[Flashback: Year 12, Floor 40]
The dungeon was cold. Not the cold of winter, but the cold of the grave.
Elian wasn't the Sword Saint yet. He was just Elian, the squishy damage dealer of the "Dawn-Breakers" party.
"Hold the line!" Elian screamed, his voice cracking.
Ahead of him, a massive Ogre Chieftain swung a tree-trunk club.
CRACK.
Valen, their tank, didn't even scream. His shield shattered, and his body folded like wet paper.
"Valen!"
Elian reached out, but his feet were stuck in the mud. He couldn't move. He looked to his left. Seraphina, their healer, was crying, her mana drained dry. She looked at Elian, her eyes wide with betrayal.
"You said we could win," she whispered. "You said you knew the strategy."
The Ogre stepped over Valen's corpse. It raised the club again, casting a shadow over Sarah.
"No!" Elian screamed. "Run! SARAH!"
The club came down.
[Flashback End.]
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Elian jolted awake.
His hand instantly flew to the hilt of the Black-Iron sword leaning against the bedframe. He was drenched in cold sweat. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
The room was bright. Morning sunlight streamed through the cheap wooden shutters.
BANG! BANG!
"Open up!" a rough voice shouted from the hallway. "We know you're in there!"
Elian's eyes narrowed. The panic of the nightmare evaporated instantly, replaced by the cold calculation of the Player.
Iron Fists, he realized. They found me fast.
He checked his status.
HP: 110/110 (Fully Restored).
Mana: 50/50.
He was healed, but he wasn't invincible. If he fought a guild in the middle of town, he would be overwhelmed by numbers.
He needed a mask.
Elian ruffled his hair to look messy. He rubbed his eyes until they were red and puffy. He slumped his shoulders to hide his natural, warrior-like posture.
He opened the door just a crack.
"W-who is it?" he squeaked.
The door was kicked open.
Elian stumbled back, falling onto his butt. Three men stood in the hallway. They wore matching red armbands—the symbol of the Iron Fists.
The man in front was huge—Level 9 Warrior, Darius. He was Vargas's Vice-Captain.
"Grab him," Darius growled.
Two goons hauled Elian up by his collar and dragged him downstairs.
The common room of the Gilded Tankard was tense. The morning crowd was silent. Darius shoved Elian into a chair in the center of the room.
"Talk," Darius said, leaning over Elian. His breath smelled of stale ale. "Where is Vargas?"
Elian trembled. He let his lower lip quiver. "I... I don't know..."
"Don't lie to me!" Darius slammed his fist on the table. "A witness saw Vargas invite you to his party yesterday evening. You left with him, Rat, and Jace. Three hours later, you walked into this inn alone, covered in enough blood to paint a barn. Now tell me... how did a Level 2 scrub come back alive when three Level 4 veterans didn't?"
The accusation hung in the air. The other players in the tavern whispered.
"Did he kill them?"
"Look at him. He's shaking. He couldn't kill a slime."
Elian buried his face in his hands. He started to sob. It was a pathetic, wailing sound that made everyone uncomfortable.
"I... I was just the porter!" Elian cried, tears streaming through his fingers. "Vargas... he said I could join if I carried the bags! I just wanted to level up!"
Darius frowned. "So what happened?"
"We went to the Hollow Ravine," Elian stammered between sobs. "Vargas said there was a chest. But... but it was a trap! Wolves! Dozens of them! They came out of the walls!"
Elian looked up, his eyes wide with terrified innocence.
"They surrounded us. Vargas... he..." Elian choked on his words. "The line was breaking. Vargas grabbed me. He said, 'Make yourself useful, mule!' and he... he threw me!"
The tavern gasped.
"He threw me at the Alpha Wolf!" Elian wailed. "To buy time for himself! I landed in a mud pit in the corner. I thought I was dead! I closed my eyes and waited for the bite!"
"But you're alive," Darius said skeptically. "Why didn't they eat you?"
"My skill!" Elian pointed to his status window, which he had set to 'Private' but described anyway. "I have a passive trait called [Faint Presence]. It makes monsters ignore me if I don't move! The mud covered my scent... and I just lay there... listening to them scream..."
He shuddered violently. "I heard Rat begging. I heard Jace crying for his mom. And then... silence."
Darius's expression softened slightly. Using a rookie as bait sounded exactly like something Vargas would do.
"So how did you get the blood on you?" Darius asked, crossing his arms. "And how did you get that Alpha carcass you tried to sell?"
Elian wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I waited for hours. When I finally looked up... everyone was dead. But the Alpha... it was hurt bad. Vargas must have stabbed it deep before he died. It was lying there, wheezing, bleeding out."
Elian looked at Darius, pleading for understanding.
"It was dying, sir! It couldn't even stand up! I... I just panicked! I grabbed my sword and poked it! It just... died! If you saw a half-dead boss worth 50 silver, wouldn't you take it?"
Elian broke down into fresh sobs. "I just wanted to sell it to buy armor! I was so scared! I ran all the way back here! I didn't kill Vargas! I swear! He sacrificed me!"
Silence filled the room.
It was a perfect story. It explained everything. The loot. The blood. The survival. And it painted Elian as a coward with a lucky streak, rather than a threat.
Darius looked at Elian with disgust. He saw a crying, snot-nosed kid who had survived by hiding in the mud while his betters died.
"Pathetic," Darius spat.
He straightened up and looked at his men. "Vargas got greedy. Got the party wiped and let a rat like this scavenge the glory. Typical."
Darius looked back at Elian. "You got lucky, kid. But luck runs out. If I find out you're lying..."
He didn't finish the threat. He didn't need to.
"Let's go," Darius commanded. "We need to recover the bodies before they despawn."
The Iron Fists marched out of the tavern, leaving Elian sobbing at the table.
The door swung shut.
Elian kept his face buried in his hands for another full minute, his shoulders shaking with 'grief.'
Slowly, the shaking stopped.
Under the cover of his hands, a corner of Elian's mouth quirked up.
[Performance Check: Passed.]
He wiped the tears away, his eyes instantly returning to their cold, dry state. He had bought himself a week, maybe two. By the time they realized the bite marks on the Alpha Wolf didn't match his story...
He would already be Level 20.
Elian stood up, still hunching slightly to keep the act up for the onlookers, and shuffled back toward the stairs.
Time to go to the Dungeon, he thought. I have a Guild to surpass.