His gaze hardened, excitement sparking beneath the fatigue.

  "Higher-level monsters mean better loot," he added quietly. "And more EXP."

  It didn't take long.

  Just beyond the next bend in the corridor, three rabbicorns scurried about the stone floor, noses twitching as they sniffed at something unseen. Their beady red eyes caught the lantern light as they noticed him, purple-tinged tails flicking in agitation.

  Austin stopped, assessing them with a calmer eye this time.

  A smirk crept across his face.

  "Alright," he muttered, shifting his stance. "Round two."

  He raised his sword, heart pounding—not with fear now, but anticipation.

  "Let's test my theory."

  Austin slowed his breathing and began to move—not forward, but sideways.

  He circled the trio with careful, measured steps, boots whispering softly against the stone. The three rabbicorns shifted in place, their bodies angled unevenly, a crooked little formation that looked almost accidental. Their red eyes tracked him in perfect unison, glowing faintly in the lantern light, but none of them lunged. None of them broke formation.

  They were watching.

  "Good rabbicorns," Austin whispered, voice low and steady despite the thud of his heart. "Stay right there, little guys."

  He kept circling, widening his arc just enough to manipulate their positioning. Slowly—almost politely—the rabbicorns adjusted, turning their bodies to keep him in sight. Before long, they were lined up neatly in front of him, one behind the other like a grotesque parade float.

  Austin tilted his head, eyes flicking between them, calculating angles and distance.

  "…Perfect."

  He tightened his grip on the sword, leather creaking softly under his fingers, and drew in a slow breath. The rabbicorns mirrored him again, rotating in sync, still not attacking—still waiting.

  That alone sent a thrill down his spine.

  "Time for step two," he murmured.

  He advanced inch by inch, counting his steps, measuring the space between himself and the lead rabbicorn. His ankle throbbed with every shift of weight, but he ignored it, mind locked in. This wasn't panic anymore.

  This was testing.

  The instant his boot crossed that invisible boundary—

  The first rabbicorn shrieked.

  It launched forward in a blur of fur and horn, claws scraping stone as it lunged straight at his chest.

  Austin didn't flinch.

  His sword came down in a clean, controlled arc—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Steel met bone with a sickening crunch, slicing straight through the rabbicorn's skull. The creature dropped mid-leap, hitting the floor with a dull, lifeless thud.

  Dead.

  The two behind it squealed sharply—but didn't move.

  They just stared.

  Austin felt it then—a sharp, electric surge of exhilaration that burned through his veins.

  His grin widened. "Oh," he breathed, "we are definitely onto something."

  He shifted his stance, angling his body toward the next rabbicorn in line, eyes sharp now—focused, hungry.

  "Let's confirm it."

  He moved forward again, slow and deliberate, retracing the same distance as before. Every muscle in his body was coiled, waiting. The moment he crossed that same threshold—

  The second rabbicorn lunged.

  Predictable.

  Mechanical.

  Like a switch flipping.

  Austin stepped in and drove his blade down, impaling it through the skull in one smooth, practiced motion. The resistance vanished as the body went limp, sliding off the sword and collapsing beside the first.

  He looked up.

  The final rabbicorn stood perfectly still.

  Its red eyes burned with hatred. Its body twitched. Purple mist curled from its mouth.

  But it didn't move.

  "Perfect," Austin said again, voice low, almost reverent.

  The last rabbicorn hissed—a wet, angry sound—but Austin was already stepping forward, crossing the invisible line with absolute confidence.

  It charged.

  He ended it just as easily.

  The sword flashed. The body fell.

  Silence reclaimed the cavern.

  Austin stood there, chest rising and falling, adrenaline still roaring in his ears. Then he let out a breathless laugh, sharp and incredulous.

  "Seems like my theory's correct," he said aloud, looking down at the three corpses. "You guys only attack when someone steps into your trigger range."

  He crouched slightly, gesturing with the tip of his sword at the space around the last body. "If this were a game, I'd be seeing little red circles under each of you right now. One might call it the… Shitter Zone."

