In that same moment, the shadows churned at his feet, as if the floor had turned into a black edge ready to swallow anyone standing on it.
Richard didn't understand what was happening until the Shadow Wolf let out a low-frequency growl—a vibration not merely heard, but hurled deep into the marrow of the bones.
His outstretched hand trembled. He stumbled back a step, the terror no longer something he could hide.
A heavy silence fell. The crowd that had been whispering with such boldness moments before shut their mouths at once, as if the force of the shadows had crushed whatever moral authority Richard had tried to attach to the scene.
Slowly, Arya began gathering her rewards, ignoring their noise and their objections as though they were nothing but flies not worth a glance. When Richard tried to regain his footing and stepped closer again, Arya shifted with a single, fluid motion. His hand fell through empty air.
She raised her violet eyes—empty of any emotion—and looked at him directly.
She spoke, her words cutting like a honed edge. "No. It's mine."
Richard strained his voice, forcing it back into the tone of the supposed teacher. "Arya, this greed will make you an outcast. How will you face the monsters tomorrow if the people abandon you? The young need their elders to guide them. The group's good comes before everything."
Arya didn't grant him the chance to finish his performance. She delivered her sentence like a lock snapping shut in the heart of the shop.
"I killed them. Alone. So the reward is mine. If you want a share... then fight the monsters yourself instead of trying to steal from a child, you grown man."
With absolute coldness, she placed the Core Shard, the coins, and the red book into her bag and closed it firmly. She turned to leave—without casting a single glance behind her.
Only then did Richard look truly unmasked. Not just because of his fear of her, but because everyone present had seen his naked greed laid bare before their eyes.
Then something shifted in his features. The smile of the little girl vanished, and in its place came a gaze that could not be read.
In the shop's darkness, her eyes stayed fixed on him like a verdict that needed no explanation.
She spoke in a calm voice—but one that severed the conversation before it could be born. "Mr. Richard... we are no longer in a lecture hall. The laws here aren't written in ink. They're written in the blood of those who fight."
She raised her eyes to the group that had been demanding a share only moments ago, and her violet eyes flared with mocking sharpness. "Is any one of you ready to trade your life for this Core Shard in the next battle? Who wants to step into the front line instead of hiding behind my shadows?"
Every head dropped. The talk of sharing evaporated the instant the real question struck the air.
Terror replaced greed. They stepped back—one step... then another... until Richard stood alone, crushed under the weight of merciless stares.
Arya took a single step forward, until only a breath remained between them. She leaned in slightly and whispered into his ear alone, as if delivering a final decree that allowed no appeal.
"Try playing the role of 'teacher' one more time... and I will make my Shadow the one who corrects your mistakes. Permanently."
Richard froze where he stood. The color drained from his face until he looked like ash. In that moment, he understood that this girl wasn't just some passing force. She had seen through to his truth. And he knew her threat was not empty words.
The shop's silence shattered suddenly as one of the survivors raised his voice, his face flushed with anger. "This isn't fair! How can you take everything for yourself?!"
Another answered him immediately, as if the words were fuel for his fury. "We fought too! We deserve a share!"
But not everyone was brave enough to face her directly. Some stood frozen in their places, their eyes crossing with Arya's before darting away fast. They felt the weight of her violet gaze pressing down on their chests, as if the slightest movement might break them. Afraid. Unwilling to provoke the power that gleamed in every step she took.
On the other side, there were faces that couldn't contain their greed. They shifted anxiously among the spoils, searching for a loophole—an opportunity, however small—to win something from what she carried. Their eyes tracked every motion, trying to read what lay behind her coldness, trying to maneuver. But it was useless.
And in the back, a third group still hadn't made up their minds. Their fingers were tight around their tools. Their eyes kept watching, waiting. They didn't want to start anything. They only wanted to see who would win this confrontation—and who would show their strength first.
The crowd began to fracture before their very eyes. Fear and greed, waiting and confrontation—everything blended into something new, unstable, fragile, teetering on the edge of explosion.
There was no longer a single voice, no team. Only choices. Trembling resolve. And small ambitions wrestling with a power they could not match.
