Finnessy

Originally written from November 15 to 25, 2021, 11 days

Chapter 1 - “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

The catch-22 of Chloride’s life was that she was the product of great technologies built on plentiful generations of wars. She could only live her life and fight against suffering by pushing herself past known limits and accepting those limits at the same time.

The problem—she couldn’t give those who suffered in the past justice. She had the ability only to press on.

In the high-income nation of Datadam, wherein the rich and poor (which in this world and time didn’t immediately refer to the malnourished and homeless) were rarely separated, its large buildings and walls spread out like audio waves.

Many years after a large company launched a marketing campaign with government support, it was now 2062, whereat a new era equipping tech trends such as artificial intelligence, virtual and augmented reality, and nanotechnology had rooted itself deep into global society.

Chloride had been seeing these streets since she was a child, embarking at the nearest bullet train station everyday, ignoring the supersonic train that had launched recently.

When she returned home, she entered her cuddly, cute VR capsule with blankets and enough space to stretch around.

Around her, monitors that acted as “windows to different dimensions”, displaying different scenery loops, covered much of her plain true-white walls.

After she prepared herself, wearing a nasogastric tube and such, she turned on the capsule, allowing it to place her in a state similar to a coma.

Speaking of lying down without moving for long periods of time, the capsule limited users to 24 hours with a 1-week break and scanned their microchip implant, often collaborating with the microchip’s personal health inspector function.

In other administrative divisions, microchip implants were either illegal, optional, or only possible through expensive legal modding.

Inside the virtual universe of “Crushed Apples”, Chloride bit the cambium that she forcefully swallowed down her throat.

Fried cambium with the help of flint tools, split wood, and a chance at fire through a long period of time were her individual achievements.

Her intelligence when it came to primitive technology was very lacking, but like many others, she soon joined a bustling city that allowed her to practice prudence and boost her community’s national identity with her passions for ornamental architecture.

“High-functioning psychopath,” she said as she passed by a man with the username “Finnessy”.

Finnessy listened to her tone and studied her facial expressions, learning the one who spoke was antipathetic.

He thought talking to her and her ilk wouldn’t do much. As for the reason of this, they showed no promise or significance in his path to lead a city. And in this city, he would entertain playful ideas like making big structures depicting pop culture references.

He was a self-disciplined, intelligent person that loosened some of his tendencies when playing video games—stress relief for a high-functioning psychopath, or anyone for that matter.

When it came to the connection between Finnessy and Chloride, he lived in the same world as her, though their ideologies differed heavily.

He struggled with a party that advocated for a powerful leader that could literally fight for his beliefs or goals; nevertheless, he spent most of his time exploiting incomplete potential and pulling back overstretched development instead of training his individual combat ability.

Elsewhere, some time later, in the small well in the middle of three small settlements spread out and filled to the brim with knowledgeable folk, a young man placed one eye on the prize of two wolf pelts and his crush’s admiration. Within the hilly rainforests wherein the gatherings of water buffalo grazed, he drew his bow with the utmost care and shot without hesitation successfully, his eyes scanning his audience of three for a round of applause.

Standing amid his three friends—Lai Dun, Peter, and Paulo, he was surprised, and he was Finnessy.

His friends had shot toward him awkward stares.

Truthfully, his friends had their eyes on a large man behind Finnessy. The large man was Finnessy’s older brother, a dastardly villain in the eyes of their adventurer party that composed of Finnessy and his friends. The large man slapped Finnessy in the face as a greeting, which got shouts of disdain from the others.

Finnessy took the slap, expressionless to most, but to his brother, he had a defiant expression, which took the brother by surprise.

You’ve finally grown, thought the older brother, whose nickname was “Tchaik”. He was a hard man, scary at times, but he had good intentions toward his ill-fated brother. Block my hand next time, and you’ll be good to go for now. I want defiance, let me see that. No more timidity and being a pushover, little brother.

“What a dickhead,” muttered Peter. The rest, besides Finnessy, nodded, affirming, as they snorted, staring at the “dickhead”.

When Tchaik finally left, the adventurer party of friends complained about him, which persisted even after they left their sitting spot and entered a large unfinished building whereat the craft production of bows and arrows occurred. Inside, there were other primitive products being made, and with the exemption of wheels, they were unnameable to Finnessy and his friends.

They exited, peeking at another building through the slits in its walls. Inside, experiments toward cement production occurred.

Finnessy smiled, his eyes brimming with excitement. He joined the three settlements on their way to become cities. Despite their days reaching 3 months and 26 days, they were still called settlements because their infrastructure was but a baby learning how to crawl. Roadways, sea ports, bridges, and advanced flood control were the end goals of most of these folk, for afterwards, they’d explore and let new generations do the next.

Their short term goals were proper defences, which wouldn’t rely on two-third of the work force; flood control for expansion because of frequent rain as a subsidiary of their tropical climate; ect.

In the end, their first project, was a weir, designed to alter the river flow characteristics. The folk that built this were several groups that included preteens and professional adults.

Hilariously enough, in the middle of the three settlements’ joyful smalltime developments, in online communities in social media—forums, social news website, or both, news of the invention of plate armor from folks in another continent zoomed to the front pages.

The world had only gone for six and a half months.

Finnessy and his friends were one of those small groups, or subculturally named “adventurer party”. They used primitive axes for smalltime warfare and the untouched rainforests’ exploitation for timber. They hadn’t explored past surface mining yet.

Frequent arguments advocating for the prioritization of underground mining circulated, but the three settlements’ 10 hectares of “properly ruralized” land wasn’t even enough for their 1,000 inhabitants, sometimes humorously called “aspiring inhabitants”. These jokers often opposed the pro-mining party and advocated for the current plan to clear, or properly ruralize, as much land as possible and then when the expansion hits a wall, focus all efforts on building defences.

The first stage was to get out of the large cage, which trapped about half a thousand players

In another world, Finnessy’s head was held together by a bow, literally such that without a bow, the wolves would’ve snatched him up and bit him to pieces.

Red trees surrounded Finnessy, as daylight shined past the leaves, making spots of sunlight on him.

Finnessy closed his eyes and placed his focus on four moving objects right now, his eyes beaming with killing intent. He took a deep breath and held it, lifting his bow to position.

He fired two arrows at 2 out of 4 wolves from more than 10 meters away. Both hit. The last 12 arrows missed, giving him an accuracy of around 16%. “Not too bad, not too shabby,” he said.

The 2 wolves cried out in pain, shaking their head as they were hit. Instead of standing, they were supporting their feeble body with their legs. Some lay upon dry grass, as their eyes dimmed. The rest lay upon each other, as the thuds, smells, and cries of conflict could be heard from past the trees around them.

His bow was a starter bow, suitable for beginners, and since it was a VR world that utilized the real body, skill expression was everywhere to be seen while proficiency itself wasn’t.

He dashed around, his steps unbounded by guilt or remorse, for this experience was one fabricated by technology and highly-intelligent artificial intelligence, blurring the line between the boy who cried wolf and the pile of dirt that cried wolf. The comparison stopped mattering at one point because as long as they could exit the game, they would know for sure that they were in a game, tucked inside a VR capsule with a comfortable blanket.

The 2 remaining wolves growled hatefully, charging at him from 2 directions in front of him. He swung his leg the heck out of there, aiming his bow unsteadily as he fired. Because he shot repeatedly without much delay in between, only 1 of the arrows hit them, killing 1 and leaving the other retreating.

The fleeing wolf glanced at him with bitter hatred and left through a small pathway in the forest.

His friend, Lai Dune, who had been fighting her own battle in the way of the retreating wolf, stared Finnessy’s target down until it stopped. She slashed at the wolf’s tough bark-like skin, thudding against it several times. She was relentless, but the wolf still had its offense.

Like a cat falling from a height, the wolf contorted its body. It then turned its neck and bit Lai Dune’s hand off after a short struggle, causing her to panic. She didn’t feel pain: the pain effect was at 0 percent in her settings, as was the thunderstorm and spider effect.

Those two last effects were two of a small but helpful setting list of some common phobias that affected whether thunderstorms appeared as thunderstorms or spiders appeared as spiders.

When it comes to the pain effect, those who did have higher than 0 were those who were at a legal age and desired such an experience, although the maximum was only 40 percent.

Lai Dune glanced at Finnessy as she banged her shield repeatedly against the wolf’s head, making it whimper. She banged the wolf’s wriggling head at every side. She didn’t have any other means to counter attack besides that, for her Chokuto sword had already fallen to the ground a few feet behind the wolf.

She’d have leaped to get it, but as the wolf stumbled, Finnessy who arrived caught its head with his Bolo knife. The knife struck below the wolf’s head and through past the roof. It was already heavily damaged by Lai Dune, so he thanked her. With one swift pull, he removed his preferential knife.

They were beginners and playful in their endeavor, but their performance satisfied a spectral audience watching from afar.

Finnessy gave Lai Dune a fierce look but then smiled.

They had a tacit agreement to leave the wolf bodies for those willing to make use of their bodies—field dressing, taking the meat out and cooking it, which required a fire, and skinning.

They needed clothes, for they were all naked; although, it wasn’t apparent from appearance. The game, instead, gave them bodies without those private features, their bodies flat like cutting boards where the removing took place.

There were hundreds of them in one group, and a society had begun to form. It had taken a few months for it to be established with classes named humorously and the king reigning stupurously. Those in other areas did the same, yet because it was only a VR game, chaos was rampant.

Accounts were expected to be bought and then expended after at most a few years. Those who exceeded that would be called “tryhards” or “in too deep”, especially with all the games similar to Crushed Apples out there.

Speaking of VR games, competition was fierce, and players sought one game to unite them all. “Who would win?” many would ask, not that it mattered to Lai Dune and Finnessy who were curtly taking charge around their area, looting players as if they were open chests and killing them as if they were but mobs without name tags.

It was a hilarious site for those who watched Lai Dune and Finnessy, who were both small-time livestreamers. They were a duo well-liked by their communities. These were their spectral audiences from afar.

Pop-ups of filtered fan art and messages took a portion beside the two streamers’ view, giving them no headache, as both of them were adjusted. They cheered as they both reached a quota for a quest the System put out for those in the area they were.

Their area was named Surtly Forest. Forests were a common choice for VR games, since others intimidated newbies. Plains was also a good choice, but it wasn’t for beginners. Most believed it easy and full of light fighting.

In the end, slimes swarmed them and destroyed their chances at building a society within minutes.

Chapter 2

A small, “abandoned” village was situated at every area the players could select. These were purposely left empty because players weren’t allowed to interact with civilizations until a certain time and event.

The quest Lia Dune and Finnessy had was named “Breaking Innocence and Bread!” Its description explained that they were to split into groups and take out all other groups or independents within a time limit. The reward was 1 experience point and 1 credit, not much Lai Dune and Finnessy thought, but they believed it would curve sooner or later with all kinds of benefits.

They received a new quest as a response for their A-grade performance during the last quest. It was a side quest named “Copper Tongue”.

They ignored it and moved on, looking for more prey, but then they discovered the benefits of creating a community.

A community was like a beacon that affected their performance and strength in the game when they were a part and near the community base.

One example was that they could cut wood terribly efficiently if they established a lodge for players to sleep in. That’s why Finnessy took it upon himself to watch videos online on how to create tools in the wilderness, moving all the way up to videos on how to build a wooden house.

