Pine Woods, outside Engel

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  Muriel had been part of the Renegades Brotherhood of Larianos, the RBL, since he was 20 years old, when he underwent the ritual of renunciation, abandoning his [Garbage Collector] class to become a [Thief]. With no apparent talent, little intelligence, and no ambition, no one saw any potential in him – so he spent years as a lackey for other bandits. That all changed two years ago.

  Since undergoing the ritual of renunciation, Muriel had carefully saved his skill points, waiting to acquire what he considered to be the most powerful skill in his class. Determined to follow this path, he spent years committing petty crimes and leveling up slowly and discreetly, without using any active magic – because he simply had none.

  However, when he reached level 18 – a point where many thieves began to stagnate – he finally earned his third skill point and acquired the combat magic Shadow Flow. From that moment on, his progress was explosive. By the age of 35, he had become a Cell Leader, or as it was informally known, simply “Cell,” of the criminal faction. In just two years, he leveled up eight times, making quite a reputation with his blades.

  Shadow Flow was his trump card. This magical skill allowed him to move five times faster between connected shadows, consecutively boosting his strength and dexterity. Since acquiring it, he had never failed. No longer content with petty crimes or scraping by, his willingness to commit increasingly evil deeds grew with each victory.

  But not everyone in his cell was enthusiastic about the idea of spending weeks camping in the woods, only to later commit murder for little reward and no real chance of leveling up. Rita was probably the most discontent with the situation. As a [Smuggler], she gained far more experience from stealthy missions than from direct confrontations, and although she had grown numb to the suffering of others over the past year, it didn’t mean she enjoyed it.

  When Muriel first became Cell, she had liked following his lead, as he always tried to focus on missions that helped her level up. But lately, his growing willingness to engage in violence – and allow violence to run rampant within his own cell – had become truly disturbing. Trying to cause discord within the cell would never work, though, because Torin, the vice-Cell, was a true [Dunner] who enjoyed torture, intimidation, and never hesitated to enforce his will. Only Muriel had any authority over him.

  The campfire crackled softly as Muriel crouched low beside it, a clean cloth running along the blade of his gladius. His face was unreadable, illuminated only by the shifting light. The rest of the cell moved in a quiet, almost rehearsed manner, checking weapons and preparing for the night’s job.

  “Ready, Torin?” Muriel’s voice was low and controlled. He didn’t need to raise it; his presence was enough.

  Torin, standing nearby with a grin plastered across his face, cracked his neck. “As ready as I'll ever be,” he muttered, testing the balance of his heavy mace. “If there’s no fighting, I’ll be disappointed.”

  Rita sat apart from the group, her eyes fixed on the fire, though her mind was elsewhere. She could hear the chatter, the gruff laughter, but none of it reached her. Her fingers tightened around the mug she had been holding for too long. Her stomach twisted, and for a moment, she wished for nothing more than to disappear into the night.

  “Hey, Muriel.” Rita’s voice broke through the noise, her tone flat but sharp.

  Muriel simply didn’t like looking at that ugly girl, but he glanced up anyway, his eyes cold and challenging. “What now? Got the jitters?”

  “Why the hell are we doing this?” She set the mug down, her gaze steady but weary. “Looting and killing for what? A handful of coins? There are no levels for most of us in a raid.”

  Muriel let out a dry laugh, his gaze returning to the flickering flames. “A name’s all we need, Rita. You’ve been at this long enough to know how it works.”

  Rita didn’t understand. She was smart enough to understand power, but too young to understand the weight of a reputation. The young smuggler knew no life outside the RBL. They had ruined her existence, but at the same time, they were her only option. Though she did not approve of the next target or the method of accomplishing the mission, Muriel was determined to follow through with it. ‘At least, this would soon be over,’ she thought.

  Rita was only seventeen years old, but just a month away from turning sixteen – the age at which she would finally be recognized as an adult, as a woman, in the eyes of society – her life took a deep turn. At that time, she lived with her parents, both cooks at the Taurec mansion, a family of influential merchants in the international gemstone market. The Taurec family did not hold a noble title, but their name carried an honorary title linked to the brand they represented. It was a name widely respected, both in Laurianos and beyond, with their reputation resonating throughout the kingdom.

  Rita’s family, like so many others, had served the Taurecs’ for generations, creating a bond of loyalty between employers and employees. This commitment was especially important for those working in the kitchen, responsible not only for providing quality meals but also for ensuring that poisoning was never a real threat. From a young age, Rita had been trained to follow this path. Everyone expected that, upon turning sixteen, she would receive a class that would guarantee her future in the mansion.

