Once again, Sam thought he was dying.

  Voices cut through the darkness, pulling him back. He opened his eyes, and pain immediately wrenched a groan from his lips. His body shook as though he had caught a chill. Fear and shock mixed horribly as his vision cleared. The events from earlier crystallized in his mind, and he scrambled to move. Strong hands pulled him back.

  Someone laughed, and Sam turned to find familiar faces staring at him, their worry clear. Only Callen scowled, shaking his head as if Sam were cracked in the brain.

  "You look like the Krilig followed you into your dreams," Lam said, baring his teeth in a grin too intense to hold.

  "That was a hard fall," Drill added, peering into Sam's eyes, turning his head left and right. "You're lucky your head didn't explode on that stone." He smiled and tapped Sam’s shoulder before stepping aside so Zel could approach.

  The woman’s frown deepened, her eyes blazing with unveiled anger. Sam tried to think of what he might have done to provoke her, but thinking only intensified the pain, as though tiny needles were pricking the inside of his skull. He sighed, deciding to accept whatever wrath Zel had in store. She crouched before him, locking her gaze with his.

  "You almost killed us," Zel said, her voice cold as a snow-capped mountain. It pierced Sam, pinning him in place and promising prolonged torment. He groaned, adjusting his position and averting his eyes.

  "Your attacks were reckless," she continued. "Your decisions nearly killed you. You are one of the worst fighters I have ever seen, and definitely the worst I've had the misfortune of fighting alongside."

  She paused, taking a breath, her anger visibly mounting. Sam wanted to crawl away. He sensed her rage building, and soon she would use her fists. He half-expected her to mention Wexi's inevitable disappointment, and when she smiled, it felt like he was slipping into a strange dream.

  "Yet, we're lucky you were here," Zel said, sitting back, her bald head shaking in disbelief. Lam snickered. Drill grinned, giving Sam a thumbs-up before settling next to Lam. Callen, meanwhile, stared at his bandaged hand, avoiding eye contact with Sam.

  "That cannon you made was a stupid gamble," Zel said, grinning. "No one else would have tried it."

  "Not because they aren't brave enou—"

  "Shut it, Callen," Zel snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. Sam noticed the makeshift bandages wrapped around her, and the odd way she held her left hand. Despite the evident injury, she didn't appear to be in much pain. Drill's right arm was in a sling, yet he seemed chirpy, though Sam could only imagine the pain he was enduring. Lam, for his part, looked generally unscathed, except for a few scrapes and bruises—though he'd lost his drone.

  "How did we win?" Sam asked, his voice low. His throat and head ached, and there was a persistent pinching pain in his back. He would need a few days of rest after this, and he dreaded Nadia’s inevitable scolding for his recklessness.

  "You did most of the work," Zel replied, standing. She seemed taller now. "Few have fought Kriligs this old, Samuel Ayer. Most didn't survive. We would've been one of them if we’d dragged the fight out any longer. The monster’s scales were tough. My sword can cut through most things, but it didn’t even make a dent."

  "Your cannon blasted the scales apart, though," Lam chimed in, smiling. "A beautiful thing! It shattered, and the beast squealed like its insides had been poked with a hot rod. Beautiful!"

  "You opening it up to our attacks gave us the advantage. It was easy to tear into it from there. Come see," Zel said, offering Sam her good hand. He took it, surprised as always by her strength, and let her pull him up. She limped slightly as she led him past the pond, its light now dim. The Krilig lay in a heap, its scales a dull black, drained of life. Sam peered into the gaping wound on its side, large enough to swallow a child. Inside, it was a charred, skewered mess. He whistled at the destruction. Its claws, sharp and curved, were the size of small daggers. The thought of them slicing through flesh sent a shudder down his spine.

  "You did well today," Zel said, nudging him with her elbow. "I'm sure Wexi will be proud. But I hope she teaches you a thing or two before throwing you out there again. You have a lot to learn—not just about combat, but synergy. Every decision you made, you assumed the others would react accordingly."