The ones he saw were filled with products from real life, not anything he could get here in game. Even If he had money, he could only buy utility products, which could influence their military power, so it wasn’t too bad. He was poor though, or more like he didn’t care enough to spend money on a game.

He relied on Lia Dune for the special treats. Lia Dune, in reality, was his wife, who had been with him for seven years already. They had been “failures” as young people, but when they grew up, they took it upon themselves to learn the basic skills to give themselves a chance at success. They could already eat and drink, had a place to stay, and had most of their needs fulfilled, but they thought it wasn’t enough if they wanted to enjoy life truly. That was why they didn’t spend money and worked hard for future plans; Lia Dune, however, liked doting on Finnessy as if he was her grandchild, giving him gifts and such in game. Finnessy spent most of his time, learning drawing and writing and giving her fan art and cute messages that he slipped in through donations. He believed Lia Dune never suspected him, but he wasn’t 100% sure.

They were truly the ideal couple! But who knew what lay behind the scenes? After all, they could be artificial intelligence acting as humans. It was a common practice, but those bots mostly used virtual avatars. In the end, those who watched them didn’t care about it too much because whether they were AI or not, they were cute to watch in survival situations.

Ten minutes had passed since their reign of the underground. They were swift in their kills of both beasts and players, which garnered respect among their audience. It wasn’t always that one appreciated the timeliness of battle for honorable warfare, strategizing until the enemy was beaten and respected for their great efforts.

“If they are trolls, then one should throw them in a pit and spit, but bury them after because in a civilization, the ill are often praised for their endurance,” said one comment in a popular social media platform when attributing the seriousness for the game to enjoyment.

That was their first encounter with the automatic rifle. The one they saw looked to them like a long-ranged, long-reloading spell that if fought at close quarters put Finnessy in a disadvantage. Finnessy had no choice but to shoot from a distance, but if he had a choice, he’d purposely make it look like his rifle was slower than a musket at reloading.

Nevertheless, those four wolves forced his hand with their numbers. He felt he had been doomed from the start!

Finnessy chuckled fearfully, wiping the sweat off his forehead, his glasses close to slipping off.

Taking out a few wolves were not a piece of cake, and it enlightened Finnessy on the road to success—living a perfect life, not that he promised he’d get the ability to do so, but that was his aim.

He dropped down on this world with only the memories of his old life back on Earth.

5 minutes later, Finnessy’s jaw dropped, but then he breathed out slowly, his regained smile and confidence not hard to look at. He noticed some sweat coming, too. He breathed in through his nose, content.

He had cow-licked thick curly hair that made one feel mellow when pressing and rubbing their head against it. The underburns of his face reminded one of thick walls that stood against ghastly tsunamis and projectiles of war. His voice was a sleek wave that placed one at ease.

Not that they mattered when a murderous bear roared their way to him. Its passion contrasted his shy style of fighting.

The bear shouted, bearing two large arms with bulges that could smash barrels in between them. Its face was bright red, its breathing was haggardly, its whimpering was donkey-like, and its ravenous eyes could kill a person. It had fierce axe-like claws, using its front limbs as it ran madly.

It caught Finnessy’s shoe, mauling it to the ground, but he quickly put it off, leaving the it to growl with tears. Finnessy shot one of its cubs accidentally as he was fighting the wolves. He felt an irremovable guilt that left his hands sweating, his chest tight, and his neck wishing to be strangulated, affecting his aim and gait. His hands and legs were trembling, too.

He shot at it nonetheless. He had an overwhelming drive to live that surpassed all other emotions. He shot at the beast repeatedly.

The bear flailed its hands around as it approached, feeling the pain consume it from the inside as bullets pattered through its body.

Another stream of bullets.

It slowed down, her face twitching in exhaustion.

Another stream of bullets.

It slowed down, her knee falling to the ground.

Another stream of bullets.

It supported herself on the ground with one arm, crawling. It tapped the ground as its consciousness faded.

Its cubs backed off as the bear cried, her voice sounding like a strangulated whale. She fell to the ground, her eyes dilated and her breath leaving for the last time.

He screamed. “Fuck! No!” He impulsively shot at the ground, wasting several bullets.

He shouted until the dawn.

The sunlight showed his feet, as the rest of his body lay mostly unlit. Leaves blocked most of it.

Later, however, the sun grew high enough for the sunlight to hit his face.

His face was empty, and his eyes were drained of flavor and life. He wasn’t dead yet.

His body grew stinky as the sweat that dried up brought with it dirtiness.

He whimpered as he stood up, watching the sunlight heat his body up. The sunlight forced him to get out of there before his body turned to mush. He looked around, his eyes dim from how fast he stood up and his legs clumsy from how mindless he felt.

He fell down on the ground, letting his face slam against a tree’s roots. It ached but it felt more like a wake-up call than a mindless action.

He went back and picked up his glasses, sitting down beside a river. He watched the animals glance at him in between sips as they drank from the river.

He looked at the gun he almost picked up subconsciously.

His breathing grew haggard, his eyes frightened, and his voice groaning in surprise.

Later, he cradled his head, tears flowing down his expressionless face.

About more than a day later, Finnessy found himself hunting down wild beasts that circulated the small sloped terrain in the rainforest with the wide mountains around. He used flint to raise his options, also splitting wood to prepare for a fire. He failed repeatedly, mostly droning as the pieces of his wounded mind came together again to form a clear mindset for his situation. It had been very small or negligible, but the growth occurred, glacially.

More than six weeks later, he was in front of a fire, eating fried meat of a beast he identified as slothfolk. They held tools of a metal he wasn’t familiar with, but he assumed he was in the Middle Ages, which meant they were using iron. The beastfolk he fought previously looked like furred humans with animal ears, but these slothfolk looked like giant bears without fur standing on two legs with a tail. They had no claws, instead trading their bear paws for creepy humanlike hands.

They wore clothes, which put Finnessy on alert. He imagined himself getting eaten by one of them. He retched. “Nasty.”

The reason he could kill one of them was the villagers he encountered. They weren’t primitive in their ways because they were already in the Middle Ages and probably more, as Finnessy had presumed from the beastfolk. They even had a way to deal with enemies that even he didn’t have a open mind to accept readily—magic.

“The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, we have divine power to demolish strongholds.” Finnessy recited the quote but with a different intention. The divine power here meant the magic he now witnessed.

The magic depended on gemstones which appeared randomly across the world like lucky boxes waiting to be found. The magic obtained was random, too, ranging from iron skin to diamond bones to ice breath to contract, and the different kinds of magic that could be obtained were plentiful.

Similarly, there were two other ways to obtain new magic. Gemstone fusion, or inventing magic through the fission of gemstones, was one, notoriously expensive and difficult like inventing the atom bomb when nuclear fission was but a theory. Each known, classified magic, called different names in classification mirrored after the taxonomic hierarchy, was painfully taught in academies.

The slothfolk were neutral with the humans, as shared by a drunken friend with little to no social skills. Since he was a human, this meant two things. One, he might have started a conflict that could end in a jiffy considering how powerful the slothfolk were. Two, the slothfolk he hunted were those thrown out into human territory for the humans to seize and do with them however they pleased, which was highly unlikely.

He sneaked around and was frightened by the common hare, which was colloquially known as the elven rabbit due to their ears.

The language here in the world was only one, and it was universal, as if the System forced all creatures that were able to speak it to submit to it.

two hooded figures jumped in front of him, far away, their outfit a mix of yellow and purple with black lines. One of them looked like they ran a long while, while the other looked fresh out of bed. They spoke loudly and clearly. “I’m Kirit,” said the shorter one, “a young silver elf from the Grain Dale.”

He was still running, so he had to change his direction slightly to dodge them.

They stood still, their eyes following him as Finnessy passed them.

The beastfolk saw them not attack Finnessy and stopped a meter in front of the elves.

They argued loudly, which Finnessy ignored. He was focused on using his last bullets with care.

His evasiveness surprised him: the System boosted his moving speed as part of the starter kit, his awkward gait emphasized. The beasts were no chance, too, but they were aggressive because he had nowhere else to turn. He could only trust his temporary speed and move on.

Chapter 2

The elves emerged from some bushes, an hour later, after he had started a fire, staring at Finnessy eating cambium.

They were apprehensive at first, but clearly, they had a reason for being there.

Finnessy made a diplomatic attempt. “How’s it going?” He shot at the ground a meter off from the elves. In truth, he now had six bullets left, but they didn’t know that. “I’m Finnessy. Nice to meet you. What’s your business with me?”

After a few seconds, he shot again, alerting the elves.

The elves hurriedly aimed their swords at him, but when Finnessy didn’t shoot, they spoke, “What’s your aptitude?” asked one of the two elves, his serpent-like tongue long and flexible as they spoke.

“I don’t know. What’s an aptitude?”

“Aptitude? You mean this?” He eyed the gun briefly and shaking the gun.

The elves tensed their shoulders again.

After a short pause, they continued, “Are you with the red humans? Is that a new weapon of theirs?”

“What if I am?” He stood up, spinning his gun around.

The elves took a step back.

“Return… to your kind!”

Finnessy gazed at them, his face twitching, his gun spinning slower and slower.

After what felt like eternity to the elves, Finnessy backed away and then turned around and walked.

The elves wanted to attack him, but they were too weak for such a weapon.

Finnessy gulped, checking his status.

Level 0 (95/100), Leroy Quill

Gold: -10

Race: Human

Class: Diplomat (0%)

Strength: 0

Agility: 0

Charisma: 0

Intelligence: 0

Toughness: 0

Willpower: 0

Unused points: 0

Tags: Rock Weaponry (0%), Rock Hard (0%)

Chapter 3

Finnessy sighed in pretend relief. Whoever these elves were, it’d be best to keep himself respected and neutral. Who knew the chances of them murdering him were? They held short bows and spears.

He remembered the path he took to get where he was and left the opposite way.

He forgot to ask them where the red humans were.

He face-palmed and kept walking.

When he heard a sound, he sped up for a while.

A few minutes into his journey, he had a creeping suspicion, and he wished to confirm its validity. He shot his 2nd to last bullet at a bush that made sounds. That was bad practice, but at this point, a man with two horns on his head could pop out any minute and kill him!

Right, he should saved that bullet. He hardened his grasp on the gun.

Nothing was in the bush. Nothing.

He laughed like a cheerful child, but inside, he was terrified. His laugh was just a pretense, something he did much in the past because people hated seeing him cry.

His fear escalated when the sun disappeared from view, only appearing as the moon’s guide in lightening up the rainforest.

A village larger than he expected villages to be appeared in the horizon ahead of him. The food he had was all gone, and his temporary speed was disappearing.

He had no choice but to risk it all for the village.

He looked around, running faster than he’d run before. It was true that stress pushed you past your limits, accelerating your aging as a side effect.

He dodged obstacles, jumping up and down and dashing left and right, yelping hungrily. He changed direction at the sight of nocturnal animals, but the night was coming faster than he thought. Strange creatures that ran as fast as him chased.

His screamed faded into the night as he escaped his ordeal.

The village was at last in front of him.

The armed guards in front looked at his outline with suspicion and curiosity.

“Taking a Breather” quest started! Rewards; 10 xp and 20 gold!

‘When invited to lodge at an old man’s old room for the cost of helping him farm, take out the old man first and head from house to house, starting from the closest to the farthest from the old man’s house.’