---
Amid the wreckage, Richard moved with quiet ease, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket as if wiping away the traces of panic that had seized his face moments before.
He didn't address Arya. Instead, he turned toward the group, and in a voice that flowed like silk—calm, confident, filled with the tone of the rational savior—he began weaving his net.
"My friends... we're all in shock, and that's only natural," Richard said, distributing his carefully fractured glances among the frightened faces. "Cam gave everything he had, and none of us can blame him for the stress that took hold of him. Combat wears down the senses. But right now, we need something deeper than weapons. We need the kind of calm that makes us human again."
He paused, letting the resonance of his words sink into souls hungry for safety. Then he continued, stepping closer to Cam and resting a light hand on his shoulder—a gesture that looked friendly, but was an unspoken declaration of authority.
"Cam, my friend... you and the men with you gave everything on the front lines. You've earned a warrior's rest. Let the rest of us handle the small details—patching this ceiling, reinforcing the doors—so that you and your men can focus on protecting us if danger returns. What do you say?"
Cam had no choice but to nod in agreement. Richard's graceful words stripped him of any right to object and framed him as a hero in need of rest—not a leader being pushed aside.
Richard leaned slightly toward the survivors and whispered, as if revealing a sacred secret. "And now... isn't the smell of warm soup better than the smell of dust? True strength begins with us gathered around a single table. Come on, girls—let's see what the earth has offered in vegetables. Let's make something that brings back the taste of life."
Life stirred in the frightened and the greedy alike, as if Richard's words were the antidote they had been waiting for.
The girls began gathering pots and vegetables that still held their freshness on this first day of the electricity outage—the day of the great technical silence. And as hands moved to chop the vegetables, everyone let themselves forget the bitterness of the second day to come: the day the pipes would run dry and running water would be gone.
---
Far from that artificial warmth, Arya chose a corner drowned in darkness at the back of the shop. She sat on a crumbling wooden crate, out of sight, like a statue carved from violet marble.
Richard's sweetened words hadn't fooled her. Nor had the sight of Cam—transformed by polished phrases into a guard at the doors—managed to distract her.
And while Richard cooked the loyalty of the survivors, Arya pulled from her bag the reward she had paid for by facing death. The red book.
Its texture wasn't paper. It was closer to cold leather, pulsing with a faint heat. She traced her fingers over the cover, and recessed golden letters appeared in the language of the system.
[Skill Book: Call of the Void — Rank D]
She opened the book. But the pages didn't hold only words. They held complex magical circles suspended in a dark crimson liquid. A system screen bloomed before her eyes, detailing what she held.
---
[Skill Book: Call of the Void — Rank D]
Description: This book contains ancient summoning rites of intermediate rank. When read, the summoner learns to call forth a medium-strength stone golem that remains in battle until destroyed or dismissed.
· Primary Effect: Summons a medium-strength "Stone Golem" with high Defense and the ability to absorb blows.
· Duration: The golem remains in battle until fully destroyed or dismissed by the user.
· Mana Cost: 30 Mana per summon.
· Cooldown: 10 minutes between uses.
· Usage Requirements: Minimum Level: 10 | Class: Golem Summoner.
---
Arya shut the book with a hard snap and leaned her head against the cold wall, closing her eyes as she sank into a sharp, intense internal argument.
This was the second day. The day the building's metal veins had dried up and the water had stopped, deepening the desolation left behind by yesterday's loss of electricity.
She opened her Personal Status Board and compared what she possessed against what the system demanded.
[Spirit: 28/50]
[Mana: 100/100]
Arya stared at the Mana gauge. It was full—but it felt like a silent, unreachable reservoir. Raw energy locked inside her that she couldn't yet move or even feel the use of. In contrast, her Spirit Points were the real, the only, engine she had burned through in her battles. The fuel that drove the Devil—and the Angel—flowing directly from her consciousness.
Ice Arrow asked for the 'Mage' Class in general. But this book specifies 'Golem Summoner' with precision. Why? She furrowed her brow, the bitterness sharp in her thoughts. Is magic an open path, while summoning branches off from the very beginning into narrow specializations? Are there elemental mages out there I haven't seen yet, or does the system treat the summoning of physical entities as an entirely separate path?
