POV: First Person
I slammed the Neural Visor back over my eyes and hit the re-sync button on the Frankenstein's control panel. The physical discomfort of the expulsion was still a low-frequency throb behind my eyes, a reminder that this wasn't just code I was accessing; it was a foreign power source actively fighting me.
The sensation of syncing was less violent this time, more like being swallowed by thick, warm oil. One moment I was in the humid gloom of the camper, and the next, the sharp, clean air of First and Lasting filled my lungs.
I opened my eyes. I was standing precisely where I had left off: two blocks from the Adventurer's Guild, the smell of yeast still fighting the faint, metallic scent of the Cygnax's chrome technology. The crowd was still thick, but the circle where I had thrown the Ramdulus disciple was now clear, the bloody smear quickly scrubbed away by a trio of quiet sanitation drones—further proof of the city's aggressive maintenance protocols.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my rough linen robe, and gripped my cane. The expulsion had reset my mission, but the bypass Daeghan granted me was still active, a faint, pulsing warmth against my neural implant.
I walked the final two blocks back to the Adventurer's Guild. The Chambers Administrator—the woman with the severe white hair and the high-tech data slate—was still behind the crystal counter. She glanced at me with immediate, heavy distaste.
"You again, Fledgling," she muttered, her eyes narrowing. "The system had a catastrophic buffer overflow when you tried to register. The Guild Counsel takes a very dim view of network instability, particularly after a massive investment in new crystalline power sources."
"Technical glitches happen," I replied smoothly, ignoring the fact that the glitch was a deliberate security feature. "Let's try a simpler designation this time."
"There are no simpler designations," she sighed, exasperated. "There are only established parameters. Since the system rejected your nonsensical title, it defaulted to the closest approximation of your aggressive posture and reliance on unorthodox items."
She placed her hand on the crystal terminal, which now glowed a steady, reassuring green. The Guild Hall's ambient hum returned to a placid drone.
"Let's just finalize you as a Rogue and get this over with. Do you agree to the terms of the Adventurer's Guild Code of Conduct?"
"I agree," I confirmed. The terms, of course, were meaningless. I was here to dismantle the system, not follow its rules.
She typed quickly on the crystal surface. The process finished instantly.
She pulled a smooth, thin card from a slot beneath the counter and slid it across the surface. It was obsidian black, etched with glowing green lines of power—my Guild Card.
"Your registration is complete," she announced, her voice flat. "Keep this card on your person at all times. It is your only legal identification within First and Lasting. It tracks your current missions, your earnings, and your status. Now get out of my queue. We have dozens of legitimate adventurers waiting."
I picked up the card. The obsidian surface was warm, humming faintly with the same energy as the Guild Hall.
As the Administrator started to turn away, she gave me one last, scathing assessment. "And let me be perfectly clear, Rogue. You are weak. You have zero experience, zero documented kills, and no standing in any of major clans. The missions we have right now are beyond you—they involve fighting Second Stage beasts and resolving high-level disputes with the Caliber Guard. You wouldn't last five minutes."
She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. "Go ask around the taverns. See if any locals need a small delivery done or a cat rescued. That is your level."
I stepped back from the counter, allowing the next nervous Fledgling to approach, and tucked myself into the quieter shadow of a towering stone pillar. I looked down at the card.
The Administrator saw a simple, black identity card.
What I saw was the glitch. The system's utter inability to process my identity, even with Daeghan's bypass forcing a Scout (Unconventional Focus) overlay.
I held the card closer to my eyes, feeling a jolt of pure, triumphant analytical glee.
The card read:
_________________________________________
Guild Card
Name: Lee Koyanagi
Age: 17
Profession: G̸̦͖͚͈̯͊̾̽̽̊̌́͗͐̊͑̽̒̇̚ë̸̙̙́ņ̶̧͕̞̦̲͕͕̙̺͉̽́̀̅͜͠͠t̵̛̗̠͎͖͙͓̯́̏͊̒̀̾͂͊̿̋͊͘͘͝l̸̢̤̹̘̖̦͌͛̍͒̇̓̇̃͋̿̉̃̇̀e̶̛͚̜̺͇͚͖͍̦̯̤̰̍̓̋̈́́̿̍̐̚͘̚͜͠m̶̧͎͍̞̟͇̪̖̉̊̾͜á̴̯̙͎͊̏̈́͒n̴̨̨̬̯̙͖̗̜̖̗̙͌̈̍̓́̅̚͜ ̶̧̨̦͑̿́͋̅̓͌̌͒F̵̛̝͕͍̀̑̌̌̔̔̓̄̀̋̅͑į̶̥̞̗̩̩͕͔̞͍̭͆͆̑̃̈́͌̂́͂̈́̊̿̔̕̕ͅͅg̷̹̣̩̘͐̀̏̽ͅh̸͔̤̠͙̙͓͓̫̥͑͗͌ͅͅt̴̤͖̞̹̐́͛̂͌̂̋͊é̴̖͗̓͋̄͛̆̀̃̇̋͠r̶̞̻̼͕͑̌̉̓͋̑̈͗͒̀̂̅
Str: 10
Dex: 10
Con: 10
Wis: 10
Cha: 10
_________________________________________
The garbled text, the glitchy characters, were visible to me and only me. The Administrator saw "Rogue." The system forced the card to exist, but it couldn't compute the data on the "Profession" field, resulting in a screaming data error only the bypassed Neural Visor could interpret.
But the most critical information was below: The Stats.
Daeghan said I would be in Hard Mode: no status screen, no quantifiable metrics, no safety net. Yet, here they were, laid bare on a legally recognized artifact: Str: 10, Dex: 10, Con: 10, Wis: 10, Cha: 10.