  He snorted and absentmindedly hummed the tune the phrase came from, the absurdity grounding him.

  His thoughts snapped back to the earlier fight—the chaos, the pain, the bite.

  "Yeah," he murmured, nodding to himself. "That explains a lot."

  When he'd knocked that rabbicorn off him, it must've landed outside its attack zone. When he'd staggered backward, he'd left the others' zones too.

  That was why they'd frozen.

  The realization sent a cold shiver down his spine—not fear, but understanding.

  This was critical knowledge.

  The kind that separated survivors from corpses.

  As long as he respected the distance… as long as he stayed mindful of those invisible lines…

  He'd be fine.

  Better than fine.

  He was already getting used to their rhythm—the tension right before the lunge, the sound they made, the timing. Each successful kill sharpened him, smoothed out the hesitation, replaced fear with instinct.

  "Yeah," he muttered, wiping his blade clean on one of the corpses, "that definitely boosts survivability."

  He converted the bodies into pelts and stuffed them into his bag. The leather bulged now, seams pulled tight, but he barely noticed.

  As he walked deeper into the tunnel, confidence swelling with every step, a thought crossed his mind.

  "Veteran adventurers probably know this," he said quietly. "But the newbies?"

  He smirked.

  "They're probably charging in with a healer glued to their back, thinking they're immortal."

  He could almost see it—some overconfident rookie getting bitten, screaming while the healer scrambled to keep up.

  "Guess not having a healer forced me to think smarter," Austin said, pride warming his chest.

  He adjusted his sword on his shoulder and continued forward, earlier nerves fading into something sharper. Focus. Curiosity. Hunger for mastery.

  "If rabbicorns have patterns," he murmured, "then everything down here probably does."

  That thought lit something deep inside him.

  This world wasn't chaos.

  It was a system.

  And systems could be learned.

  Exploited.

  Beaten.

  He chuckled softly. "Guess all those hours grinding RPGs finally paid off."

  The familiar rush—one he hadn't felt in years—flooded back. The thrill of progression. Of understanding. Of getting better.

  "Oh yeah," he said, grin widening as he rounded a corner and spotted movement ahead. Three more rabbicorns sniffed around the tunnel floor, unaware.

  He tightened his grip on his sword.

  "Well look at that," he said, voice brimming with confidence now. "More rabbicorns to harvest."

  Chapter six

  Austin dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing away sweat and grime, then let his shoulder fall against the cold stone wall behind him. The chill seeped straight through his shirt, a sharp contrast to the heat still buzzing through his muscles. The lantern nearby flickered, its unsteady glow crawling over his battered form—dirt streaked across his cheeks, shallow cuts lining his forearms, dried blood darkening the edges of his sleeves. Each mark told the story of hours spent fighting, dodging, and barely staying ahead of gnashing teeth and charging horns.

  He sucked in a deep breath. It came out heavy, but controlled. Exhaustion clung to him, yet beneath it was something warm and deeply satisfying—the kind of tired that came from pushing himself hard and surviving.

  "Whew," he said, a crooked grin tugging at his lips as he straightened. "I've been in here for a while now, huh?"

  His gaze dropped to the bulging bag at his feet, and pride flared in his chest. The thing looked ready to split open at the seams. Seventeen rabbicorn pelts were packed inside—folded, rolled, and shoved into every possible gap. He nudged it with his boot, chuckling.

  "Yeah," he murmured, clearly pleased. "Not bad for my first day."

  He swung the bag up over his shoulder, feeling the weight pull hard against his back. His muscles protested, but he welcomed the ache. It was proof. Proof he'd fought, learned, and earned every scrap of loot inside.

  "I've got a pretty solid system down now," Austin said to no one, thinking of how far he'd come since his first clumsy encounter. Timing the charges. Luring them into narrow angles. Striking before panic could set in. "Those rabbicorns don't even know what hit 'em."

  Then his smile dimmed.

