I don't open my eyes immediately. I stay curled in the fetal position, listening. The first rule of a forced spawn: gather intel before you gather aggro.
"He stuck the landing... sort of," a gruff voice says, followed by the sound of a heavy boot crunching on gravel.
"Check the vitals," another voice orders. Higher pitched and Impatient.
"He's breathing. Just tank lag," the first voice replies. "Look at him twitching. Pathetic. Rae said this guy was Rank A? He looks like a drowned rat."
"Rank A on paper," the impatient one sneers. "Earth softens them up. Ten years playing house in the real world turns anyone into mush. Bet he can't even lift that sword in his inventory."
Laughter. Low and cruel.
"Just make sure he doesn't puke on the merchandise," a third voice chimes in, deeper, coming from the left. "I want to wrap this up. This humidity is rusting my armor joints, and I have a poker game at the Hub in an hour."
"Relax. Easiest money we've made all year. Five hundred Scales just to courier a book from a cripple? I love government contracts."
I fight the urge to smile.
Cripple.Mush.Easy money.
They have absolutely no idea. They think they are dealing with a civilian. They think the danger is the forest, not the man lying in the mud.
[System: Connection Stabilized.]
[Zone: Southlake Forest (Edge)]
[OXI: 1,200 / 70,000]
1,200 OXI. A pathetic drop in the bucket.
The tank provided the standard injection to kickstart my heart, but my Rank A vessel is starving. I burned my reserves to escape back to Earth, and this cheap tank only gave me the bare minimum to stand up.
But hearing them bet on my incompetence gives me an idea. If they think I'm weak, I'll give them weak.
"He's waking up," the leader says. "Showtime."
I keep my eyes closed for a split second longer. My hand brushes my inventory space. I don't pull out a weapon. I pull out fuel.
7 Shards[1]
Scales—Compressed currency. High-density OXI.
Everything that I need now.
I shove the crystallized scales into my mouth and swallow them dry before I even lift my head. They dissolve instantly, exploding in my stomach like liquid sun.
The rush is violent. My veins bulge. My reserves skyrocket.
[OXI: 18,700 / 70,000]
Did they forget that in a Safe Zone I can simply eat scales? How could they miss that meditation is needed only outside an Oathmark? Goddamn amateurs.
Well, still far from full capacity, but enough to wake the engine up. Enough to kill everyone here.
I open my eyes.
Three figures stand over me. They wear the dark grey tactical armor of the Deepwardens. Faces covered by rebreather masks. High-grade weapons—alloy spears and a heavy repeater crossbow—aimed casually at my chest.
They aren't worried. Why would they be? I'm just a courier.
"Right on time," the leader says. He's a tall man holding a glowing blue scroll—the Trade Contract.
I push myself up to my knees. I don't stand yet. I feign a moment of weakness, letting my shoulders slump, hiding the surge of power coursing through my muscles.
"Just... give me a second," I wheeze, keeping my head down. "I'm running out of OXI...".
"Take five seconds," the leader says, tapping the scroll against his leg. "Then initiate the trade. We have orders to secure the item and confirm the extraction."
Confirm the extraction.
So that's the game. They get the book, they signal Rae, and the deal is done.
But I know how this works. There is a time window. To contact Rae from here, someone needs to use a Reentry Pearl to go back and deliver the message personally. It takes time.
Time enough to disappear.
I look at the leader's boots. He's standing on a patch of loose shale.
"The Codex..." I reach into my inventory space, the motion slow and non-threatening. I pull out the heavy, leather-bound book.
The three guards tense up, greed visible even through their armor. They take a half-step forward. Instinct.
"Here," I say, offering it with trembling hands. "Just take it."
The leader chuckles. He holsters his weapon and reaches out with his left hand to grab the book, holding the contract with his right.
"Smart choice, kid."
His fingers are inches from the cover.
I don't let go.
Instead, I verify my OXI grip strength—now powered by nearly 19,000 units of energy—and swing the book upward with explosive force.
Smash.
The heavy, metal-reinforced corner of the SSS-Rank artifact slams into the leader's wrist.
The sound of bone cracking is loud and sickening.
"ARGH!"
[System Alert: PvP Violation detected.]
[Penalty applied: -100 Scales (Auto-deducted).]
He drops the contract, clutching his shattered hand, stumbling back.
I don't wait for the others to process the betrayal. I explode into motion.
[Skill Activation: Flow Cartographer]
The world desaturates. The forest turns into a grid of vectors and escape routes.
I see the crossbowman's finger tightening on the trigger. A red trajectory line paints the air, aiming for my shoulder.
Too slow.
I duck under the predicted path, scooping up a handful of dirt and sharp rocks. I kick the spray directly into his face.
He flinches, firing a bolt blindly into the canopy.
"Run!" my mind screams.
I lunge through the gap between them, sprinting into the dense treeline.
"HE'S RUNNING!" the leader screams, his voice distorted by pain. "GET HIM! CRIPPLE HIM! TAKE HIS LEGS, BUT DON'T HIT THE BOOK!"
Don't hit the book.
That's my shield. They can't unleash hell because they might damage the only thing that matters to their Master.
I tear through the underbrush, branches whipping my face. I don't check the map. I don't need to. Flow Cartographer overlays the perfect path on my retina, highlighting every root and shortcut.
I spent ten years mapping this hell.
Just over a mile to the Sanctuary. An army behind me. And a plan that might just kill me.
"Come and get me!" I yell, drawing their aggro, ensuring they follow me away from the easy extraction point.
I was sure Rae wouldn't kill me. They need the book.
And now… I have a date with a Sanctuary.
[1] 1 Shard = 100 Scales