A brilliant, cold realization flooded my mind. The God's Last Respite system couldn't give me a status screen because the main UI was locked down by the security protocol that rejected my non-native entry. But when the system was forced to generate a physical ID card, which is required by city law, it had to pull data from the server. And that data, by necessity, included my base stats, even if they were the lowest possible value.
I smiled, a genuine, focused smile. This wasn't a liability; this was an exploit.
I might not have a dynamic status screen visible at all times, but I had a physical, verifiable readout of my numerical value. Every time I gained experience, every time my body synchronized with the world's Chi, the card would have to update. I could track my progress, quantify my growth, and verify my leverage against the fantasy world's core metrics—a massive advantage for someone supposed to be playing blind.
This is how I outsmart the system, I thought, slipping the card into an inner pocket of my robe. Physics beats Chi, and data exploits beat magic.
I spent the next hour following the Administrator's advice, touring the area around the Town Square.
I found the baker's shop easily. The elderly Gnome, Borin, was sweeping flour from his counter. He looked up, his face lighting up.
"Lee Koyanagi, right? My savior!" Borin chirped, his hands flapping excitedly. "You scared that Ramdulus bully off for good. I'm Borin, proprietor of the finest sweetrolls in the city!"
"Lee is correct, Borin," I said, tipping my hat. "I'm a newly registered adventurer looking for a simple delivery or fetching task. Anything to get started."
Borin shook his head sadly, but kindly. "Ah, nothing today, my boy. My only simple work is selling sweetrolls, and the delivery routes are handled by the Chambers' wagons. Too big for a beginner, my boy. But you did me a great service. Take one. On the house."
I accepted the sweetroll—a small, tangible win—and moved on. The taverns were full of rowdy Ramdulus disciples and Chambers Clan engineers, all of whom had the same answer: My base 10 stats weren't strong enough for their high-stakes bounty board. I was practically worthless in this economy.
I needed an entry point. I needed a flaw in the system.
I walked East toward the Magic Area, a place where logic already bowed to absurdity. The air grew thicker with ozone, and the ground felt strangely resonant, like standing on a giant drumhead.
I passed by the towering, mismatched architecture of the FAL Academy, where students were constantly experimenting with low-level spells.
And then I saw her.
She was standing alone near a moss-covered wall, separate from the others, her posture rigid with focus. She looked barely ten years old, a tiny, frail thing that made the adult disciples of the Ramdulus look like giants. She was a Tepes, her silver-white hair spilling over the collar of her Academy uniform.
She held a smooth, river-polished stone in her hand, staring at it with fierce concentration. Her breathing was deep, regulated, clearly following a complex internal rhythm taught by the Magic University—a sign of discipline that far outweighed her youth.
But the air around her wasn't crackling with flame or light; it was warping. The light hitting her face seemed to bend sluggishly, and the leaves on the tree above her head were vibrating at an unnaturally low frequency.
I stopped my measured gait and approached her.
"Excuse me," I said.
She jumped, startled, the intense focus broken. The warping air instantly snapped back to normal. She glared at me, her young face contorted with frustration.
"You ruined it!" she snapped, her silver hair flying.
"Apologies," I said, tipping my hat. "Lee Koyanagi, Rogue—or so I'm told. I noticed the air around you. Are you conducting an experiment?"
She softened slightly, seeing my genuine curiosity and my lack of immediate flight. "It's Yellina Tepes . And yes, I'm trying to cast my first successful Slow spell. But the formula is just... too complex for the output!" She stomped her foot, kicking a small pebble. "I'm trying to create a kinetic dampener—it slows things down, you know? Like making an enemy feel heavy and clumsy. But I need to test the spell on a person with momentum, not another crystal. The golems just ruin my readings."
She looked pointedly at my cane. "You walk carefully, and you look like you need money. Everyone at the Guild said you were too weak for real jobs."
"You are correct on all counts," I admitted, a slow grin spreading across my face.
"So, here's the deal," she continued, her voice gaining a desperate, fast-paced edge. "Let me cast the spell at you. I need you to stand there, and when the spell hits, I need you to try to move. Tell me how it feels. If you let me get the data, I will personally get my tutor to sign off on a request for you. It will count as your first official Guild Mission, instant credit, and I'll pay you well. It gets you status, and it gets me data. A perfect trade!"
This was the flaw I needed. Clan favor, quantifiable mission credit, and access to unique physical data—all bypassing the Guild's impossible list.
"Deal, Yellina," I said. "What is my role?"
"Just stand still," she instructed, picking up a new, smooth, river-polished stone. She stared at it, her concentration returning, pulling the air taut around us. "And try not to... get pulled apart, please."
She grit her teeth, her voice a strained whisper.
"Slow...!"
Her Chi—or whatever arcane energy she was using—spiked suddenly, violently. Instead of forming the tight, stable temporal bubble needed to halve speed, the energy radiated outward, unstable and disorganized.
The small river stone in her hand didn't glow; it screamed. The crystal lattice of the stone shattered internally, creating a localized, chaotic field of temporal flux.
The leaves, the air, and Yellina herself disappeared in a flash of non-color—a moment of light that was neither white nor black, but purely absent.
I felt a sudden, massive drag on my own consciousness, like falling backward down a flight of stairs I couldn't see. The scent of ozone vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense smell of mold and wet earth. My feet, which had been standing on clean cobblestones, now felt the rough, unfamiliar grit of ancient, muddy clay.
The last thing I heard before my neural implant blanked out was a high-pitched, echoing sound—the sound of reality being unzipped.
I was falling.