Finnessy’s jaw dropped, his eyes large like saucers. “The System was a murderous freak!” was the conclusion he got.

He had wasted his bullets from the run he did earlier and couldn’t hurt a fly. He was never a violent person in his old life, only a frustrated one.

“It looks like this System won’t be giving me a break. System, shut up and you…”

The armed guard came out and pointed their bow at him. “Who are you, and why are you muttering to yourself?” he asked, his voice light and bright. He wore an lavender-purple, gold-yellow outfit that at first looked ornamental rather than functional. The outfit composed of a colarless jacket that reached the feet, wraps for the bottom, and a gemstone necklace. His weapon was a bow strapped to his shoulder and a Kampilan sword.

“May I come in? I’m a traveler that had lost his way. I’ll gladly work for food and a roof over my head.”

“Not that we have roofs, why would we need roofs?” He led Finnessy inside.

Another guard came. “Hey, who’s this? At least tell me when there’s a visitor. He’s most likely from the city or from Red Coast, but what if there’s a new species of animals that can imitate a person’s voice, appearance, and warmness?”

The person talking had a cute face, pale skin, and brown eyes. She wore a similar outfit to the first guard, but her outfit had a feminine style to it. She used a mace for her melee weapon instead of a sword.

He recalled maces only being useful against plate armor, pondering whether the mace was used because of passion rather than practicality. He’d come to ponder about this a lot as he explored the spread-out village.

Finnessy thought the woman was mostly bickering at first, but her next words revealed otherwise.

“Whoever that was 7 days ago was a dangerous, loner elf. He’s most likely affiliated with the Doom Elves. If he was, another stupid conflict would begin, and that wouldn’t be good for Doom City, which was failing to conquer Rhythm Dungeon.”

Finnessy wanted to understand, but he gave up, distracted by the guards’ strange appearances.

He thought she was explaining it to him, but he wasn’t sure. She looked to be a straightforward person.

He suddenly butted in. “Rain? Your roofs.”

The guard raised a brow. “Rain…. Our roofs….”

“Water… from the sky?” Finnessy looked like a deer in headlights from how scary the world was.

“Oh, don’t worry about rain. We have an barrier sieve to convert rainwater and sunlight into food. Wait a minute, why don’t you know that? Are you a traveler who lived underground?” He said that last sentence with underlying suspicion, but then he attributed Finnessy’s dumbness to tiredness and sighed in relief, calming down.

“My name’s Odyss. What’s yours?”

“Finnessy.” Finnessy backed away a bit as more people approached. They came from a beautiful building nearby and wore similar clothes to Odyss. Some of them wore bucket hats that were colorful and ornate. They had curious eyes but were mostly casual in their gate and how they conversed to each other on the way.

Finnessy gulped once again, his nerves getting the best of him. He silently left for a bit, asking to stay outside for a while.

He stood outside within the walls but outside of the village gates. He paced around as he consumed the information he received.

He wasn’t superhuman yet. “Maybe magic could help me learn new things!” He felt his foolish childlike curiosity overcome him that moment.

Odyss and the guard who spoke were confused but then understood.

“You have a secret ability you can’t show anyone?” asked the woman.

Finnessy was so focused he accidentally ignored the woman. He realized seconds later only to believe answering it was not tactful.

Odyss called and let another guard take his place, revealing himself to be the old man who would let him have a place to stay.

Finnessy applied pressure on the eyes, calming himself down.

After spending a few moments taking deep breaths, he entered the village, noticing the paved road that separated the outer village from the rainforest.

He crossed the road through some kind of markings on the ground that he assumed served the same purpose as pedestrians.

The large buildings reminded him of the walls that blocked him before he met the guards. The walls had ladders that all around and was around seven times taller than him. When he climbed it, he looked down to find a dry ditch below deeper than four of him stacker on top of each other. It was wide, but the guards let him in through a bridge.

The village had mystifying but powerful defences and somehow managed to build and maintain all this. He was amazed, but he was more suspicious of what they had in mind for him.

The houses really had no roofs, mystifying Finnessy.

He ignored those other guards who came. They spoke and attempted to converse with him but were disappointed when he acted like a regular traveler with not much stories to tell.

The outer village were much shorter than the wall, which meant that the population wasn’t all that large despite how colossal the wall made one believe it to be.

Nearby, an short old woman stood, straight as a stalk, watching the flowers no taller than her hand, grow slowly. The narrow paths under her carried several other passersby with more decorative clothes than the guards, albeit with less brighter colors and more earth tones. They also held no weapons and held orbs that gave them a glimpse of news surrounding the other villages.

Below her, the narrow paths were paved, and around, small fires were used for the street lights.

The time was midnight, and Finnessy needed food and a place to stay. He knew no one, and he wasn’t exactly friendly to the guards. He skipped back and forth, exploring the village, which to him was an expanse of nervewracking social situations.

He could work he believed, but he wasn’t sure now after staring at the ornate designs of the structures around him.

He had been stared at a complex with strange circular overhangs as a troll turned the corner beside him. The troll had chains and lifeless dilated eyes.

Finnessy scampered like a rodent seeing humans approach.

“Bad first impression, huh,” said Odyss. “She’s a forest troll, used for carrying heavy load. Our village mage is the reason for her being here. Oh, look, there she is!” He pointed behind the forest troll.

The female mage had looks that made it look like a pauper in disguise. Her smooth skin and stature were immaculate, like a city investigator inspecting the villages around. Finnessy mentioned the comparison, which got a surprised look from Odyss.

“Have you been to the city?” Odyss asked, his eyes flickering with multiple emotions at once.

Finnessy couldn’t help but deny.

“Investigators…. I’ve heard them from books, but Alice has nowhere near the kind of character I’m expecting. She’s abrasive and haughty, but maybe that’s just a pretense she developed from all the berating she gets.”

Finnessy raised his brows.

“It’s just that the village thinks she doesn’t belong here. Village mages like her were welcomed under most circumstances, but if you brought a troll and let it wander around the village, who would be delighted to see that?”

“No one.”

“That’s right, and our village elder could ask her was for her to pay a fee for her stay here. Since she started paying, the hate toward her became invisible, but it was still there, lingering as hidden as that troll is when it sits down.”

“Why would she want to be here in the first place? Isn’t she strong or something?”

“No, of course not. Someone who’s good at fighting isn’t necessarily good at farming and managing a community. The village elder is her ‘other half’ in this case, not that she helps in the fights. We can handle ourselves pretty well.” Odyss raised his bow as they entered his home.

“Codum”, the name of the village he was in, was a spread-out village, and despite the characteristics normally attributed to villages, the village Finnessy was in displayed riches in neatness and roads, much asymmetric forms with rounded corners. He remembered reading about how asymmetric forms saved tons of cash, but whether that was true or not might depend on the kind of structure. It looked like a booming village about to become a fulltime city, not that Finnessy knew anything about how it got here and stayed here in the first place.

“Do any of you own a library?”

“We do, but he’s mobile.”

“‘He’s’?”

Chapter 4

“Hey, Robert. We have a visitor I want to introduce to you.” It was the next day, after the System deducted 10 xp and increased his gold debt to 30. He was perturbed, but he hadn’t weighed the consequences just yet.

A tall woman accompanied Robert, wearing modest clothes and reserved, but her eyes flickered with shrewdness and decisiveness. She was “Astra Law”.

Most people had only a first name. She was one of the exceptions.

Robert lent him his hand, which Finnessy accepted without hesitation.

Robert looked like a monk—bald, wearing a tunic covered by a cowl with a hood. but he was merely seventeen years old.

Finnessy, upon grasping Robert’s hand, received a visionlike trance for a few seconds and then saw the System’s new notification about the village’s history.

He read through it through the System, learning the village was previously one of several forts. Elves destroyed the other forts, leaving one fort to survive which became Codum Village.

The elves and humans hadn’t fought because of a tidal wave, destroying the elven city. Mages, which the elves had few of, were the cause.

It was a military conflict between the elves from Doom City and the humans from Grethel City.

Other city states had no interest in the conflict because of how little opportunity there was in helping any of the two.

The two were fierce and relentless, not bowing down to anyone.

Codum Village was still under Grethel City, although Grethel City was undergoing a civil war that had lasted for 29 years.

The problem about the world Finnessy was in: healing was common and rampant, which led to these aspirations’ chances of survival rising past what was possible back on Earth.

Strange people popped up, all kinds of ideologies, philosophies, and religions survived, and the world had been doing this for years. Healing was the sole reason the chaos was unending.

However, human life spans, including elves’, were around 80 years old, not too different from Earth.

He learned all of this from tab that had the words “Information” on it. It was located beside “Quests” and “Status”. It was the System’s guidance.

“Thank you for the help, Robert.”

His eyes shining with inspiration, he took action swiftly before other elves came.

He tripped where they could see and catch him, but they ignored him, not sparing him a glance.

He inquired them about where they were going, but they gave him vague responses.

He stopped following them for a bit, pretending to look at something. They admonished him with a forced friendly tone and gestured for him to move along, tapping the ground with their spears again.

He went in front of them, but they aimed their crossbows at him, their brows furrowed. They told him to stay put and follow. He obliged and ended his gauging.

It’s not like they knew what a gun was. He grimaced, quickly making a decision.

He shot them several times in the back. The one he didn’t shoot gave him a good look and shot at him.

He had taken cover behind a boulder and sighed in relief as the bolt landed uselessly. He stood up and took down the retreating silver elf.

He exhaled. “You silver elves have shown me the red flags. Sorry, not sorry.” He pinched his nose, wary of the blood.

He gave attention to a new event. Notifications from his Virtual RPG Assistant told him he leveled up twice and showed him his unused points and a list of stat options to choose from: strength, agility, intelligence, toughness, and willpower.

He rubbed his arm nervously and strapped the gun over his shoulder.

You have to be kidding me, he thought, the corners of his mouth turned down, rubbing his temples.

He returned to where he had been before the elves took him elsewhere and continued his previous mission—no, not the one about the beastfolk.

He was sweating. The previous fiasco had made him nervous. The fight or flight from such a situation got on his nerves and left him wanting to stop thinking and move. He felt aggressive and wanting to beat something. He grit his teeth and moved toward an elevated level area full of rocks.

He spent the next hour or so slamming rocks into the ground, useless if his mission was to change the terrain, useful if his mission was to relieve the stress he mustered.

Level 1, Leroy Quill

Race: Human

Class: Diplomat (0%)

Strength: 0

Agility: 0

Charisma: 0

Intelligence: 0

Toughness: 0

Willpower: 0

Unused points: 0

Tags: Rock Weaponry (0%), Rock Hard (0%)

He looked down, his right hand shaking.

He mustered up his willpower and moved on, taking deep breaths throughout.

“By the way, System, you suck for giving me 0 in testosterone (strength).”

After a day slamming rocks onto the ground, he reached 2% more efficiency in [Rock Weaponry]. Strange how [Rock Weaponry] applied to mining.

[Rock Weaponry] Rocks or tools made of rock perform at 0% more efficacy. => [Rock Weaponry] Rocks or tools made of rock perform at 1% more efficacy.

Anyways, as soon as a group of silver elves sighted him, he took off and found himself facing sixteen elves with the same yellow and purple attire.

He threw himself away from them, crying out chuunibyou attack move names. “Red Light District Attack!”

