CHAPTER 13 - Breaking Point
The morning air carried the scent of rain—not falling, but threatening. Dark clouds gathered over Rendercity's western districts, their bellies swollen and gray, casting the world in muted tones that made everything seem washed out and tired. Chris stood outside The Copper Coin, watching those clouds with a faint sense of unease that had nothing to do with weather.
Seven kills. Three more to go.
The thought had been circling his mind since he woke, relentless as a hunting dog on a scent. Three more enemies defeated with his sword, and Milestone Two would complete. Another technique would unlock. Another step toward strength.
Another piece of armor against the weakness he'd left behind in his old world.
He flexed his hands, feeling the absence of yesterday's blisters. Iris's healing magic had erased them completely, leaving his palms smooth and unmarked. But the memory of pain remained, phantom sensations that reminded him what he'd endured to get this far. What he was still willing to endure.
"Planning to stand there all morning, or are we actually going to work?"
Chris turned.
Iris approached from the direction of the guild, staff strapped across her back, green robes swaying with each step. Her silver hair caught what little light filtered through the clouds, making it seem almost luminous against the gray morning. She looked fresh, alert, completely unbothered by the early hour.
Chris envied that. His own sleep had been restless, interrupted by dreams of shadows and watching gods and a frozen smile that promised nothing good.
"I was enjoying the weather," Chris said.
Iris glanced at the threatening sky and raised an eyebrow. "You have strange taste in weather."
"It's better than the alternative."
"Which is?"
"Thinking too hard about what I'm about to do."
That earned him a longer look, something calculating and curious moving behind those green eyes. But she didn't press. She never did—not directly. Iris's interrogations were subtle things, questions wrapped in casual conversation, observations disguised as jokes.
It made her dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with magic.
"Well," she said finally, her tone lightening. "I found us something interesting. E-rank quest, good pay, and it'll definitely keep you from thinking too hard."
"That ominous?"
"That exciting." She grinned. "Come on. I'll show you at the guild."
They walked through Rendercity's morning streets together, joining the flow of citizens beginning their day. Merchants opened shops, guards changed shifts at street corners, and the smell of fresh bread drifted from bakeries whose ovens had been burning since before dawn. It was all so mundane, so ordinary, that Chris sometimes forgot he was in another world entirely.
Until he saw a dwarf haggling with a human merchant over the price of enchanted nails.
Until he noticed the faint shimmer of protective wards carved into doorframes.
Until he remembered that magic was real, monsters existed, and he'd died and been reborn with powers that would get him executed if discovered.
Then the illusion of normalcy shattered, and he remembered exactly where he was.
The Adventurer's Guild was already crowded when they arrived. The quest board had drawn a small mob of adventurers—mostly F and E ranks, judging by their equipment and the copper or bronze cards hanging from their necks. They argued over assignments, formed impromptu parties, and occasionally threw insults that seemed half-serious and half-ritual.
Iris navigated through the chaos with practiced ease, Chris following in her wake. She didn't head for the quest board, though. Instead, she approached the reception counter where the perpetually exhausted receptionist sat buried in paperwork.
The woman looked up as they approached, her expression flickering through recognition, resignation, and something that might have been the distant ancestor of a smile.
"You again," she said flatly. "Let me guess. You want something dangerous, probably above your partner's rank, and you expect me to approve it anyway."
"See?" Iris beamed. "You do know me."
"Unfortunately." The receptionist pulled a quest paper from a separate stack—one marked with a red corner, Chris noticed. Priority assignments. "This came in last night. Normally I wouldn't offer it to an F-rank, but..." She glanced at Chris. "Your record suggests you're either talented or suicidal. Maybe both."
Chris took the paper.
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ QUEST DETAILS ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ Quest: Dire Wolf Pack Elimination ║
║ Rank: E+ ║
║ Objective: Eliminate dire wolf pack ║
║ threatening western farms ║
║ Estimated Pack Size: 4-6 wolves ║
║ Location: Thornwood Edge - West Territory║
║ Reward: 25 Copper per confirmed kill ║
║ 50 Copper bonus if alpha killed ║
║ Danger Level: High ║
║ ║
║ WARNING: Dire wolves hunt in coordinated ║
║ packs and demonstrate above- ║
║ average intelligence. Retreat ║
║ is advised if pack exceeds ║
║ estimated size. ║
║ ║
║ Note: Three farming families have lost ║
║ livestock. One child went missing ║
║ two days ago. Recovery unlikely. ║
║ ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════╝
Chris read it twice, his chest tightening with each line.
E+ rank. That was a full tier above him, half a tier above standard E-rank quests. Dire wolves—not the normal variety, but the larger, smarter, deadlier cousins that occasionally spawned in corrupted areas or deep wilderness.
And a missing child.
"The kid?" he asked quietly.
The receptionist's expression hardened. "Search party found tracks leading into Thornwood Edge. Wolves dragged something into the forest three nights ago. By now..." She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
Chris felt something cold settle in his stomach. Not fear—though there was some of that—but anger. A child. Some family's son or daughter, taken by monsters while they slept.
He knew what it was like to feel powerless. To watch the world take from you and have no way to fight back.
"We'll take it," he said.
Iris glanced at him sharply. "Chris—"
"We'll take it," he repeated, looking at the receptionist. "How do we confirm kills?"
The woman studied him for a long moment, something unreadable moving behind her tired eyes. Then she pulled out a small cloth bag from beneath the counter.
"Dire wolf fangs. One pair per wolf, distinctive enough that we can verify species. Bring back the fangs, you get paid." She pushed the bag across the counter. "The alpha's fangs are larger—impossible to miss. That's your bonus."
Chris pocketed the bag.
The receptionist stamped the quest form, her movements mechanical but precise. "You have three days. If you're not back by then, we send a recovery team."
"To find our bodies?" Iris asked dryly.
"To finish the quest." The woman's expression didn't change. "Try not to need one."
They left the guild in silence.
Outside, the threatened rain had begun—light, misty, barely more than dampness in the air. Chris tilted his face up toward it, letting the coolness settle on his skin. It felt clean. Purifying, almost.
"You know that was reckless, right?" Iris said quietly.
"Yes."
"E+ rank. That's meant for full E-rank parties. Two or three adventurers working together." She looked at him. "You're still F-rank."
"I know."
"Then why—" She stopped, studying his face. Whatever she saw there made her sigh. "The child."
"We both know they're already dead," Chris said. "But those wolves are still out there. Still hunting. If we don't stop them, there'll be more missing children."
Iris was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "You're not responsible for saving everyone, Chris."
"I know that too." He started walking toward the western gate. "But I can save the next one. That's enough."
Behind him, Iris stood motionless for several heartbeats. Then she followed, her staff tapping against cobblestones in a rhythm that sounded almost like reluctant approval.
---
The western road out of Rendercity was less maintained than its eastern counterpart. Where the eastern routes saw regular merchant traffic and guild patrols, the west was agricultural—farming communities scattered across cleared land that gradually surrendered to wilderness. The road itself was little more than packed earth, rutted from wagon wheels and softening now under the persistent drizzle.
Chris and Iris walked in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
Chris's mind was occupied with numbers. Seven kills. Three more needed. Four to six wolves estimated in the pack. If the estimate was accurate, and if he could claim even half the kills, he'd complete Milestone Two during this quest.
Rapid Strike would unlock.
He'd felt Piercing Thrust integrate into his muscle memory, knowledge sliding into place like a sword into a well-oiled sheath. The technique was there now, waiting to be called upon, as natural as breathing. Would Rapid Strike feel the same? Three cuts in the space of a heartbeat, fast enough that enemies wouldn't see the second and third strikes coming?
The thought sent a thrill through him that was part anticipation, part apprehension.
Power was addictive. He was beginning to understand that. Each skill unlocked made him want the next one. Each milestone completed made him hungry for the next challenge.
