The mercenary's eyes locked on him, then darted to the hooded woman at his side. Her smirk widened. "I should've known. Trying to sweet-talk a lady way out of your league, huh? Pathetic."
Seth threw his arms up. "Sweet-talk?! I was literally running away from her!"
The mercenary ignored him, twirling the blade once before lunging. "Don't worry, I'll save you the embarrassment. I'll carve out that smooth tongue of yours before it seduces anyone else."
Panic surged through Seth. "Wait! Time-out! She's the one you should be afraid of!"
But his words were swallowed by the clash of steel.
Clang!
The mercenary's dagger never reached him. A single flick of the hooded woman's hand sent a wave of invisible force crashing outward. The dagger flew from the female mercenary's grip, clattering uselessly into the moss.
Bang!
A heartbeat later, the mercenary herself was slammed to the ground, pinned as though the weight of a mountain pressed on her chest.
She choked, eyes wide with fury. "Y-you dare—"
"Silence," the hooded woman said. She noticed the badge on the mercenary"s left breast pocket with a tag "Sylka" and sighed.
"Sylka or whatever your name is, keep off him. I stopped him so I could have a talk with him. No one was trying to seduce anyone." Her voice was soft, yet it cut sharper than any blade.
Seth froze, watching as the mercenary writhed helplessly beneath an invisible weight. One lazy gesture had reduced a professional fighter to nothing more than prey.
The hooded woman turned her gaze back to Seth.
For the first time since waking in this cursed world, a woman wasn't glaring at him with hatred or disgust. Instead… there was something else in her eyes. Amusement. Curiosity.
"You're strange," she murmured.
Seth blinked. "Strange as in… kill-me-now strange, or strange as in maybe-I-survive-another-day strange?"
The corners of her mouth curved faintly. "That depends."
On what? Seth wanted to ask. But the words stuck in his throat.
The woman released her grip. The mercenary addressed as Sylka collapsed, gasping, unconscious before she hit the moss.
The hooded woman glanced at the mercenary's limp form, then at Seth again. Her ember-glow eyes lingered just long enough to make his heart race—though whether with fear or something else, he couldn't tell at the moment.
Then she turned. Without another word, she stepped into the fractured night, her silhouette melting into the shadows until nothing remained. She was gone just as quick as she'd appeared. Out of nowhere.
Seth was left alone, his pulse hammering, his lungs screaming for air.
Slowly, he sank to his knees beside the unconscious mercenary. His hands trembled as he dragged them down his face.
"She didn't kill me," he whispered. The words sounded foreign. Unbelievable. "She didn't accuse me. She didn't even… hate me."
His laughter broke out, ragged and wild. "Finally! A woman who doesn't think I'm some smooth-talking pervert!"
The mercenary at his feet groaned faintly.
Seth paled. "Oh, hell no. Not you again."
But as he staggered back, the memory of ember eyes lingered in his mind. She was different. She had to be. And somehow, deep down, he knew this wouldn't be the last time he saw her.
By the morning of the second day, Seth looked less like a man and more like a scarecrow possessed by desperation. His hair stuck out in clumps, sweat had turned his shirt into a crusty second skin, and his eyes… his eyes never stopped moving.
Every corner hid an ambush. Every alley held his doom. Every laugh he overheard made him choke down the urge to sprint for his life.
The mission's words had carved themselves into his skull.
Avoid women for three days.
Three days. That was all. It sounded simple on paper, but here in the warped towns and tilting landscapes of the Shattered Realms, women were everywhere. Vendors shouting from their stalls. Farmers hauling strange purple crops. Adventurers swaggering through streets with their weapons slung over their shoulders.
And every time he caught even a hint of them, Seth bolted like a rabbit.
He'd spent the first day darting into ditches, leaping through thorny bushes, and once—God help him—rolling under a cart just to avoid crossing paths with a girl carrying a bucket of water. The second day was worse. His paranoia had sharpened into instinct. His body moved before his brain did.
He caught the faint giggle of a girl selling bread? He dove behind a pile of crates, smashing his shin on the wood.
He glimpsed the hem of a skirt turning a corner? He slid into a puddle of slime, holding his breath until the figure passed.
He heard the word "hello" spoken in a woman's voice? He launched himself over a fence, crashing into someone's vegetable garden and earning curses from an old man. Better than getting killed because of a woman, wasn't it?
By the time the fractured sky turned violet, Seth was panting like a dying mule.
"Two down," he rasped, leaning against the warped wall of a crooked tavern. His chest heaved. "One… more… day…"
But Sylka didn't make it easy.
She'd tracked him twice already—her damn mercenary instincts sharp as bloodhounds. The first time, she'd dropped from a rooftop, dagger flashing in the strange twilight.
"Still preying on women, huh?" she'd snarled.
"I'M RUNNING FROM THEM!" Seth had shrieked, ducking under her swipe. He sprinted until his lungs burned, vaulting over a railing and tumbling into the warped canals below.
The second time, she cornered him in an abandoned plaza where glass lanterns burned with weakened fire. Her smirk was cruel, her words cutting.
"What's the matter? Can't go three days without sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?"
Seth hurled a clay pot at her face and sprinted, legs pumping with the desperate strength of a man whose only desire in life was to not die accused of flirting. He barely escaped, tumbling through a laundry line and bolting into the labyrinth of back alleys.
By the third day, he was nothing more than survival instinct in human flesh.
Food? He scavenged crumbs from discarded loaves. Water? He caught it in cracked tiles when the fractured sky wept faint streams of rain. Sleep? He snatched minutes in doorways, jerking awake the moment he heard footsteps.
But still, he pressed on. Still, he refused to stop.
By evening, his body was spent. His steps dragged, his arms trembled, his throat was raw from constant panting. Yet somewhere inside him, a single stubborn flame burned. He wouldn't die—not like this.
Not accused again.
The fractured sky deepened, violet fading into shadow. The crooked town fell silent, lanterns flickering with their eerie glow. Seth staggered into an alley and collapsed to his knees, his breath ragged.
And then—
DING!
[Mission Complete: Survive three days without approaching women.]
[Reward: 500 EXP. All EXP gains doubled. Stat Points +10. System Store unlocked.]
[You have defied fate. For now.]
The voice boomed in his skull, as grand as the tolling of a cathedral bell. Seth gasped, tears stinging his eyes. His laugh broke out in ragged gasps.
"I—did it," he wheezed, collapsing onto his back. "I really… damn well… did it!"
Energy surged into him. His limbs tingled, his mind cleared, and for the first time since entering this cursed realm, he felt strength flow through his veins.
A glowing panel shimmered before his eyes.
[System Store: Unlocked]
Potions. Weapons. Armor. Skills. Techniques. The list scrolled endlessly, each item shimmering with temptation.
Seth grinned almost like the pervert he'd been accused of being the past few days. "Oh, baby… daddy's got options now."
But even as he marveled, his body sagged. The flame of victory was drowned beneath the crushing weight of exhaustion. His eyes drooped. His legs wobbled.
"No… not here," he muttered, stumbling back to his feet. "Need… bed. Hay. Anything soft. Just one night…"