He wasn’t as afraid as before, as if looking at the opposite team in an arranged basketball match.

He began automatically firing at them from ten meters away.

When he got two, two others stayed behind to heal them.

He huffed, skipping and jumping wherever necessary.

After shooting, his body entered the peak of fight-or-flight once more. He felt intense fear, as if he was looking in front at a devil as large as a statue towering over him and staring at him.

He continued his shooting from behind a hill slope. He kept himself from crying and throwing off his aim, taking deep breaths and holding them, yet he shook.

He shot like a madman, but his bullets didn’t run out. He was surprised, checking his gun and realizing the bullets were still there after shooting.

For a few seconds, he hesitated, remembering how famished he felt when he arrived. He could be too paranoid.

That gave the elves a chance and shot at him.

A hole appeared in one of his legs. He held back a scream threatening to rise and make it crystal clear where he was about to hide.

He sat down and shot from behind cover. The bullets rained down on them, giving them no chance to take a shot because of the infinite bullets.

He took a rest, sweating, after shooting down eight. “Stop,” he cried, hoping they wouldn’t climb up the hill. He hoped they’d flee and let him go. His arms were tired, and he couldn’t shoot any longer. He had never fired for this long.

Taking his deepest breaths, he counted 10 dead. The rest fled.

An orc wearing traveler’s clothes sat down beside him, giving him a fright.

“Oy, oy, who the heck are you?” Finnessy asked with a slight voice crack, panicking. His carefree reactions betrayed his gruesome actions some time ago.

He couldn’t picked up his gun at all. He was close to fainting.

“I’m Kai, a friendly orc from afar,” said the stranger, waving his non-existing left arm. “I know you’re not from here. I thought I’d visit.”

“Where’s your… arm?” Finnessy was losing blood quickly.

“Oh, this?” His left arm appeared from thin air. “It was invisibile…. I’m still training, you see. Teach told me to travel across without getting discovered. Well, I’ll explain this to her later.” The tall, slim, humanlike orc waved his hands around as he spoke.

“‘Teach’? You mean ‘Teacher’?” Finnessy was dying. He had one minute left.

“Correct again.”

“Friend or foe?”

He wanted to blame the elves and his gun; instead, he threw those thoughts aside, leaving himself to rest and faintly ruminate about the elves.

After a short, unintentional nap, he looked around, noting the trees in the area. He looked at his gun and shot at one of them once, noting the damage caused. He sighed and looked around for a rock, grabbing it and slamming against a tree.

He remembered his wound and looked at it. It was gone. He almost forgot about it, shouting. “Kai? Are you there?”

He took out some cambium (the edible part of a tree besides the common fruit) from a pine tree and started a fire with kindling and dry grass around. He took some logs as well, using his gun this time to break the thin, weak trees.

After burning the cambium and eating it, he finally took out a few lumps of earth.

Digging might be his favorite part of the day after getting a decent meal and drink: clean water was everywhere, considering how ancient and untouched the land was.

After filling up his tummy, he looked around, grimacing. He walked around with his gun in hand.

He couldn’t find Kai.

Digging became lame after a while, but at least any rock tools he used delivered at 250% efficacy, not that it’d be of any use once he discovered weapons of iron and steel.

After travelling more than two miles through a pine forest, eating cambium as he went along, he sighted a walled city with spike defences, at least one trench, and a moat.

There were a few craters far off as well, which Finnessy presumed to be a result of magic bombardment, not that he knew what kind of magic was used around here. If there were elves, there was magic.

Two sentries sighted him, invited others, and approached in a line, bearing decorated outfits and strange metallic hats shaped like straw hats. They held no weapons, moving their arms as they went along. They didn’t stop moving their arms around.

Finnessy grimaced, fixing his posture. “Hello. I’m Finnessy. I’m a lost traveler, and I don’t know how I got here.”

“I’m Quincy…. Where… did you come from?” asked one of the sentries. He, too, moved his arms around like a lotion enthusiast.

Finnessy’s clothes were dirty and ripped in some places. His hair was disheveled, and he had a scraggly beard.

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded like a backwoodsman’s, light years away from what it was on Earth.

“Your clothes are strange. I want to know if you’re the emissary the Langka magicians sent or….”

“Y-yes.” Finnessy had a diplomat class and wore strange clothes. Surely, he was the emissary. “I lost my way and was attacked.” He hesitated and corrected himself. “I was attacked and lost my way.”

Quincy’s suspicious gaze turned into a polite smile. “Spend two full days under strict watch and investigation, and I’ll let you through to our towns and cities.”

One of the sentries pocketed a sealed scroll she was holding.

They gave him bread.

He was ravenous, not sparing a single crumb.

They chained him. He could’ve shot, but behind them were longbowmen. He wasn’t willing to get himself murdered over a misunderstanding. He wasn’t willing to travel the woods alone and pray no evil monster would come get him, even if Kai might save him again. His gun wasn’t everything, after all. He needed a society to build himself on, so he told them the truth as they walked.

Their smile turned forced when he mentioned traveling here from Earth but nodded politely with everything else.

Finnessy felt like trusting people after Kai’s stunt.

As the guards dragged Finnessy away, The sentry, who pocketed a scroll, whose name was Clorette, put her metal hat down and let her hair loose. Despite her head turned towards domesticated giant frogs, which were used to transport cargo, her attention was toward Finnessy’s beautiful stave ornament.

She had been moving her arms about like an orchestra’s maestro, exercising her flexibility and accuracy to cast the 7th spell. The 7th spell was [Reveal]. It was a spell essential for sentries that would make a sighted target glow. She did it to Finnessy, catching him first before the rest. The effectiveness of the glow depended on how well she performed her arm movements.

One problem: she had to keep moving her hands around if she wanted to use it as soon as possible. It took more than an hour of preparation, and that was why she and her fellow sentries kept moving their arms around in a loop until they had a target to reveal. Magic, despite its power, was a cause of grueling hours among soldiers and military training camps for new recruits.

In retrospect, their job was more like office work. They said it themselves, “The ‘real’ soldiers spent their time waving their arms around on the frontier.” She tied her hair and wore her metallic straw hat. “NCO’s (Non-commissioned officers) like us pretty much stare at the sky, walls, or ground all the hecking time.“

Chapter 5

Elsewhere, a sentry coughed outside of Finnessy’s cell.

Finnessy, who was pacing around in a cell, looked more nervous than normal. After two days, he had this strange sense of comfort, as if he was finally confronting his crimes of a few days ago. He was muttering to himself as he explained his intentions.

“You think killing is just—boom tadah!—equal the end? It’s not that simple.”

His thoughts raced a bit from time to time. He was lying against the wall, slowly letting himself fall to the floor: sitting was agonizing. He slept but no one could get enough sleep like this: the fugitive blood dripping off his hands, in a prison, and for hours on end without seeing the sun and moon.

“Enough,” he told himself.

The guard outside, whose name was “Serenpity”, looked inside and narrowed his eyes, looking at the ornament beside him. He saw Clorette, coming to him and nodded, letting her take his place.

“Death penalty,” Finnessy’s dizzy self muttered. “Do you death penalty here?”

Hearing it, as if on cue, Serenpity turned around and walked back. “Who are you anyway…?” He had been suspicious of the emissary for so long, and now, he had a chance to prove it.

“I’m Finnessy,” he said, blinking long. He looked wise and stoic, his mind drifting as he spoke, breathing abdominally. “Death penalty.”

“Death penalty…. what’s that?” Serenpity raised a brow, almost forgetting his purpose in questioning him. The emissary said nonsensical things.

Clorette watched in silence, maintaining the crucial reveal spell, as did Serenpity. In any case, the targets of their reveal spells were like icons that lasted for hours on a minimap.

“Are you guys lenient… with criminals?” Finnessy continued.

“Lenient?” Serenpity blinked long.

“Bad question. I mean, you don’t do death penalty, I assume. You let me keep this ornament, which was actually my gun.”

“‘Gone’…?” Serenpity sighed and then yawned. “That is yours. What do you want?”

They heard a call from outside.

Serenpity’s expression became energetic. “That’s my call. See you.”

Finnessy gave a delayed response. “Okay.”

When they left, Finnessy took out a bread he’d been saving. “Finally, my time is over.”

An hour later, Quincy came to take him outside, pointing at Finnessy’s automatic rifle. “That’s an elegant short stave made of steel and iron, right? Is that foxan?”

“Foxan?”

“Foxan. Is it?”

“What’s ‘Foxan’?”

He glanced at Finnessy’s ripped clothes again. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Oh, wait, the emissary probably did, he thought, remembering the ripped clothes and all.

Finnessy pressed the gun on his lap.

Quincy rubbed his chin. “This needs an orb.”

Finnessy gazed at Quincy. “Do you know anything about how the country works around here?”

“No….”

Finnessy nodded slowly, lightly tapping his gun’s trigger.

Quincy laughed and paused, glancing at Finnessy’s focused expression.

After half a minute at which Finnessy patiently waited, he turned his head away slowly and then cocked his head at him with a blank expression. “Sure, before I tell you though, there are five cities that you’ll probably want to visit.” He nodded as he continued, “Wait, let me get a map.”

He brought a map from his office, handing it to Finnessy. “This is Kalle, Spinne, Rollefelle, Hamille, and Yoheille. You’re right here. That’s north.” He pointed to his right, his arm leaning slightly to the left. “We’re in a peaceful time despite our nation having the largest dungeon and crystal reserves. The main reason? We’re the most dominant power in this continent, and we managed to deal with internal issues early. The Wise Emperor doesn’t age, if that’s what you’re asking. The south is a little busy and not ours, but we push neutrality with those folk as they do with us.”

Finnessy had been nodding throughout his explanation and stopped. “Thank you. I’m suspicious, but because I’m weak, you’ll let me go, is that right?”

“Yeah, yeah—how do you know?” Quincy looked at Finnessy with probing eyes.

Finnessy looked away with a straight face, ignoring the question.

Quincy’s face twitched. “Anyways… no reason to keep you for long in case you’re an emissary, but I doubt that.” Quincy unlocked the door and threw a bola which incapacitated Finnessy, dragging him and his gun as they exited.

“The bola thing again?” asked a sentry waiting outside, who had been a recruit at the same time as Quincy. “Seriously? That doesn’t make you cool, you know—”

“Oh, leave your mouth in your room, or it’ll literally be there next morning.” Quincy wasn’t a sentry but a squad commander. He fought face-to-face. “Flaunting”, his style of fighting, one of two common styles, required him to increase his flexibility through breath work, static, and dynamic stretching to allow his skill [Air Flaunt] to be used effectively. When he fought, he danced and pranced around like an rhythmic gymnast, using whips or whiplike weapons to fight with greater difficulty.

Those who mastered flaunting were the lieutenant colonels. He was many ranks away.

They put him on a wagon and let it move on its own. The wagons here were automated by magic to follow the road to the first city, Kalle.

Finnessy didn’t struggle.

Quincy had decided to take away his gun away after he noticed the way Finnessy touched the gun and lightly tapped the trigger when they spoke.

Kai reappeared, watching Finnessy sat down helplessly.

“If you’re going to have a hard time, at least ask for help. I’m cursed to save those about to die, but this time, I helped you because you’re special.”

Finnessy turned his head left and right and asked, “Who are you anyway?” He had been suspicious of Kai for so long, and now, he had a chance to prove it. “Are you the System?”