Was that what the God wanted? To watch him chase strength until it consumed him?
Or was Chris doing exactly what he should be doing—becoming strong enough that no one could make him a victim again?
"You're thinking too loud," Iris said.
Chris blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "What?"
"You get this look when you're overthinking. Distant. Like you're somewhere else entirely." She adjusted her staff, raindrops beading on the polished wood. "Want to share, or should I guess?"
"Just running through tactics," Chris lied. Partially lied. He was thinking about tactics—just not only tactics.
"Wolves are pack hunters," Iris said, apparently willing to accept the deflection. "They'll try to separate us, flank from multiple directions, exhaust us before moving in for kills. Standard predator behavior."
"How do we counter that?"
"Stay close. Watch each other's backs. I'll use wind magic to keep them scattered and off-balance. You focus on killing anything that gets through." She paused. "And if things go wrong—if the pack is larger than expected, or if there's something we're not prepared for—we retreat. Immediately. No heroics."
Chris nodded. "Agreed."
He meant it, too. Mostly. He wasn't suicidal. But he also knew that three more kills stood between him and his next technique. If the opportunity presented itself...
No. Iris was right. Survival came first. The milestone would still be there tomorrow.
Assuming he lived to see tomorrow.
The farms began appearing an hour into their journey—small holdings carved from the forest's edge, fields of wheat and barley now bowing under the rain. They passed several homesteads, each one showing signs of recent hardship. Broken fences, hastily repaired. Livestock pens reinforced with additional boards and iron nails. Doors barred even during daylight.
Fear had settled over this area like a shroud.
At one farm, a man stood in his doorway watching them pass. His face was weathered and hard, eyes suspicious. A crossbow rested against the doorframe within easy reach.
Iris raised a hand in greeting. "We're from the guild. Here about the wolves."
The man's expression didn't soften, but he nodded. "You're the third group this week. Others didn't come back."
Chris felt ice slide down his spine. "How many others?"
"Two teams. Four adventurers total." The farmer's jaw worked. "Found pieces of one of them yesterday. Wolves left him in my north field. Warning, maybe. Or just playing."
"I'm sorry," Iris said quietly.
The farmer grunted. "Sorry doesn't bring them back. Doesn't bring back my neighbor's boy, either." He looked past them, toward the forest looming dark and thick beyond his fields. "Something's wrong with those wolves. They're too smart. Too vicious. My grandfather used to say that when animals start acting like demons, it means the Darklands are bleeding."
"Corruption?" Chris asked.
"Don't know what else to call it." The farmer spat into the mud. "Just know I'm not setting foot in those woods. And if you're smart, you won't either."
He retreated inside without another word, door slamming shut. A moment later, Chris heard the heavy thunk of a bar sliding into place.
Iris exhaled slowly. "Well. That's encouraging."
"Two teams already failed," Chris said. "Four adventurers dead."
"We don't know they were experienced. Could have been F-ranks like—" She stopped, wincing. "Sorry."
"It's fine. You're right—I'm F-rank." Chris started walking again. "But I'm not alone."
"Damn right you're not." Iris fell into step beside him, and despite everything, Chris heard warmth in her voice. "You've got the best D-rank wind mage in Rendercity watching your back."
"The best?"
"Top three, minimum."
"I'll take those odds."
They continued in lighter spirits, but the farmer's words lingered in Chris's mind like smoke. Too smart. Too vicious. When animals start acting like demons...
Corruption. The same force that had created the mutated wolf they'd fought on their first quest together. The same creeping wrongness that Iris said was spreading from the Darklands.
What if these weren't normal dire wolves?
What if they were worse?
The forest appeared ahead, a dark wall of ancient trees that seemed to drink the gray daylight and give nothing back. Thornwood Edge—aptly named, Chris thought. It looked like the kind of place where civilization ended and something older began.
Somewhere in those shadows, wolves were waiting.
And Chris was walking straight toward them.
His hand found his sword hilt, fingers curling around familiar leather. The weight was comforting. Solid. Real.
He'd trained for this. Earned his skills through pain and repetition. He had Precision Strike for accuracy, Piercing Thrust for armored enemies, and Shadow Sense to predict attacks before they landed.
And soon—maybe today—he'd have Rapid Strike.
Three cuts faster than sight.
Three more kills.
One more milestone.
"Ready?" Iris asked, stopping at the forest's edge.
Chris looked into those waiting shadows, felt the weight of his sword, tasted rain and adrenaline and the electric anticipation of coming violence.
"Ready," he said.
They entered Thornwood Edge together.
The forest swallowed them whole.
The difference was immediate and absolute.
One moment, Chris stood in gray daylight and open air. The next, he was surrounded by a twilight world where the sun existed only as a rumor. The canopy above was so dense that raindrops never reached the forest floor—instead, they collected on leaves and branches, creating a constant dripping soundtrack that echoed through the shadows like a heartbeat.
The temperature dropped. Not drastically, but enough that Chris felt the moisture in the air settle against his skin, clammy and invasive. His breath misted slightly when he exhaled, which seemed wrong for early autumn. The forest floor beneath his boots was soft with decades of decomposed leaves, the earth dark and rich and smelling of rot and growth in equal measure.
"Stay close," Iris murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sound carries strangely here."
Chris nodded, his Shadow Sense already spreading outward in concentric rings. The darkness helped—his ability seemed sharper in the forest's gloom, reaching farther, defining shapes with greater clarity. He could feel small creatures in the underbrush. Birds in the branches above. A deer, maybe two hundred meters distant, moving carefully through the trees.
No wolves yet.
But they were here. Chris could sense their presence the way sailors supposedly sensed coming storms—an instinct written into older parts of the brain that remembered when humans were prey.
They moved deeper into Thornwood Edge.
Iris led, her staff held loosely but ready. She'd been doing this longer than Chris, and it showed in the way she navigated the forest. She avoided dry twigs that would snap underfoot. Stepped over roots instead of on them. Moved with a fluid grace that made almost no sound.
Chris tried to match her, with mixed success. His swordsmanship had improved dramatically, but stealth was a different skillset entirely. Still, he was learning. Watching where she placed her feet. Mimicking her weight distribution. Letting his Shadow Sense warn him of obstacles before he stumbled into them.
After twenty minutes of silent travel, Iris stopped.
She knelt, examining something on the ground. Chris moved beside her, looking down.
Tracks.
They were enormous—easily twice the size of a normal wolf's prints. The pads were deeply impressed into the soft earth, and the claw marks extended far forward, speaking to the length and sharpness of the creature's weapons. Chris counted the tracks. Three sets, maybe four, overlapping and moving in the same direction.
North. Deeper into the forest.
"Dire wolves," Iris confirmed quietly. She traced one print with her finger, careful not to disturb the evidence. "Fresh. Less than two hours old, judging by the water accumulation in the depressions."
"How can you tell?"
"See how the edges are still sharp? Rain would've softened them if they were older. And there—" She pointed to a partial print near a tree root. "That's water pooling. Means the print is recent enough that the ground hasn't absorbed it yet."
Chris filed the information away. Skills like that could mean the difference between life and death in this world. He needed to learn everything Iris could teach him.
"Three wolves?" he asked.
"At least three." Iris stood, eyes scanning the forest ahead. "But dire wolves are smart. They could be splitting their pack, covering more territory. The estimate said four to six. I'm betting on six."
"Great."
"Could be worse." She flashed him a quick grin. "Could be seven."
They followed the tracks.
The forest grew darker as they went, the trees larger and more ancient. Some of the oaks had trunks wide enough that three men couldn't link hands around them. Their bark was thick and deeply grooved, colored a black-gray that seemed to drink light. Moss grew in patches that glowed faintly with bioluminescence—pale green and ghostly, adding to the otherworldly atmosphere.
Chris's unease grew with every step.
This wasn't just a forest. It was something older. Primal. A place where human rules and human safety didn't apply.
