Finn sat on his bed staring at the wall and running calculations in his head.
Academy enrollment required money. Lots of it. Even with scholarships covering tuition, there were fees for equipment, housing deposits, uniforms, supplies. The kind of expenses that seemed designed to keep people like him out.
He needed around five thousand Union credits to make it work. Peter needed roughly the same for the support program. Ten thousand total.
Working day labor in the outer districts? He'd be lucky to save that much in two years. The academy testing was in two weeks.
But there was another option.
Beast cores.
High-rank cores sold for insane amounts. A single C-rank core could fetch fifteen hundred credits on the open market. B-rank could go for five thousand or more depending on the species and quality.
The problem was getting one. Hunting parties rarely went after anything above D-rank because the mortality rate spiked dramatically. And Finn, despite his new abilities knew he wasn't strong enough to solo a high-rank beast.
Not yet.
But he knew where one was.
A Razorback Boar nest about fifteen miles northeast of Bastion Seven. He'd written it as a mid-game challenge for players who'd progressed past the tutorial areas. C-rank threat with a chance of a B-rank alpha if you cleared the entire nest.
The nest wouldn't be discovered officially for another three weeks according to his original timeline. Which meant it was sitting out there right now, untouched, with cores worth enough to solve all his problems.
He just needed muscle. People to help him clear it.
And he knew exactly where to find the worst kind of people for the job.
Finn grabbed his sword from where he'd left it leaning against the wall. The cheap blade with nicks along the edge and a cloth-wrapped handle. Not ideal but it would have to do.
He left his apartment and headed for the Hunter's Lodge in sector four.
The outer districts had three main gathering spots for people who made their living in the Outlands. The Lodge was the largest, a converted warehouse where hunters posted contracts, traded information, and drank away their earnings. It was just the kind of place where violence was always one bad word away from erupting.
Finn walked through the morning streets with purpose. The crowds parted around him naturally. People out here had good instincts about who to avoid and a man with a sword and a determined expression usually qualified.
The Lodge came into view after twenty minutes of walking. The building looked like it had been a factory once, all gray concrete and small windows. Someone had painted "Hunter's Lodge" across the front in faded red letters. The double doors stood open despite the early hour.
Finn stepped inside.
The interior was exactly as unpleasant as he remembered from Finn Porter's shallow memories. Dim lighting. Tables and chairs that had seen better decades. A bar along one wall serving drinks that probably doubled as engine degreaser. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and something organic that had died and been left to rot.
Maybe thirty people occupied the space. Some sat at tables going over maps and planning routes. Others stood at the contract board looking for work. A few had clearly been here all night and were now sleeping off whatever they'd consumed.
Finn scanned the room and found exactly who he was looking for.
Garrett and his crew occupied a corner table. Five men, all in their twenties or early thirties, wearing mismatched hunting gear and looking like they'd rather be anywhere else. Garrett sat at the head of the table, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his left cheek and the kind of presence that suggested he'd been doing this long enough to stop caring about much.
The same man who'd screamed for everyone to run when the Razorwolf pack had appeared. The same crew who'd left Finn Porter to die without a second thought.
Finn walked toward their table.
One of them noticed him first. A thin man with a patchy beard who'd been reaching for his drink. He froze mid-motion and stared.
"Holy shit. Porter?"
The others looked up. Various expressions of surprise crossed their faces. Garrett's expression shifted to something between amusement and mild annoyance.
"Well," Garrett said, leaning back in his chair. "Didn't think we'd see you again. Figured the wolves got you."
"Managed to get away," Finn said. Kept his voice neutral. Not angry, not accusing. Just stating a fact.
"Lucky," another crew member said. He was shorter and stockier, with a nose that had been broken multiple times. "Real lucky."
"Yeah," Finn agreed. "Lucky."
There was no apology in any of their faces. No guilt or remorse. Just mild surprise that he'd survived and a general sense that his death would've been convenient but his survival was merely inconvenient.
Finn had expected that. Had counted on it, actually.
"What are you doing here?" Garrett asked. "Looking for work? Because we're full up. Don't need dead weight slowing us down."
"Not looking to join you," Finn said. "Got my own thing. Just thought I'd share some information."
That got their attention. Information was currency in this business.
"What kind of information?" Garrett asked.
"Beast nest. Northeast sector. About fifteen miles out. Razorback Boars."
The thin man whistled low. "Razorbacks? Those are C-rank minimum. You sure?"
"Overheard some scouts talking about it yesterday. They're planning to post the official bounty in a few days but wanted to scout it properly first." Finn shrugged. "Figured whoever gets there first claims it."
Garrett studied him. "Why tell us? You could keep that information to yourself. Find your own party."
"Because I'm not stupid," Finn said. "I can't handle a C-rank nest alone. And even if I found another party, they wouldn't give me a fair cut." He met Garrett's eyes. "You guys at least know I can hold my own. Might actually let me walk away with something."
It was exactly the kind of logic that would appeal to men like this. Appealing to their self-interest while playing himself as the pragmatic underdog.
Garrett exchanged looks with his crew. Silent communication passing between them.
"How reliable is this information?" the stocky one asked.
"Scouts don't lie about nest locations. Bad for business." Finn kept his expression neutral. "But if you don't want it, I'll find someone else."