“You’re saying strange things. I’m here to give you a ride to the city you’re heading to. It’s far off, and you’ll probably starve to death even with all that food beside you. They’re disgusting, believe me.”

Finnessy tilted his head, confused, but he obliged and allowed Kai to carry him. “What are you doing?”

“We’re flying a few feet off the ground. Let’s go.”

Finnessy shrugged, a little annoyed from how his arms ached. “Hopefully, this is fast.”

Kai scoffed. “Of course, it is!” He zoomed like a horse on steroids, passing the wagon at seven times its speed.

Later, Finnessy fell down, nauseous. “I red-flagged myself, didn’t I?”

Kai narrowed his eyes slightly, looking confused, and ignored him.

Finnessy took a up-and-down look at the people around him travelling to the city and fro. They wore suits that covered the whole body, yet they remained cooled, probably due to magic.

He looked surprised, but when he remembered Kai, he calmed down slightly, yet he raised a brow and tilted his head. “This is getting stranger by the minute.”

The guards at the gate were bulked up, a feet taller than those who looked to have come from here. He asked the guards about their suits.

They pointed toward a large statue in the city that towered over workplaces and home.

The structure was strangely futuristic in a way. Not just the structure, but all the buildings looked like a combination of medieval architecture and biophobia ‘human’s inherited fear of nature and animals”. He didn’t find a single plant anywhere inside, yet he could breath well, probably due to magic.

He was taken to a building near the gate for those who didn’t have an ID of some sort. They saved his magical footprint to track his magic use within the city, telling him he had an ID now.

He grinned, slightly excited. The city was on a gravity hill, drying water on the ground appearing to go uphill when it truly did the opposite.

But a group of elves within the city dragged him off. They had hit him in the back multiple times, believing he was suspicious after testing him four times.

They dumped him in a forest, lowering their weapons and giving him curious looks.

Finnessy raised his hand, still disatisfied with the vibes he got.

Two of them handed him an orb they took out of a foxhole.

Finnessy noticed there were only social trails around. Not a single sign of vehicles.

He lowered his hand.

These elves wore the fullbody suits.

As Finnessy held the orb, glancing between the orb and the sentries, a faint beam emerged from the orb, aimed at Finnessy, growing sharper and sharper.

Finnessy backed away and covered his eyes with an arm, worried the orb was to blind him enough to grant the sentries an opening. The sentries stayed back patiently.

After several seconds, the orb’s light faded and glowed blue.

Their brows furrowed, the elves stared at Finnessy.

One of the elves introduced herself. “I’m Deux Fois,” she said. She paused, looking hesitant.

She said, “You have a calm and positive outlook. Ocean-blue means that.”

Chill vibes? thought Finnessy. —, play “ASMR for sleep”.

New quest! Take down 35 silver elves several meters from you to the north for 13 gold and 16 xp. This will initiate a potential friendly encounter with the beastfolk. Will you accept?

A few miles in the direction opposite of Finnessy’s, a canine beastman, a wolfman ‘a wolf which walked on two legs’ skewered out the flesh from three elves. After it swallowed, it tilted his head and growled, motioning his fellow wolves to follow. They had finished off a group of silver elves.

Their appearances were rich: they wore black light armor with a tint of blue, held halberds, wore ornate muzzles and white-leathered sandals, and had daggers strapped to their waists. Under their light armor, they wore brown tunics.

Their target was a human.

Meanwhile, in the elves’ foxtrot, Deux Fois coughed. “If you join us, we’ll give you several gifts: Copy of Sight of Mind, a crystal wand, and everything else reserved for high-ups like guesthouse accommodations.”

“Twenty elves,” said a sentry who Finnessy didn’t know and came here running. “They said they’re looking for a strange human.”

Quincy smiled. “Is that so?” He took back the orb from Finnessy and handed it to one of the sentries beside him, following the sentry who warned them. “The Head had given them enough room to thrive. They’ll back off once I remind them. Don’t worry.” He flicked his fingers around as a holographic image of a empty room appeared in front of him, following him as he ran.

Finnessy glanced at a rock below him and picked it up, following Quincy who permitted him.

When they arrived, one of the silver elves stepped forward, raising open palms faced up to waist level. “He’s killed 12 of ours,” said the woman, sneering. “Let this be resolved quickly.” She believed this strange human didn’t have a chance among sixty elves and—if they’re helping us in this matter—fifteen humans.

“That’s right, but he’s one of ours. Let us take care of him. Isn’t that right, Finnessy?” Delivering an ocean-blue would get him and his fellow two sentries three promotions at least.

Finnessy ignored him and instead reached out an open palm. “Elves, I’d like to know what you’ll do with me.”

The elf in front raised her brows. The strange human was more polite than she thought. “We will… skin you and then kill you… in accordance to our laws.”

“I killed the first two elves because they acted very suspicious.”

She paused and showed a thinking pose.

“Too late. We’re few in number.” She looked back at her fellow elves and took a deep breath. “Let that sink in.”

Finnessy nodded and then turned to Quincy. “You’ve given me your name; promises of a copy of Sight of Mind, a crystal wand, and guesthouse accommodations and so forth; and handed me an orb that glowed blue. Why?”

Confusion spread among the elves. “Blue? Why would you bring even that human through that?”

Finnessy raised a brow.

Chapter 6

An angry wave of verbal bombardment launched at the sentries from the elves, the elf in front leading it.

Quincy nodded at one of his sentries, taking a scroll and handing it to the leading elf to read.

“Foolish!” exclaimed the elf. She told her fellow elves about what was written on the scroll.

The elves paused, murmuring amongst each other.

“We decline,” said the elf leader.

Quincy and his sentries gasped and fumed. “This is one of our sacred lands we’re giving you. Is that not enough for your….”

“We decline.”

Finnessy butted in. “I’d like to know if there’s a chance for me to get out of this alive.”

The elves looked amongst each other and nodded. “If you tell us your method of murder.”

Quincy narrowed his eyes. “What method? Elves are known to be weaker than humans. Do we need—”

A sentry beside Quincy stopped him and whispered something to him.

Quincy looked surprised but nodded.

Finnessy, after glancing at Quincy and the sentry beside him, nodded toward the elves.

The elf leader sighed and motioned for Finnessy to follow.

Quincy rubbed his hair in frustration, walking away quietly, as the other sentries followed.

“Oh…. Sinine, it’s that wand I’m guessing.”

Finnessy raised his brows. “What’s up? Sinine?”

“A word we use for humans like you, ‘sinine’.”

“Ok. I’m a sinine.” He nodded at the elves who moved forward to walk alongside him. Those farthest from him looked enraged and in tears, but those who beside him only looked at him warily with a strategic gleam in their eyes. “This isn’t a wand, but you could say that. A wand made of iron and steel.”

“Sorry, your talking is disturbing to those who lost their blood relatives recently.” The elf leader’s face twitched in anger.

She’d been holding back well. He’d be dead if they decided to kill him. No escape even with his gun. He looked up as if the skies had something to tell him, remembering his days as a child reading novels on the internet. “Internet” sounded foreign now.

He was thrown into a cell as he expected. Caught between humans and elves, he could only look at his arms helplessly. He was only one person.

Now that he thought about it, the only reason he could handle myself right now was because he hated his past world after he learned that technology wasn’t there, there yet. Maybe through magic he’d have chances.

In another area, several hours later, an elf told the leader elf, “Give him a few pointers with the wolfmen. That might ease him up.”

The leader elf contacted the wolfmen through exhausting telepathy, and they arrived within a hundred seconds.

The wolfman in front of him huffed in greeting, using magic to wipe the sweat off of himself. The wolfmen were furless everywhere besides their head.

The leader elf woman nodded. “Is there anything you want, besides healing?”

The wolfmen opened his mouth but paused for a few seconds.

He raised a finger. “I would like to know who killed the elves. I’ve eaten them already.”

“The human we took in several hours ago was the cause.”

“Is he up for skinning?”

“No, no, don’t worry about that.” She sat down. “I told you to let me handle it.” She turned to look in the direction of Finnessy.

“I only ask you to give him pointers. He’s only one person, and he’s going to share with us how he killed 12 elves without a single graze.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll give him pointers, and I’ll share this with my siblings.”

“Let the Majesty bless your tender courageous spirit.”

“Good luck to you, too, Guile.”

Despite the wolfman’s awkward nature, he looked at her like a sibling-in-law.

Back in the cell, Finnessy yawned and rubbed his arms to keep himself awake. “I haven’t slept in ages. Frick me. This cell feels like a luxury suite, my goodness.”

He remembered the two elves he killed. They said something about neutral grounds. “Oh, — me!”

The wolfman, Francis, looked around with a strange look. “Isn’t this a human? I don’t see anything strange about him.”

The elf leader, Guile humphed. “He’s not from around here.” She pointed her body toward the gun beside the man in front of them. “That steel stave looks orcish with that design.”

“The red orcs are at the coasts already, aren’t they?”

“That’s right.”

The man in front of them opened his eyes, Finnessy. “What am I doing here, officers—you guys are a standing… tall wolf and a walking elfish person.”

“That’s right,” said the calm, husky voice of Francis, rubbing his snout, as he instinctively avoided scraping himself with his claws.

The elf’s eyes looked droopy, as if she rubbed them too long from overworking and bad habit. She muttered, “Good day, join my friend Francis because he’ll be taking you to the border where he’ll train you and hear about this method of yours on the way.”

She had this modern beautiful look that deviated from classical beauty and bordered on charmingly cute and covertly hot.

So did Francis, but he killed 12 elves—that’s only hot if one was merely reading about it in fiction and not seeing the affectionate victim’s loved ones grieving about it in real life.

Francis smirked, which caught Francis and Guile offguard after how dazed he looked since their first meetings.

Francis was secretly celebrating.

He finally made it this far. Frick him. He might be able to get out of this mess, but he would carry the blood of 12 elves for the rest of his life. The regret hadn’t sinked in yet, not that he did anything wrong. Self-defence that led to someone dying would hurt anyone.

The wolf brought Finnessy out gently, his covertly powerful grasp stretching from the solar plexus to the back. It was a silent warning of potentials.

Finnessy aimed his gun at Francis, too, holding it like a ornament.

“Hey, you’re such a good boy. Now, why don’t you take that hand off me before I use a strange method of murder?”

Francis hesitated, glancing at Guile for clues.

Guile shrugged and gestured with a tilting of her head.

Francis nodded, slowly removing his hand off Finnessy. He didn’t look offended, only confused.

Guile kept a look on her face that said, “I’m not ready to die, too.”

Finnessy grinned, his shoulders relaxing.

Seeing that, Guile choked Finnessy and kicked his gun away.

Francis slammed his kidneys and solar plexus with two punches.

Finnessy fell to the ground, twitching in pain.

[Rock Hard] Take 75% less damage when not moving and meditating below 0% health. => [Rock Hard] Take 75% less damage when not moving and meditating below 1% health.

“Oh, about that, after taking those 12 elves down, I’m level 6. I hope it’s enough.” He grabbed Francis’ shoulder and brought him to the ground, smashing his head on the ground. He turned to his right and caught Guile’s two slashes with his arms. He groaned, running lamely toward the gun and pulling the trigger when it was still touching the ground.

The bullet flew, making a gaping hole in Guile’s neck.

Finnessy looked around. Elves and wolfmen emerged from a corner twenty meters away.

