The process of field-dressing a Shadow Panther was a grim, methodical task, one that Zero performed with the detached efficiency of a master butcher. The skinning knife, once a simple tool, felt like a natural extension of his hand. He worked with a precision born of a grim necessity learned in his past life, where a poorly preserved hide or a tainted cut of meat could mean the difference between a small profit and starvation.
He harvested the three hearts first, their muscular tissues still warm. They were dense, heavy organs, each the size of a man's head, and pulsed with a faint, residual magical energy. He carefully wrapped them in specialized preservation cloths from his pack and stored them in his `[Inventory]`. The skill, designed for non-living matter, accepted the items with a brief, glitching protest before they vanished, their biological processes instantly halted in the timeless stasis of his sub-space.
Next, he skinned the massive feline. It was a long, arduous process that took nearly an hour, his knife tracing the lines of muscle, his hands working to separate the priceless pelt from the cooling flesh. The fur was unlike anything he had ever touched. It was thick and soft, but the individual hairs seemed to absorb the light, creating an unnerving effect of localized darkness. He carefully rolled the heavy pelt and secured it to the outside of his porter's pack.
He left the carcass for the forest's scavengers, a silent, pragmatic offering to the brutal ecosystem he had just exploited. By the time he was done, the sun had risen, casting long, golden fingers of light through the pine trees. He was covered in sweat and blood, his muscles aching from the strain of the climb and the fight, but a deep, cold satisfaction settled in his core. Phase one of his plan for financial independence was complete.
The journey back to the academy was a slow, heavy march. The panther pelt alone weighed over fifty pounds, a cumbersome burden that tested the limits of his still-developing Strength. He didn't mind. The weight was a tangible reminder of his victory, a stark contrast to the worthless potions and spare gear he had hauled for his former party. This was a burden he was carrying for himself, and every straining muscle felt like an investment in his own future.
He arrived back at the Guild Hall in the late afternoon. He didn't bother to clean up, intentionally making his entrance as dramatic as possible. He was a mess of dried blood, dirt, and exhaustion. The massive, shadow-black panther pelt slung over his shoulder was a shocking, undeniable trophy that immediately silenced the entire hall.
The same third-year students who had been mocking him the day before were now standing near the quest board, their jaws hanging open. The stern-faced registrar looked up from her ledger, her eyes widening in disbelief for the first time since Zero had met her.
He walked directly to her desk and unslung his pack, letting the heavy pelt fall to the floor with a thick, meaty thud. The sheer size and otherworldly darkness of the fur commanded the attention of everyone in the room.
"Quest completion," Zero stated, his voice flat and weary. He reached into his `[Inventory]`, a flicker of spatial distortion that was almost too fast to see, and placed the three perfectly preserved, blood-red hearts on the counter. They were still cool to the touch, not a single sign of decay on them.
The registrar stared at the hearts, then at the pelt, then back at the blood-spattered F-Rank Porter standing before her. She was speechless. She picked up a small, enchanted verifier crystal and passed it over the hearts. It glowed a bright, steady blue.
"They're… they're authentic," she whispered, her professional scowl completely gone, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock. "And perfectly preserved. How… how is this possible?"
"I am here to collect the reward," Zero said, ignoring her question.
The registrar swallowed hard, her mind finally catching up. She stamped his quest form with a heavy, final-sounding *thump* and then unlocked a heavy iron lockbox beneath her counter. She counted out the reward. Not in a bag of jangling silver, but in the form of five heavy, gleaming platinum coins, each worth ten gold.
Fifty gold pieces.
He took the coins, their weight a satisfying anchor in his palm, and turned to leave. He didn't say a word to the stunned onlookers. He didn't acknowledge the whispers that were now a mixture of fear and awe. He simply shouldered his empty pack and walked out, leaving the Guild Hall in a state of collective shock.
His reputation on campus was about to undergo a seismic shift. He was no longer Ashe the joke. He was now Ashe the enigma. The F--Ranker who soloed a pack of Shadow Panthers. The gossip would be wild, the theories outlandish. Some would claim he had a secret high-rank backer. Others would say he found the panthers already dead. A few might even whisper that he was a demon in disguise. None of them would come close to the truth. And that confusion, that mystery, was a far better defense than any shield.
He went straight to the Alchemist's Guild branch on campus to deliver the hearts. The Guild Master, an ancient, wizened man with potion-stained fingers, examined the hearts with a jeweler's loupe, his delight obvious. They paid him an additional five gold pieces, a bonus for the exceptional freshness of the specimens.
With fifty-five gold coins in his possession, Zero was, by student standards, fabulously wealthy. But the gold itself was not the ultimate prize. The true reward for his efforts was something far more valuable.
That evening, he was summoned. Not by a professor, not by a friend, but by an official, rune-scribed missive delivered by a silent, masked attendant. He was to present himself at the "Celestial Spire," the private, high-security dormitory reserved for the academy's most elite S-Rank prospects and those with deep political connections.
It was the residence of Leo, the Hero, and Celeste, the Saintess.
