I grabbed my back—empty. My sword was missing. In my right peripheral vision, I spotted it lying innocently on the ground like a discarded toy. Oh shoot! I must've dropped it during our ungraceful, dino-chicken tango. I tried to force-pull it back with a desperate mental yank, but nope—too late. I braced for impact, curling up like a human armadillo. The red mark of heightened awareness raced toward me, a glowing death sentence. My heart skipped a beat, doing a full somersault in my chest.
Heightened Awareness:
Raptorbill:
Attack: Dash Peck
Attack Area: Marked with redline
Distance: 5 meters
Suggestion: Run, fool!
They say when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes—a whirlwind of bittersweet memories, emotions stirring like a dramatic montage. Happiness from my first wobbly steps as a kid, the electric thrill of my first computer game victory. The crushing defeat in my first MOBA match. DreadNose232, that pixelated nemesis in my favorite game, single-handedly dismantling my team, leaving me to fend for myself in an unlikely, sweat-drenched victory. Why am I monologuing about gaming right now? I wondered, mid-panic. Wait, I'm not dead yet?
I cracked my eyes open, peering through my fingers. The raptorbill's beak hovered inches from my face, frozen in mid-strike. My initial reaction? Pure, unadulterated terror. I scrambled backward on all fours, letting out a high-pitched "Waaaaaah?!" My eyes refocused, and there it was: an arrow buried deep in its right eye, its tongue lolling to the left like a limp party streamer, a dusty trail kicking up behind it. It was... dead? Two more arrows protruded from its neck and body, quivering slightly.
"Arrows!?" My brain was still in full panic mode, hyperventilating faster than a noob in a boss fight.
"Hey, are you alright?" A woman's voice sliced through my internal silliness like a well-aimed arrow. "Can you stand?" A metallic clang drew my gaze to the right—my sword, lying there like it hadn't just abandoned me in my hour of need. I looked up, and... wait, let me take a breath and paint this picture properly. Long blonde hair in intricate braids, partially hidden under a hood that screamed green military camouflage. Piercing blue eyes, a smattering of freckles across her nose, pink lips curved in concern. She had the frame of a runway model who'd traded catwalks for monster hunts. Her outfit? Brown leather armor with elegant elvish designs—definitely a hunter, a marksman, maybe even an Amazon warrior straight out of legend. She carried a longbow carved with graceful feather motifs, and a short sword hung at her left waist. She strode with the confidence of someone who owned the shadows, her steps silent as a whisper. In slow motion, she was sparkly, dreamy—a true RPG heroine come to life. And whoa, she had huge brea—
"Hey, eyes up here, and quit drooling!" Her snap of fingers yanked me back to reality like a glitchy respawn. "We need to move now, unless you want to be bird food for those beasts!" Her voice was sharp as her arrows, already yanking one free from the raptorbill's eye with practiced efficiency.
General Awareness:
Name: ???
Race: Human
Level: 55
Job: Marksman/Tracker
Title: ???
I wiped the drool from my chin, scrambling to my feet. I snatched my sword and fastened it to my back, suddenly hyper-aware of my heroic-but-mismatched outfit. It felt downright shy next to her full marksman ensemble. My general awareness pinged her gear: studded leather armor, boots, gloves, hood, bow—a complete set, the Elven's Favor Set. I was so envious. What? No, I don't want to try on her armor and prance around like a flat-chested, hairy-footed archer wannabe. What I envied was having a full set—themed, coordinated, not like my scrapyard mishmash of bits and pieces from every battlefield I'd stumbled through.
"Let's go!" she commanded, already scanning the horizon.
"Bu... but my meat," I blurted, pointing at the raptorbill like a sulky kid eyeing a forbidden cookie jar, my index fingers nervously tapping together.
"Oh, for crying out..." She whirled around, muttering, "Crap, rations." Realization dawned on her face. She drew her short sword and butchered the thing like she held a PhD in monster gutting. I watched in wide-eyed awe as she dissected it with surgical finesse—blood and gore blurring into censored pixels, thank the game gods. After about 20 seconds of visceral artistry, she tossed me a hefty slab of meat. I nearly fumbled it in a panic-grab save. It was huge, and glancing at my fruit-stuffed satchel, no way it was fitting. She shook her head, snatched it back, and stowed it in her sack bag. "I'll keep that for you, for now." She wiped her blade clean and sheathed it with a flourish. "Now, can we go?"
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" I barked, snapping to attention like a good Boy Scout, already daydreaming of meaty dinner delights.
She started walking southeast, and I fell in step behind her. Upon closer inspection, her armor was like a living chameleon, shifting from brown leather to green, blending seamlessly with the environment. "What level are you?" she asked without turning.
"I actually don—"
"What is a lowbie doing in a high-level area? The Adventurers' Guild must be losing their edge, letting noobs wander to their death." She scanned the area, eyes sharp as her arrows.
"That's a—"
"I'm Adelaide from the House of Whitehorn of Nightridge. What's yours?" She halted, pointing ahead at a pack of rabboars. We veered right, ducking behind the massive head of a fallen statue.
"Nice to meet, y—"
"I told them to keep a low profile, not to use skills that create noise, and wait for me to lay out safe routes. But no—'Look at me, I'm using high-level fire spells!' 'Look at me with my ground stomp!'" She said it with disgust, mimicking their bravado. "Damn those flashy idiots. I should've declined their invitation and joined another party hunting the Fallen One. And of all places, why did it crash in the Labyrinth?" She threw her hands up in disbelief, palms skyward.
Hunt the Fallen One? Wait, that's me! My blood turned to ice, my heart racing like a glitchy engine. Hunt? Like a wild animal hunt? She mentioned another party—that meant they weren't the only ones after me. Toni's warning echoed: Keep your identity secret. That's what he meant. My mind went into hyperdrive, thoughts colliding like a server crash. Relax, Kiko, breathe, breathe, I coached myself, forcing calm. She didn't know I was the target. To her, I was just a noob stuck in a dangerous spot. But how would she even know if I was a Fallen One? My ID? They'd need an appraisal skill like Toni's, but for people, right? I needed to extract info from her. Good thing she thought out loud—wait, was I like that too?
"One week wasted," she continued, oblivious. "I could've joined the exploration team to the new world, but here I am, stuck in the middle of nowhere, saying goodbye to 1 million gold coins because of those buffoons who can't stop making noise."
1 million gold coins for my head? But why? No wonder people wanted me dead—I'd hunt me too for that kind of payout. The area started looking familiar; we were nearing my shack. Don't be ridiculous, Kiko. You don't plan to invite a chick who's hunting you to your own home, right? My brain snarked.
"Wait!" She froze mid-step, then dashed forward in a blur, pivoting mid-air like a feathered acrobat. She snatched her bow and nocked an arrow in one fluid motion, landing lightly on her feet. The arrow sizzled with crackling electricity, pointed straight at me. She looked fiercely cool, ready to—OMG, kill me! "Are you the Fallen One!?" she demanded, her voice cold as a winter quest gone wrong.
"Huh?" My drool began to trickle down my chin, my brain short-circuiting like a fried circuit board.