  Then, one day, amid the flames, everyone discovered that the Taurecs’ success was only an illusion. They were actually drowning in black market debt. The RBL set fire to the mansion and looted all the goods. The merchant and his wife were beheaded, while their children and the servants were brutally transported and sold as slaves beyond Granada, in the Principality of Nosferia – the domain of vampires.

  The journey was violent, and her captors didn’t care whether she lived or died. Only the love and care of her mother allowed her to endure such pain. Rita had been asleep at the time of the fire, completely trapped before she could escape. It was her father’s heroic action that saved her, braving the flames to find her. A few hours after rescuing her, coughing up smoke, her father died. Everyone said that his death was not just the result of soot in his lungs – it was also the deep disappointment of seeing his greatest reason for living, his only child Rita, almost consumed by the flames.

  She survived the worst of the burns, but the moment of separation from her mother – when she was rejected by the vampires who bought slaves – remained vivid in her mind. Rita never knew who cried more: her or her mother. With more than half of her body and face burned, her deformed appearance led the buyers to turn her away. The vampires, who were extremely attached to visual beauty, had no interest in her.

  With no value in keeping her, her sentence seemed certain: a slave who could not be sold had no worth, and death would be her fate. But she begged, and from that moment on, she began working for the Brotherhood. Since then, Rita had been alone.

  Now, the smuggler saw her only future in fully dedicating herself to the Renegades Brotherhood of Larianos. Each day with them was a constant reminder of how much her life had been ruined. Rita didn’t like stealing, looting, or killing, but no matter how much she hated it, she knew this was her only chance to continue existing. Even if it meant being a pawn in this dirty game, she had to level up to escape this miserable routine. Then, at least, she would be able to choose jobs she considered less violent.

  Muriel seized the chaos of the new dungeon surge to advance his plans. In the end, he would either get his money, or his crew would enjoy the violence. They weren’t acting alone, and coordinating a mission of this scale would further solidify his reputation.

  Rita felt her fists clench. She knew it was futile to argue with him now. Muriel had made his decision, and they would follow, as always. There was no turning back. She stood and wiped the dirt from her pants.

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  In the distance, the sounds of the other cells moving into position echoed through the trees, their footfalls soft but steady. Muriel’s eyes glinted, and for a moment, he was no longer just a leader – he was something darker, something hungry.

  “Everyone ready?” Muriel asked, his voice cold as steel.

  “Ready!” Torin answered, his grin widening. “Let’s spill some blood.”

  “Move out,” Muriel commanded, his voice carrying the weight of finality.

  The bandits moved as one, slipping out of the woods like shadows, silent and deadly, their weapons catching faint glimmers of the waning moon. The village of Engel, still unaware, was about to face its reckoning. And Rita, trapped in the center of it all, could only brace herself for what was to come.

  One hour past midnight, they marched toward the Village of Engel, accompanied by two other cells from the Brotherhood. No torches, no lanterns to give them away – only weapons at the ready and a lot of ill intent. The wicked grins on their faces promised nothing but evil deeds.

  Avena field, cereal plots of Engel

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  Complete darkness blurred into shifting spots of light, like the dizzying rush of a warp-speed jump in a sci-fi film. The universe spun around Adrian at an unnatural pace, and the last thing he could remember before waking up was the sun sinking below the horizon, the world swallowed by wild, untamed darkness – until a blinding light consumed him.

  He jolted upright in a panic, the way one does when waking from a nightmare. His surroundings were unfamiliar. This wasn’t his bedroom. Instead, he found himself in the middle of a vast field of tall crops. He had no idea which way was north or south, but he could hear the distant blast of a horn, and see the flicker of torches in what seemed to be a small village.

  “Where the hell am I?” he muttered. The voice that came out wasn’t his own. Alarmed, he looked down at his hands – larger than they should be. His clothes were unrecognizable and a sword hung from his belt. His head spun with confusion. Had he been kidnapped? But that wouldn’t explain why his body was different. His clothes looked like something straight out of a myth, as if he were cosplaying Aragorn.

  He didn’t need long to reach the inevitable conclusion – the thought had already lodged itself in his mind. Accepting it, however, was another matter. That warning about transmigration was real. This wasn’t just a game. He recalled the searing jolt of electricity that had run through his body before waking up here. But even now – even in an unfamiliar body, with a sword strapped to his waist – he needed more proof before accepting such an absurd reality.

  And so, grasping at the most obvious test, he whispered, “Status, open.” A translucent screen appeared before his eyes.

