The air grew thick the deeper Arin went, damp stone sweating cold against his skin. Water dripped from the vaulted ceiling in uneven beats, echoing through the tunnels like a slow, mocking clock. His boots squelched against slimy moss, each step muffled by the constant trickle of runoff.
Something skittered ahead.
Arin froze, spear lowering instinctively. His eyes narrowed—and then the faint shimmer of numbers sprang to life above the shadows.
[Sewer Rat — Level 3]
[Sewer Rat — Level 4]
His grip tightened. Manageable, he thought. But only if they come one at a time.
The first rat lunged from the dark—a bristling, fur-matted beast the size of a small dog. Its teeth gleamed in the faint torchlight, yellow and jagged, saliva dripping in strands as it hissed. Arin thrust forward, iron tip piercing through greasy fur and sinking into flesh. The creature squealed, thrashing, before collapsing with a twitch.
Another pair burst from the side tunnel, claws scratching stone as they darted toward him. Arin snapped his shield up just in time—the first slammed against the wood with a dull thud, the second circling with uncanny speed. His arms jolted from the impact, but he pushed forward, twisting his spear to free it.
He jabbed low, catching the circling rat in the belly. Warmth sprayed his hand as it writhed and stilled. The other clung to his shield, clawing furiously, its fetid stench filling his nose. With a grunt, Arin slammed the shield against the wall, crushing the rat between wood and stone. Bones cracked; the squeal died.
Three down.
His chest heaved, not from exhaustion but from the sudden surge of focus. The sewers seemed to breathe around him, shadows twitching, every sound a threat. Then he heard it—scratching, multiplied, echoing from further in the tunnel.
Arin braced his spear, sweat slicking his palms.
The dark wasn't empty. And the rats weren't done.
The sewer fell quiet once the last squeal died, leaving only the steady drip of water and Arin's own ragged breath. He planted his spear against the wall, knelt beside the fallen rats, and drew the broad-bladed knife from his belt.
It had been Bren's parting gift before they left the guild, simple yet sturdy. On the road later, Hadrik had shown him how to use it properly, sharpening his own blade as he spoke.
"Never hack with a knife like this," Hadrik had muttered, demonstrating the clean glide of steel on whetstone. "Guide it. Let the weight carry through."
Arin set the knife to the first rat's tail. The flesh parted with a wet slice, and he forced himself not to flinch at the stench. One by one, he cut free the tails, slipping them into a pouch at his side. Proof of his kills. Proof of his worth.
When the last was done, he wiped the blade clean against the rat's filthy fur and rose, reclaiming his spear.
The tunnel stretched ahead, a low archway lined with dripping stonework. Moss clung to the corners, and stagnant pools rippled as unseen currents stirred beneath. Every sound carried too far—the creak of leather straps, the rasp of his breath, the faint scuttle of something retreating into the dark.
He pushed deeper.
The passage split into narrow walkways flanking a sluggish channel of black water. His torchlight reached only so far, the rest swallowed by shadow. He adjusted his grip on shield and spear, forcing his steps steady.
Then came the scratching—softer than before, multiplied. From the shadows emerged another cluster of sewer rats, their eyes catching the light, gleaming red. Five this time. Larger. One of them hung back, circling, as if waiting for him to overcommit.
[Sewer Rat — Level 2–3]
Arin's jaw tightened. Not the same as before. Smarter.
The first two rushed together. He braced his shield and shoved forward, the impact jarring his shoulder but holding. His spear darted over the rim of the shield, skewering one clean through the chest. A shield bash threw the other off-balance, smashing it to the ground where he finished it with a quick thrust.
Another tried to slip behind him. Arin pivoted, letting his spear's reach keep it at bay. He thrust low, scraping stone as the rat barely dodged. Snarling, it lunged again. This time he angled his strike, piercing its throat.
Three down. Two left.
The circling rat hissed, darting in tandem with the other. Their claws scraped stone, moving in jagged patterns.
[Sewer Rat — Level 3]
[Sewer Rat — Level 2]
Arin backed toward the wall, forcing them to funnel. His shield caught one, the wood shuddering from the impact, and his spear pinned it through the ribs. The last charged. He dropped his shield just enough to let it leap—and slammed the rim upward, knocking the beast aside. A swift stab finished it.
Silence.
Arin stood panting, sweat running down his temple. His arms ached, but his grip on the spear held firm. He harvested their tails in grim efficiency, the pouch growing heavier at his side.
That was when he noticed it—scratches gouged into the wall, deeper and wider than rat claws. The stone looked chewed, gnawed by something with stronger jaws. And scattered among the slime were bones, pale and broken, far too large to belong to vermin.
Arin's breath slowed, his stomach sinking.
The rats weren't the only things that called these tunnels home.
