The smell was the first thing that registered, a nauseating cocktail of wet hay, dried manure, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
Rylan's eyes snapped open, but instead of the blue-light glow of his dual monitors, he was met by a sky the color of a bruised plum. Rain, cold and persistent, lashed against his face. He tried to draw a breath, but his lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass.
"Still breathing, you lazy maggot?"
A heavy, leather-bound boot slammed into Rylan's ribs. The force rolled him over into a puddle of mud. Pain, sharp and agonizingly real, exploded through his side. This wasn't a haptic feedback suit. This wasn't a VR glitch.
He coughed, spitting out a mixture of bile and silt. Through his blurred vision, he looked at his hands. They were thin, skeletal, and covered in a layer of grime so deep it looked like a second skin. These weren't the hands of a man who spent his life reviewing games. These were the hands of a laborer.
"Get up, Zhorath! The South field isn't going to plow itself, and the Overseer doesn't like waiting."
Rylan forced his head up. Standing over him was a titan of a man, clad in boiled leather and carrying a barbed whip. Above the man's head, a translucent, flickering bar hovered in the air.
[NPC: Guntar (Foreman)]
[Level: 7]
[Disposition: Hostile/Cruel]
Guntar... The name sparked a dormant memory in Rylan's mind. In the Realm of the Cursed Prophecy, Guntar was a footnote—a minor antagonist in the "Fall of Oakhaven" tutorial arc. He was the man who supposedly beat the Dark Lord's vessel so badly that the first seal of darkness broke.
"Where... am I?" Rylan's voice was a rasping ghost of his own.
Guntar laughed, a sound like grinding stones. "Lost your mind along with your strength? You're in the pits, boy. Now move, or I'll give you something more than a bruised rib to cry about."
As Guntar turned away, spitting a glob of phlegm onto Rylan's tattered tunic, a searing heat ignited behind Rylan's retinas.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
[SOUL SCAN COMPLETE: RYLAN (PLAYER ID: NULL) FOUND.]
[VESSEL MATCHED: ZHORATH (THE ACCURSED).]
A screen, black as a void and laced with veins of pulsing crimson, manifested in his mind's eye.
[FATE DIVERGENCE SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[Current Status: The Lamb to the Slaughter]
[Level: 1]
[HP: 12/45 (Injured)]
[MP: 0/0 (Sealed)]
[STR: 3 | AGI: 4 | VIT: 2 | INT: 15 (Transcend)]
Transcend INT? Rylan's mind raced. In the game, starting stats for a peasant were usually 5 across the board. His high intelligence was a carry-over from his previous life—his knowledge of the game's code, its secrets, and its brutal mechanics.
If this is the tutorial arc, Rylan thought, clutching his side as he struggled to stand, then Oakhaven is set to be razed by the Church of Eternal Light in exactly three days. Everyone here dies. Guntar, the Overseer... everyone.
He looked at the mud-caked hoe lying a few feet away. In the game, Zhorath was meant to endure the abuse until he snapped and slaughtered the village. But the "System" was different now.
[NEW MISSION: THE FIRST CRUMB OF POWER]
[Description: Surving the Foreman's wrath is the destiny written. Changing the outcome is the path of the Dark Lord.]
[Objective: Neutralize Guntar without triggering the 'Dark Awakening' (0/1)]
[Reward: 500 Fate Points, Skill: 'Eye of the Betrayer']
[Failure: Death or Scripted Enslavement.]
"Five hundred points," Rylan whispered, his fingers closing around the wooden handle of the hoe. The wood was splintered, biting into his palm. "That's enough to buy a Level 1 Essence."
"What was that, brat?" Guntar spun around, his whip unfurling like a snake. "You whispering prayers? Your God isn't here. Only me."
Rylan didn't look up. He kept his gaze on the mud. "I was just thinking, Guntar. You're Level 7. You've got a Strength of at least 12. But your Agility... that's your weakness, isn't it? Old injury in the left knee from the Great War?"
Guntar froze. His eyes narrowed, the cruelty replaced by a flicker of genuine confusion. "How do you know about that?"
"I know everything about this world," Rylan said, finally looking up. His eyes, though weary, held a cold, predatory sharpness that made the giant man take a half-step back. "I know that in three seconds, you're going to swing that whip overhead. And I know that because of that knee, you can't pivot fast enough to stop me from doing this."
Guntar roared, "You little shit!"
The whip hissed through the air, aimed at Rylan's neck. In the past, Rylan would have closed his eyes and taken the hit. But he had spent thousands of hours analyzing the attack patterns of every NPC in this game. He knew the wind-up. He knew the recovery frames.
Rylan didn't run. He stepped into the strike.
The whip wrapped around his left arm, the barbs tearing through the fabric and into his flesh. [-8 HP]. Rylan didn't flinch. He used the momentum to pull, catching Guntar off-balance.
As Guntar's weight shifted to his weak left knee, it buckled with a sickening pop.
Rylan swung the heavy iron hoe. He didn't aim for the head—that would be too quick. He aimed for the Achilles tendon.
Guntar's scream ripped through the rainy silence of the fields. He collapsed into the muck, clutching his heel, his face turning a ghostly shade of white.
"You... you broke it! I'll kill you! I'll skin you alive!" Guntar wheezed, reaching for a rusted dagger at his belt.
Rylan stepped on Guntar's wrist, pinning it into the mud. He leaned down, his face inches from the man who had tormented Zhorath for years.
"The script says you beat me until I scream for mercy," Rylan whispered, his voice devoid of emotion. "But I've played this game before, Guntar. I didn't like the ending. So, we're going to try something new."
[NOTIFICATION: FATE DIVERGED.]
[Guntar's Destiny Altered: From 'Executioner' to 'Cripple'.]
[Fate Points Earned: +150]
"Please..." Guntar whimpered. The terror in his eyes was the most beautiful thing Rylan had seen since he arrived.
"Don't beg," Rylan said, his eyes scanning the horizon. In the distance, the spires of the village church glowed with an ominous, holy light. "Save your breath. You're going to need it to run when the 'Heroes' get here."
Rylan stood up, leaving the broken man in the mud. He opened his system interface, the crimson glow reflecting in his dark pupils.
[CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE SURVIVED THE FIRST ENCOUNTER.]
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO SPEND 100 FATE POINTS TO UNLOCK: 'THE DARK LORD'S GRASP'?]
Yes, Rylan thought. Unlock it all.
He looked at his trembling hands. The pain in his side was still there, but beneath it, a new sensation was bubbling up—a cold, hungry power that felt like home. Victor Grahn had built this world to be a prison of fate.
Rylan was going to burn it down.
"I'm coming for you, Victor," he muttered to the rain. "I hope you saved a seat for me at the final boss's table."
[SKILL: 'EYE OF THE BETRAYER' (LEVEL 1) - LEARNED.]
[EFFECT: YOU CAN NOW SEE THE HIDDEN TRAPS AND WEAKPOINTS OF ALL DIVINE CREATURES.]
The world shifted. To anyone else, the village was a peaceful, if poor, settlement. To Rylan, the entire area was now lit up with glowing red lines—flaws in the architecture, secret passages, and the ticking timer of a massacre that was only 68 hours away.
He didn't have much time. He was a level 1 peasant in a world that wanted him dead. But for the first time in his life, Rylan wasn't playing the game.
He was the game.