Her confusion deepened as she analyzed the contradiction. Mana and Spirit... two different tracks inside my body. Mana demands pre-made templates and activation words I don't possess. But Spirit responds to my will instantly. If I choose 'Golem Summoner' at Level 10, will I lock my energy into this stone path forever?
She exhaled slowly and stared at the countdown that was inching closer.
[Level: 1 | Experience: 95/100]
Only five Experience Points separated her from Level 2. But the road to Level 10—where the Class would be chosen—was still long. And paved with killing.
She lifted her gaze to the timer burning in the corner of her vision. The seven days were passing fast. The first day was already slipping away with the loss of electricity.
I have to reach Level 10 before the protection period ends. Strength here isn't an option. It's a requirement for survival.
Then she remembered the message from the digital forum. The man who called himself Prince of the Quarter.
She opened the system panel, navigated to the chat log, searched for his name, and pressed the private message icon. She knew that the location of the safe zone was her only ticket to something concrete—something to balance this mental void.
[Private Chat: Dualis → Prince of the Quarter]
Dualis: Is your offer regarding the safe zone's location still standing?
After a few seconds, the screen flickered with a fast reply.
Prince of the Quarter: Greetings, 'Dualis.' The offer is always open to those who have the price. 5 Bronze Coins for the exact location. The rules are clear: payment first.
Arya didn't hesitate. She placed 5 Bronze Coins into the exchange icon and pressed Confirm. The coins vanished. Precise coordinates appeared—pointing to a location deep in the Northern Suburb District of the city.
As she was about to close the panel, one final flicker of messages surfaced.
Prince of the Quarter: By the way, 'Dualis'... since you pay without argument, remember this: I'm not just a map seller. Information is the real currency here. If you come across something strange, or you obtain new knowledge about the world, we can always trade. Knowledge for coin... or knowledge for knowledge.
Arya closed the screen with cold finality, ignoring entirely the smell of soup beginning to drift through the shop, and the sound of Richard distributing cooking duties with administrative flair as though this were a countryside outing.
As if everything that had just happened... had only served to remind her of the real reason she had come here. Uncle Jad's invitation. His story about the neighbor woman who had been trapped with a monster—how on the first day, the thing couldn't break out. But on the second day, it had begun tearing through the cracks in the walls.
That was Arya's true engine.
The monsters are getting stronger. And the system won't wait for me.
She had come here to hunt that strength. To seize the Experience Points before the beasts grew too vast to contain.
She looked out from her dark corner at the absurd little play unfolding in front of her. Richard was distributing water bottles as if he were handing out certificates of forgiveness. And Cam stood there, diminished, guarding doors he had once thought he would master.
Human filth surfaces faster than monsters mutate, Arya thought, watching their disgusting greed and their clawing scramble for scraps of power and supplies.
She stood, coldly, and brushed the dust of the crate from her clothes. She touched the handle of her dagger, feeling the weight of the books in her bag—the reward they had paid for with their dignity when they tried to steal it.
She stood in silent hesitation: Should she leave now, head toward the Northern Suburb and leave this human swamp behind her... or stay?
She turned toward the exit. And in that moment, her violet gaze collided with Richard's eyes.
Richard was no longer smiling. His gentle masks had dissolved. In their place was a predatory stillness. His eyes tracked her with an unsettling focus, his hands clenched around a water bottle until the plastic creaked under the pressure. It wasn't panic in his stare. It was the look of a hunter who had finally decided to change the bait—and set the trap in motion.
Arya recognized that look instantly. Her eyelid didn't tremble. She answered him with a silent challenge—a mute dare, as if she were openly inviting him to make his first mistake.
She gave him her back and walked toward the shattered door, where the air of the second day waited—thick with the smell of death.
She knew the treachery of humans behind her now rivaled the danger of the monsters ahead. But she knew something else, too. Danger... was the only road forward.
With every step, she felt Richard's gaze sinking into her back like blades—announcing that the cold war was over.
And that the real hunt had only just begun.
---
ns216.73.216.152da2
and then Add to home screen.