  The bag was full. Too full.

  "It just sucks I can't take everything back," he muttered, glancing toward the dungeon floor.

  A few extra pelts lay scattered among the fallen bodies nearby, pale and bloodstained against the dark stone. For a moment—just a moment—temptation whispered to him. He imagined himself loading every last one onto his arms, staggering back to the guild in a single glorious trip.

  And then another image flashed into his mind just as fast: some overconfident anime hero, weighed down with loot, creeping through a shadowy corridor… right before getting ambushed and losing everything.

  "Yeah, no," Austin snorted, shaking his head with a wry smirk. "That's how people die. Or worse—lose all their stuff."

  He'd seen that story too many times.

  So instead, he adapted.

  As he began retracing his steps, he quietly tucked spare pelts into the dungeon's forgotten corners—behind jutting boulders, beneath loose piles of rock, wedged into narrow cracks where shadows swallowed them whole. Each stash felt like a small gamble, but a necessary one.

  "I probably won't remember where half of these are," he admitted under his breath, shoving another pelt behind a stalagmite. "But it's better than leaving them out for anyone to grab."

  He dusted his hands off and straightened, brushing grime from his pants. His body ached everywhere now—legs stiff, arms trembling faintly—but he stood taller anyway.

  "Next time," he said, determination flickering in his eyes, "I'm bringing a bigger bag."

  The thought alone made him grin.

  He turned toward the exit, boots crunching softly against the stone as he walked. The dungeon felt calmer now, almost hollow. Water dripped somewhere far above, echoing faintly through the tunnels. Deeper within, distant sounds of combat still rang out—steel clashing, monsters shrieking—but today, that wasn't his problem anymore.

  As he walked, his mind replayed the fights. The moments when the rabbicorns rushed from awkward angles, threatening to overwhelm him. The split-second decisions. The sidesteps, feints, and desperate repositioning that kept him alive when brute force wouldn't have.

  "It wasn't pretty," he said aloud, a tired smile creeping back. "But it worked."

  He tightened his grip around his sword's hilt, flexing his sore fingers. The ache flared, but so did something else—a stubborn spark of pride. For the first time since being thrown into this strange world, he didn't feel like he was just surviving.

  He was improving.

  "Not bad for a guy with baby stats," Austin laughed softly, picking up his pace as light began to glow at the end of the tunnel.

  When he finally stepped outside, the cool evening air washed over him like a blessing. It was crisp and clean, carrying none of the damp, metallic stink of the dungeon. Above Viregrave, the sky burned with streaks of gold and violet as the sun dipped low, the twin moons beginning their slow rise.

  Austin stretched his arms wide, muscles screaming in protest—and he loved it.

  Nearby, other adventurers emerged from different dungeon entrances. Some walked in laughing groups, boasting loudly about their hauls. Others stumbled out in silence, faces pale and armor scarred, looking like they'd barely escaped with their lives. Even so, the flow never stopped. As some left, others stepped forward, weapons ready, vanishing into the darkness without hesitation.

  "I guess it doesn't really matter what time you go in," Austin mused, watching a trio of armored fighters disappear underground. "It's always dark in there. Always creepy."

  He smirked, rubbing his hands together as anticipation sparked anew.

  "Anyway," he said, excitement buzzing through his fatigue, "time to see my sweet stats."

  He stopped beside a small boulder and focused his thoughts. With a soft shimmer, the familiar blue status menu blinked into existence before him, glowing gently in the fading light. His heart thudded harder as his eyes skimmed the screen.

  ~~~

  *STATS*

  ~~~

  NAME: Austin Lucas

  RACE: Human

  AGE: 22

  ~~~

  Health: 64 / 100 (-36%)

  Magic: 75 / 75

  Stamina: 8 / 51 (-84%)

