"I didn't know someone can actually be this weak."
A grumpy man with a cigar between his lips said, as he glanced over the application form.
"An F-rank skill? I thought the lowest was supposed to be E rank," he continued. "Not a single kill recorded or even an assist. His inventory aren't even worth fifty dollars."
Putting the application down, he fixed his gaze on a tall young man that stood firm before him. "Look, buddy, it's definitely not me. It's you."
With a slow drag, he let a bit of smoke slip out, and went on, "If I let you into this guild, I'm pretty sure I'd be out of a job."
"You need to find somewhere else, cause this isn't a place known for hiring incompetent players."
"No need," the young man said, as he collected his application form. "Already tried the rest before coming here."
He then stepped out of the guild office, the evening air hitting him harder than the rejection. It was moments like this that always dragged his mind back to how all of this started in the first place.
Ten years ago, an unexpected event changed the course of humanity in a way no one could ever imagined, as a colossal tower that stretched nearly nine hundred feet into the sky, suddenly descended out of nowhere.
The [Draken Tower.]
Some claimed it was heaven showing its disgust, others swore it was a blessing, and a few pointed at aliens and called it a day.
Whatever the truth was, its arrival ushered in the age of Players—humans who awakened magical abilities and started pulling off feats that would've sounded impossible a decade back.
With that came a surge in human progress, as new energy sources were found inside the tower. Materials so rich they now supply ninety-five percent of the world's power, and that made climbing the tower a global race for dominance.
And down at the bottom of that race was Zane Miller, a Player with luck so bad it felt personal. Another guild had just turned him down, which meant he would be heading back to his old fry cook shift in the morning.
With a sigh, he rubbed his face, already knowing what he was about to see. Still, he lifted his hand, and with a flicker, he materialized a blue translucent panel that hovered in front of him.
[Player Status]
Name: Zane Miller
Age: 21
Level: 1
Class: Assassin
Job: None
Title: None
Floor Progress: 0%
Playing as: Solo
HP: 47
MP: 22
STR: 3
AGI: 7
STA: 4
INT: 6
CHAR: 2
Skill: Drained Spark (F-Rank)
Trait: Minor Stealth Step (General)
[Inventory]
•Low Grade Double Dagger (Common)
•Leather Wristguard (Common)
•Thick Rope, 6 ft (Common)
•Half Used Healing Patch (Common)
After a click on the skill, another panel materialized,
[Skill Name: Drained Spark (F-Rank)]
[Effect: When activated, every action you take costs a little more energy than it should. Swing a sword? You feel like you swung ten. Jog for a minute? Your lungs act like you ran a marathon. Even thinking too hard makes you tired.]
As any other Player, Zane knew how the system worked. He knew everything depends on your skill rank. And his? An F-rank joke that felt less like a skill and more like a bottleneck. And because of it, his stats were bottom of the barrel. Player stats always scaled with the rank of their skill, which meant he was stuck at the very bottom with no real way up.
Zane then clutched his hand into a fist and pushed the doubt out of his head.
Fine. His skill was trash. His rank was worse. None of that was enough to break the one thing he still had. His resolve.
He wanted to be a Player worth recognition, and he wasn't letting a miserable F-rank stop him. In a world where barely a fraction of a percent ever awakened, he had at least managed that much, and that was something to build on.
Now full of optimism, and with nothing else to lean on, he pulled out his phone and checked Fabbook. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone out there was desperate enough to need an extra Player.
Usually, Zane doesn't bother scrolling through Fabbook, as most party posts have a rank threshold, and Zane was the last person that wanted that as a requirement.
Then a post caught his attention.
***Looking for any available Player who can get to 9th Avenue ASAP. Need help carrying equipment as we debut in the tower.***
Zane couldn't help but let out a smile as he read through the message. The party couldn't have been any better. They were debuting, which meant they lacked the luxury of sniffing out weak Players, and even if they did, the job they wanted the Player to perform was one an unawakened could easily do.
....
When Zane reached 9th Avenue, he spotted a group of three gathered on the sidewalk. They were clearly Players.
The first was a young woman in a sharp mage uniform. Her coat was deep-blue with gold trimming around its edges, which was matched with brown boots that went above the knee, and a short mantle with runic stitching.
Beside her stood a cheerful-looking boy wearing the bare minimum a frontline fighter could get away with. Light chestplate, mismatched bracers, and a helmet dangling uselessly from his hand.
And then there was the man anchoring the group. Broad-shouldered, silent, and wrapped in silver heavy armor that was layered with plates, reinforced pauldrons, and a tower shield strapped to his back. His expression made it clear he wasn't here to make friends.
"So someone finally showed up," the broad-shouldered man said, as his gaze met Zane approaching them.
He didn't blink as he introduced them, "Name's Garrick. The mage is Harley. The kid glued to her side is Mason."
Harley clasped her two hands together as she said, "Nice meeting you— uh, urgh?"
"It's Zane," he answered.
"Zane," she said, tilting her head. "It has a nice ring to it."
"Yeah, whatever. Every name has a nice ring to it for you," Mason said.
Then, turning to face Zane with a huge smile, he continued, "Aren't you excited to enter the tower? No need to answer; you clearly are! Being a Player has always been my dream, and with the B-Rank Skill I awakened last week, I can actually do it. Become a Player."
Giggling, Mason jokingly placed a hand on his head and said, "It seems I've been talking too much again."
Zane just gave him a polite nod, and pulled out a folded sheet with his Player information and offered it to Garrick.
"Put that away," Garrick said, as he rejected Zane's folded sheet. "Just bring up your panel, I will send you the party invite."
Then a soft chime echoed.
[The Ironstride Party has invited you to join.]
[Accept / Decline]
Accept!
[Accepted!]
[Zane Miller has joined The Ironstride Party.]
"Good," Garrick said as he turned, his hand now clenching the hilt of his broadsword. "Now let's get moving."