  -

  STATUS

  Name: Adrian

  Age: 18 years

  Species: Human

  Class: None

  Attributes

  Strength: 11

  Endurance: 10

  Dexterity: 13

  Intelligence: 10

  Perception: 9

  Magic: 11

  Competencies

  None

  Titles

  Freeborn Sovereign

  Magic Skills

  None

  -

  “Oh my god… oh my god… oh my god!” he gasped, his breathing quickening, his mind spinning.

  Panic clawed at him, but he forced himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to be reckless. The commotion he had heard earlier was growing louder, and he made sure to stay hidden among the crops. Is someone already coming for me? What the hell is happening?

  And then, as if scrolling through a webpage, Adrian remembered – both as if he had just read it and as if he never had.

  Granada. A kingdom of humans, stable and vast, its lands stretching further than most, its population greater than any neighboring realm. It is one of the few true powers on Ertar, a world where magic is not just an advantage but the foundation of all civilizations.

  Ertar itself is a land of contradictions—wild and untamed, yet dotted with pockets of civilization. Technology has never flourished here; instead, dungeons provide an endless supply of magical energy and rare materials. But these same dungeons also breed monsters—beasts infused with mana, their strength unnatural, their instincts honed for destruction. They are the great equalizer, the reason so much of the world remains a savage, untrodden wilderness

  So that’s it… If this isn’t just the most vivid dream I’ve ever had, and I don’t wake up in a few hours… then this is where I am. He swallowed hard. But what do I do now?

  Staying quiet, he strained to make sense of the commotion that was now impossible to ignore.

  Carefully, he rose to peek through the stalks of grain. More than fifty men, and a few women, stood in a defensive line, wielding whatever tools they had at hand: scythes, axes, hammers. Their makeshift militia faced off against another group approaching from the direction of a dark forest. This second group, though slightly smaller, was better equipped – leather armor, real weapons.

  No revolvers. No rifles. No cars or motorcycles. Adrian’s mind reeled as he took in the scene. No paved roads, no streetlights – nothing modern at all. The entire area looked like something straight out of a medieval setting.

  Then, the shouting stopped. A heavy silence fell over the land. The two groups now stood face-to-face, the tension between them palpable.

  Adrian crept closer, heart pounding, trying to hear what was happening. As his eyes adjusted to the dim torchlight, the scene became clearer. On one side, the villagers stood their ground, ready to defend their home. On the other, hardened men – bandits, no doubt – stood poised for battle.

  It would be a massacre. Even though the better-armed side was slightly smaller, their advantage was obvious. Clear as day.

  Luanda’s House, eastern Engel

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  “Don't open the door for anyone, and only leave if you hear the wisent horn,” said Tommy, hurrying out of the house, gripping his largest hammer and wearing a thick gambeson made by his wife.

  “Be careful, Tommy! Come in, quickly, come in!” called Luanda the [Weaver] in a loud voice from her doorstep, bidding farewell to her husband and urging the neighbors who were rushing through Engel’s streets with their children.

  They had all been sleeping when Hober’s horn blast and the sound of knocking woke them – the emergency signal for a bandit attack. Tommy had only a moment to embrace Golias and Julian while Luanda tended to Elza, soothing the crying baby, before he prepared for battle.

  As a [Blacksmith], Tommy had reinforced all the doors and windows with metal frames, and his house had been chosen as one of the refuges for women and children, where they were to remain until the end of the fight was announced or, in the worst case, until they had to fend for themselves.

  “Mommy, is Daddy going to fight the bad men?” asked Golias, Luanda’s eldest son. He was only seven years old, but his voice carried a brave, proud tone.

  “That won't be necessary. Uncle James is very strong and will drive them away,” she replied, holding Julian, who whimpered softly in her arms, sensing the tension in the air.

  As Luanda had explained to her son, the strategy was not to engage in battle but to intimidate. Bandits were used to easy money – that was the logic, however misleading it might be. If they showed resistance, the attackers would give up. James’s Challenge skill should be enough to avoid a confrontation – that was the hopeful thought most tried to hold on to.

  The men had taken their positions along a rustic road, used only by ox carts for the oat fields east of the village. Luanda’s house was farther north-west, making it one of the safest and most distant positions and about twenty women and children had taken refuge with the weaver.

  “How long have we been here? I can’t hear anything,” asked a 15-year-old girl named Malya after only a few minutes in hiding.

  “That's a good sign. If there’s no noise, it means we’re safe,” replied Merogy the [Barmaid], a woman responsible for the local tavern, trying to calm the restless teenager. But in the silence, doubt lingered. Had the danger truly passed – or was something far worse lurking just beyond their hearing?