His hand never left his sword hilt.
After another ten minutes, they found the kill site.
It was a small clearing, maybe fifteen meters across. The ground was torn up, churned into mud by violence and struggle. Blood painted the grass and tree trunks in arterial sprays that had dried to rust-brown. Scattered across the clearing were the remains of what had once been a deer.
Not much remained. Bones, picked clean. Patches of hide. Antlers still attached to a skull that had been cracked open to access the brain.
But what drew Chris's attention was the arrangement.
The bones weren't scattered randomly. They'd been positioned deliberately—laid out in a rough circle with the skull at the center. It looked almost ritualistic. Territorial.
"Oh, that's not good," Iris breathed.
"What does it mean?"
"Dire wolves are smart, but they're still animals. They kill to eat, to defend territory, to establish dominance." She gestured at the bone circle. "This is something else. This is display. Warning. Claiming."
Chris felt his skin crawl. "You're saying they're marking territory?"
"I'm saying they're thinking like people." Iris's expression was grim. "The farmer was right. Something's wrong with these wolves."
A branch snapped somewhere in the forest behind them.
Both of them spun, weapons ready.
Chris's Shadow Sense screamed.
Movement. Fast. Circling.
"Multiple contacts," he hissed. "Behind us. Three—no, four. Moving to surround."
Iris's staff began to glow with pale green light, wind gathering around her in invisible currents that made her hair and robes flutter. "Positions?"
Chris extended his senses, parsing the information flooding his mind. Shadow Sense didn't give him perfect vision—more like impressions, shapes defined by absence of light, movement patterns that his brain translated into location and intent.
"Two o'clock, thirty meters. Six o'clock, twenty-five meters. Nine o'clock, twenty meters. Ten o'clock, thirty meters." His pulse hammered. "They're coordinating. Waiting for something."
"The alpha," Iris said. "They're herding us. Driving us toward—"
A howl split the air.
It came from directly ahead, deeper in the forest. The sound was massive, resonant, carrying a depth that no normal wolf could produce. It vibrated in Chris's chest like a bass drum, primal and terrifying, the sound predators made when they wanted prey to know death was coming.
The circling wolves answered in unison.
Four voices, harmonizing in a chorus that made Chris's blood turn to ice.
"Contact front!" Iris shouted.
From the shadows ahead, it came.
The alpha.
Chris had fought goblins. Had killed bandits. Had trained against practice dummies and sparred with instructors. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.
The dire wolf alpha was the size of a small horse, its shoulders level with Chris's chest. Its fur was the color of smoke and ash, mottled with darker patches that might have been scars or might have been something worse. Its eyes glowed with a sickly yellow light that seemed wrong, too intelligent, too aware.
And when it snarled, Chris saw teeth as long as his fingers.
The beast didn't charge immediately. It stalked forward slowly, deliberately, muscles rippling beneath its fur with each step. Its head lowered, ears flat against its skull. Saliva dripped from its jaws, hissing faintly when it hit the ground.
Behind Chris and Iris, the other wolves emerged from the forest.
Not four.
Six.
They formed a loose circle, cutting off all escape routes. Each one was massive, easily twice the size of normal wolves. Their eyes held that same sickly yellow glow, and their movements were coordinated with unnatural precision.
"This isn't a pack," Chris said, his voice tight. "This is a hunting party."
"I noticed." Iris's knuckles were white around her staff. "Chris. When I tell you, run left. I'll create an opening."
"We're not retreating."
"Look around! This isn't the four to six the quest estimated. This is seven dire wolves, possibly corrupted, definitely intelligent enough to set an ambush." Her voice was sharp. "We're outmatched."
Chris's mind raced. Seven wolves. He needed three kills for the milestone. If they retreated now, they'd have to come back, start over, face this all again.
Or worse—these wolves would kill more livestock. More children.
"We can win," he said.
"Chris—"
"Trust me."
The alpha lunged.
There was no warning, no preparatory crouch. One instant it was ten meters away, the next it was airborne, jaws wide, those massive fangs aimed directly at Chris's throat.
Shadow Sense saved his life.
He'd seen the attack a half-second before it came—a flicker of intent, a tensing of muscles that his power translated into prediction. Chris threw himself sideways, hitting the ground hard and rolling. The alpha's jaws snapped shut on empty air where his neck had been.
Chris came up in a crouch, sword already drawn.
The alpha landed and spun with impossible speed for something so large. It was on him again before he could fully rise, one massive paw swiping at his head with claws extended.
Chris brought his sword up in a desperate parry.
The impact jarred his entire arm, nearly tearing the weapon from his grip. The wolf's strength was immense—far beyond what its size suggested. Chris's boots slid backward in the mud, his stance barely holding.
The alpha pressed its advantage, snapping at his face. Chris jerked his head back, felt hot breath and the click of teeth inches from his nose. He shoved off with his legs, creating distance, and slashed horizontally at the beast's muzzle.
His blade connected.
Blood sprayed. The wolf recoiled with a yelp of pain and fury, a shallow cut now marring its snout.
First blood.
But the victory was short-lived.
The other six wolves attacked.
"CHRIS, DOWN!"
He dropped flat without thinking.
A wind blade screamed over his head, so close he felt it tug at his hair. It caught one of the charging wolves across its flank, opening a long gash that sprayed blood. The creature tumbled, howling.
Iris was chanting, her voice rising above the chaos. Green light exploded from her staff, and suddenly vines were erupting from the forest floor. They wrapped around two wolves, binding their legs, yanking them off balance.
But four wolves were still mobile.
And one of them was coming straight for Chris.
He rolled sideways as jaws snapped down where he'd been. The wolf's momentum carried it past him. Chris surged to his feet and lunged, driving his sword down at the creature's exposed back.
The blade bit deep.
The wolf screamed—a sound no animal should make—and collapsed, thrashing. Chris wrenched his sword free, dark blood coating the steel.
One kill.
"Behind you!" Iris screamed.
Chris spun.
Two wolves, flanking him from opposite sides. No time to dodge both. No room to retreat.
Shadow Sense painted their trajectories in his mind. Left wolf would reach him first, going for his sword arm. Right wolf half a second behind, targeting his legs.
He had one chance.
Piercing Thrust.
Chris pivoted toward the left wolf, his body moving into the technique's stance automatically. Weight on his back foot. Sword arm drawn back, elbow tight. Core engaged, ready to drive all his power into a single point.
The wolf's jaws opened wide, going for his arm.
Chris released.
His sword shot forward like a spear, faster than he'd ever moved before. The blade punched through the wolf's open mouth, through the back of its throat, and erupted from the base of its skull.
Critical hit. Instant kill.
The wolf dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Two kills.
But the second wolf was already on him.
Chris tried to pull his sword free, but it was lodged in bone and brain matter. He abandoned it, throwing himself backward. Claws raked across his chest—not deep, his leather armor catching most of it, but the impact sent him sprawling.
The wolf landed on top of him.
Chris's world became teeth and hot breath and yellow eyes filled with mindless hunger. He grabbed the creature's throat with both hands, holding those snapping jaws away from his face. The wolf was impossibly strong, its neck muscles like iron cables beneath his grip.
It was going to kill him.
Chris's hands scrambled desperately. His sword was gone. His shadow powers—he couldn't use them, not with Iris watching.
The wolf's jaws inched closer.
Then a wind blade slammed into the creature's side, cutting deep. The wolf yelped and rolled off him. Chris gasped for air, scrambling away.
Iris stood twenty feet away, breathing hard, her staff glowing with barely controlled power. Two wolves circled her, testing her defenses. The vines she'd summoned earlier were gone, torn apart by struggling wolves.
The alpha stalked forward, blood dripping from the cut on its muzzle. Its eyes were fixed on Chris with an intelligence that was deeply, fundamentally wrong.
It was toying with them.
