Edward stood in the sterile silence of his new room. The janitorial supply closet.
He stared at the glowing MVP notification. A quiet, cold satisfaction settled in his gut. The system, for all its cruelty, was brutally, beautifully honest. It didn't care about rank or reputation. It cared about results.
He allocated his 5 new stat points. Three into Dexterity. Two into Vitality. He could feel the familiar, pleasant hum as the power settled in.
He now had a comfortable cushion of 1000 SP. A small fortune. A sense of security he hadn't felt since… ever.
His triumph, like all things in his life, was fleeting.
A new notification blinked into existence. It overrode everything else. It wasn't a reward. It was a quest.
And the tone of it was different. A direct, non-negotiable order.
`[Mandatory Quest Issued: Assassinate the Corrupted Merchant.]`
`[Target: Silas "The Grasper" Thorne.]`
`[Location: Blackwood Market, Stall #13.]`
`[Time Limit: 24 hours.]`
`[Reward: 500 SP, Rare Skill Scroll.]`
`[Failure Penalty: Permanent Stat Drain.]`
Edward's blood ran cold. He read the text again. He focused on three key words.
Assassinate. Merchant. Permanent.
This wasn't a monster hunt. This wasn't a dungeon crawl.
The system was ordering him to kill a person. A human being.
He accessed the academy's public network. He searched for the name Silas Thorne.
The file was short and grim. Silas was a low-level merchant in the Blackwood Market. A notoriously shady bazaar. He had a long list of minor offenses.
But the most recent entry was a red flag. "Suspected of trafficking in Corrupted Soul-Shards."
Corrupted Soul-Shards were illegal for a reason. They were a sort of performance-enhancing drug. The side effects were horrific. Users became volatile. Aggressive. Their souls would decay.
Silas Thorne wasn't just a petty criminal. He was a purveyor of spiritual poison. A monster in human skin.
And Edward was being ordered to execute him.
He sank onto a stack of clean rags. The closet suddenly felt as cold as a tomb.
A line had just been drawn in the sand. The system was demanding he cross it.
Killing goblins and wraith-hounds for survival was one thing. Slaying a Basilisk Queen was another.
But this… this was different.
He walked back and forth in the small closet. A caged predator. His entire life, the bedrock of his identity, had been that of a protector. He had sacrificed himself for Sarah. He had fought the Behemoth to save the academy.
Becoming a hitman for a cold, mechanical god felt like a betrayal. He would be killing not out of necessity, not for protection, but because he was ordered to. A puppet on the system's strings.
'But he's a scumbag,' a pragmatic, cold voice whispered. The voice of the survivor. 'He's selling poison that destroys lives. The world would be a better place without him. It's not murder; it's sanitation.'
The argument was logical. But it felt hollow. Who was he to be judge, jury, and executioner?
If he did this, where would it end?
The timer in the corner of his vision was a constant reminder: `23:15:42`.
He spent the rest of the day in a state of agitated paralysis. He went through the motions of his duties. His mind was a battlefield.
He saw other students. Laughing. Training. Living their normal lives.
He saw Chris. The S-Ranker's face was a mask of thunderous fury from the MVP announcement. He looked at Edward with a hatred so pure it was a physical force.
For a dark moment, Edward wondered what he would do if the system ordered him to assassinate Chris. The thought was tempting. It was also terrifying.
The sun set. The day was ending. The time was running out.
He stood on a balcony overlooking the academy grounds. He had to make a choice.
Embrace the role of the system's executioner. Or defy it and face the consequences.
Permanent Stat Drain.
The words were a threat of a different kind. His power. His speed. His ability to survive. It was all he had.
The system was threatening to take it away. To cripple him. To leave him helpless. A vile, brilliant form of blackmail.
His humanity was being held hostage. The ransom was his soul.
He looked down at his hands. Could he do it? Could he walk into that market, find that man, and end his life?
He thought of the look on Silas Thorne's face. The man would be terrified. He would beg. Plead for his life.
And Edward would have to look him in the eye and plunge a dagger into his heart. All for 500 SP and a new skill.
He couldn't do it.
His choice was made. He would not be a murderer. He would not be the system's dog.
He would face the punishment. He would endure it. He would find another way.
He stood on that balcony. He watched the timer on his HUD tick down the final seconds.
`00:00:03`
`00:00:02`
`00:00:01`
`00:00:00`
`[Quest Failed.]`
Edward braced himself. He expected a monster. A punishment dimension. A jolt of pain.
The punishment came from within.
`[Punishment Protocol: Activated. Permanent Stat Drain initiated.]`
`[DEX: 13 -> 10]`
`[-3 DEX]`
`[VIT: 11 -> 9]`
`[-2 VIT]`
It hit him like a physical blow. A wave of profound, debilitating weakness washed over him.
It was a fundamental change. The vibrant, humming energy that had coursed through him vanished. His legs, which had felt so light and powerful, now felt heavy. Sluggish.
A wave of exhaustion, deep and soul-crushing, settled over him.
He tried to stand up straight. His body felt slow. Unresponsive.
His greatest weapon, his blinding speed, had been crippled. The resilience that had allowed him to endure the Behemoth's horn had been gutted.
He was weak again.
He stumbled. His hand caught the cold stone of the balustrade to keep himself from falling. He looked out at the moonlit grounds. The world, once his to conquer, now seemed vast and impossibly dangerous once more.
He had made his choice. He had held onto his humanity.
But the price was steep. And as he stood there, trembling with a weakness that felt more profound than death, he had to wonder if it was a price he could afford to pay.