The silence pressed heavier the deeper he went. His torch sputtered against the damp, shadows dancing across the stone walls. The scratches on the masonry stayed in his mind—broad, jagged gouges that no rat could have made.
Arin knelt to examine the trail. The stone was scored in long arcs, as if something with immense weight had dragged itself through. Nearby, the water channel carried a slow ripple, disturbed though nothing moved across its surface.
He straightened, unease gnawing at him.
Among the refuse at the water's edge lay bones—gnawed clean, some cracked open to the marrow. They weren't small either; a dog's skull, a goat's ribcage, even what might have been part of a human femur half-buried in sludge.
Arin gripped his spear tighter. Something bigger is down here.
The tunnels themselves bore the truth. A section of brickwork had collapsed inward, leaving a cavernous gap where the sewage widened. The stench rolling from that black water was nearly unbearable, as if the air itself recoiled from what lurked beneath.
Then came the sound. A slow, wet drag echoing faintly through the tunnel, too far to pinpoint but deep enough to set his teeth on edge. He froze, ears straining. It was gone in an instant—swallowed by the endless drip of water.
No rat could make that sound.
Arin's pulse quickened. His quest was to cull vermin, not to hunt whatever predator haunted these depths. He forced himself onward, keeping to the mission.
The next bend revealed motion. Dozens of yellow eyes glittered back at him in the torchlight. Sewer rats—larger than the first pack, their mangy bodies quivering with hunger.
[Sewer Rat — Level 2–4] flickered above the swarm.
Arin steadied his breathing. This, at least, I can face.
The first lunged. His spear darted forward, piercing through its chest before the others surged. He twisted, yanking the blade free just as another sprang at his leg. The wooden shield caught the brunt of its teeth, the impact rattling his arm.
He shifted his stance, driving the shield out with a bash that sent the rat sprawling into the water with a splash. Another skittered low, jaws snapping at his ankle. Arin thrust down, iron tip crunching through bone.
The swarm pressed harder. He gave ground slowly, keeping the wall to his back. Rats clawed at the shield, bodies piling, but he used his spear's reach to thin their numbers, stabbing and sweeping in tight arcs.
His muscles burned, sweat mixing with the sewer's stench. But his training with Roth's drills and Hadrik's advice took root—shield to block, spear to strike, feet never still.
One rat leapt for his throat. Arin ducked, slamming the rim of his shield upward to deflect it, then skewered it midair with a desperate thrust.
At last the survivors broke, scattering into the tunnels with squeals fading into the distance. The water rippled in their wake, as though something deeper stirred at their retreat.
Arin stood heaving, chest burning, the tails of his kills heavy at his belt. His spear dripped red into the filth below.
Then, a familiar shimmer appeared before his eyes.
[Level Up!]
The words steadied his shaking hands. Exhaustion gave way to something else—a rising strength, faint but undeniable. He wiped the sweat from his brow and forced himself to breathe steady.
The darkness pressed close again, but he carried new power within him.
The warning came not as a sound, but as a sudden rush of air. A shadow surged from the black water, jaws wide enough to swallow his arm whole. Arin barely had time to raise his wooden shield before teeth clamped down. The impact jarred his entire frame, wood splintering as the shield wedged between rows of dagger-like fangs.
The creature was no rat. Its scales glistened slick in the torchlight, its eyes cold and alien. Its body twisted with raw muscle as it thrashed, dragging Arin half off his feet, shield still caught in its maw. The stench of sewage mixed with a metallic tang filled his nose as the beast shook its head violently, trying to tear the shield—and him—apart.
Panic flared—but so did the system.
---
[Unallocated Points: 3]
→ Strength +2
→ Endurance +1
---
Arin didn't hesitate. He willed the points into his body, muscles swelling with raw power, lungs hardening with endurance. The change was immediate—his grip steadied, legs bracing against the stone walkway as the beast thrashed harder. The shield groaned, cracking down the middle, but he held on.
With a grunt, Arin slammed his shoulder into the monster's snout, forcing its head to the side. The creature released the ruined shield with a sickening crack of wood and lunged again, snapping its jaws shut an inch from his torso. Arin twisted aside, jamming the broken edge of the shield into its mouth before stabbing downward with his spear. The point scraped harmlessly off its scales, earning only a furious bellow.
The sewer chamber exploded with sound as the beast's tail whipped around. The blow caught him square in the ribs, hurling him against the stone wall. Pain shot through his chest as the torch slipped from his hand and clattered across the wet floor. Its flame dimmed, shadows swallowing the edges of the chamber.
Arin forced himself upright, lungs burning, just as the beast barreled forward again. Jaws snapped where he had been standing an instant before, shattering stone. He planted his feet, thrusting the spear haft across its gaping mouth to wedge the jaws open. The beast thrashed, dragging him across the slick stones, pulling him dangerously close to the dark canal. Water surged as the creature's bulk churned, threatening to pull him under.