Chris retrieved his sword from the dead wolf's skull, yanking it free with both hands. The blade was slick with blood and brain matter. His chest burned where the claws had raked him—not deep, but painful. His arms shook from adrenaline and exhaustion.
They'd killed two wolves. Five remained, including the alpha.
The odds were still terrible.
But Chris was still alive. Still fighting.
And only one more kill away from his milestone.
The alpha charged again, and this time, three of its packmates came with it.
Four wolves, attacking in perfect coordination.
This was going to hurt.
Four wolves moved as one entity, their coordination supernatural in its precision.
The alpha came straight at Chris, a battering ram of muscle and fury. Two packmates split left and right, flanking maneuvers designed to cut off his escape routes. The fourth went for Iris, keeping her divided, preventing her from supporting him.
Chris had perhaps two seconds to make a decision that would determine whether he lived or died.
Shadow Sense fed him information in a flood—attack angles, trajectories, the microsecond timing differences between each wolf's approach. His mind processed it frantically, searching for an opening, a gap, anything he could exploit.
There.
The left-flanking wolf was a fraction of a second faster than its right-side counterpart. If Chris committed to dodging left, he'd avoid the alpha's charge and possibly the right wolf's attack, but he'd be moving directly into the faster wolf's path.
Suicide.
Unless he used it.
Chris made his choice.
He sprinted left.
The left-flanking wolf's eyes gleamed with predatory satisfaction. It adjusted its trajectory, jaws opening wide, already tasting victory.
Chris waited until the last possible moment—until he could see individual teeth, count the scars on the beast's muzzle, smell the rot of its breath.
Then he dropped into a slide.
The wolf's momentum was too great to stop. Its bite snapped shut on empty air as Chris slid beneath its body, mud and leaves providing just enough friction to control his movement. He came up behind the creature, already pivoting, bringing his sword around in a two-handed horizontal slash.
The blade caught the wolf across its hind legs, severing tendons and muscle.
The creature collapsed with a howl of agony, its back legs useless. It thrashed, trying to turn, but its body wouldn't obey.
Chris didn't hesitate. He stepped in close and drove his sword down through its spine.
The wolf shuddered once and went still.
Three kills.
The notification blazed across his vision even as he yanked his blade free.
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ !! MILESTONE COMPLETE !! ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ Quest: Path of the Blade ║
║ Milestone [2]: Defeat 10 enemies ✓ ║
║ ║
║ Reward unlocking... ║
║ ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════╝
But Chris didn't have time to celebrate. Didn't have time to even acknowledge it.
Because the alpha was on him.
The massive beast slammed into him like a avalanche, its weight and momentum overwhelming. Chris went down hard, his sword flying from his grip. His back hit the ground with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. Stars exploded across his vision.
The alpha's jaws descended toward his throat.
Chris got his forearm up barely in time. Teeth meant to crush his windpipe instead clamped down on his arm. His leather bracer held for perhaps half a second before the fangs punched through.
Pain.
White-hot, all-consuming pain as teeth sank into muscle and scraped against bone. Chris screamed, the sound raw and animal. The wolf shook its head violently, the way terriers killed rats, trying to tear his arm off.
Chris's free hand scrabbled desperately in the mud, searching for anything—a rock, a stick, his sword—
His fingers found a jagged stone the size of his fist.
He slammed it into the wolf's eye.
The alpha released him with a roar of pain, recoiling. Chris rolled away, clutching his mangled arm to his chest. Blood poured between his fingers, hot and slick. The world tilted and spun.
His sword. Where was his sword?
There—three meters away, half-buried in mud and leaves.
The alpha recovered faster than should have been possible. It shook its massive head, the ruined eye already swelling shut, and turned its remaining good eye on Chris.
The look it gave him was pure hatred.
This time, it would finish him.
Chris tried to stand. His legs wouldn't cooperate. The blood loss, the pain, the adrenaline crash—everything was hitting him at once. He made it to his knees before his strength gave out.
The alpha stalked forward, limping slightly from Iris's earlier wind blade but still more than capable of killing. It was done playing. Done testing. This was the end.
Chris's hand closed around his sword hilt. He pulled the blade free from the mud, raised it in a guard position that was more instinct than conscious thought.
The alpha lunged.
And something inside Chris shifted.
Not broke—shifted. Like a key turning in a lock. Like a door opening onto a room he'd never known existed.
Power flooded through him.
The notification appeared, but Chris didn't need to read it. He could *feel* the new skill settling into his muscles, his reflexes, his very bones.
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ SWORD SKILL UNLOCKED ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ SKILL: Rapid Strike (F) ║
║ Type: Active Sword Technique ║
║ ║
║ "Three cuts faster than sight." ║
║ ║
║ EMERGENCY INTEGRATION AUTHORIZED ║
║ Activating combat assistance... ║
║ ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════╝
"Master," the System's voice rang in his mind, urgent and commanding. "New skill available. Your body knows the movements. Trust it. Let it guide you."
The alpha was airborne, jaws wide, claws extended.
Chris stood.
His injured arm screamed in protest, but he ignored it. His grip on the sword shifted, finding a new position that felt both foreign and perfectly natural. His weight distributed differently, his stance opening, his breathing synchronizing with his heartbeat.
Rapid Strike.
His body moved.
Not fast—impossibly fast. So fast his conscious mind couldn't track the movements. He was watching himself from a distance, seeing his own arms blur into motion, seeing his blade become a silver streak in the dim forest light.
One.
The first cut was horizontal, waist-height. It caught the airborne alpha across its front legs, opening both to the bone. Blood sprayed in twin arcs.
Two.
The second cut reversed direction before the first was even complete, a backhand slash that caught the wolf's throat. Not deep enough to kill instantly, but deep enough to matter.
Three.
The third strike was a thrust—Piercing Thrust and Rapid Strike combining in a way the System probably hadn't intended but Chris's desperate, creative mind had found anyway. The blade drove up under the alpha's jaw, through its mouth, and into its brain.
Critical hit.
The alpha's momentum carried it forward even as life left its body. It crashed into Chris, a half-ton of dead weight that bore him to the ground.
Chris lay there, crushed beneath the massive corpse, his sword still embedded in its skull. His injured arm was a symphony of agony. His lungs screamed for air. His entire body shook with exhaustion and shock.
But he was alive.
And the alpha was dead.
Distantly, he heard Iris shouting. Heard the sounds of combat—wind magic shrieking, wolves howling. She was still fighting.
Chris tried to push the alpha's body off him. It barely moved. Too heavy. Too much.
He was trapped.
"Get... off," he gasped, shoving uselessly at fur and muscle.
Then the weight lifted.
Vines—thick as his wrist—wrapped around the alpha's corpse and dragged it aside. Chris sucked in a desperate breath, his vision clearing enough to see Iris standing over him.
She looked like she'd been through a war.
Her robes were torn, blood—hers or the wolves', Chris couldn't tell—staining the green fabric dark. Her silver hair had come loose from its tie, falling around her face in wild tangles. Scratches marked her cheek and arms. But her eyes were fierce, blazing with barely controlled magic, and her staff glowed so brightly it hurt to look at.
"Can you stand?" she demanded.
"I... think so."
She grabbed his good arm and hauled him to his feet with surprising strength. Chris swayed, his vision graying at the edges, but he stayed upright through sheer stubbornness.
"The others?" he managed.
"Two left. I killed one. Wounded another. But they're regrouping." Iris pressed something into his hand—a small vial filled with red liquid. "Healing potion. Drink. Now."
Chris didn't argue. He uncorked the vial with his teeth and downed the contents in one gulp.
The effect was immediate and intense.
Warmth exploded in his stomach, spreading through his body in waves. His mangled arm burned with renewed agony as flesh knit and bone realigned. He felt his cracked ribs shift back into place, felt shallow cuts seal themselves, felt his depleted stamina surge back like a rising tide.
