The kitchen was silent, save for the wet, ragged sound of Arthur's breathing.
The adrenaline that had fueled his desperate charge was fading, replaced by a cold, throbbing agony in his side. Every inhale felt like a serrated knife dragging across his ribs.
Arthur leaned against the overturned table, clutching his chest. His fingers came away sticky with blood—mostly the creature's, thick and black, but mixed with the bright red of his own.
He stared at the corpse of the Rotting Butcher. It was massive, a mountain of diseased flesh and filthy bandages.
In the real world, Arthur would be vomiting. He would be calling the police. He would be in shock.
But here, a strange, cold pragmatism washed over him. Maybe it was the game's influence, or maybe it was the number floating in his mind: Fifty thousand dollars.
This thing wasn't a corpse. It was a loot box.
"Money," Arthur wheezed, forcing himself upright. "It has to have money."
He knelt beside the body, suppressing the urge to gag at the stench of rotten meat. He reached into the creature's tattered apron, his hands shaking slightly.
He patted down the pockets. Wet. Slimy.
His fingers brushed against something hard.
Arthur pulled it out. It was a small, grimy pouch made of rough leather.
[Item Acquired: Grimy Leather Pouch]
[Type: Container]
[Rarity: Common]
[Remark: It smells of dried blood and grease. Open it if you dare.]
Arthur pulled the drawstring loose and dumped the contents into his palm.
Three coins. They were heavy, made of a dull, grey metal, stamped with the face of a weeping king.
[Item Acquired: Silver Stater x3] [Type: Currency] [Exchange Rate: 1 Silver Stater = 100 Credits] [Remark: The currency of the fallen kingdom. Valuable to merchants and collectors alike.]
Arthur's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know the exact exchange rate to dollars yet, but currency was currency. He shoved the coins into his jeans pocket.
He went back to the body. He couldn't afford to miss anything.
Tucked into the belt of the creature, hidden beneath a roll of fat, was a small glass vial filled with a murky red liquid.
[Item Acquired: Low-Grade Health Potion] [Type: Consumable] [Rarity: Common] [Effect: Restores 30 HP over 10 seconds. Cures minor infections.] [Remark: It tastes like copper and old socks, but it beats dying.]
"Jackpot," Arthur whispered.
He uncorked the vial and downed it in one gulp. The taste was vile, metallic and bitter, making his eyes water. But seconds later, a warm sensation spread from his stomach. The sharp, stabbing pain in his ribs dulled to a manageable ache.
[System Notification: Health Restoring...] [HP: 85% -> 95%] [Status: Rib Fracture (Healing). Mobility penalty reduced.]
He checked the corpse one last time. Nothing else but the rags it wore.
He looked at the [Rusted Butcher's Cleaver] he had shoved into his belt. It was heavy, dragging his pants down.
He pulled up his status screen again.
[Strength: F-]
The requirement for the cleaver was F+. He was close. Just a little bit stronger, and he could wield that monster of a weapon. For now, the bent iron poker was his best friend.
SCREECH!
A sound from outside froze him in place. It wasn't the low moan of the undead this time. It was high-pitched, piercing, like a hawk crying out in the night.
Then came the answering howls. Multiple voices. Dogs? No, something worse.
Arthur scrambled to the broken window, peering through the cracks in the boards.
The fog on the street was churning. Shadows were moving—fast, low to the ground.
He couldn't stay here. The noise of his fight with the Butcher must have echoed like a dinner bell.
Arthur grabbed the poker and moved to the back of the kitchen. There was a narrow door, likely leading to a pantry or a servant's exit. He tried the handle. Locked.
He didn't have time for finesse. He raised his foot and kicked the lock.
Crack!
The rotten wood gave way easily.
Arthur stepped into a dark, narrow hallway. The air here was stale, smelling of dust and dry rot. It was better than the kitchen.
He moved silently, his [Sneakers] making no sound on the dusty floorboards. He needed a place to hole up, to think, to plan.
The hallway opened into a large foyer. A grand staircase swept up to the second floor, the railing broken in several places.
Arthur started to climb, testing each step before putting his weight on it. The last thing he needed was to fall through the floor and break a leg.
He reached the landing. A long corridor stretched out in both directions, lined with doors.
He chose the third door on the left. It looked sturdy.
He slipped inside and closed the door softly, leaning his back against it.
It was a bedroom. A four-poster bed with tattered curtains dominated the room. A vanity mirror, cracked down the middle, sat against the wall.
Arthur slid to the floor, exhaling a long, shaky breath.
"Five days," he muttered. "I have to survive five days."
He had killed one monster. A Level 3. And he had nearly died.
If the tutorial was this hard, what was the actual game like?
He pulled out the [Grimy Leather Pouch] again, fingering the silver coins.
"Status."