  "I..." Sam trailed off, unsure of what to say. Zel clapped him on the back, shaking her head with a grin.

  "No need to apologize. Just do better, or someone will get killed." She left him standing there, walking back to the others. "Get some rest. We’re dragging this thing back to the Forge. Make sure you’re ready. And check your system—I think you’ll be surprised."

  The Krilig had seemed like a mammoth earlier—almost like a small dinosaur—and its size hadn’t diminished in death. Sam reached out to touch the scales. They felt smooth, almost like glass, yet there was a sturdiness to them.

  The thought echoed in his mind until he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Callen approaching. His arm looked worse than Sam had initially thought, but Sam couldn’t muster any sympathy.

  "What do you want?" Sam asked, sensing the beginning of trouble.

  "You got lucky," Callen said, his voice devoid of malice, though Sam could see it in his eyes. He was struck again by how distinctly Korean Callen looked. Everything about him, down to his hair, brought memories of Sam's old life flooding back. He sighed, exhausted, and decided to take Zel’s suggestion. Without another word, he walked past Callen, ignoring whatever the man was saying.

  He found a quiet spot away from the others and sat down. Just as he settled in to sleep, the first system message of the morning appeared:

  [Achievement log]

  --You have slain a Krilig! [Core role]

  --+8 PER, +9 INT, +5 CTY

  --You have leveled up! [Level 11]

   [All attributes adjusted accordingly]

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  --Your skill [Proto-Crafting] has evolved: %10

  --You have been granted a weapon blueprint [Uncommon]: Divine Spear of Orth!

  There weren’t too many lines, but Sam hadn’t expected it. He was curious about what his skill might evolve into. He had a few speculations, but nothing he could confirm. He couldn't wait to get back to Wexi. Ideas about the cannon upgrade filled his mind, especially how it could help retrofit his Glock. That experiment was something he couldn’t wait to start.

  But first, he needed to learn more about crafting. For that, he needed Rosaria. Her face blossomed in his thoughts—her quick smiles, her passion when she spoke about crafting. It was overwhelming but in a good way. He chuckled at the memory of them promising to talk and eat together when he got back. He had almost missed that chance by dying out here. What a shame it would have been.

  He pulled up his status log, smiling at the new numbers.

  [System of Ascension…analyzing new data]

  [Legacy function detected]

  Name: Samuel Ayer [Fetching legacy data…]

       Age — 27

       Specie — Human

      [Racial deviation detect!]

       Level — 11

  [EoM: % 63]

  His EoM count had risen. Now he understood why Zel said he'd be surprised. He had leveled up while unconscious. That must have been disturbing to witness. Sam cringed at the thought. Wexi had promised to teach him how to level up safely. He would have to hold her to that soon.

  He focused on his stats, reviewing how much his attributes had grown:

  Sam noticed that his Perception (PER) had caught up to his Strength (STR). Once again, he wondered if he should have unlocked the Martial Domain instead. He couldn't imagine how he would have contributed if he had.

  Sleep overtook him in minutes, pulling him into a realm of dreams and nightmares. In one dream, he was falling off the ledge of a tall building. A sudden burst of nebulous light reached for him, and he heard someone call his name. But the light swallowed their voice just as quickly as it consumed him.

  He woke with a start.

  In the dim light, through the haze of sleep, he heard Zel moaning softly. He lay back down, closing his eyes and forcing himself back into a deeper slumber. This time, it was better than the first.

  ***

  The noise in the cramped tavern sounded like a beehive. Conversations merged with music, booming from strange instruments. They had returned to CragForge late the following day, and Zel had dragged the group to drink and celebrate. Sam felt out of place, like a worm in a can of salt. He craved food, sleep, and, most importantly, he needed to see Wexi.

  Not for the first time, he glanced at the door, calculating how quickly he could slip out before Zel noticed.

  "Forget it," Drill said, throwing his good arm around Sam's neck, grinning drunkenly. Despite his injury, Drill seemed to be in high spirits. Sam frowned.

  "Zel might not see you, but she'll know you left. And that'll sour her mood. Look, even Callen's obediently enjoying the music."