He shot Francis and continued shooting, running as he left.

An hour later, as the ground turned red from both blood and dusk, he almost dropped his gun, but he heard the notification sound and his arms healed.

Level up! You are now level 7!

He let out a big long sigh and almost screamed out of nervousness. He swore repeatedly, rubbing his arms as if he got itches all around.

Too much stimuli.

He lay down somewhere quiet and safe, his arms dangling as a doll’s. Tears hesitated. “No more, my head…. It aches.”

After about an hour and a half, he muttered, “It took 62 to get to level 7. These mobs are most likely level 1.”

He saw a bird and flinched: his fight-or-flight hadn’t gone down at all, staying at moderate levels.

He needed sugar or coffee. — would do fine, too. He might just get a nervous breakdown these days.

Best of all, he needed sleep, but how could he? Was this what soldiers experienced? No wonder they keep getting —.

Finnessy Graham arrived at a lower area where a river flowed and hummed happily.

Plentiful bird chattered overhead, making his mouth water… for a bath.

Soap would be nice right about now.

He threw rocks around and exercised with rocks after taking a long nap.

[Rock Weaponry] Rocks or tools made of rock perform at 1% more efficacy. => [Rock Weaponry] Rocks or tools made of rock perform at 2% more efficacy.

An orc wearing traveler’s clothes sat down beside him, giving him a fright.

“Oy, oy, who the heck are you?” Finnessy asked with a slight voice crack. His carefree reactions betrayed his gruesome actions some time ago.

“I’m Kai, a friendly orc from afar,” said the stranger, waving his non-existing left arm. “I know you’re not from here. I thought I’d visit.”

“W-where’s your arm?”

“Oh, this?” His left arm appeared from thin air. “It was invisibile…. I’m still training, you see. Teach told me to travel across the two kingdoms without getting discovered. Well, I’ll just explain this to her later.” The tall slim orc waved his hands around as he spoke.

“‘Teach’? You mean ‘Teacher’?”

“Correct again.”

“Friend or foe?”

“Depends on whether you’re selling that stave of yours. I’ve been watching you, you see.” Kai liked waving his hands around whenever he went on a tangent.

“Ew.”

“Come on, not all the time.”

“Ok. I’m not selling this stave.” Finnessy quickly took a few steps back, aiming his rifle.

“Okay. How about I teach you magic, and you give me that stave?”

“Magic…?” Finnessy looked around and sniffed. “If… magic’s so good, why do you want this stave?”

“Hehe, about that.” He waved his hand around and muttered something, creating a jet of hot air that burned Finnessy’s left arm. “You’re sly, aren’t you?”

“Ow.” Finnessy shot, proccing Kai to make a 4:3 ratio 6-foot-tall magic shield.

The shield slowed down the bullet, but the bullet went through and slammed into Kai’s right arm.

“You’re getting both arms now?” Kai healed it immediately.

Finnessy turned around and ran, leaning against a tree when he stopped and wrapping his left arm.

Kai ran from his blind spot, ramming Finnessy, and stabbed him in the gut.

Finnessy screamed. He had been tying the bandage by biting it and pulling it with his other arm. He raised his gun and swung it downwards, slamming it against Kai’s temple.

Kai fell to the ground, groaning. He cursed. He waved an jet of hot air toward the gun.

The gun heated up.

Finnessy shot through the emergency shields Kai put up as he lay down in a fetal position. He shot six times.

Kai fled, tired out after healing himself.

Finnessy dropped the hot gun.

He watched Kai, who didn’t turn invisible, from afar, his eyes scrolling through several emotions until it stopped at frustration. He swore, running off in fear that Kai would strike back.

Was it because of the gun? Was that why he had to kill people? Was that why people wanted to kill him?

Level up! You are now level 8!.

Wait, wait, wait, what did that mean? What the heck did that mean? Was it because… Kai was strong? Was that it?

New tag! [Steel Weaponry] Steel or tools made of steel perform at 0% more efficacy.

New tag! [Marksmanship] Consume 0% more energy for 0% more efficacy at marksmanship (piercing damage, accuracy, and reload time).

New tag! [Fugitive Optimization] For every individual within sight with intent to kill or capture you, you perform at 0% more efficacy.

Level 8, Bad Boy Jones (Finnessy Graham)

Race: Human

Class: Diplomat (0%)

Strength: 0

Agility: 0

Intelligence: 0

Toughness: 0

Willpower: 0

Unused points: 0

Tags: Steel Weaponry (0%), Marksmanship (0%), Fugitive Optimization (0%), Rock Weaponry (2%), Rock Hard (1%)

He kept the points for now, unsure on what to do. Strength might help his mining, but the tag and the class were gone now.

He sat down, thinking for a while, spending a whole day doing nothing.

The System sent him a quest.

Quest: Take down 10 cave beasts that came out and was exploring the forests.

Rewards: 5 xp and 10 gold.

“Oh, is that how it works? I got a little lazy after stressing myself out a couple of times. Whoever thought living in a fantasy world like this wasn’t thinking straight!”

Chapter 7

He arrived at the area, his professional attitude kicking in. He smelled the gun and thought of using his saliva to clean it but stopped himself. He aimed it at a group of beasts, which had the physical combination of a giraffe and a rhino.

“I’m a friendly,” Finnessy’s curt voice came out. He approached the beasts, his face almost erratic. He wanted to pet them.

He heard a noise and aimed toward a bush.

The elf dropped her short bow in surprise, her face scrunched up.

He watched in silence as the elf reached for the bow. He wanted to say, “Oy, mate, how’s your day going?” but now wasn’t the time.

“Who are you?” asked the elf.

The elf bled to death as soon as their fingers made contact with the bow.

He sighed, grabbing the bow and studying it. Neat design, but it didn’t look familiar. Elves used crossbows… unless bows were used for hunting instead?

He face palmed himself as he walked toward the beasts.

They were docile.

An axe swung toward him.

He turned and took a step away, the axe lightly slicing his chest.

He groaned, aiming his gun. “She shot at me.”

The five elves in front of him had dirty and famished looks.

He felt his heart break, pressing a hand against his head. “I’m sorry.”

The elves stopped, glancing at each other.

He looked at them, one of his eye drooped.

One of the elves stepped forward and said, “You’re not from here. Who are you? What did you do with my sister?”

“I… took her down.”

“She was tending to the flock and practicing her archery, did you know that?”

“Oh… the System….”

“What?”

“Nevermind… uh… she was aiming at me.”

“It’s just that you’re in elven territory, do you know this?”

“Uh, fuck.” He remembered what Kai said previously about passing through the two kingdoms without being noticed. “Shit. I’m…. I don’t know. What should I do?”

“Hang yourself or devote yourself to tending to her grave for the rest of your life as a slave.”

“Okay.”

He looked at his gun. “This is a curse. I didn’t mean this.”

“What’s done is done. You must atone, but nothing you’ll do will bring her back, I know this.” The elf began crying.

He gulped, grinning nervously.

“Can you kill me now, actually?”

“Sure, stand still.” He brought those with simple crossbows in front, aiming from a few meters away.

“How did you know I was here?”

“That’s…. enough of this. Atone with your death.”

Finnessy raised a brow as the bolts struck him in the chest.

He groaned, letting his voice flow. Tears fell.

Another round of bolts struck him, but nothing happened, only minor grazes.

[Rock Hard] Take 75% less damage when still and meditating below 17% health.

They repeated this, using up all their spare bolts. These simple crossbows took some time to reload.

Finnessy pressed a hand on his bleeding chest again, taking a deep breath. “I… don’t want to die.” He walked away. Five minutes was enough for him to realize he didn’t want to die.

“No, stop!”

He shot at the ground in front of them, making them flinch.

He continued walking, increasing in speed until he broke into a sprint.

Later, the voices behind him faded, but he didn’t stop. “I did my best, okay.” Tears flooded. “I did my best, but it’s not good enough. I know that.”

He wiped his tears and rubbed his gun. “But I have to keep going. My purpose in life is to keep going.”

He arrived at a town after travelling for days. He looked at himself in the water. “A goatee for me would look nice.”

He smelled himself and sighed in relief. Good hygiene was everything he remembered it to be.

He placed four unused points on Toughness and reached 3% on all 3 gun-related tags. He hadn’t leveled up yet, unfortunately, but he did fight much, his hidden gun saving him on every bad encounter he had. There were friendly encounters with travelers, too, but they had their own plans and lives.

Speaking of which, he needed to meet at least one friend in this town. At least one. That’d be wonderful.

He met three people who carried swords and shields. Archers were rare and mages were nowhere to be found, strangely enough.

Back there, the System must have dropped in some non-beginner location. What a grinch!

The three people allowed him to join them on one occasion, giving him a chance at proving his skills as an unorthodox marksman.

“What’s a dog?” asked one of the three, which consisted of two elf men and one elf woman. Humans weren’t rare, but he had an inclination toward elves for several reasons he wouldn’t explain.

“You know, the barking animal?”

“I have zero idea what you mean,” said the woman.

“It isn’t found here, then.”

“Are you from Brakas?”

“B-brakas? No.”

“Where did you come from then?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Ok.”

The other two were reserved and appeared to dislike replying to any of Finessy’s probing questions.

They spent most of the time travelling, which surprised Finnessy who expected missions to have 99% action at least.

When they reached their quest destination—this came from an adventurer guild and was separate from System’s—, the three wore strange-looking masks and handed Finnessy one.

“What are you doing?”

The woman who spoke to him slapped their head, realizing Finnessy wasn’t from around there. She turned to him and paused.

“We like to gas them up,” she said. “It’s the town’s method of clearing our dungeons. It doesn’t always work, and it isn’t exactly safe. But it works!”

The other two elf men nodded.

“Do you guys not use the usual bows and so on and so forth?”

“We’re all alchemists. It’s a staple fighting class of our town. Do you want to work 20 years to get it?”

“20 years?”

“I went through 20 years building ‘trust’ by working and since then, I’ve been spending the rest seven hundred years working non-stop but with alchemy!”

“That’s… painful.”

“I love to work!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm under her mask.

Finnessy’s joyful face fell. Now that he thought about it, elves sound weak but live very long lives.

Was that what long lives would be for if humans back on Earth discovered a pale version of immortality? He shuddered to even think about it.

“Can you live forever?”

“If sickness and disease doesn’t get me first,” said the woman. “You know the rest.”

“Why live?” he wanted to say. He frowned for a while but moved on.

When they arrived at a larger part of the dungeon, they sighted a colony of man-sized ants.

“There they are.”

“Fighting.”

“They’re making rock towers.”

The voices of the party echoed through the cave.

Finnessy grinned, feeling a little relieved. He shot his gun thrice without thinking, taking down several ants, catching the elves’ eyes.

“What the heck was that?” asked the elf woman.

“Oh, right. It’s a special kind of magical bow.”

“Are you orc-bred? That looks awfully similar to what I heard orcs could do.”

“No.” He wanted to ask about the orcs, but the battle had begun.

At least, for him. The rest of the party let out gas from their palms very slowly from where the ants couldn’t fit.

Finnessy groaned. He was disappointed. “How long will this take?”

“Several hours. Don’t worry. Hawkins over here likes his speed.” The woman gestured toward the man beside her.

