if interrupted.
– Weakness: Obesity strains stamina. Cannot sustain prolonged combat.
– Weakness: Ego-driven. Easily provoked into reckless casting.
The window faded.
Two seconds. That was all.
But it was enough.
I smirked beneath the Interlinker mask, finally seeing through the pig's performance. He wasn't some unstoppable mage. He was a brute with tricks, hiding behind fat and fear.
"Why aren't you attacking, Commando?" I called, my tone mocking. "Or is the great sorcerer too busy catching his breath?"
His face twisted red. "You… insolent wench!"
The glyphs on his hand flared again—but slower, shakier, easier to read.
Agility. Sense. And Outline. That was my edge.
My Strength and Speed might be below average, but the system isn't that one-dimensional.
If you can't crush in one hit, you stack.If you can't chase with speed, you time your strikes.
Accumulation.
Every hit that lands within a three-second window builds on the last. The system counts it as one fluid assault—compounding damage, momentum, force. A combo.
It's not about swinging hard. It's about never letting the target breathe.One… two… three… keep the rhythm, and even weak hands can break down walls.
Most Interlinkers overlooked it because they relied on raw stats. Why master the timing when you could just hit like a truck from the start?
But me? I had no truck. I had a body that barely carried itself.So I learned the rhythm.
I tightened my grip on the robe's fabric, feeling the air in my lungs, the pulse of the bastard's glyphs lighting up again.
"One… two… three," I whispered, almost like a chant of my own.
The combo wasn't just a mechanic. It was a tempo.A song that, if played right, could tear this fat mage apart piece by piece.
Similar to how i-frames work in a fighting game, Accumulations rely on the timing of an Interlinker's attack. Miss the rhythm, and it's nothing but wasted effort. Hit it just right, and the system registers a chain of blows greater than their sum.
I might still be stumbling in this body—slender arms, heavier chest, every step feeling just a little delayed—but this should be enough.
The Commando sneered, gathering another glyph in his swollen palm. "Let's see you survive this one, bitch."
I exhaled. One… two… three…The rhythm wasn't in his spell. It was in mine.
My hand snatched a loose shard of stone from the ground—first strike.I dashed forward, letting the Agility stat carry me into a roll beneath his arm—second strike as I jabbed the stone into the soft meat of his thigh.His scream opened the third beat. My knee rammed into his gut, weak on its own… but within the window, it didn't need to be strong.
[Accumulation triggered.][Damage output amplified.]
The glyph fizzled in his palm as the system rewarded my timing. His body bent over, not from a single blow, but from the chain of three in perfect succession.
I staggered back, breathing hard, robe half-torn from the earlier blast. This female body was sluggish, awkward—but if I kept the rhythm, if I kept chaining… I could dance this bastard to the ground.
The system prompt still flickered in the corner of my vision—
[Accumulation triggered].
Good. That meant theory worked.
But theory alone won't kill a pig.
The Commando stumbled back, clutching his thigh, rage twisting his fat face. His hands were already moving again, carving crude shapes of fire and ash in the air. No time to breathe, no time to overthink.
I scanned the room—Outline flickered for two seconds.
[Cracks in ceiling beam: unstable.]
[Weapon: rusted chain, within reach.]
[Enemy's left knee: weak point—old injury.]
That was all I needed.
I dove sideways, snatching the length of chain from a pile of broken wood. Improvised weapon, heavier than I liked, but with Agility the weight became rhythm. The Commando's spell lashed out, a line of flame tearing across the muddy street where I had stood.
"One… two…" I whispered to myself, letting the chain whirl.On the third beat, I snapped it forward. The links sang as they wrapped around his injured knee.
He roared, magic sputtering. That was the improvisation—using trash as a weapon. The method came next: pulling hard, jerking him off balance, then closing the gap before his hands could form another glyph.
Knee—first strike.Chain whip to the face—second strike.Palm strike to his throat—third strike.
[Accumulation triggered.][Damage amplified.]
Blood and spit flew from his mouth as he toppled to one knee, glaring up at me with disbelief. "You… you fight like a rat—clawing, biting—"
"No," I said, chest heaving as I tightened my grip on the chain. "I fight like someone who doesn't have the luxury to lose."
The chain rattled in my grip, my breaths sharp and uneven. Outline flickered again for two seconds—just enough:
[Enemy balance: compromised. Left arm slower than right.]
[Accumulation window: active—3 seconds.]
Good. That meant I had a chance.
I lunged forward.First strike—knee again, the chain smashing against bone.Second strike—an elbow to his gut, forcing the air from his lungs.Third strike—a stone jabbed into his cheek.
[Accumulation ×3]
He swung a fat arm wildly, nearly clipping me. My Sense screamed—two meters, incoming—so I ducked under, rolled to his flank.
Fourth strike—heel kick to his bad leg.Fifth strike—chain wrapped and yanked across his throat.
[Accumulation ×5 achieved.][Amplified damage triggered.]
The chain bit into his neck, the system pulsing as the fifth strike landed. His body shuddered under the amplified force, blood rushing to his face as he struggled for breath.
"Wha—what are you—" he gagged.
"Not strong," I hissed, tightening the chain. "Not fast. Just stubborn enough to learn the system."
The amplification burst like a recoil through my arms, the Commando's body slamming back against the cracked wall, stone dust falling over him. He gasped, flailing, his magic circles sputtering and fading like dying sparks.
[Enemy severely weakened.]
My hands shook, sweat pouring down my face. That was five. My first real chain of hits. And it worked.