  ~~~

  Strength: 7

  Toughness: 1

  Wisdom: 1

  Speed: 1

  Mana Force: 1

  Luck: 1

  ~~~

  "Nice," Austin murmured, and the word came out rough—half breath, half disbelief. His grin widened anyway, stretching across a face still streaked with dirt and sweat. The blue status window hovered in front of him, its clean glow almost too bright against the dimming evening sky.

  Strength: 7

  For a second, he just stared at it like the number might change if he blinked.

  Then a laugh punched out of him before he could stop it. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late—the laugh broke into a snicker, and the snicker into this quiet, giddy wheeze he couldn't contain. A few adventurers nearby turned their heads. One guy with a dented breastplate narrowed his eyes like Austin had finally lost it. A woman tightening the straps on her gauntlet gave him a quick up-and-down look, as if checking whether he was wounded or just stupid.

  Austin lowered his hand and tried to look normal. It did not work. His shoulders still trembled with held-in laughter.

  Okay—okay, yeah. That's what I'm talking about.

  He scrolled up and down once, then again, the numbers sliding smoothly under his gaze. He was almost hoping he'd catch a glitch or a trick. Something that would explain why his chest felt like it might burst.

  But it stayed there. Steady. Real.

  Austin counted again, because his brain still refused to accept it.

  Six points. From one run.

  His pulse thudded in his ears, louder than the distant clang of steel coming from somewhere down the road. The weight of his loot bag tugged at his shoulder, the ache in his arms flared, the bite on his leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat… and none of it dulled the rush.

  I don't know what I was expecting, he admitted to himself, lips twitching. But definitely not this. Maybe a point. Two if I really pushed it.

  He scrolled again, slower this time, eyes narrowing like he was examining evidence. The menu didn't lie. His body didn't lie either—he could feel it. There was a density to him now, a subtle difference in how his muscles held tension, in how his grip felt around the air when he flexed his fingers. He wasn't suddenly a walking tank, but… something had shifted.

  Guess my Limit Break skill's putting in overtime.

  The thought of it sent another sharp spark of exhilaration through him. Whatever that skill actually was—whatever rules it bent or snapped—it was his. And it was working.

  His mind slid back to the guild hall, to the bustling chaos of adventurers and shouted requests and the smell of sweat and leather. To the factions' tables—bright banners, smug smiles, recruiters acting like gatekeepers to a better life. He could practically hear their voices again, dripping with certainty.

  We don't even consider applicants below six in Mana Force.

  He'd stood there in front of them with his "baby stats," feeling small in a way he hadn't expected to feel in a world with literal menus floating in the air. Like the numbers over his head had stamped him with a label.

  Not worth it.

  Austin snorted softly.

  "Guess I'd meet that requirement if a faction were looking for Strength instead," he said under his breath, and the humor in it surprised him. He wasn't even bitter. He expected anger—expected the old sting to flare up.

  But it didn't.

  He imagined going back, imagining the recruiters' expressions if he casually pulled up his status now. The way their eyes would widen just a fraction. The way their tone would shift. The way they'd suddenly discover "potential" where they'd only seen a joke before.

  The thought should've been satisfying.

  It was—but not the way he expected.

  He shook his head, letting out a slow breath. "Not that I'd ever go through that process of putting myself out there again."

  He remembered that day too clearly—the feeling of standing in front of strangers and waiting for their judgment, trying to act confident while his stomach tightened into a knot. He remembered the heat of embarrassment, the helpless anger when they smiled like he was entertaining.

  Now, that memory felt… distant. Smaller. Like something that had happened to a different version of him.

  They wrote me off, he thought, eyes flicking back to the Strength stat. But I didn't stay written off.

  His grin softened. Not smug. Not mean. Just… solid. Grounded.

  He closed his hand into a fist and held it in front of him. The skin across his knuckles was scraped and swollen in places. Dirt had been ground into the lines of his palm. His fingers trembled slightly—not from weakness, but from fatigue pushing against fresh-earned power.

  He didn't know how to measure what "seven Strength" meant in real terms. Could he lift twice as much? Punch harder? Run faster? The system didn't come with a neat little pamphlet.