The ropes of the bridge were snapping. Creak. Snap. The monster below, unseen but vast, was actively using the gorge wall as a backscratcher, and the frayed structure couldn't hold.
Kael didn't panic this time. The terror was still there—a cold, sickening knot in his gut—but it was tempered by the absolute certainty of his 100% Critical Chance.
"Goal," he gasped, planting his feet firmly on the planks that were already tilting toward the abyss. "Get across the bridge without falling and without being harmed by the monster."
The bridge gave way. With a mighty groan of splintering wood, the far end detached from the stone anchorage. The entire structure, Kael included, began to swing down like a pendulum over the chasm.
This was it. Death, guaranteed.
Except... the statistical absolute.
As Kael plunged, his momentum was arrested not by the ropes, which had shredded into useless twine, but by a sudden, massive rush of hot, fetid air. The monster—a colossal, scaled creature whose head and neck filled Kael's entire vision—had surfaced, its enormous, barnacle-encrusted snout breaching the mist directly beneath him.
The monster wasn't attacking Kael. It was yawning.
The sheer volume of air expelled by the creature's breath, combined with the concave curvature of its massive neck, caught Kael and the remains of the bridge like a sail. Instead of dropping into the river, he was momentarily blasted upward and forward, directly towards the cliff face on the other side.
The wooden planks he was standing on collided with the stone cliff with a bone-jarring impact. Kael was flung loose, tumbling, but his flail ended abruptly when his tunic snagged on a small, perfectly angled jut of exposed iron ore. He swung one-handed, hundreds of feet in the air, before scrambling up onto the narrow ledge.
He looked down. The monster—whatever it was—finished its titanic yawn, submerged back into the mist, and the ropes finally fell away with a distant splash.
— Bridge Crossing Critical Success! (Beast Breath Catapult) —
Kael collapsed onto the solid earth, trembling. His entire journey had lasted less than a second, yet it felt like an hour. His heart pounded a painful rhythm. He instinctively checked his inventory. The Locket of Sure Footing felt strangely warm beneath his tunic, as if it had anticipated its brief, one-second activation.
"Immunity to fall damage," he whispered. "I didn't even need the fall to trigger it. The universe just… used the monster's morning routine to throw me over."
He realized the horror wasn't just the monster; it was the mechanism of his survival. The world was utterly indifferent to his well-being, yet utterly compelled to deliver the required result, even if that path involved almost dying first. It was terrifyingly reliable.
Kael walked for the rest of the day, leaving the oppressive gorge far behind. The terrain transitioned from damp, dark forest floor to open, rolling hills covered in tall, sun-bleached grasses. The sun, a warm, golden disk that seemed far brighter than anything he remembered from home, beat down on his simple brown tunic.
He was exhausted. He was Level 2, but his stamina was still that of an average twenty-something man who spent 90% of his life seated.
And he was starving.
He needed food, water, and rest—the core mechanics that Aethelgard characters normally ignored until level 10. He paused near a cluster of stunted oak trees.
Goal: Secure nourishment and water for the night.
He chose the most immediate target: a plump, bright red berry bush. It looked suspiciously like the Poison Berries (Minor) that littered the starting zone of the game. If he were a normal player, a single berry could induce a crippling debuff.
"I attempt to find edible berries," Kael stated, reaching out.
He plucked a handful. As he brought them to his mouth, one berry slipped. It dropped onto the ground, landing perfectly on a thick, dark slug. The slug instantly absorbed the berry, dissolved into a slick pile of sludge, and was gone.
Kael froze, holding the remaining berries an inch from his lips.
The entire cluster was poison, and the universe sacrificed a random slug to prove it.
He dropped the handful. A small, gray field mouse, disturbed by the event, darted out from the roots of the oak tree. In its mouth, it carried a massive, perfectly roasted nut, dropped by a passing traveler (or perhaps a creature with a penchant for culinary arts). The mouse, terrified, dropped the nut and fled.
