Elian stopped laughing. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by the cold ache of his injuries.
HP: 4/110.
A stiff breeze could kill him right now.
He limped toward the mangled remains of Vargas. The armored warrior looked significantly less impressive with his chest plate caved in. Elian knelt. He felt no guilt. In the timeline he remembered, Vargas had left him to die in a spider nest on Floor 5 just to save a bag of silver coins. This was just karma catching up, fifty years early.
"Let's see what you brought me," Elian muttered.
He rummaged through Vargas's belt pouch.
Clink. Clink.
[Loot Acquired: 15 Silver Coins.]
[Loot Acquired: Iron Chestplate (Uncommon) - Damaged.]
[Loot Acquired: Guild Token (Iron Fists).]
"Trash," Elian hissed. "Where are the consumables?"
He moved to Jace, the mage. The robe was torn, but the belt was intact. Elian's fingers brushed against cold glass.
Jackpot.
He pulled out three vials of clear, blue liquid. Standard Health Potions. Bought from the NPC shop.
Elian popped the cork on the first one and downed it. It tasted like sugary chalk—sickly sweet and artificial compared to the herbal bitterness of Luna's brew.
[HP Restored: +30]
[HP Restored: +30]
He drank two. His health climbed back to a safe 64/110. The bleeding stopped. The open wounds on his arm knit together into angry red scars.
"Better," he sighed.
He finished looting the bodies. He took their weapons—not to use, but to sell. He took their coin pouches. By the time he was done, he had 40 Silver—enough to live comfortably in the Starter Town for a month.
Finally, he turned back to the main prize. The Alpha Wolf.
A golden light hovered over the beast's corpse. The mark of a Rare drop.
Elian reached into the light. His hand closed around a leather-bound book that felt cold to the touch.
[Ding!]
[You have acquired a Skill Book!]
[Skill: Terror Gaze (Active)]
[Rank: E]
[Effect: Channel the aura of a predator. Enemies within eye contact must pass a Willpower check or enter a 'Feared' state for 3 seconds.]
Elian grinned. Control. That was what he needed.
"Learn," Elian commanded. The book dissolved into particles of light and flowed into his chest.
Now, the problem of the body. Elian grabbed the massive wolf by its hind legs and heaved the bulk of the beast into his Inventory.
[Inventory Weight: 85/100 kg.]
"Heavy," he grunted. He turned and began the long walk back to town.
The market square was quiet. The sun had set hours ago. Most players were in the taverns or sleeping. Only one stall was still faintly lit by a dying lantern.
Luna was packing up. Her shoulders were slumped. She hadn't sold a single potion since Elian left.
"Maybe I should just quit," she whispered to herself.
Thud.
A heavy boot stepped into the light. Luna jumped, nearly dropping a crate. She looked up and gasped.
Elian stood there. He looked like a nightmare. His tunic was shredded. His left arm was caked in dried blood. His face was smeared with mud and gore.
But he was alive. And he was grinning.
"I have a delivery," he rasped.
He waved his hand. [Inventory: Open.]
THUMP.
The corpse of the Alpha Wolf materialized out of thin air and hit the ground. The sheer size of it took up half the alley.
Luna shrieked, jumping back. "Is that... is that an Alpha?! That's a Level 8 Field Boss! How... you're only Level 2!"
"Level 4 now," Elian corrected casually.
He pointed at the corpse. "I know you're an Alchemist. Can you harvest the mana core? And the fangs?"
Luna stared at the beast, her brain switching into 'nerd mode'. "The... the pelt is damaged, but the core should be intact. And the blood... Alpha blood is a potent catalyst for Strength potions..."
She looked up at him, her eyes shining. "I can do it. But I need tools."
"Buy them," Elian said. He tossed the pouch of 40 Silver coins onto her table.
Luna stared at the money. It was more than she had made in her entire life.
"Take a cart," Elian said, wiping the blood from his forehead. "There are five more Dire Wolf corpses in the Hollow Ravine. They're yours if you can haul them back. We split the profits 50/50."
Luna looked at the scary, bloody, crazy boy who had just dumped a fortune at her feet. She didn't see a monster anymore. She saw a lifeline.
"Deal," she whispered.
Elian laughed. A genuine, tired laugh. Then he turned away, his adrenaline finally crashing.
"I need a bed."
The "Gilded Tankard" was the most popular inn in the Starter Town.
Even at midnight, it was roaring with life. Inside, fifty players were celebrating their first day in Aetheria. Mugs of ale clashed together. A bard was strumming a lute in the corner, singing a terrible song about slaying slimes. Laughter and boasting filled the air, a wall of noise that spilled out onto the street.
"I'm telling you, I crit that goblin for 15 damage!" a warrior shouted near the door.
"Drinks on me, boys! We leveled up!" another cheered.
CREAK.
The heavy oak door swung open.
It wasn't slammed. It was just pushed open with a slow, heavy weight. A cold draft swept into the warm tavern.
Elian stepped inside.
He looked like he had just walked out of a meat grinder. His tunic was shredded strips of cloth, revealing fresh, angry scars. His left arm was painted entirely red with dried blood. His face was smeared with mud and gore, his eyes dark and hollow, devoid of the excitement that filled everyone else's eyes.
The heavy Black-Iron sword on his back was caked in grey fur and visceral fluids.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood from his boots hit the floorboards.
The warrior near the door stopped mid-sentence. He choked on his ale.
The bard missed a chord on his lute, causing a jarring twang.
The laughter at the center table died instantly.
One by one, heads turned. The roar of the tavern dissolved into a suffocating silence.
Fifty players stared at the lone figure in the doorway. They were clean. They were happy. They were playing a game.
Elian looked like he had just fought a war.
He didn't look at any of them. He walked straight to the bar. The crowd parted for him instinctively, players scooting their chairs back to avoid touching the blood-soaked madman.
Elian reached the counter. The Innkeeper, a burly NPC who usually had a joke for everyone, stared at Elian with wide eyes.
Elian reached into his pocket. His hand left a bloody smear on the polished wood of the counter.
Clink.
He placed a single silver coin on the bar.
"Room," Elian said. His voice was a dry rasp that carried through the silent room. "And a bucket of water."
The Innkeeper swallowed hard. He hurriedly grabbed a key from the hook, his hands trembling slightly.
"R-room 4," the Innkeeper stammered. "Top of the stairs. First door on the left."
Elian took the key. He didn't say thank you.
He turned and walked toward the stairs. The sound of his heavy boots on the wood was the only noise in the entire building. Every eye followed him until he disappeared into the shadows of the second floor.
Only after the door to Room 4 clicked shut did the tavern dare to breathe again.
"Who..." the warrior near the door whispered, his face pale, "...who the hell was that?"