The two elf men had hikers’ bodies, fleshy noses, and listless eyes. The similarities ended there. One of them had rather curly, commonly short hair, and the other had long hair that reached the shoulders tied in a bun. Their names were Hawkins and Tchaikovsky; they wore dark-brown short-sleeved tunics, one with a hint of blue and another with a hint of red respectively.

The elf woman had broken teeth, her eyes fierce but her face innocently round. She had long hair which reached her shoulders. Under her sleeveless dark-brown tunic, she was well-endowed, not that she flaunted it.

Finnessy would’ve looked like a grinning homeless old man if it wasn’t for his smooth, supple skin.

After the ants fled and blocked the tunnels, thirty minutes later, only one of them fell victim to the gas. They waited for another hour for the gas to lose its effect.

Finnessy sighed and looked at the elf woman who shrugged and complained about something relating to the rock towers.

The ants opened up the tunnels, walking left and right before crossing the bridge they made. They warned each other from time to time as they scanned the area.

Sounds of footsteps could be heard overhead. They looked up to see Finnessy shooting at them as he ran around. He was shouting at something.

“Get back. You can do it! Let’s go!”

The ants glanced around, scattering, seeing an elf man approaching them at high speeds. It was Hawkins with his speed.

The ants formed a wall by climbing up on each other, trudging forward as Hawkins dodged to the side and continued running around them. They disassembled and encircled Hawkins, charging at him in unison.

“Come on! Non-stop grind! Let’s go!” Finnessy was the only one talking.

An elf woman was spread her gas toward the tunnel where most of the ants passed through, while the other elf man, Tchaikovsky, swung his sword left and right through the ants to get to Hawkins.

The ants scattered again, seeing that Tchaikovsky and Hawkins could handle themselves. A few ran toward the tunnel, running into the gas the elf woman spread and lost consciousness.

Most of them entered other tunnels, one making a new tunnel and dying to Finnessy.

Finnessy shot at the ants near the elf woman and sniped some of the immobile ants whenever he saw one.

“That’s the one! Amazing job!”

Most of the ants escaped, leaving about 20% dead or unconscious. About 15 ants died.

Finnessy sighed, glancing at the ants and the notification from the System.

“You have a nice-sounding voice,” said the elves.

Finnessy face-palmed.

Quest: Take down an ant sergeant and its squad. They spit acid, which the other ants can’t do. Don’t kill any more than this.

Rewards: 5 xp and 10 gold. Warning! If you don’t take this third quest within the regular 13 days, you’ll receive a penalty that deducts your levels by half!

Finnessy groaned.

“That’s it,” said the woman, Isabelle. “Keep that up.”

Finnessy humphed, leading the way out.

When they exited, Hawkins spoke, his speech tempo all over the place, “I’ll be running first. Uh, Finnesy, run with me to get the effect.”

“Got it.”

They ran in unison. Finnessy didn’t notice any differences, but he was probably not trained enough.

The next day, Finnessy left first thing in the morning. He invited the rest of the group, who lived in different houses. They didn’t live alone, having their own families.

Finnessy felt awkward considering he hadn’t casually met anyone since coming here in… Brakas?

Their families followed the usual range of upbeat to reserved, but they all invited him in for at most bananas with jackfruit as filling, and egg rolls.

They didn’t give him hostile looks, but that was most likely because he cleaned his look with help from the party.

He was given what he thought was almost a fair share of gold from the adventurer guild quest.

Speaking of which, their little adventurer party didn’t have a name. Their name would mean nothing considering their town wasn’t all that big and popular despite it a few hundred meters from the edge of a forest.

The forest was where Finnessy came from. He almost forgot what the forest felt like after staying up at an inn for a few hours.

When he had woke up and had invited the rest of the group, they had taken a quest without him. He followed and found them.

They were wet and soggy because of slimes and man-sized snails.

“Fin, you got some of that refreshing ocean water?” asked Isabelle.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The woman turned away.

Not good at jokes, huh? Him too.

“Your… families fed me. Tell them I said, ‘Thank you again,’”

“Ok,” Hawkins replied, looking around, breathing deeply.

“Cleaning up dungeons. Is that what you guys do?”

“Yes,” said Hawkins.

Isabella had left, sitting on some rocks.

She sighed, looking at Finnessy, her eyes furrowed.

“Last time was a fail. We would’ve gotten 10 at most if it wasn’t for you. What’s your name?”

“You’re joking.”

“My whole family thanks you for saving their lives. Here, take this.” She handed him a frog she had hidden in her hands.

Finnessy flinched but let the frog stay. “I thought it’d be an insect. That was close.”

“It works once in a blue moon, you see!”

Finnessy gasped and his breathing grew labored. Isabella’s tone reminded him of Kai, who frequently added, “You see,” at the end of his sentences. He glanced at her, excusing himself.

She left him alone after seeing his response and gestured at the other two for them to return home.

It was 12 noon.

Finnessy stared absentmindedly at the ground, the sun heating his hair up. He closed his eyes as they arrived at a cooler place under the shade and inside the magically air-conditioned inn. He sighed in relief, allowing himself to daydream when he returned to his room.

He forgot something, turning to the wall.

“Hey, that’s my room. Get out of there!”

Finnessy walked out hurriedly. 12 noon was the time his renting of the room ended. Whoopsie!

Chapter 8

He took a quest, searching for one for ants. He found none. Feeling his dry throat, he gulped, wiped the sweat off his body, and flapped his shirt.

He got strange looks because of his clothes alone, but that didn’t stop him from wearing his athletic “brand X” shirt and shorts.

He returned to the cave, finding an ant sergeant and its squad studying a broken stave Hawkins left behind.

He raised a brow, shooting the ant sergeant several times. He also ran in and took the stave.

As soon as the shot echoed through the room, footsteps sounded from the tunnels.

He panicked, shooting at the rest of the squad as the ant sergeant fell.

The last two pushed each other to safety.

He cursed, aiming at the two through the crowd of ants. He sighed, lowering his gun and running off.

He looked at the quest. 12 days left.

The next day, he asked them about ants and spitting acid. They shrugged. “That’d be out of the blue,” said Hawkins. “Did you see one?”

Finnessy nodded.

Hawkins smiled with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “That’s what we’re looking for. Second stage evolutions.”

Finnessy raised a brow but decided not to pursue the matter further. He carefully followed Hawkins and the rest of the party back to the cave.

The ants broke all the holes where they couldn’t reach and even prepared rock towers around to give them cover from projectiles.

Finnessy was impressed, but he held that comfortable thought until he spotted a pair of ants who walked alongside each other. He thought it was strange since none of the ants paired up that way. He breathed in and shot at them when there were less ants nearby.

The rest of the adventurer party watched him as they studied his form of warfare. They were impressed, but they held their thoughts for when they could destroy the ant nest. The second stage ants were the only shield they had against adventurers looking to crush their queen.

Finnessy’s bullets hit the two, alarming the rest of the ants.

The ants charged towards them as Isabella left behind a lulling gas. There were many other second stage ants besides the ones Finnessy killed, but it was too late.

Hawkins cheered. He became comfortable around Finnessy the more he proved himself a capable fighter.

Tchaikovsky was still quiet, waiting for something else.

Isabella became quiet, speculative of Finnessy’s destructive power. His weapons were no joke if mass-produced.

Finnessy completed a System-given quest. He almost teared up from relief.

You have received 5 xp!

You have received 10 gold!

Level up! You are now level 9!

Level up! You are now level 10!

10 gold coins dropped onto his hand, appearing from thin air.

The elves thought it was a pocket dimension bag of some sort and gave no response to it.

Hawkins commended Finnessy as they walked back home.

Tchaikovsky disappeared.

Finnessy looked around in shock. “Where’s Tchaikovsky?”

“He’s only invisible,” said Hawkins. “He does that whenever.”

He laughed boisterously as he told Finnessy about adventuring, quests, and challenges.

Finnessy raised a brow, feeling his chest ache. Invisibility was Kai’s thing, too. Kai was a gateway memory to the bad side of the world.

The inn received him once again with smiles and everything. He was back in a room, finally. Air-conditioned? Check. All alone? Check. Window view with good scenery? Check. Most comfy bed of all time? Check!

In reality, the room and service were subpar, but don’t tell someone who’d barely slept outside on rocks and dirt for days that.

Sometimes, whenever the memories flooded back, his gun looked thirsty as if it needed a fresh cup of red. It yearned to take down the sources of my fear and terror. But what if the people around me made me afraid?

He woke up, his eyes barely adjusting to the sunlight. He left the room, brushing his hair and stretching his body. He took a bath and went downstairs, leaving the inn. He greeted the bystanders who had greeted him frequently whenever he left or entered the inn. He yawned, rubbing his arms and grinning delightfully.

He accepted an easy quest that when read outloud sounded like a job for a hitman. He raised his brows and pressed on, sniping the offending beasts from a hill. They were giant birds, purple ostrich-looking beasts that knew how to throw sharp knives. They looked like wandering folk apparently.

He looked at the quest paper and skimmed through it, looking for the symbol of the adventurer’s guild. He didn’t find it. He face-palmed. He paid the ostriches a six gold in return for the light wounds and showed them the paper.

They berated them, but in the end, they couldn’t do much since he only gave them light wounds.

Finnessy hummed and then sang about some impending doom.

He returned, defeated, and sighed his adventurer party waiting for him in front of the inn. They looked like they belonged there as regular bystanders.

He waved at them as they waved back.

“Come with us,” said Isabella, not really looking him in the eye.

“It’d be better if we stuck together,” said Hawkins, smiling and nodding.

Tchaikovsky didn’t look like he was there, but he most probably was. Finnessy didn’t address the issue and moved along.

They took a quest to help goblins pack up because they were moving away. They also requested for guarding for at most several hours into their trip.

The goblins’ neighborhood was at the west side of the city where Finnessy came from. They were leaving to the west.

Later, Finnessy dropped a broken stave when he carried his fourteenth crate. He bent down and touched it, only for it to be run over by a carriage.

The stave looked like it broke in half because of the carriage.

Finnessy pretended to fume. He acted like he let it go and asked for compensation. He called it an precious ornament that saved him countless times, and they handed him a bag of one hundred gold coins. He was close to laughing and expected to get caught.

One of the passengers raised a brow and threw him a bag. “Take it or leave it. I’d rather not go too far even for a human.”

Finnessy looked confused but ignored it for now. He looked at a bag of coins.

Some stared at him, but Isabelle and Hawkins didn’t mind him.

After they loaded the crates, equipment, and some that he’d call trash., Finnessy was still confused about whether the bag of coins was more worth than his gun. He looked overhead.

He swore, catching the glances of Hawkins.

“The wand stave was…. Can you fight without it?”

Finnessy was surprised. He then acted scared and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Hawkins raised a brow and a flicker of disappointment passed his eyes. He turned away, following the rest of the group to guard the goblins for the first hours of their trip.

Finnessy followed, placing his two unused points on Strength. He bent his legs and jumped. Strength was the least popular for adventurers from what he’d seen.

Isabella walked up to him as Hawkins ignored him. “You can use that to upgrade your gear.” She gestured to his bag of coins.

Finnessy narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t ever needed it. Why would I need it now?”

“You lost your thing.”

“Oh.” Finnessy ran his fingers through his hair. “Right.”

Finnessy grabbed a branch from a tree many meters away and returned, alerting the goblins until he called out and waved his hands in resignation. He swung the stick with little to no fanfare. The stick broke on his eighth swing. He rubbed his arms after splinter from the stick poked them.