It wasn't complete healing—his arm still ached, his body still screamed exhaustion—but it was enough. Enough to fight. Enough to survive.
"Thank you," he breathed.
"Thank me when we're not about to die." Iris turned, her staff raised toward the shadows. "They're coming. Both of them. Together."
Chris retrieved his sword from the alpha's skull, the blade coming free with a wet sound that made his stomach turn. He fell into a ready stance—looser than it should have been, his injured arm not quite responding correctly, but functional enough.
Two wolves remained. Both were wounded, limping, bleeding from cuts Iris had inflicted. But their eyes still held that terrible intelligence, and their coordination hadn't faltered.
They emerged from opposite sides of the clearing, moving in perfect synchronization.
A pincer attack. Classic tactics.
Chris's Shadow Sense tracked them both. His mind calculated angles, speeds, attack patterns. His new skill—Rapid Strike—hummed in his muscles like a tuning fork, ready to be called upon.
But the cooldown. How long was the cooldown?
"Master, Rapid Strike is available. However, your physical state is compromised. I recommend caution. Overexertion could—"
I know the risks.
The wolves charged.
Iris's wind magic screamed to life, twin blades of compressed air that carved through the clearing. The right-side wolf took one blade full in the chest, the impact throwing it backward with ribs shattered. It didn't get up.
But the left-side wolf dodged, proving once again the unnatural intelligence these creatures possessed. It juked sideways, the wind blade missing by inches, and continued its charge.
Straight at Chris.
He waited. Let it come closer. Closer.
His injured arm trembled, threatening to give out. His legs felt like water. The healing potion had bought him time, but it wasn't a miracle. He was still hurt, still exhausted, still operating on the ragged edge of collapse.
But he didn't need to last long.
Just long enough.
The wolf leaped, going for his throat.
Chris activated Rapid Strike.
His body moved with that same impossible speed, his blade becoming a blur of silver light. But this time, he felt it—felt the terrible strain on muscles not quite healed, felt tendons stretch to their limit, felt the skill pulling energy from reserves he didn't have.
One cut. Two cuts. Three cuts.
All three strikes found their target, carving through fur and flesh and bone. The wolf's leap became a tumble, its body falling apart even as momentum carried it forward.
It landed in a heap at Chris's feet, twitching once, then going still.
Silence fell over the clearing.
Seven wolves. All dead.
Chris stood among the carnage, sword dripping red, his body swaying. The world felt distant, wrapped in cotton, sounds muffled and colors too bright.
"Chris?" Iris's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Chris, stay with me."
He tried to respond. Tried to tell her he was fine, they'd won, the quest was complete.
But his legs chose that moment to give out completely.
The ground rushed up to meet him.
Strong hands caught him before he hit. Iris lowered him gently to the blood-soaked earth, her face swimming in and out of focus above him.
"Idiot," she said, but her voice was gentle. Worried. "You absolute idiot. That technique—what was that? I've never seen anyone move that fast. Not at F-rank. Not even at E."
Chris tried to form words. They wouldn't come.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, soft and inviting. He was so tired. So very, very tired.
"Stay awake," Iris commanded, her hands glowing green as healing magic poured into him. "Don't you dare pass out on me. Not after pulling something that reckless. I need answers, Chris. I need—"
Her voice faded.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
---
When consciousness returned, it came slowly, reluctantly, dragging Chris up from depths that felt comfortable in their emptiness.
The first thing he became aware of was pain. Not the sharp, immediate agony of torn flesh, but the deep, bone-weary ache of a body pushed far past its limits. Every muscle hurt. His arm—the one the alpha had bitten—throbbed with a dull persistence that promised it wouldn't let him forget anytime soon.
The second thing he noticed was warmth.
He was lying on something soft. Covered with something that held heat close to his body. A blanket? No—a bedroll. He could smell canvas and leather and the faint herbal scent of healing salves.
The third thing was voices.
"—completely insane. E+ rank quest with an F-rank adventurer. What was I thinking? I should have refused. Should have dragged him back to the city and reported the quest as too dangerous."
Iris. She sounded angry. At herself, Chris realized. Not at him.
"But would he have listened?" Another voice responded. Female, older, with a rough quality that spoke of too many years breathing smoke and shouting orders. "From what you've told me, the boy's got a hero complex. Would have gone alone if you'd refused."
"Then I should have tied him up. Locked him in his room. Something other than enabling his death wish."
A long pause.
"He's alive, isn't he? And from what I saw of those wolves, barely. You both should be dead. But you're not. So maybe give yourself some credit, girl."
Chris tried to open his eyes. They felt gummed shut, reluctant to obey. With effort, he managed to get them partially open.
He was in a tent. Small, utilitarian, lit by a single oil lamp hanging from the center pole. Canvas walls rippled gently in a breeze that suggested evening or early night. Through the tent's open flap, he could see the orange glow of a campfire.
Iris sat near the entrance, her back to him, talking to someone outside. Her shoulders were slumped, exhaustion written in every line of her body. Her robes had been changed—the bloodstained ones replaced with simpler traveling clothes.
"How long was I out?" Chris's voice came out as a croak.
Iris spun so fast she nearly fell over. Relief flooded her face, followed immediately by anger.
"You're awake." She crossed the tent in two strides and knelt beside his bedroll. "You absolute, reckless, idiotic—" She stopped, taking a shaky breath. "Four hours. You've been unconscious for four hours. Do you have any idea how terrifying that was? Healing potions should have woken you after thirty minutes at most, but you just kept sleeping, and I thought—I thought maybe you'd pushed too hard, damaged something I couldn't fix, and—"
"I'm okay," Chris interrupted gently. "Tired. Sore. But okay."
Iris's expression crumpled. For a moment, she looked like she might cry. Then she punched his shoulder—his good shoulder, thankfully.
"Don't ever do that again."
"Do what?"
"Almost die while doing something impossible that should have killed you but somehow didn't and then pass out for four hours while I panic."
"That's... very specific."
"I'm serious, Chris." Her green eyes met his, fierce and frightened in equal measure. "That last technique. The one that killed the final wolf. You moved so fast I couldn't even see the individual strikes. That's not normal. That's not F-rank swordsmanship. That's not even E-rank."
Chris's mind raced, searching for an explanation that wouldn't expose his System, his skills, his entire secret existence.
"Adrenaline?" he tried weakly.
"Don't." Iris shook her head. "Don't insult me with bad lies. I've been watching you, Chris. Every day, you get better. Faster. Stronger. At a rate that should be impossible." She leaned closer. "What are you?"
The question hung between them like a blade.
Chris could lie. Should lie. His survival depended on keeping his secrets.
But Iris had saved his life. Had healed him when the alpha's bite should have bled him dry. Had fought beside him against impossible odds and never once abandoned him.
She deserved something. Not the whole truth, maybe. But something.
"I'm..." He struggled for words. "I'm someone who refuses to be weak. Who trains every night until his hands bleed because being average isn't enough anymore. Who pushes himself too hard because the alternative is being useless."
It was all true. Just not complete.
Iris studied his face for a long moment. Then she sighed.
"You're not going to tell me, are you? The real answer."
"I'm telling you what I can."
"Which isn't much." She stood, creating distance between them. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But Chris—whatever you're doing, whatever is making you this strong this fast, be careful. Power that grows too quickly either consumes you or attracts attention you don't want."
"I know."
"Do you?" She looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone running full speed toward a cliff and hoping you'll figure out how to fly before you hit the ground."
Before Chris could respond, the tent flap opened.
A woman stepped inside—the owner of the rough voice Chris had heard earlier. She was perhaps fifty, with iron-gray hair pulled into a severe bun and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. She wore leather armor, practical and well-maintained, with a guild badge pinned to her chest.
B-rank, Chris noticed. A full-fledged veteran adventurer.
"So the boy lives," the woman said, her tone dry but not unkind. "Good. Would have been a waste to drag all those wolf corpses back to the city just to report a dead F-rank."
