Pitch dark. Every hair on Jake's body stood on end. He held the mace tightly in front of him, body coiled like a spring.
Just as he tried to edge backward toward what he hoped was a wall, a door suddenly materialized in the darkness before him.
A blinding beam of light burst through—so abrupt that his vision whited out completely.
Fortunately, the assisted night vision on his glasses automatically shut off and instantly switched to protective mode.
Within moments, Jake's vision cleared.
The room was intensely bright. The walls were pure white, while the ceiling and floor glowed with uniform white light, creating a stark, sterile environment.
The only color came from three figures dressed in black.
"Good. You're the first to arrive—and half an hour early. Wait over there,"
One of the men in black stated flatly, gesturing vaguely to Jake's left before falling silent again.
Jake frowned but didn't question. He moved to the right side of the room and sat cross-legged on the floor, quietly observing everything around him.
Three people in black. Nothing else.
The room was completely empty—not even a chair. The three stood motionless, saying nothing.
Who sets up something this shady in the middle of the New Reclaimed Zone? If the pay wasn't so good, no one in their right mind would come.
The mission details had been simple: upload your ID and arrive at a specified location in the New Reclaimed Zone.
Just showing up earned 50,000 credits. If selected, another 100,000. And if the mission was completed successfully? 200,000.
There was only one requirement: all applicants had to be baseline humans.
A baseline human venturing into the New Reclaimed Zone!
The mission sounded risky—and it was. If not for his desperate situation, Jake would never have risked his life coming here.
But greed and blind hope often cloud judgment—especially among baseline humans, who needed money more than most. So despite the danger, many had signed up.
Jake was one of them—a baseline human, an unmodified planet native human.
They were the weakest class on the planet.
So he knew that just the phrase "baseline human in the New Reclaimed Zone" would weed out plenty of applicants.
Even Jake, as desperate as he was, had weighed the decision carefully and prepared extensively.
The New Reclaimed Zone referred to territories recently retaken from the Bisolarans.
Yet these areas remained far from safe—uncleared of all threats, but ripe with opportunity. This was a world for adventurers.
Hunting bio-beasts, trading materials and source crystals, searching for spatial convergence points… betting your life for a shot at riches.
These were the stories—and stakes—of life in the Zone.
Because these private operators helped the Alliance government mop up scattered monsters and hazards—saving the military time, resources, and manpower—their armed activities were legal here.
But that also made the New Reclaimed Zone-NRZ, a lawless frontier. Here, everyone was on their own. You fought—and died—by your own choices.
Sanctuary was the closest fortified city to the New Reclaimed Zone.
In its outer sectors, all property was controlled by a handful of powerful factions. Ordinary residents could only rent—owning was out of the question.
That's because simply being homeless wasn't an option in the outer sectors of Sanctuary.
Those without education, combat ability, or valuable skills weren't even qualified to live there.
They'd be conscripted by the Reserve Forces—or worse, sold into slavery on the black market by gangs or mercenary groups. Their fate would be even darker than cannon fodder.
[Getting into university is my only way out… but combat training costs a fortune. Without income soon, once an orphan gets kicked out of the OC Elite Track….
.…my future will be pitch black. If I don't want to end up as expendable fodder on the battlefield, I have to take this risk.]
As Jake lost himself in thought, more people began filtering into the room— nearly fifty in total, far more than he had expected.
The reward for this mission really did draw a crowd.
Fortunately, the room was vast enough that it didn't feel crowded.
Like Jake, most adjusted to the light, then followed the man in black's silent directive—sitting cross-legged on the right side of the room.
Only a few showed clear dissatisfaction, but their resistance was quickly subdued by the intimidating presence of the figures in black.
Jake could sense these weren't ordinary operatives. He chose to stay quiet and observe.
Soon, an eerie, tomb-like silence filled the brightly lit room.
After a short while, a tall figure dressed in camouflage combat gear entered.
He rubbed his eyes briefly, then stormed angrily toward the three man in black, shouting:
"What the hell is this supposed to be?!"
The man towered over even the tallest of the man in black by a full head, with broad shoulders and a powerful build. Every step he took radiated aggression.
One of the man in black frowned slightly.
"Aspella-class?"
Though impulsive, the man wasn't foolish. He stopped in front of the man in black but continued glaring fiercely.
The man in black looked up at him, yet somehow seemed even more imposing. After a moment of silent tension, he repeated calmly:
"Aspella Dymin, Is that correct?"
The big man's eyes darted shiftily. He didn't answer directly.
"My brother's sick—I'm here in his place. Forget that crap. Just tell me: what's with all the secrecy? And that damn light nearly blinded me! What's this all about?!"
Everyone in the room turned their attention toward them. That was the question they all wanted answered.
The man in black didn't reply. Instead, a cold smirk touched his lips.
The sight of that smirk pissed the big man off. He was about to explode—but suddenly, it felt like an invisible hand had seized his throat.
The curses ready on his tongue stuck there. All that came out was a choked, gurgling rasp. Not a single word would form.