Isabella showed him the gas, aiming it away from Finnessy. “This is my thing. I like taking care of fights without much trouble. This doesn’t kill anyone 90% of the time.”

Finnessy smiled, acknowledging her words. “I want to see if fighting with crossbows fits me.”

Isabella raised a brow. “I’ve a left over crossbow if that’s something you want. You might be ready for an awakening.”

“Is that so?” Finnessy almost smirked but stopped himself, chastising himself. “What’s an awakening?”

“Nothing. Here.” She handed him a crossbow.

Hawkins came by. “What’s that? Found your passion again? Thank goodness. You saved me. Us. You saved us.”

Finnessy laughed and let himself laugh. It was almost magical how a few days ago his brain wanted to implode with a pop, but now, he was riding on the waves of fate on the way to fight the evil dragon with a group of allies.

Hawkins looked at this and joined in. “So, crossbows?”

When Finnessy said previously that the Agility stat point was popular, he meant that warriors like Hawkins, Isabelle, and Tchaikovsky took it. He presumed that most of their enemies weren’t tough to begin with: the ants broke like logs against a master lumberjack and his steel ax.

“Yeah, crossbows sound good.”

“Nice, try this sword, though. You might like it.”

Finnessy grabbed the thrown sword, nodded, and swung it, creating a light wind that bounced off one of the wheels on the goblins’ carriage.

Hawkins’ face twitched. “That was a one out of ten swing… I’d rather have you on the crossbow.”

Isabella calmed down. Finnessy wasn’t dangerous, after all.

Later, Finnessy shot twice with the crossbow, failing miserably. He practiced for hours, ignoring Hawkins’ disappointed look and Isabelle calming down further.

When the goblins gave them the thumbs up for the four-hour mark for the quest, the adventurer party walked back.

Tchaikovsky removed his invisibility, walking alongside them. He sniffed and sneezed. “The inn’s here.”

Hawkins nodded and smiled. “You haven’t stopped, haven’t you, Tchaik. Good job.”

Isabella placed her hand on Hawkins. “Don’t put him down. I remember you crying about it when we lost it back at Saint Greenlight’s.”

Hawkins sighed. “Fine, fine. Tchaik, sorry about that. Where is it?”

Tchaikovsky raised his head as if he started listening when he asked. “It’s there, a few hours in that direction. Help me, Hawkins. It’s late.”

Hawkins slowly nodded, and Isabelle asked Finnessy, “We’ve been looking for an old friend who travels around in an inn. It’s a magical kind, and it moves slowly: it’s invisible and the owner disassembles it frequently. He’s not any more powerful than us, don’t worry.”

Finnessy gave a perfunctory nod and then shook his head. “If it’s something I shouldn’t see, I’d rather follow you from a distance.”

Isabella grinned with a passionate gleam in her eye and gave a thumbs up. “That’s what I was about to say.”

“Nice,” Finnessy wanted to say, but that was a weird response.

A bearded man, who wore an attire of yellow and purple separated by top and bottom and paisley patterns, muttered, his voice smooth and hurried but rough infrequently, holding an orb as clean cuts of the inn bounced around him in midair. He was Malik, Isabella said as she tapped him on the shoulder to indicate that he should stop there.

Finnessy watched, his mouth moving around as he sniffed the air. “Silver Elves and Quincy. I’m getting reminded everywhere, but not that it matters to anyone but me.” Silver elves wore clothes of purple and yellow with green lines, while Quincy handed him an orb temporarily that glowed ocean-blue.

Finnessy had only been inhaling as he reminisced, but then he studied the smell of the air: the forest’s high leaves, the bark and the kindlings around, a creak that led to a large crack where tiny creatures passed, the natural fragrances within sweat, the dewy grass, and the dying scent of petrichor. He sighed in relief, mentally preparing himself.

He took his gun out of his bag and grimaced. The gun didn’t break in half, but the broken stave he took from the ants did. He didn’t expect to get a hundred coins. He thought kidding around would be funny and an icebreaker for his party, but when he saw the bag of coins, he was confused and didn’t address the issue.

He looked at his hands as if he could see blood all over them. He killed hundreds and stole a hundred coins. No karma could save him now. He sat down and imagined himself helping people in a small village for the rest of his life.

He rubbed his face, took deep breaths, raised his brows, and closed his eyes. “How long do I have? How long do I got?”

“Silver Elves, Quincy, gun, people, elves, fight….” He recounted the reasons available for anyone to kill him.

His face expressionless, he jumped while shooting his crossbow. He could jump about 6 inches higher because of his Strength, but he was slower than the rest clearly, not that they needed to run anytime soon.

“Praise Langka!” exclaimed the bearded man, Malik. He heard about the civil war’s end.

Finnessy still had his face pressed against his face, but he looked up to see the commotion.

Malik was dancing like a fool.

Finnessy gave a perfunctory, respectful nod, reminiscing his tiny secondhand experience with the civil war.

He shook himself in resolution. He needed a way to make his life worth living.

The trio’s eyes were more delighted than anything as they spoke with Malik.

Finnessy acknowledged that and waited for them patiently.

“We’re… taking a break,” said Tchaikovsky as he was the first one to return.

“From adventuring?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ok. I’ll be taking odd jobs here and there until I learn the crossbow.” He forgot to tell them. “The gun—the stave isn’t broken. I made a mistake and dropped a different one.” The crossbow could help him stop using the gun.

Stone-faced, Tchaikovsky nodded, expecting it.

Finnessy nodded but stopped halfway. “Do you have something to say?”

Tchaikovsky half-smiled. “It’s a secret, isn’t it, Finnessy?”

Chapter 9

Somewhere in the same city the adventurer party stayed at, wanted posters of Finnessy were slowly spreading around. The description stated, “Human, 5’4 - 5’6, in his twenties, holding an orcish stave.”

Tchaikovsky kept his half-smile even as the party turned and waved Malik goodbye.

Finnessy returned to the inn, his face too weak to stay composed. He coughed lightly. The sweat would always discomfort him if he didn’t shower.

He spent the entire night sorting himself out. He could do that now that he had a hefty sum of money; at the same time, the trio was taking a break.

He looked dead inside, but he was glad he could still be alive and well despite the blood on his hands. With the money, he could live in a small village and use his skills to protect instead of fight, but he didn’t want to leave the trio. He felt no one could accept him except for people in the similar line of work and experience. They may not have blood on their hands, but they killed beasts and monsters, which was good enough for him to feel like he could be almost himself.

Contrastingly, villages were almost more depressing than one would expect: diseases, lack of nutrition, dying at early ages, harassment from beasts from time to time, not enough of their needs met, probing from cities, marauders, ect. No one could blame anyone for moving to the city with reasons like theirs. That’s why villages were most likely rare in this fantasy world. Most had already decided to mix their skills and expertise together in one big city for a better collective life.

The only villages that remained were ones under a special kind of powerful individual or group, who preferred being remote and alone. These were rare because of how difficult it was to be powerful alone. Cities (and companies) existed in this developing world for a reason.

Lying down on his side, he was expressionless, looking at the night sky outside the window overhead.

He might be powerful enough to start his own village.

“Not yet… there!” Finnessy exclaimed when one of the people he hired moved a few boulders where he wanted. He was meticulous even with nature. Maybe it was because of how much he’d killed that he cared so much about making things just right.

Four weeks had passed, and he was already here, almost erratic as he orchestrated the construction of the village. It was built far away, and he had to prove his strength many times to show he could protect it.

He believed the money, his past, and his skills were the reason he could act this confident, yet under all that, his stress was always boiling, ready to erupt at any threat.

Finnessy grabbed his complicated crossbow and shot it once, hitting a four-foot-tall rabbit around the collar bone, throwing it aside as it’d take about twenty-five seconds to reload. He grabbed his automatic rifle and shot at the rest, his hands a little used to the heat of the barrel that comes with overuse. This time, however, he dropped the rifle before it overheated and grabbed another crossbow. He had a line of crossbows waiting to be picked up as he cleared the front of the village.

Rabbits were frequent interlopers as were two-footed foxes which had thick back, legs, and tails.

One bolt slammed against a fox’s neck. Finnessy aimed for the neck most of the time, despite the bolts rarely piercing and slamming like a blunt weapon most of the time. These beasts were tougher than those ants, ironically.

He didn’t hire anyone else but the trio who took their job seriously after witnessing his excellent marksmanship. He cared more about how well Isabelle’s gas got rid of overgrowth, Hawkin’s group speed effect, and Tchaikovsky’s place as an acquaintance and a third helping sword and shield.

The bolts were slow but so were the wounded rabbits.

He had reached 10% on two of his tags, [Steel Weaponry] and [Marksmanship]. [Fugitive Optimization] was stuck at 2%.

When the village’s walls were finished, the attacks lessened, but the foxes placed crystal bombs around the village that destroyed as much space as a corner wall took.

Finnessy fortified the walls, getting the attention of the town. They told them if they didn’t pay a fee they’d destroy the village.

He groaned, looking for a source of income to pay them off.

“200 gold per month?” asked Isabelle, her face distraught. “Well, not surprised. I’m more surprised you wanted to make this place.”

Finnessy grimaced. Maybe he should turn himself in and get the 200-gold reward.

Isabella handed him 5 gold with a resolute face. “Use this, make something, and sell it. It’s that easy, right? Or return to adventuring?”

“Not enough. Come on, 7 to 15 gold per quest, which normally takes about a day or 2?”

“That should be enough if you count it.”

“7 times 30 is 210. I’ll only have 10 gold left. That’s not enough for everything else.”

“Math, huh,” said Hawkins, eating an apple. “Let me help. If you give me 300 gold per month, I’ll use my group speed effect and travel with at most four others for an hour everyday.”

“You’re kidding. Why did I not think this through?”

“Natural selection, Finnessy,” said Tchaikovsky, who picked the dirt off his shoes.

“Right,” said Finnessy. “About that.”

“Give me your money!” Finnessy exclaimed.

“Please, no!” exclaimed a fox. “I’m poor!”

“You bombed and attacked my place. Why are you so stingy?”

“Natural selection,” said Isabelle behind Finnessy.

Finnessy kicked the wall beside the fox and leaned close. “If you don’t give me 600 gold within a month, I’m invading the tiny underground village that an acquaintance of mine discovered.”

“No, I’m sorry. We don’t have that much money.”

“Want to work together?”

“You killed some of my steeds! Why would I help you?”

“The rabbits were your steeds? I haven’t seen—”

“Well, you didn’t kill any of us. What do you want?” The fox, who wore a small hat that had holes for the ears, crossed its arms and sneered.

“I’ll attack anyone for you. In return, you’ll manufacture us something we can sell.”

“That…. I’m a nobody. If it doesn’t work, d-don’t expect too much.”

“Who sent you to attack our village, fox-kin?” asked Hawkins, who carried an unconscious rabbit over his shoulder.

“Don’t you know? It’s the Langka Party, of course. They called it the first stage.” The fox shrugged, made a confused face, and waved his arms around.

“I could’ve killed you.”

“They handed us 100 gold, and they said if you killed one of us, they would raze ‘your tiny little bittle village’—their words! The crystals were ours.”

“You’re at least smarter than a backwater town rat,” said Finnessy. “30 kilos of those crystals bombs monthly. I’ll kill 100 targets without a name.”