"Chris, this is Captain Thera," Iris said. "She was leading a patrol in the area when she found us."
"Found you half-dead and surrounded by enough dire wolf corpses to classify as a massacre," Thera corrected. She studied Chris with sharp, assessing eyes. "Seven wolves. Three of them killed by sword work, clean cuts, precise strikes. The other four by magic." Her gaze shifted to Iris. "Normally, I'd say that distribution makes sense—the mage does most of the killing while the swordsman survives. But your wounds tell a different story."
Chris said nothing.
"The alpha," Thera continued, "was killed by a blade thrust through the skull. Upward angle, suggesting the wielder was on the ground when they struck. And the force required to punch through a dire wolf alpha's skull..." She shook her head. "That's not F-rank strength."
"He got lucky," Iris said quickly.
"Lucky." Thera's expression suggested she didn't believe that for a second. "Right. Well, your 'lucky' partner completed an E+ rank quest that killed four other adventurers this week. The guild will want to debrief him."
Chris's stomach sank. "Debrief?"
"Standard procedure for unusual circumstances. Don't worry—it's not an interrogation. Just questions about the fight, the wolves' behavior, anything that might help future teams." Thera pulled out a small notebook. "Though I'll save us all some time and tell you what I found at the kill site."
She flipped through pages.
"Seven dire wolves, all showing signs of corruption. Eyes wrong color. Behavior too intelligent. Bone structure slightly altered—bigger, stronger than baseline. And this." She held up a small object.
Chris squinted. It looked like a shard of crystal, no bigger than his thumbnail, pulsing with a faint purple light.
"Found it embedded in the alpha's chest," Thera said. "Corruption shard. Someone—or something—planted it deliberately. These wolves weren't naturally corrupted. They were turned into weapons."
A chill ran down Chris's spine. "Weapons? By who?"
"That," Thera said grimly, "is what the guild is going to want to know."
-----------
The journey back to Rendercity took most of the following day.
Captain Thera had arranged for a cart—borrowed from one of the farming families—to transport the dire wolf corpses. Seven massive bodies, each one a testament to violence and desperation, lay piled in the wagon bed. Their blood had long since stopped flowing, congealing into dark pools that attracted flies despite the autumn chill.
Chris rode in the back with the corpses, too exhausted to walk and too proud to admit he needed help. His injured arm was bound in clean bandages, courtesy of Thera's well-stocked medical supplies. The healing potion and Iris's magic had closed the worst of the wounds, but deep tissue damage remained. His arm would heal, Thera had assured him. Given time and rest.
Two things Chris wasn't sure he could afford.
He'd checked his status three times since waking, still half-convinced the milestone completion had been a fever dream born of blood loss and adrenaline.
It wasn't.
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ Name: Chris ║
║ Level: 1 ║
║ Title: Shadow Young Lord ║
║ HP: 67/100 ║
║ MP: 50/50 ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ Shadow Skills: ║
║ - Shadow Control (F) ║
║ - Blink (F) ║
║ - Shadow Rise (F) ║
║ - Shadow Sense (F) ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ Sword Skills: ║
║ - Precision Strike (F) [Passive] ║
║ - Piercing Thrust (F) [Active] ║
║ - Rapid Strike (F) [Active] ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ Servants: 1/1 ║
║ - Scout (Shadow Goblin) - F rank ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ Path of the Blade Progress: ║
║ ✓ Milestone 1: 100 strikes ║
║ ✓ Milestone 2: 10 enemy kills ║
║ ✓ Milestone 3: Critical hit ║
║ ⬜ Milestone 4: Fight without magic ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════╝
Three out of four milestones complete. Three sword techniques acquired. And one final challenge remaining—survive a fight without using magic.
The irony wasn't lost on him. His entire existence in this world was built on the foundation of shadow magic. The System itself was a magical construct. His most powerful abilities were darkness made manifest.
And the final test required him to abandon all of it.
"Thinking too loud again."
Chris looked up. Iris sat at the front of the cart beside Thera, but she'd turned to face him, her expression unreadable in the late afternoon light.
"Just reviewing," Chris said.
"Reviewing what? How many ways you almost died yesterday?" Her tone was light, but her eyes were serious. "Because I counted at least five."
"Only five? I must be getting better."
Iris didn't smile. "You know this can't continue, right? This pace you're setting. This recklessness."
Chris met her gaze. "We completed the quest. Saved those farms. Stopped the wolves from killing anyone else."
"At what cost? You nearly bled out. Used a technique I've never seen before and still can't explain. Pushed your body so far past its limits that you were unconscious for four hours." She shook her head. "What happens when pushing harder isn't enough? When the next quest is deadlier and the next enemy faster and you don't have some mysterious technique to save you at the last second?"
"Then I'll find another way."
"That's not an answer, Chris. That's a death wish."
Captain Thera made a sound that might have been a cough or might have been a suppressed laugh. "The girl's got a point, boy. I've been doing this for twenty years, and I can tell you—the adventurers who last aren't the strongest or the fastest. They're the ones who know when to retreat."
"I'll keep that in mind," Chris said noncommittally.
Thera snorted. "No, you won't. You've got that look. Same one I see on every rookie who thinks they're invincible right up until something proves them wrong." She glanced back at him. "Just try to make sure that lesson doesn't kill you."
They rode in silence after that.
The farms they passed showed signs of relief already spreading. Word of the wolves' deaths had traveled fast—probably carried by Thera's patrol when they'd returned to report. Farmers worked their fields with less tension in their shoulders. Children played outside instead of being kept indoors. One old woman actually waved at them as they passed, her weathered face creasing into a smile.
Chris felt something strange and unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Pride, maybe. Or satisfaction. The knowledge that his actions—his violence, his risk, his near-death—had meant something. Had made a difference.
In his old life, he'd been invisible. His work had disappeared into spreadsheets and reports that no one read. His existence had been a footnote in other people's stories.
Here, he'd saved lives.
Even if it nearly cost him his own.
Rendercity's walls appeared on the horizon as the sun began its descent. The purple-tinged moonlight would rise soon, bringing with it the Night Phase and all the power it offered. But for now, Chris was content to watch the city approach, to let the rhythmic creaking of the cart and the steady clip-clop of horse hooves lull him into something approaching peace.
They reached the gates just as the evening shift was taking over. The guards recognized Captain Thera immediately and waved them through without inspection—a privilege of rank Chris noted for future reference.
The streets were busy with the dinner hour rush. Taverns and restaurants filled with workers ending their day, seeking food and drink and the company of others. The smell of cooking meat and fresh bread mixed with less pleasant urban odors, creating a uniquely city scent that Chris was beginning to find oddly comforting.
Thera directed the cart toward the Adventurer's Guild.
A crowd had already gathered outside the building—word of their return having somehow preceded them. Adventurers and curious citizens alike pressed close as Thera halted the cart in front of the guild's main entrance.
The murmuring started immediately.
"Seven dire wolves—"
"—killed by an F-rank and a D-rank—"
"—corruption shards found—"
"—impossible, no way two adventurers—"
Captain Thera stood in the cart bed, her presence commanding immediate silence. "Clear the way. Official guild business. Anyone not registered can leave now."
The crowd thinned but didn't disappear entirely. Adventurers stayed, their expressions ranging from curious to skeptical to outright disbelieving.
The guild doors opened, and the tired receptionist emerged. She took one look at the cart's contents, at Chris's bandaged arm, at Iris's exhausted face, and sighed the sigh of someone whose day had just gotten significantly more complicated.
"Let me guess," she said. "The E+ quest that should have required a full party."
"Completed," Thera confirmed. "Seven dire wolves eliminated. All showing signs of deliberate corruption. Bodies delivered for verification and examination."
The receptionist's expression shifted from tired to sharp. "Deliberate corruption?"
