The Bone Dagger felt cold in his hand.
He sat on the edge of his bed. The silence of his dorm room felt heavy. The system's penalty message still burned in his vision.
10% chance of self-injury on critical strikes.
The universe had a special kind of irony. He finally had a weapon. And it came with a risk of turning him into his own last victim.
He couldn't stay here.
The room was a cage. The memory of the Howling Abyss was a restless beast.
The system punished failure. So it must reward success.
To get stronger, to beat the dagger's curse, he needed experience. He needed souls.
And the only place to find them… was a dungeon.
Public training was not an option. He, the Rankless outcast, practicing with a ghoulish bone dagger? Firing invisible ghost bullets?
He'd be in an Inquisition cell before lunch.
No. If he was going to hunt, it had to be in secret. At night.
He waited. The academy's clock tower chimed for midnight. He quietly left his room into the darkness.
His new dagger was tucked in his belt.
His destination was a place whispered about among students. The "Shadow woods."
A low-level, C-Rank dungeon. A festering sore on the edge of the city.
It wasn't profitable enough for the guilds. Too dangerous for the city guard.
It was perfect. A forgotten corner of the world where a nobody could disappear.
He found the entrance between two crumbling warehouses. It wasn't a grand gate. It was an ugly thing, a shimmering distortion in the air, like a heat that warped the brick wall behind it.
It smelled like wet dirt and decay.
He stood before it. The city at his back. The unnatural silence of the dungeon before him.
This was a choice.
In the alley, he was a victim. In the Abyss, a survivor.
Now, he was becoming a hunter. He was seeking danger for the sake of power.
He wasn't sure what that made him. But it was the only path forward.
With a final, steadying breath, he stepped through.
The city air vanished. Replaced by a thick, heavy atmosphere. He was in a forest. A twisted mockery of one.
The trees were gnarled, black-barked things. A sickly green moon hung in the sky. The ground was covered with wet, decaying leaves.
He pulled the Bone Dagger from his belt. It felt clumsy. Unnaturally light.
The 10% penalty felt like a promise of betrayal.
'Okay, easy does it,' he told himself. 'Find something small. Something goblin-sized.'
The forest had other plans.
A low growl. A deep, guttural rumble that vibrated through the soles of his boots. He froze.
He slowly turned his head.
A pair of glowing yellow eyes. Then another. And another.
A pack of Dire Wolves. Massive beasts, each the size of a small pony. Shaggy, matted fur. Long, yellowed canines dripped saliva.
These weren't goblins. These were coordinated pack hunters.
The system's codex flashed in his mind. Dire Wolves. C-Rank. A single one was a threat. A pack of five was a death sentence.
His survival instincts took over.
A frontal assault was suicide. Running would only trigger their chase instinct. He was outmatched and outnumbered.
'No,' a cold voice in his head corrected. 'Not out of luck. Just out of easy options.'
This was a hunt. They thought they were the hunters. He had to use that.
He scanned the environment. The trees were thick. The undergrowth was dense. He could use that.
He spotted his stage: a narrow game trail. A natural chokepoint.
If he could lure one in there, he could fight it on his own terms.
He bent down, picked up a rock, and threw it into the bushes to his right.
It crashed through the brushes. The wolves barked and charged towards the sound.
All except one. A younger, smaller wolf paused. Its yellow eyes were still fixed on him.
This was his chance.
Edward melted into the shadows. He circled around, positioning himself near the narrow trail. He held his breath, the dagger held tight.
The lone wolf, seeing its pack find nothing, trotted after them. It passed right by his hiding spot.
Edward exploded from the shadows.
He didn't go for a killing blow. He was too afraid of the penalty.
Instead, he delivered a powerful kick to the wolf's hind leg. A sickening snap. The wolf yelped, its leg buckling. It tumbled to the ground, snarling.
He had wounded it. Angered it. And drawn its full attention.
He backed away slowly, leading the limping wolf down the narrow trail. It followed him into the trap.
In the chokepoint, Edward stopped.
The wolf lunged.
The fight was a desperate, ugly dance. Edward used his agility to weave and dodge. The wolf's snaps were clumsy but powerful.
He made his first real attack. A quick stab at the wolf's shoulder. The bone blade slid in with surprising ease. The wolf roared and slammed into him, throwing him against the thorny bushes.
He was on the ground. The wolf on top of him. A mess of fur, claws, and teeth.
He shoved his palm into the wolf's snout. A move of pure desperation. He could feel its hot, foul breath on his face.
With a surge of adrenaline, he wrapped his legs around the wolf and bucked. The move threw the beast off balance. He scrambled backward, putting space between them.
He got to his feet, panting. The wolf, bleeding from two wounds, gathered itself for one final lunge.
This was it. No more hesitation. No more fear.
It was him or the wolf.
As the beast leapt, Edward didn't dodge. He stood his ground. At the last second, he dropped to one knee and thrust the dagger upward.
He aimed for the soft underbelly. A critical spot.
He felt the dagger connect. He felt it sink deep, tearing through hide and muscle.
The wolf let out a strangled, gurgling sound. Its momentum carried it over him. It crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.
It lay still.
Silence.
Edward remained kneeling, his chest heaving. He had done it. His first proactive hunt. His first earned victory.
A familiar hunger stirred in his soul. He looked at the corpse and placed his hand on its flank. The icy rush of soul energy flowed into him. The massive beast turned to dust.
`[Soul Points Acquired: 25]`
`[You have reached Level 3!]`
`[+1 Stat Point available for allocation.]`
He felt a surge of strength. But there was no time for triumph.
The smell of fresh blood was thick in the air.
He heard it then. A low growl from the mouth of the trail. He looked up.
Four pairs of glowing yellow eyes stared back at him from the darkness.
The rest of the pack had returned.
They padded into the narrow trail, blocking the only exit. They fanned out, teeth bared. He was trapped.
Then, a new figure emerged.
A Dire Wolf, but it dwarfed the others. A jagged scar ran down its face. Its eyes burned with a cold, ancient intelligence.
The alpha.
It stepped forward. It looked at the spot where its packmate had died. Then it looked at Edward.
It raised its head to the green moon and let out a long, terrifying howl that shook the very trees.
It was not a call to the pack.
It was a declaration of vengeance.