"Hold on," Garrett said. He thought for another moment, then nodded. "Fine. We'll check it out. But you get five percent of whatever we pull. That's it. We're doing the heavy lifting."
Five percent. Insulting but expected.
"Deal," Finn said.
"We leave in an hour. Meet us at the northeast gate. And Porter?" Garrett leaned forward slightly. "If this is bullshit, if you're wasting our time, we'll make sure you stay out there for real this time. Understand?"
"Understood."
Finn turned and walked out of the Lodge before they could change their minds or ask more questions.
Outside, the morning air felt cleaner despite the pollution. He headed back to his apartment to grab supplies. Water. The few rations he had left that Peter had spared him the previous day. And finally, his sword.
An hour later he stood at the northeast gate checkpoint. Garrett and his crew arrived fifteen minutes after that, all of them carrying proper hunting gear that made Finn's equipment look like children's toys.
They passed through the checkpoint after showing their hunter permits and headed into the Outlands.
The landscape changed gradually as they moved away from Bastion Seven. The roads became paths. The paths became trails. Eventually they were just walking through corrupted wilderness with no clear route except the direction Finn indicated.
The crew talked among themselves as they walked. Complaining about contracts. Arguing about technique. Discussing what they'd spend their earnings on. They barely acknowledged Finn's existence except to occasionally check that he was still following.
That was fine. Finn didn't need conversation. Just needed them to keep walking in the right direction.
The Outlands stretched around them in all its wrong-colored glory. Trees with bark that looked almost but not quite like wood. Plants growing in patterns that made no ecological sense. The ever-present purple tint to the sky that came from dimensional energy bleeding through old rift scars.
Finn had written all of this. Every detail. Every color. Every wrongness.
Seeing it in person still carried a strange surrealism. Like walking through a painting he'd made years ago and discovering it had become real in his absence.
After three hours of walking, the thin crew member stopped. "You sure you know where we're going?"
"Another mile," Finn said. "Maybe less."
"This better be worth it," the stocky one muttered.
They kept walking. The terrain got rougher. More elevation changes. More dense vegetation that had to be cut through or carefully avoided because some of it had developed defensive mechanisms that ranged from irritating to lethal.
Then Finn smelled it. That particular odor that came from beast nests. A mix of musk, decay, and something else that registered as fundamentally wrong to human senses.
"There," he said, pointing ahead.
They crested a small rise and looked down into a depression that might have been a quarry once. Now it was a nest. Multiple burrows dug into the sides. The ground churned up and marked with tracks. Bones scattered everywhere from previous kills.
And movement. Lots of movement.
Razorback Boars. Exactly as Finn had written them. Built like regular boars but larger, covered in chitinous plates that grew out of their backs like natural armor. Their tusks were serrated and designed to rip through flesh. C-rank threats that hunted in family groups and defended their territory viciously.
Garrett crouched at the ridge and counted. "I see at least eight. Maybe more in the burrows."
"That's a lot," the thin man said. "More than you said, Porter."
"I said there was a nest. I didn't say how many." Finn kept his voice level. "You want to turn back?"
Garrett looked at his crew. They looked back. Some kind of silent agreement passed between them.
"We're here," Garrett said finally. "Might as well do this. But we split into two groups. Drive them toward the center, pick them off systematically. Porter, you're with me and Hendricks. You other three take the far side."
They descended into the depression carefully, spreading out as they moved. The boars noticed them quickly. Began grunting and shifting, agitation spreading through the group.
Then one charged.
The thin man, whose name was apparently Hendricks, met it head-on with a spear thrust that caught it in the shoulder. The chitinous plating deflected most of the force but the spear tip found a gap. The boar squealed and thrashed.
That triggered the rest. Suddenly the entire nest was moving. Boars charging from multiple directions. The crew split up further, each man taking on threats as they came.
Finn held his sword ready and moved to support Garrett. A boar came at them from the left. Garrett blocked with his shield while Finn circled and slashed at its legs. The cheap blade barely penetrated the armor but it was enough to make the boar adjust its focus. Garrett took advantage and drove his blade down through its skull.
More boars. The fighting spread out across the depression. Finn stayed close to Garrett and Hendricks, supporting but not taking point. Just enough contribution to justify his presence without drawing too much attention.
The crew was good. Experienced. They coordinated without needing to speak much, covering each other's weaknesses and exploiting the boars' predictable attack patterns.
After twenty minutes of sustained fighting, most of the boars were dead. The few remaining retreated into the deeper burrows.
"That's probably all of them," Garrett said, breathing hard. "Check the bodies for cores."
They spread out, examining the corpses. Beast cores formed in the chest cavity, compressed energy that had to be extracted carefully to avoid damaging the structure.
Finn moved between bodies, watching the crew work while conducting his own search. The crew was focused on the larger boars, the ones that looked most promising. That left plenty of smaller specimens for Finn to examine without drawing attention.
He knelt beside the first body and made the cut. Reached inside and felt the core. C-rank. Smaller than his fist but solid. He pulled it out and pretended to examine it in the light, turning it over like he was checking the quality.
Then he activated Spatial Cache.
[SPATIAL CACHE ACTIVATED]
[ITEM STORED: BEAST CORE (C-RANK)]
[CACHE: 4/10 ITEMS, 8KG/50KG]