"Found corruption shards embedded in three of the corpses, including the alpha." Thera pulled out her notebook. "I'm filing a formal report. This needs to go to the guild master."
"He's going to love that." The receptionist turned her attention to Chris and Iris. "You two. Inside. Now. Debriefing room three."
Chris climbed down from the cart with more care than he would have liked to admit. His legs were stiff, his body protesting every movement. Iris appeared beside him, offering her shoulder for support.
He wanted to refuse. Wanted to prove he could walk on his own.
But pride wouldn't heal his wounds or erase his exhaustion. He accepted her help.
They entered the guild together.
---
Debriefing room three was small and functional—a table, four chairs, and a single oil lamp providing light. The tired receptionist sat across from Chris and Iris, a stack of forms and a pen at her elbow.
"Names for the record," she said, pen poised.
"Iris Thornweave, D-rank."
"Chris. Just Chris. F-rank."
The receptionist's pen paused. "No family name?"
"No family name."
She made a note, her expression suggesting this wasn't the first time she'd encountered such an answer. "Quest designation?"
"Dire Wolf Pack Elimination. E+ rank. Thornwood Edge territory."
"Outcome?"
"Complete. Seven wolves eliminated. No civilian casualties. One injury—" She gestured at Chris's arm. "Non-critical."
The receptionist wrote in silence for a moment, then looked up. "Walk me through it. From the moment you entered the forest to the moment Captain Thera found you."
Iris took the lead, describing the tracking, the kill site with its bone circle, the ambush. She spoke clearly and precisely, her account clinical and detailed. When she reached the actual fight, her narrative slowed, became more careful.
"The wolves attacked in coordinated waves. Standard pack tactics, but executed with unusual intelligence. We engaged defensively, trying to create separation." She paused. "Chris killed three wolves with sword work. I eliminated four with magic."
"An F-rank adventurer killed three dire wolves in single combat?"
"With support," Iris emphasized. "I was providing crowd control and healing. But yes—three confirmed kills by blade."
The receptionist's gaze shifted to Chris. "That's unusual."
"I got lucky," Chris said. The lie came easier now, worn smooth by repetition.
"Lucky. Right." She didn't sound convinced. "And the final kill? The alpha?"
Iris's hesitation was barely perceptible, but Chris caught it. She was deciding how much to reveal.
"The alpha engaged Chris directly," she said finally. "Wounded him severely. He... improvised. Used a technique I'm not familiar with. Very fast strikes. The alpha went down."
"What kind of technique?"
Chris forced himself to meet the receptionist's eyes. "Desperation, mostly. I don't remember the details. Everything was blood and adrenaline."
Another lie. But what was he supposed to say? That a magical system granted him sword skills that shouldn't exist? That he'd unlocked a technique mid-combat through some game-like progression system?
The truth would raise more questions than it answered.
The receptionist studied him for a long moment, then made another note. "Captain Thera mentioned corruption shards. Did you observe anything unusual about the wolves' behavior beyond their coordination?"
"Their eyes," Chris said. "Wrong color. Yellow and sick-looking. And they were too smart. Not just pack tactics—actual strategy. Baiting, feinting, testing our defenses."
"Anything else?"
Chris hesitated, then decided truth here couldn't hurt. "The bone circle at the kill site. The way they'd arranged the deer remains. That was deliberate. Territorial marking, maybe. Or a warning."
The receptionist's pen scratched across paper. "And you engaged anyway."
"The quest was to eliminate the wolves. That's what we did."
"Despite being outmatched, outnumbered, and encountering evidence of corruption that should have triggered an immediate retreat and report."
Chris said nothing. There was nothing to say. She was right.
The receptionist set down her pen and leaned back in her chair. For the first time since Chris had met her, she looked something other than tired. She looked... thoughtful.
"You're either the luckiest F-rank I've ever met," she said quietly, "or you're something else entirely. I haven't decided which yet."
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
Iris broke the silence. "The corruption shards. What do they mean?"
The receptionist's expression hardened. "Nothing good. Corruption doesn't happen naturally at that scale or speed. Someone—or something—is deliberately creating corrupted creatures and releasing them into populated areas." She stood. "That's above my authority to handle. The guild master will want to speak with you both tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Chris asked.
"You're exhausted, injured, and frankly look like you're about to fall over. Whatever the guild master wants to know can wait until you've slept." She gathered her papers. "Report to the guild at noon tomorrow. Don't be late."
They were dismissed.
Chris and Iris made their way back through the guild's common room. The crowd of adventurers had grown, word of their success spreading. Conversations stopped as they passed. Eyes followed them—some curious, some envious, some calculating.
Chris kept his gaze forward and his hand away from his sword. He was too tired for confrontation.
Outside, the evening had deepened into early night. The first stars were appearing, and the purple moon was rising, its light painting the city in shades of lavender and shadow.
Night Phase would activate soon.
"Where are you staying tonight?" Iris asked.
"The Copper Coin. Same as always."
"I'll walk you there."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm walking you there," Iris said firmly. "You can barely stand, and this city isn't safe after dark for someone in your condition."
Chris wanted to argue. Wanted to prove he could handle himself.
But she was right. Again.
They walked through Rendercity's darkening streets in comfortable silence. The city transformed at night—lanterns and magical lights flickering to life, casting warm pools of illumination against the growing dark. Taverns grew louder, laughter and music spilling into the streets. Guards appeared at corners, their presence a reminder that even cities had teeth.
The Copper Coin appeared ahead, its weathered sign creaking in the evening breeze.
"Thank you," Chris said as they stopped outside the entrance. "For everything. The healing, the support, keeping me alive."
Iris smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "That's what partners do."
"Are we partners?"
"Aren't we?" She tilted her head. "We've done what, five quests together now? Saved each other's lives multiple times? That's more partnership than most formal contracts."
Chris considered that. "I suppose it is."
"Good. Then as your partner, I'm telling you—take tomorrow off. Rest. Let that arm heal properly. Don't even think about training."
"I—"
"Chris." Her expression turned serious. "Please. Just one day. For me."
He wanted to refuse. Wanted to argue that he couldn't afford to waste time, that every day without training was a day someone else got stronger, a day closer to whatever threats this world would throw at him next.
But the look in her eyes stopped him.
"One day," he agreed.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Iris studied him for a moment, as if trying to determine whether he meant it. Then she nodded. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow at the guild. Noon. Don't be late."
"When am I ever late?"
"Constantly." She smiled, a real one this time, and turned to leave. After a few steps, she paused and looked back. "Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever secrets you're keeping... I hope they're worth it. Because someday, they're going to come out. And when they do..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Just be careful."
She disappeared into the night before he could respond.
Chris stood outside The Copper Coin for a long moment, her words echoing in his mind.
Whatever secrets you're keeping...
Someday, they're going to come out...
She was right. Of course she was right. Secrets had a way of surfacing, especially when you were surrounded by people intelligent enough to notice inconsistencies.
How long before Iris put all the pieces together? Before she realized that F-rank adventurers didn't move like he did, didn't learn like he did, didn't have techniques that appeared from nowhere?
How long before she asked questions he couldn't answer?
Chris pushed the thoughts aside. Tomorrow's problems could wait for tomorrow.
Tonight, he needed sleep.
He entered the inn, exchanged brief pleasantries with the innkeeper, and climbed the stairs to his room. Every step was an effort. His body screamed for rest, for the oblivion of sleep where pain couldn't follow.
He collapsed onto his bed without bothering to remove his boots.
The moment his head hit the pillow, consciousness began to slip away.
But not before he felt it—the subtle shift as the last traces of twilight faded and true night claimed the city.
Night Phase Activated.
His Shadow Sense expanded automatically, reaching beyond his room, beyond the inn, touching the darkness that blanketed Rendercity like a living thing. Power thrummed through him, stronger in the night, waiting to be called upon.
Scout stirred in his shadow, a presence both foreign and familiar.