Zero felt a cold, familiar fire ignite in his gut. It was sooner than he had expected, but not unwelcome. His display at the Guild Hall had been a calculated move, a stone thrown into a stagnant pond specifically to attract the attention of the bigger fish.
He followed the attendant through the manicured gardens of the academy's upper campus, a world away from the drab, functional barracks of the lower-ranking students. The Celestial Spire was a beautiful, slender tower of white marble that seemed to glow under the light of the twin moons.
He was led not to a common room, but to a private study at the top of the tower. The room was opulent, with plush carpets, shelves of rare, leather-bound books, and a large bay window that offered a breathtaking panoramic view of the entire campus.
Leo was there, standing by the window, his arms crossed. He wasn't wearing his armor, but a simple, well-tailored tunic that still managed to look heroic on his powerful frame. Celeste was sitting in a high-backed velvet chair near a crackling fireplace, a book resting in her lap. Silas, the assassin, was a silent shadow near the door, his presence a palpable weight in the room.
They were all here. His betrayers. His ultimate targets. Together in one room. The ghost of Ashe screamed in his mind, a chorus of rage and pain. Zero ruthlessly suppressed it. He was not here for a confrontation. He was here for a transaction.
"Ashe," Celeste said, her voice the first to break the silence. It was as smooth and perfect as he remembered. She placed a marker in her book and closed it. "You have been causing quite a stir."
"I completed a quest," Zero replied, his voice level, his gaze fixed on a point just past her shoulder. He refused to meet her eyes.
Leo turned from the window, a look of mild amusement on his handsome face. "You completed an impossibility. An F-Rank, solo? Against a pack of Shadow Panthers? Forgive us for being skeptical. You must have had help. Or perhaps you were just incredibly, impossibly lucky."
"Luck is a component of success," Zero stated simply.
"Indeed it is," Celeste said, her smile unwavering. "But we believe talent is a more reliable component. And you, it seems, have a talent for surviving. A talent for acquiring things that are… difficult to acquire."
The air in the room grew heavy. This was not a friendly chat. It was an interrogation. An assessment.
"We find ourselves in need of such a talent," Celeste continued, getting to the point. "There is an item we require. An artifact. The 'Sunstone of Aethel.' It is located in a place called the 'Grave of the Iron King,' a notoriously dangerous dungeon. The entrance is sealed, and the key is lost."
Zero's mind flashed to a page in the Cartographer's Journal. The Grave of the Iron King. He knew it. He knew not only where the lost key was, but he also knew the dungeon's secret passages, its trap mechanisms, and the guardian golem's hidden weakness.
"The dungeon is too politically sensitive for us to raid officially," Leo explained, his tone condescending, as if explaining a complex problem to a simple child. "But a low-ranking student, an F-Rank Porter, who 'stumbles' upon the key and 'accidentally' finds his way inside… no one would ever connect it to us. It would be seen as another stroke of impossible luck."
There it was. The offer. The same offer they had given him a dozen times in his first life. They wanted to use him. They saw his "success" not as a sign of his own strength, but as a sign that he was a useful, deniable asset. A lucky tool.
The irony was so thick he could have choked on it. They were trying to recruit their own murderer for a heist.
"You want me to be your thief," Zero said, the words blunt and without inflection.
"We want you to be our… associate," Celeste corrected gently. "An agent who can operate in the shadows. Your reward, of course, would be substantial. Far more than a mere fifty gold pieces."
Zero stood in silence for a long moment, the eyes of the three most powerful students in the academy fixed on him. They expected him to be grateful, awed, perhaps a little scared. They expected the pathetic F-Rank Porter to jump at the chance to serve them.
He had a choice. He could refuse, maintaining his distance and continuing his plans in secret. Or he could accept. He could step back into the viper's nest, willingly this time. He could place himself at the very center of their operations, gaining access to their plans, their resources, their secrets, all while playing the part of their loyal, disposable hound. It was a path of unimaginable risk. It was also the path of greatest reward.
"The price," Zero said, his voice a low, cold whisper that cut through the room's warmth, "is more than gold."
Celeste's perfect smile faltered for the first time. "Oh? And what is it you desire, Ashe?"
Zero finally lifted his head and met her gaze. His eyes were not the eyes of the eager boy she remembered. They were flat, cold, and ancient, the eyes of a ghost looking at his own tombstone.
"Information," he said. "And a promise. You will owe me a favor. One of my choosing. To be collected at a later date. No questions asked."
Leo scoffed, but Celeste held up a hand, silencing him. She studied Zero, her head tilted, a look of genuine fascination on her beautiful face. She had expected to find a lucky fool. Instead, she had found a serpent, coiled and ready to strike a bargain.
"A very interesting price," she murmured. "Very well, Ashe. You have a deal. Find the Sunstone for us, and you shall have your favor."
Zero gave a single, sharp nod. He turned and walked out of the room without another word, Silas melting out of the shadows to let him pass. He had just sold his services to his own murderers. The game had just begun, and he was now a player on the inside.