[Name: Arthur] [Level: 1 (EXP: 45/100)] [Class: None] [HP: 95%] [Stamina: 78/100] [Strength: F-] [Agility: F] [Constitution: F-] [Intelligence: E] [Perception: F+]
He was almost halfway to Level 2. If he leveled up, maybe his stats would increase. Maybe he could use the cleaver.
He needed to hunt.
But hunting meant risking death. And death meant...
He looked at the remark on the system log. Death in the simulation may result in cessation of neural activity.
He wasn't just playing for money. He was playing for his life.
"Help! Please! Someone!"
The scream shattered his thoughts.
It came from outside, muffled by the walls but unmistakable. A woman's voice. Terrified.
Arthur stood up, rushing to the window. This room faced the street.
Through the grime-encrusted glass, he looked down.
The fog had thinned slightly. In the middle of the cobblestone street, a figure was running. A woman, wearing a long, ragged dress. She was stumbling, looking back over her shoulder.
Chasing her were three creatures.
They looked like dogs, but they were skinned. Raw muscle and bone exposed to the cold air. Their jaws were elongated, filled with needle-like teeth.
[Monster Identified: Plague Hound] [Level: 2] [Type: Beast] [Remark: Fast pack hunters. They aim for the throat.]
The woman tripped over a loose cobblestone and fell hard.
The hounds closed in, yipping and snarling.
Arthur gripped the windowsill.
Secondary Duty: Rescue as many natives as you can.
"It's a side mission," Arthur told himself. "It's optional."
He should stay hidden. He was safe here. He had food, he had a weapon. Why risk it for an NPC?
One of the hounds lunged, biting at the woman's ankle. She screamed, kicking out frantically.
"No! Get away!"
Arthur looked at her face. Even from this distance, he could see the terror in her eyes.
It reminded him of Lily.
The day the debt collectors had come to their old house. The way Lily had screamed when Marcus had grabbed her arm.
Arthur's knuckles turned white as he gripped the iron poker.
"Damn it," he hissed.
He turned and sprinted out of the room.
He didn't take the stairs. Too slow. He vaulted over the broken railing of the landing, dropping twelve feet to the foyer below.
Thud!
[Fall Damage: -5 HP]
He ignored the sting in his ankles and burst through the front door of the manor.
The cold air hit him like a physical blow.
"Hey! Ugly!" Arthur roared.
The hounds froze. They turned their heads in unison, six glowing red eyes locking onto him.
The woman on the ground looked up, gasping.
Arthur stood on the steps of the manor, brandishing the bent iron poker.
"Over here!"
The hounds didn't need a second invitation. They abandoned the woman and charged at him. They moved with terrifying speed, a blur of red muscle and snapping teeth.
Arthur's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
Three of them. Level 2.
He couldn't fight them all at once.
He backed up into the doorway of the manor. It was a choke point. They would have to come at him one by one.
The first hound leaped, aiming for his throat.
Arthur didn't panic. The memory of the Butcher fight was still fresh.
He activated his skill.
Vital Strike!
[Stamina: -10]
His vision sharpened. A red reticle appeared on the hound's skull, right between its eyes.
Arthur swung the poker.
CRACK!
The blow connected perfectly. The iron tip smashed into the hound's skull with a sickening crunch. The creature whimpered once and dropped mid-air, sliding across the floorboards to Arthur's feet.
[Target Neutralized: Plague Hound (Level 2)] [Experience Gained.]
One down. Two to go.
The other two didn't stop. They were frenzied by the smell of blood.
One lunged low, aiming for his legs. The other jumped high.
Arthur kicked out at the low one, his sneaker connecting with its snout.
Thud!
[Kick: Inflicts 2 Damage. Target Stunned (0.5s)]
It wasn't much damage, but it bought him a split second.
But the high one was already on him. Its claws raked across his chest, tearing through his ragged shirt.
Rip!
[Warning: Laceration. HP -12%. Bleeding Effect applied.]
Pain flared across his chest, hot and stinging. Arthur stumbled back, swinging the poker wildly.
Clang!
He hit the doorframe.
The hound landed and coiled its muscles to spring again.
Arthur was trapped in the hallway now. The stunned hound was recovering, shaking its head.
"Die!" Arthur gritted his teeth.
He swung the poker in a downward arc, using the [Blunt Weapon Mastery] passive. The swing felt smoother, heavier.
He hit the second hound in the spine as it tried to jump.
Snap!
The creature howled, its back legs going limp. It dragged itself forward, jaws snapping.
Arthur stomped on its head. Once. Twice.
[Target Neutralized: Plague Hound (Level 2)] [Experience Gained.]
Two down.
The third hound—the one he had kicked—was wary now. It circled him, growling low in its throat.
Arthur was panting. Blood was dripping from the scratches on his chest.