And somewhere in the depths of his exhausted mind, the System spoke.
"Master, three milestones complete. One remains. The final test approaches."
What test? Chris tried to ask, but sleep pulled him under before the words could form.
His dreams were dark and filled with yellow eyes and frozen smiles and a voice that whispered from everywhere and nowhere.
Entertain me, Chris. You're doing so well. But the real game is just beginning.
----------------
Noon the following day found Chris standing outside the Adventurer's Guild, his injured arm still bandaged but significantly less painful. He'd slept twelve hours straight, missed breakfast, and woken to find his HP had climbed to 89/100.
The healing was working. Slowly, but working.
Iris was already waiting, leaning against the guild's exterior wall. She looked refreshed—clean robes, hair properly tied back, the exhaustion from yesterday erased by rest and recovery.
"You actually took the day off," she said, sounding genuinely surprised.
"I promised."
"And you kept it. Color me impressed." She pushed off the wall. "Ready to face the guild master?"
"Is anyone ever ready for that?"
"Fair point."
They entered together.
The guild was quieter than usual—most adventurers were out on quests or sleeping off the previous night's drinking. The tired receptionist sat at her usual post, and she gestured them toward a staircase Chris had never noticed before.
"Second floor. Third door on the left. He's expecting you."
They climbed the stairs, their footsteps echoing on worn wood. The second floor was different from the first—quieter, more refined, with actual carpet runners and paintings on the walls. This was where the guild's administration worked, away from the chaos below.
The third door on the left bore a brass nameplate: GUILD MASTER ALDRIC VOSS.
Iris knocked.
"Enter."
The office beyond was spacious and well-appointed. Bookshelves lined two walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and what looked like monster encyclopedias. A large desk dominated the center, covered in papers, maps, and correspondence. Behind the desk sat a man who radiated quiet authority.
Guild Master Aldric Voss was perhaps sixty, with iron-gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His face was lined with age and experience, and his eyes—sharp and calculating—held the weight of someone who'd seen too much and forgotten none of it.
He wore simple clothes, no armor or weapons visible, but Chris's Shadow Sense detected something. A presence. Power, carefully controlled but unmistakably there.
This man was dangerous.
"Iris Thornweave," Aldric said, his voice measured and calm. "And Chris... just Chris, according to the reports." His gaze settled on Chris. "The F-rank who killed three dire wolves and helped eliminate an E+ threat."
"With support," Chris said carefully. "I didn't do it alone."
"No one ever does." Aldric gestured to two chairs facing his desk. "Sit. We have much to discuss."
They sat.
Aldric pulled out a file—Chris's file, he realized. It was surprisingly thick for someone who'd only been registered for a week.
"Ten quests completed in six days," Aldric read. "Progress from F-rank assignments to E+ in less than a week. Multiple reports of unusual combat ability. And now, a successful elimination of a corrupted dire wolf pack that killed four other adventurers."
He set the file down and looked at Chris directly.
"Tell me, Just Chris. What are you?"
The question was the same one Iris had asked. But coming from the guild master, it carried more weight. More threat.
"I'm an adventurer," Chris said. "Someone trying to survive and get stronger."
"Most adventurers don't progress this quickly."
"Most adventurers don't train every night until their hands bleed."
Aldric's expression didn't change. "And most adventurers don't use techniques that experienced observers can't identify." He leaned forward. "Captain Thera is a twenty-year veteran. She's seen everything from amateur brawlers to S-rank sword saints. And she couldn't explain the technique you used to kill that alpha."
Chris said nothing. What could he say?
"I'm not accusing you of anything," Aldric continued. "But the guild has responsibilities. To our members, to the city, to the kingdom. When someone demonstrates unusual abilities, we need to understand them. For everyone's safety."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Aldric's gaze was penetrating. "Because from where I sit, you look like someone with secrets. Dangerous secrets. And secrets have a way of becoming problems."
The office fell silent.
Then Aldric sighed and leaned back. "However, you've completed your quests successfully. Saved lives. Eliminated threats. Whatever your methods, your results are undeniable." He pulled out another document. "Which brings me to why I called you here."
He slid the paper across the desk.
It was a promotion form.
"Your record qualifies you for advancement to E-rank," Aldric said. "Normally, we'd require a formal evaluation, but given your demonstrated capabilities, I'm willing to waive that requirement."
Chris stared at the form. E-rank. A full promotion after less than a week.
"There's a condition," Aldric added. "You accept assignment to investigation teams tracking the corruption outbreak. We need people willing to face corrupted creatures, and you've proven you can handle them."
"Investigation teams?" Chris asked.
"The corruption isn't random. Someone is creating these creatures deliberately. We need to find out who and stop them before this becomes a crisis." Aldric's expression hardened. "This is volunteer work. Dangerous, possibly deadly, and the pay isn't great. But it's important."
Chris looked at Iris. She gave a small nod—not telling him what to choose, just acknowledging that the choice was his.
Three milestones complete. One more to go. And then the title—Blade Adept.
But this... this was bigger than personal progression. This was a real threat. Real people in danger.
In his old life, he'd been powerless to help anyone, including himself.
Here, he could make a difference.
"I accept," Chris said. "Both the promotion and the assignment."
Aldric nodded, something that might have been approval flickering across his face. "Good. You'll receive your new badge tomorrow. Training briefing is in three days. Until then..." He glanced at Chris's bandaged arm. "Rest. Heal. Because once this starts, it won't stop until we've found the source."
They were dismissed.
Outside the office, Iris turned to him. "You know you didn't have to accept the investigation assignment, right? You could have just taken the promotion."
"I know."
"Then why?"
Chris considered the question. Why had he agreed? For the progression? For the challenge? For the chance to prove himself?
Or because for the first time in two lives, he had the power to actually help people?
"Because it's the right thing to do," he said finally.
Iris smiled. "You really are determined to be a hero, aren't you?"
"I'm determined to not be useless."
"Same thing, sometimes." She bumped his shoulder lightly with hers. "Come on, hero. Let me buy you lunch. You're going to need your strength."
They descended the stairs together, leaving the guild master's office behind.
Chris didn't see Aldric Voss stand and walk to his window, watching them leave. Didn't hear the quiet conversation the guild master had with himself.
"Unusual techniques. Rapid progression. Secrets he won't share." Aldric's reflection stared back at him from the glass. "Just like the last one."
He pulled out an old file from his desk drawer. The name on the tab was faded but still legible.
CLASSIFIED: SHADOW ADEPT INCIDENT - 15 YEARS PRIOR.
Aldric opened the file, studying reports and testimonies from another adventurer who'd appeared from nowhere, demonstrated impossible growth, wielded shadows like weapons, and vanished before anyone could understand what they truly were.
"History doesn't repeat," Aldric murmured. "But it certainly rhymes."
He closed the file and locked it away.
Time would tell whether Chris was a threat or a resource.
Either way, Aldric would be watching.
---
That night, Chris stood in the guild's training yard, the familiar darkness wrapped around him like a cloak.
Night Phase hummed in his blood. Scout stood at attention, awaiting orders. His new rank—E—felt both earned and insufficient.
Three milestones complete.
One more to go.
Survive a fight without magic.
Chris looked at his sword, then at his shadow, then at the night sky where stars burned with cold, distant light.
Somewhere, a god was watching.
Somewhere, corruption was spreading.
Somewhere, his secrets were catching up to him.
But tonight—tonight he was stronger than yesterday.
Tomorrow, he'd be stronger still.
And that would have to be enough.
"Master," the System said. "Your progression continues to exceed projections. But be advised—the final milestone will be unlike the others. It will test not your strength, but your choices."
What choices?
"You will understand when the moment comes. Until then... prepare yourself. The real challenges are just beginning."
Chris closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his sword, the presence of his shadow, the cool night air on his face.
Let them come.
He was ready.
[END OF CHAPTER 13]