As the swarm nest disappeared into the dense treeline behind them, soldiers gathered swiftly around the unconscious girl, easing her onto a stretcher. One of the medics pressed fingers to her neck and gave a nod.
"She's stable. Pulse weak, but holding."
A breath of relief passed through the group. James stood nearby, armor caked in dirt and dried blood, eyes sharp and shoulders still tense. He didn't relax—not yet.
Then he felt it.
A presence—an invisible pressure that hit him like a wall of iron. It came from behind, commanding, heavy, and almost suffocating. James instinctively stepped back, his breath hitching.
What the hell is that?
He turned—and there he was.
A man walked forward with a steady, practiced gait. He wore half-plate armor burnished black with faded gold trim, a dark blue sash across his chest. A jagged scar split his brow. He carried his helmet under one arm, his other hand resting casually near the pommel of a longsword that pulsed with faint runes.
Above his head, glowing in faint gold script:
[Captain Alric Thorne – Class: Warlord – Rank: A]
James's eyes widened slightly.
No wonder I felt that aura…
Alric stopped a few feet away, studying James with the calm scrutiny of a seasoned predator.
"You. Outsider."
James nodded warily.
"Name's James Whitlock."
"Captain Alric Thorne, Third Regiment of Bastion Guard. We were en route to intercept the swarm when we got word from the survivors."
He gestured to the girl being tended to.
"That's Maya. One of the last rear-guards of the party that entered this place—The Gilded Hound. Twenty went in. Only a few made it back to raise the alarm. Said some stayed behind to hold off the monsters so the rest could escape."
He looked James over again.
"Guessing you found her near the end?"
"There were three when I got there," James said. "The other two… didn't make it."
Alric's jaw tightened, but he gave a solemn nod.
"Then I owe you our thanks. And so does she."
His gaze lowered to the jagged teeth of James's armor, to the blood stains, and then… to the missing arm.
"Were you injured during the escape?"
James looked down briefly at the bandaged stump.
"Nah. Lost it a while ago."
That gave Alric pause.
"You're telling me… You went into a swarm nest. Alone. Short one arm. And came back out—with her alive and yourself unharmed—wearing lake beast armor?"
James shrugged. "More or less."
Alric just stared for a beat, then let out a dry chuckle. He stepped forward and clapped James hard on the back.
"You're coming with us."
James blinked. "Wait—really?"
"We're headed back to Fort Sunderguard. You've earned a roof and a hot meal, at the very least."
James practically bounced on his heels.
"YES! Gods, I haven't talked to a real person in weeks—I thought I was losing my mind!"
A few soldiers laughed softly behind him.
Alric started to wave him off.
"Sit back. Let the Guard finish the cleanup."
But James cut in.
"I'm not sitting this out. Let me help. I know what's in there."
Alric looked ready to shut him down, until his eyes traced the armor again. The craftsmanship. The aura. The presence.
Then it clicked.
"That armor's monster-forged. Fresh. You didn't just pass that hive—you entered it. And you survived."
A long silence stretched.
"Fine," Alric said at last. "Then you'll be our guide. Walk us through what happened. Show us what's left."
He extended a hand.
"But know this, Whitlock—I'll be watching you."
James smirked and clasped the captain's hand firmly.
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
And for the first time in weeks, both men shared a quiet, knowing smile.
The den walls closed in around them, jagged and wet with condensation. Shadows slithered across the stone as torchlight flickered behind shields and steel. The squad moved in tight formation—silent, precise, every step measured. Captain Alric Thorne walked beside James, his expression carved from stone, his eyes never still, scanning every crevice, every dark pocket ahead.
After a while, he spoke, voice low but deliberate.
"What's your rank?"
James blinked.
"I… don't know."
Alric stopped walking.Just—stopped. The rest of the squad continued moving ahead. James turned back toward him, confused.
The captain's brow furrowed, as if James had spoken in a dead language.
"What do you mean, you don't know it?"
"I mean… I never saw it," James said honestly. "It never popped up. I just woke up here and started running."
Alric's tone sharpened.
"Your class, attributes, core affinities… you're saying none of it's been revealed to you?"
James shook his head.
Alric's jaw clenched.
"That's impossible. It's given at birth. Your Class, Rank, and Traits are locked in the moment your eyes open. That's why kingdoms can be ruled by toddlers. If your Rank is high enough, people worship you before you even speak."
"And you're telling me… You don't know yours?"
James stayed quiet for a moment,
What are the ranks?
Captain Thorne's eyes narrowed.
"Rank isn't just a number. It defines your maximum potential. Your stat growth ceiling. Your skill efficiency. How far can you push before you plateau."
He raised one gauntleted hand and tapped two fingers against his temple.
"S-ranks are born legends. A-ranks like me? We're war heroes, generals, nobles. B-ranks build kingdoms. C-ranks make armies. D and E… they struggle to survive."
"E-Ranks can barely cast spells without coughing blood. D-Ranks get outpaced before they even find a teacher. If you're lucky, you're born a C. If you're not…"
His voice trailed off for a moment, then hardened.
Captain Thorne's gaze was sharp enough to cut steel.
"Anything lower than that, and you might as well not be living. You're just a burden waiting to die."
James opened his mouth to respond, to finally explain how he woke up in a forest with a spear and no memories of rank or class. But—
Nothing came out.
His jaw tensed. His throat moved. No sound. The words caught in his throat like a noose tightening. James gritted his teeth.