[HP: 78%] [Stamina: 55/100]
"Come on," Arthur taunted. "You want a piece?"
The hound lunged.
Arthur readied his poker for another Vital Strike.
But before he could swing, a flash of silver flew through the air.
Thwack!
A dagger embedded itself in the hound's neck.
The creature yelped, stumbling sideways.
Arthur didn't waste the chance. He stepped forward and brought the poker down on its skull.
Crunch.
[Target Neutralized: Plague Hound (Level 2)] [Experience Gained.] [Level Up!]
A golden light washed over Arthur, warm and invigorating.
[Name: Arthur] [Level: 2 (EXP: 15/200)] [HP: 100% (Restored)] [Stamina: 100/100 (Restored)] [Attribute Points: 1] [Skill Points: 1]
The pain in his chest vanished. The scratches sealed up. The ache in his ribs disappeared completely.
"Level up heals you," Arthur realized, a grin spreading across his face. "That's good to know."
He looked out into the street.
The woman was standing up, leaning against a lamppost. Her hand was outstretched, trembling slightly. She had thrown the dagger.
Arthur walked down the steps, the poker resting on his shoulder.
He approached her cautiously. She was young, maybe his age, with matted brown hair and dirt-streaked skin. Her dress was torn, revealing bandages underneath.
[NPC Identified: Elara] [Status: Injured, Fearful] [Relation: Neutral]
"You saved me," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse.
"You helped," Arthur said, pointing at the dead hound. "Nice throw."
Elara looked at him, her eyes widening. She saw the blood on his shirt, the makeshift weapon in his hand.
"You... you are an Outlander," she said. It wasn't a question.
Arthur paused. "Is that what you call us?"
"The ones who appear from nowhere," Elara said. "The ones who fight the monsters."
She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a small, intricate object. It looked like a compass, but instead of a needle, it had a rotating gemstone.
"I don't have money," she said quickly. "But take this. It will help you find the Safe Zones."
[Quest Updated: Rescue as many natives as you can.] [Objective Complete: Rescue Elara.] [Reward: Old Navigator's Compass, +50 Reputation with Survivors.]
Arthur took the compass. It felt warm in his hand.
[Item Acquired: Old Navigator's Compass] [Type: Tool] [Effect: Points towards the nearest consecrated ground (Safe Zone).] [Remark: In a city of the dead, knowing where to sleep is more valuable than gold.]
"Thank you," Arthur said.
"Go to the Cathedral," Elara said, pointing down the street into the thickest part of the fog. "The Sisters are there. They protect people. Tell them Elara sent you."
Before Arthur could ask anything else, she turned and limped away into the shadows of the alleyway, moving with a practiced stealth.
Arthur stood alone in the street, the three dead hounds around him.
He looked at the compass. The gemstone was glowing faintly, pointing north.
He had a destination now.
But first, loot.
He knelt by the hounds.
[System: Harvesting...]
[Item Acquired: Plague Hound Fang x2] [Item Acquired: Tattered Pelt] [Item Acquired: Small Beast Core]
[Item Acquired: Plague Hound Fang] [Item Acquired: Small Beast Core]
[Item Acquired: Plague Hound Fang]
Arthur pocketed the items. The Small Beast Core looked like a dark marble.
[Item: Small Beast Core] [Type: Material/Consumable] [Effect: Can be sold to alchemists or consumed to regain small amount of Stamina (Side effect: Nausea).]
Arthur stood up. He had 1 Attribute Point and 1 Skill Point.
He opened his status window.
[Strength: F-]
He put the Attribute Point into Strength.
[Strength: F- -> F]
He felt a sudden surge of heat in his muscles. His grip on the poker tightened. It felt lighter.
He pulled the [Rusted Butcher's Cleaver] from his belt.
[Requirement: Strength F+]
"Still not enough," Arthur muttered. F was better than F-, but he needed F+. He needed one more level.
He looked at his Skill Point. He could upgrade Blunt Weapon Mastery or Vital Strike, or save it.
He decided to save it. He didn't know what kind of skills he might unlock later.
Arthur looked North, following the compass. The fog was thicker there, swirling like a living thing. The silhouette of a massive spire pierced the gloom in the distance.
The Cathedral.
Arthur tightened his grip on the poker.
"Four days, twenty-three hours," he whispered.
He started walking. The sound of his footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, a lonely drumbeat in the silent city.
From the rooftops above, unseen eyes watched him pass.
A figure cloaked in shadows crouched on the edge of a gargoyle, a long, curved bow in hand.
"An Outlander," the figure whispered. "And he fights well."
The figure knocked an arrow, aiming at Arthur's retreating back, then hesitated.
"Let's see how long he lasts."
The figure lowered the bow and melted back into the darkness.
Arthur walked on, unaware that his game had just attracted its first spectator.