Muscles screamed, but his new endurance held. Step by step, he braced, teeth clenched, refusing to let go. With a roar, Arin swung his weight down, smashing the butt of the spear into its snout once, twice, three times. Bone cracked faintly beneath the blows, the creature's eyes flashing with pained fury.
It retaliated with a violent roll, its massive body twisting. Arin was nearly pulled into the water, sewage rising around his boots. He kicked hard, using the wall behind him to shove himself forward, breaking the spiral. He landed hard on his knees, but in that instant the monster reared back, jaws wide.
Arin lunged before it could strike. He angled the spear high, driving the iron tip toward the glistening orb of its eye. The creature jerked its head at the last moment, and the strike glanced across its scaled brow. The spear skipped, nearly torn from his hands.
Snarling, Arin recovered, feinted left, then thrust again. This time the point punched clean through the eye, sliding deep until the resistance gave way.
The sewer monster convulsed, slamming its bulk against the stones. Its tail lashed the walls, water splashing in violent sheets. Arin clung to the haft, pressing down with every ounce of strength as blood clouded the water. The beast writhed, slammed into the wall again, but its thrashing slowed… then stilled.
For a long breath, the only sound was his ragged breathing and the drip of sewer water echoing in the dark. He pulled the spear free, black ichor dripping from its tip.
---
[Mini-Boss Defeated!]
[EXP Gained: Massive Bonus]
[Level Up!]
The chamber was quiet again, save for the slow drip of water and the rasp of Arin's own breathing. His hands trembled around the shaft of his spear, the iron tip slick with black ichor. The creature's bulk sagged half in the water, half on the stone walkway, its lifeless body too large to be swept away by the sluggish current.
Arin leaned back against the wall, chest heaving. The stink of blood and sewage clung to him, making every breath taste like rust and rot. His arms ached from strain, his ribs throbbed where the tail had struck, and his shield—his one true line of defense—lay shattered in pieces near the water's edge.
He stared at it for a long moment. The Small Wooden Shield had stopped the beast's first strike, sparing him from being torn apart outright. It had done its job, but it would serve him no longer. He pressed a hand against his chest, steadying himself, then drew in a deep breath.
Despite the pain, a quiet triumph swelled in him. He had faced down something far beyond vermin—something lurking in the dark that could have killed him—and he had survived.
The system's lingering glow confirmed it. He had grown stronger, sharper. Twice now in one delve, he had been tested and rewarded.
Arin tightened his grip on the spear and glanced deeper into the tunnels, shadows stretching far beyond the torchlight. Something told him the sewers held more secrets yet—more dangers—but not tonight. He had earned his reprieve.
With slow, careful steps, he gathered the severed rat tails into the pouch at his belt, making sure not to leave behind the proof of his commission. His torch sputtered but held, its weak flame guiding him back toward the surface.
Arin climbed the final rungs of the rusted ladder, the iron cold and slick under his fingers. With a grunt, he shoved open the sewer grate, and the night air of Redcrest spilled over him—fresh, sharp, and almost dizzying after hours of rot and damp stone. He pulled himself onto the cobbled street, chest heaving, and sat for a long moment on the lip of the grate.
The muffled roar of taverns, the clatter of wagon wheels, the faint music of a distant bard—it was as though the world above had never known the darkness below. Yet Arin had faced it. Sewer rats, swarming shadows, and the jaws of a monster that nearly crushed him whole. His arm still ached from bracing the broken shield, his cuirass stank of mildew, and his spear felt heavier than it had before.
But he had survived. More than that—he had grown stronger.
Arin stared at his hands, scarred with fresh scrapes and grime. A thrill curled inside his chest despite the fatigue weighing his limbs. His first quest, his first real step as an adventurer, was behind him. And yet, he knew it was only the beginning.
A couple walked past him, laughing as they carried a basket of bread. Children darted across the street, chasing each other with sticks, their shouts filling the air with life. The contrast was almost jarring—the carefree normalcy above and the nightmare that lurked beneath their very feet. None of them would ever know the battle that had played out in the dark.
Arin rose, brushing the dust and filth from his armor, and set his sights once again on the heart of Redcrest. The streets stretched before him, alive with noise, light, and possibility. His path was no longer Emberstead's quiet safety—it was here, in this larger world where danger and promise both waited for him.
Arin's Status Window
Name: Arin
Level: 8
HP: 31 / 31
MP: 12/ 12
Strength: 15 (Max: 76)
Endurance: 15 (Max: 83)
Agility: 12 (Max: 71)
Dexterity: 7 (Max: 68)
Intelligence: 9 (Max: 34)
Willpower: 8 (Max: 32)
Unallocated Points: 3
Ability: Level Perception
Current Equipment
Armor: Worn Leather Cuirass
Shield: None (Small Wooden Shield — Broken)
Weapon: Iron-Tipped Spear
Other: None