But I could already feel the weakness of this method—it demanded everything: timing, breath, body control. Miss even one beat, and the system wouldn't save me.
The Commando staggered, spittle and blood dripping from his lips as he clawed at the crushed wall for balance. His small eyes glared at me, rage burning through the fat folds of his face.
"You… you little insect," he wheezed, coughing out a glob of red. "I'll… tear you apart!"
A circle sputtered alive under his palm again.
Outline flickered.[Target condition: Fatigued. Vitality unstable.][Accumulation window: still possible.]
I clenched the chain tighter. "Then try."
I darted in.First strike—chain whip across his jaw, snapping his head sideways.Second strike—a stone jabbed into his ribs where the fat didn't shield.Third strike—elbow to his throat, cutting off the start of a chant.
[Accumulation ×3]
He reeled, but swung blindly. I slipped under it, Sense guiding me like a thread.
Fourth strike—heel smashed into his knee, the crack echoing.Fifth strike—chain wound tight around his skull, then slammed down against the floor.
[Accumulation ×5 achieved.][Amplified damage triggered.]
The force rippled through him like a breaking wave. His body jerked once, twice, then collapsed, blood pooling beneath the folds of his ruined flesh. The magical circles winked out entirely, leaving only silence and his final rasping breath.
[Enemy terminated.][Experience fragments gathered.]
I stood over him, chest heaving, the chain slipping from my bloody hands. My robe was torn, ash and mud sticking to my skin, but my body was still intact.
Two full accumulations. Ten hits in perfect timing.
I stared at my trembling hands. "…So this is what it takes."
The system chimed faintly in my ear.
[Hidden condition met: First Accumulation Execution.][Progress towards Lobby of Faith—updated.]
[Finish the scenario]
Finish?
I took a glance at the guards still frozen by the doorway. Their eyes darted between me and the fat heap of flesh that used to command them.
"Scram," I said coldly.
The tone in my voice was enough. Their hesitation broke and they scattered into the night like frightened rats, boots slapping against mud.
The civilians outside stood still, trapped between fear and awe. None dared approach, none dared speak. Their silence pressed down on me heavier than any weapon.
But I still had one more task.
I turned back inside the center tower. The air was thick, suffocating, yet quieter without his presence. My steps echoed until I reached the lower cells. The jail was dim and damp, iron chains clinking as I drew closer.
Behind those bars were women—skin pale, robes torn, their eyes blank as if life had already left them. At first, they flinched when I drew near. But as I forced the cage open, their expressions shifted… the faintest spark of humanity returning.
Tears. Whispers of relief. The sound of gratitude trembling through the hollow space.
I worked through each chain one by one until only the last remained. She was young, perhaps in her twenties, eyes trembling yet filled with something deeper—recognition.
As the shackles fell away, she rubbed her wrists, staring at me as if memorizing my figure.
"Thank you… for coming here and letting us escape."
Her words caught me off guard. I stayed silent for a breath before replying, "Don't mention it."
She gave a small smile—fragile, fleeting. "Still… we can finally be in peace."
"In peace?" I repeated, my brow furrowing.
Her hand reached up, trembling, brushing gently against the edge of my mask.
"Let the goddess behind your beauty be praised," she whispered.
"She will be praised," I answered, unsure what weight her words carried—perhaps a prayer, perhaps a farewell.
"Thank you… for freeing us from the past."
"Wait… past? What do you mean?"
Her voice softened as her body began to shimmer faintly. "We could not move on to the afterlife… trapped by the devil who chained us here."
My eyes widened. Too late, I realized what she meant.
"I… I'm sorry. I was late—"
"Don't be," she interrupted with a small, knowing smile. "The ruined temple to the north of this village… go there."
Her form fragmented into glowing shards, scattering into the dark like broken glass reflecting starlight. One by one, the other women followed, fading into freedom.
I stood in the silence they left behind, only the echo of chains on the floor to remind me they had ever been here at all.
[Faith Lobby Quest has been completed][You may freely exit. Just state the command.]
The pop-up window lingered in front of me, its light almost mocking.I let it stay. My eyes didn't leave it for a while, but my decision was already made.
I couldn't leave yet.
The ruined temple called to me.
The northern edge of the village was nothing but rubble and ash, yet in the center of it all, a structure still clung to existence. The air was thick with soot, and the silence pressed heavier the closer I got.
And then—I found it.
A chamber still intact. The only room untouched by ruin.
The place glowed faintly with an unnatural light, blue flames dancing along sconces without smoke or heat. They illuminated a statue that dominated the center, standing just behind a sealed chest.
The altar itself was circular, engravings spiraling inward until they touched the base of the chest. As though everything here revolved around it.
The statue was of a woman cloaked in a veil that hid her face. Her stance was regal, almost divine.
Her right hand raised a sword unlike any I had ever seen. Its blade curved with deliberate scars, sharp slashes carved along both edges as if it had been designed for cruelty and elegance at the same time. Down its center ran a crimson line—glowing faintly, pulsing like a vein. The hilt curved into the shape of a crescent moon.
Her left hand clutched a book. The cover bore intricate lines, patterns too foreign for me to recognize, yet I felt an almost physical pressure radiating from it—knowledge locked away, daring to be understood.
Sword. Book. Opposites bound in one statue.
Ceremonial artifacts? Maybe. But something in me whispered otherwise.
The longer I stared, the more my chest tightened—as if the statue itself was watching me from behind its veil.