Then—
Flap. Flap.
The familiar flutter of wings echoed through the tunnel, and Nysilus appeared just over James's shoulder, floating lazily with his arms crossed and a smug little grin.
He didn't say a word. Just shook his head slowly… then wagged a single, warning finger.
But his eyes told James everything.
A silent order. A death sentence if disobeyed.
James clenched his fists.
I can't tell him.I have to keep my past a secret.
He looked away from Thorne, swallowing frustration as the fairy vanished again into the shadows.
"Well?" the captain asked.
James forced a shrug. "Guess I'm just... different."
Thorne didn't look convinced.
"No kidding."
Thorne crossed his arms.
No. That can't be right.He's lying. But why? Is he embarrassed that it's too low?Even with a weak rank, it's still possible to train, to level, to scrape together some strength. But…
His eyes drifted to James's armor—the glint of reinforced white-blue scale, the predatory cuts and jagged plate seams.
That armor... It's probably his lifeline.But even so, surviving alone? In swarm country? With no visible class and no party?
Alric's thoughts darkened.
If you're E-Rank, your Stats become stagnant. Growth slows to a crawl. Your sprint becomes a stumble. You can run as hard as you want, but if the race is uphill and you start 300 meters behind, then unless you're inhuman, it's already over.
This system has no mercy.
He stared harder at James.
So what the hell are you?
James suddenly stopped, arm outstretched.
"We're here."
Alric stepped forward, and his eyes widened.
A chasm in the forest. A valley crawling with Hollow Swarmspawn— thousands, maybe tens of thousands, all shifting, twitching, and clicking in unison like one living beast.
Monsters. All E-rank, but packed together like teeth in a jaw.
Alric raised a fist—his men immediately dropped into formation.
"Shields!"
A wall of soldiers locked their kite shields into a curved barrier. A translucent blue light shimmered across them as the swarm hissed and charged.
James backed into cover, but not before Alric grabbed his collar and dragged him behind the wall.
"Stay down."
"What are you doing?" James hissed. "There are too many—you'll be torn apart!"
Alric gave him a sideways grin.
"Don't worry…"
His voice deepened.
"I'm not the one who should be worried."
He stepped past the shield wall. The barrier shimmered—then dropped.
In one motion, Alric unsheathed his sword. Flames burst from the blade's edge, wrapping it in an elegant spiral of molten fire. His feet shifted—perfect stance.
The swarm surged toward him.
And then—
"[Flame Art – Sovereign Cleave]"
A line of system text appeared in James's vision, glowing red.
A column of fire erupted from the swing—splitting the battlefield. Dozens of insectoid monsters ignited mid-charge, their bodies turning to ash before they even fell.
A second swing followed:
"[Hellmarch Execution]"
A fan-shaped inferno erupted outward, vaporizing everything in its radius. When the flames faded, all that remained was a field of scorched corpses, some still twitching in place.
The swarm was silent.
Alric exhaled slowly, letting the flames trail off his blade before sheathing it again with a click.
James stared from behind the cover, jaw slack.
"You just… You cleared the field."
Alric turned, dusting ash from his gauntlet, and walked back toward him.
"That was me holding back."
Then—
🔔 SYSTEM ALERT[Enemy Count: 3,147 (E-Rank: Hollow Swarmspawn)][Swarm Nest E-147: Obliterated][XP Gained: 13,890][XP Divided Across Party: 21 Members][You have gained 661 XP][LEVEL UP – LV. 16 → LV. 17][Beast Cores, Materials, and Coin Auto-Divided]
Small, shimmering orbs—cores, coins, even bits of ash-infused bone—suddenly zipped through the air, dividing and vanishing into the inventories of the nearby soldiers like fireflies being pulled home.
James blinked.
"Didn't touch a single one and still got paid," he muttered.
Then—
🔔 SYSTEM ALERT[You have joined a Temporary Party: Bastion Guard – 3rd Regiment][Party Status: Combat Active | Rank Spread: A–C]
Another notification followed immediately after:
🔓 NEW SKILL UNLOCKED[Battle Bond – Rank F]Description: Your presence on the battlefield subtly strengthens nearby allies. Grants +2% defense and stamina regen to all party members within a 20m radius. Bonus increases with trust.Type: Passive (Party Support)
James stared at it for a beat, brows pulling low.
Support?That's… new.
He'd only ever unlocked brutal, self-serving skills before—movement, survival, aggression. Nothing that helped anyone but himself.
Why now? he thought. Because I fought alongside them? Or… is this the system trying to shape me?
A chill ran through him—not from fear, but from uncertainty. From the sense that something, somewhere, was watching and recalibrating.
Thorne approached from the field, brushing ash from his shoulder as if nothing had happened.
"You holding up, Whitlock?"
James gave a tight nod, still scanning his system log.
"Yeah. Just got promoted by a UI box, apparently."
Thorne grunted in amusement. "Welcome to the Bastion Guard, then. Temporary or not, you earn your keep; the system rewards you. Same as the gods."
James didn't smile, but he didn't flinch either.He just looked down at his hand—faintly glowing from the Battle Bond skill pulsing beneath his skin.
So now I'm part of something… even if I don't belong.
Captain Throne extended a hand toward James—open, steady, calm.
James stood, and after a brief pause, shook it.
Both men exchanged a smile, small, but real.
Maybe, James thought, not every captain is out to kill me.