  Sam glanced over and saw Callen pushing a prostitute off him, looking physically pained by the entire experience. Like Sam, he seemed to want to escape. Sam empathized. He had never been the type for places like this.

  "I need to see Wexi," Sam murmured, but Drill heard him and shook his head, a sad smile on his face.

  "Wexi won’t see you tonight," Drill said, raising his voice over the music. His breath reeked of wine and whatever else he'd consumed. He stank of sweat, stress, and exhaustion. Sam marveled at how they could summon the energy to celebrate. Lam was dancing with two women, one on each arm, looking as dreamy as if he were on LSD. Sam shook his head. These people were not normal—not in the way he was.

  "And you have to stay," Drill insisted. "You want to become part of the city, don’t you? Well, one way is to dance with them!"

  Drill pushed Sam into the crowd and someone pulled at him. The music was a mix of strings, drums, and yelling from the dancers. They turned, jumped, and spun. Faces moved in and out of view, hands changing as they pulled him to dance or say something about what they had been told about their battle with the Krilig.

  Breathing hard, Sam finally extricated himself from the throng and found a table at the back, far from the swaying dancers. His head hurt, his body ached, and his stomach growled with hunger. There was no food, only wine, and a particularly sour variety at that. He had heard of the wine shortage, and the human part of him wished for a cold beer instead.

  Frustrated, Sam stood up and pushed through the crowd, heading for the door. Outside, the constant hum of CragForge greeted him. There was always a gear turning somewhere, or a hiss in the air. The city was a perpetually groaning machine, and Sam loved it.

  It was later than he had expected, and he realized Drill had been right. The night held nothing for him but sleep. He groaned as the reality of the evening sank in and staggered home, thinking about the money he would receive from Zel. Tomorrow, he would meet with Wexi to discuss how best to use it.

  A chill ran down his spine when he saw the shadows shift. Three figures appeared in front of him, emerging like dark specters from a child’s nightmare.

  "You’re the new one, aren’t you?" one of them asked. "The one saved from those monsters above ground."

  Sam considered running, but he knew they’d catch him. He wasn’t far from the tavern—he could go back. His mind was sluggish, and he figured his feet would be too slow. Running wasn’t an option.

  He stood his ground, facing the three men, his fists curling at his sides.

  "I am," Sam said. "Though I don’t believe we’ve met."

  One of the men grinned, drawing a small knife. Sam stepped back, raising his fists instinctively as he took the only stance he’d ever learned in his self-defense class. He’d been taught how to protect himself physically, but he always had his Glock strapped to his hips. And in Colorado, that had been enough.

  The thought sent a surge of fresh fear through him, but he didn’t let it show. The man with the knife moved forward, but another slapped him on the back of the head.

  "No knives, idiot," he scolded, then turned to Sam with a grunt. “This is supposed to be a message, you hear? Leave the Forge. You don’t belong here. Your arrival spelled the death of some of our people. I am sure you understand why you can’t be here.”

  Sam remained silent, his heart hammering in his chest. They weren’t going to kill him, but they were going to hurt him. He braced himself.

  The knife-wielder put away his blade and rushed at him. Sam shifted, dodging left, his Perception picking up the feint of the man’s right arm. The right kick cut through the air, and Sam dove in, smashing the man’s nose with a quick punch.

  He didn’t wait long. The knife holder put the blade away and rushed at him. Sam shifted back to get a good feel of the man’s movement, and he dodged left, his perception catching the feint of his right arm. The right kick cut through the space in front of him and Sam drove in, smashing the man’s nose with a quick swing of his fist. He sensed the second man coming, but he was exhausted and slow. He spun, but the man launched himself into him and both of them slammed into the railing to the left. Sam’s back exploded with pain, but the railing held their weight.

  The man rolled off and as Sam made to stand up, the boot of the third man came down on his face. He fell back, all his senses muted under the flare of new and old pain. He folded into himself, feeling them kick him as if he was a passenger in his own body, every kick sending him farther into oblivion.