I see you.
Three simple words. Delivered impossibly. Chillingly.
My fingers tightened on the virtual coin pouch, the weight of 400 gold suddenly feeling insignificant against the icy dread spreading through my chest.
Who? How?
My first instinct was to reply, to demand answers. I typed furiously into the private message interface.
/tell ?????????? Who are you?
[System: Player [??????????] does not exist or is not online.]
Of course.
I scanned the Oakhaven street. Players hurried past, oblivious. Was one of them the sender, using some exploit to mask their name? Impossible to tell.
System logs? Checked. No record of the message received through normal channels.
Player list? Scrolled through everyone currently in the Oakhaven zone. No unusual names, no one flagged.
It was like the message had materialized from nowhere, bypassing the game's fundamental rules.
Just like my System.
Were they connected? Was this watcher part of the System? A hidden function? A failsafe?
Or was it something else? Something drawn to the resonance of my rebirth, my unnatural power signature? An entity operating outside Epoch's code, yet able to interact within it?
The swirling, iridescent eyes flashed in my mind again. Observing. Waiting.
Paranoia gnawed at the edges of my resolve. Was every action being monitored? Judged?
No. I couldn't let this derail me. Fear was a cage. Power was the key.
Whatever this entity was, whatever it wanted, the answer remained the same: Get stronger. So strong that no one, player or cosmic entity, could dictate my fate.
The gold burned a hole in my virtual pocket. Time to invest.
First stop: The Archer Trainer.
Beyond the basic skills, advanced techniques were available, for a price.
I quickly purchased [Rapid Shot Lv 1] – a standard skill, but useful for burst when Mark of Vulnerability was down. Then, [Improved Reflexes Lv 1] – a passive increasing dodge chance slightly. Every bit of survivability helped.
The real prize was a movement skill. [Shadow Step Lv 1]. Short-range teleport, usable every 20 seconds. Costly mana-wise, but essential for repositioning, dodging massive attacks, or escaping traps. It cost a hefty 50 gold just for the initial level. Worth every coin.
Next, gear. The Auction House was still buzzing from my silk dump. I scanned for bow upgrades.
Most were mediocre greens or overpriced blues. Nothing truly exceptional.
But my memory dredged up another secret. Old Man Hemlock, the reclusive Fletcher. He didn't operate out of a shop. He had a hidden stall, down by the Oakhaven sewers, accessible only at midnight in-game time. He sold… unique items. For exorbitant prices.
I checked the in-game clock. Still afternoon. I had time.
My next objective formed. The Whispering Crypts.
A Level 10-15 instanced dungeon hidden beneath Oakhaven's graveyard. Filled with undead, traps, and culminating in a Necromancer mini-boss.
Most players wouldn't attempt it until Level 12+, and even then, only with a full party.
The Crypts offered good experience, potential rare gear drops, and crucially, a chance to find [Scroll Fragments of Agility]. Collect enough, combine them, and gain a permanent +1 Agility point. Vital for my build.
More importantly, it was isolated. An instance. If the watcher could follow me there… it would tell me something significant about its nature.
The Oakhaven graveyard was suitably gloomy, filled with crooked headstones and skeletal trees clawing at the twilight sky.
Finding the entrance to the Whispering Crypts required activating three specific gravestones in sequence, marked only by nearly eroded symbols. Another tidbit from my past life's obsessive information gathering.
As my hand touched the final cold, stone marker, the ground before me rumbled. A section of earth slid away, revealing a dark, stone staircase descending into blackness.
[You have discovered the dungeon: Whispering Crypts (Solo/Party)]
[Difficulty Recommendation: Level 12+ (Party), Level 15+ (Solo)]
I stepped onto the stairs without hesitation. The entrance sealed shut behind me, plunging the stairwell into near-total darkness, lit only by faint, phosphorescent moss clinging to the damp walls.
The air was cold, stale, carrying the scent of dust and decay. And whispers.
Faint, incoherent whispers seemed to slither just at the edge of hearing. Game ambiance? Or something more?
I activated [Shadow Step] for the first time. With a flicker of dark energy, I instantly teleported ten yards down the stairs, the movement smooth and silent. Excellent.
The crypt proper opened into a large, vaulted chamber. Sarcophagi lined the walls, some broken open. Piles of bones littered the floor.
And the shuffling dead.
[Decrepit Skeletons - Level 10] and [Risen Zombies - Level 11] shambled aimlessly. Dozens of them.
This first room was designed to overwhelm unprepared groups, a test of AoE and control.
For me? Target practice.
Mark of Vulnerability on the nearest Zombie.
Thwip! Critical Hit.
[Critical Combo Triggered!]
The arrow storm commenced.
My Agility, boosted by gear and the unshackled System, made the combo activate instantly and climb stacks with terrifying speed.
Arrows shredded bone and rotting flesh indiscriminately. Skeletons exploded into shards. Zombies collapsed into putrid heaps.
I used Shadow Step to blink across the room, dodging clumsy swipes, maintaining optimal range, never letting the arrow rain cease.
The sheer density of targets meant my arrows, even those missing primary targets slightly, struck others nearby. Accidental cleave via overwhelming volume.
In less than a minute, the entire chamber was cleared. Silence fell, broken only by the incessant, faint whispers.
Easy. Almost too easy.
Loot was minimal – bone chips, grave dust, a few copper. The real rewards lay deeper.
I moved towards the archway leading further into the crypt.
And then I felt it.
That cold presence. The feeling of being watched.
It was here. Inside the instance.
My steps faltered. How? Instances were supposed to be isolated pockets of reality, separate from the main world server thread. No player could enter without using the entrance. No GM command, theoretically, should allow silent, invisible observation without logs.
Unless the watcher wasn't bound by the game's rules. At all.
The whispers seemed to intensify, swirling around me, almost forming coherent syllables before dissolving back into meaningless susurrus.
...Anomaly... power... borrowed... time...
Was I imagining it? Auditory pareidolia triggered by paranoia and game sounds?
Or was the watcher trying to communicate?
I gripped my bow tighter, scanning the shadows. Nothing. Just crumbling stone and darkness.
Push forward. Ignoring it was weakness. Confrontation required strength I didn't have yet. Information gathering was key.
The next corridor was narrow, lined with pressure plates triggering poison dart traps. My enhanced Agility and [Improved Reflexes] passive made dodging them trivial. I danced through the corridor, arrows flying ahead, taking down shambling ghouls before they could react.
I reached a T-junction. Left led towards the Crypt Keeper's chamber, right towards the flooded section where the rare Waterlogged Spirits sometimes spawned. Memory suggested the first Scroll Fragment was often found near the Crypt Keeper. Left it was.
The corridor opened into a small antechamber before a large iron-bound door, presumably leading to the Crypt Keeper. This room was empty. Strangely empty. No mobs, no traps. Just dust and silence, except for those damned whispers.
And a single object sitting on a stone pedestal in the center of the room.
An object that shouldn't be there.
It wasn't loot. It wasn't part of the crypt's design according to my memory or any known guide.
It was a single, perfect, black rose. Its petals seemed to absorb the faint light, unnaturally dark.
My hand hovered over it. A trap? A lure?
A message?
As my fingers brushed the velvety-smooth petal, the whispers suddenly coalesced, sharpening into a single, chilling voice that echoed directly inside my mind, bypassing my ears entirely.
"Tick... tock..."
The black rose instantly crumbled into fine, black dust that scattered on a non-existent breeze.
The iron-bound door before me groaned open slowly, revealing not the Crypt Keeper's dusty chamber, but an abyss of swirling, iridescent colours – countless eyes, all turning, focusing, fixing... on me.