— Resource Acquisition Critical Success! (Sacrificial Berry & Scared Mouse) —
Kael picked up the still-warm nut. It was large and dense, easily enough for a meal. He ate slowly, savoring the dry, earthy flavor, the victory feeling less like triumph and more like psychological warfare.
As he chewed, his eyes scanned his surroundings. The world of Aethelgard was stunning—the grass swayed with impossible realism, the clouds had depth, and the scent of wild thyme was strong—but beneath the beauty, everything felt hostile and waiting.
He found water using the same method: he deliberately drank from a stagnant pool, only for a small, sharp piece of stone to lodge in his throat, forcing him to cough violently. The coughing fit propelled him forward, tripping him and sending him sprawling directly into a fresh, flowing stream hidden beneath a rock ledge.
The luck only works if I initiate the action, but it never lets the action be clean.
He understood now. His power wasn't a sword; it was a cosmic mandate. He was a glitch in the simulation, a mandatory success condition that the world had to fulfill, no matter how many rules of physics, biology, or decency it had to break to do it.
As night fell, Kael found a hollow in a large, ancient root system—a secure place to rest. He leaned back, pulling the Locket of Sure Footing out and turning the silver disc over in his hand.
"They are watching, Kael. The great anomalies draw attention."
Who were "they"? The game developers? The gods of this world? Or something else, something that monitored the fabric of reality itself? If Fate—a being who claimed dominion over probability—was worried, Kael had a right to be terrified. His existence was an invitation to a fight he couldn't possibly win, unless his luck could somehow bend a god.
He closed his eyes. The Ring of Minor Healing was a steady presence, warming his finger. His HP, which had dropped slightly from the emotional stress and the earlier beetle sting, was slowly ticking up.
Just before sleep claimed him, Kael checked his status one last time.
Kael (Lv 2)
Core Skill: [ERROR: Unidentified Skill Code (0xDC4F3B)]
Affinity: CRITICAL CHANCE: 100%
He had survived another day, not through effort or strategy, but through the universe's sheer inability to let him fail. It was an exhausting way to live.
He awoke hours later, roused not by a sound, but by a sudden, intense chill.
He was still in the root hollow, but the atmosphere had changed. The air was heavy, the moonlight filtered through the canopy in cold, unnatural shafts. His HUD, which usually provided a constant, stable display, began to flicker violently.
WARNING: AREA OF EFFECT - HIGH RISK PROXIMITY
Kael scrambled upright, heart seizing. He reached for the crude club he'd looted from the goblins, peering out into the darkness.
He saw nothing, but he felt a presence—vast, silent, and incredibly cold. It wasn't a physical creature, but a sheer force of will, like someone was standing outside his personal bubble, judging the contents.
The flicker on his HUD intensified, and then, slowly, the error code beneath his Core Skill began to resolve itself. The text scrolled rapidly, lines of corrupted data stabilizing into a single, terrifying phrase.
Core Skill:
[SKILL ACTIVATED: PREDATOR'S DESTINY]
Description: You cannot be failed by the world. All outcomes regarding your survival, objective completion, or desired result are guaranteed critical success. Warning: Success may be achieved through non-Euclidean means, high collateral damage, or the statistically improbable misfortune of others.
Kael stared at the description, horror mixing with dawning comprehension. This was it. The system had finally parsed his glitch.
Then, a low, smooth voice echoed from the darkness just beyond the root hollow, a voice laced with the same cold, quiet authority that Fate had possessed, but without the playful curiosity.
"The glitch is fixed. The variables are now understood."
Kael looked up, but the voice wasn't speaking to him. It was speaking about him.
"Subject Kael," the voice continued, clinical and severe. "Designation: The Certainty Anomaly. Elimination Protocol Initiated."
A pair of glowing, crimson eyes blinked into existence directly outside his shelter, followed by the terrifyingly smooth shape of polished steel and dark leather. This was no goblin. This was an Assassin (Lv ???), and its entire purpose had just been defined by a single, terrifying word: Elimination.
Now Kael is faced with a professional threat and knows his official designation within the system. The watchers are here.