Warmth flooded his body like sunlight poured directly into his veins. It surged up from his stomach, spreading outward through muscle and bone. His leg tingled, then burned—not painful, but intense, like blood rushing back into a limb that had been asleep too long. When it reached his ankle, the bite scar from his first dive pulsed once, sharply, and then… vanished.

  Gone.

  Austin stared at his skin in stunned silence, turning his foot slightly, rubbing the spot as if his fingers might catch on the old raised tissue.

  Nothing.

  He opened his stats immediately, heart thudding, and saw his health restored to a clean, full 100.

  For a long moment, he just stood there, breathing hard, caught between relief and awe.

  So this world really does have miracles, he'd thought. Expensive ones—but miracles.

  From then on, his days blurred together in an oddly satisfying loop, like he'd found a groove in reality and was sliding along it.

  He'd wake early, usually just as the first pale light filtered through his room's window. The inn's wooden walls would still be cool, and the world outside still half-asleep. He'd sit up slowly—testing sore muscles, flexing his hands, rolling his shoulders—and then head downstairs to eat whatever the cook had decided to throw together that morning.

  Sometimes it was porridge thick enough to stick to a spoon. Sometimes eggs with herbs he couldn't name. Sometimes some strange stew that looked questionable but tasted like heaven when he was hungry enough. Austin stopped caring what things were called. If it was hot and filling, it was good.

  Then he'd grab his gear and go straight for the dungeon.

  The entrance became familiar. The guards recognized his face. The torchlight in those first corridors began to feel like the beginning of a work shift. Even the dungeon's smell—the damp earth, stone, and faint metallic tang—became something his brain filed under normal.

  The only real break in his schedule came when his pack was full.

  That was his signal.

  Return to the Adventurers Guild.

  He'd stride through the busy hall with that oversized backpack strapped to his shoulders, the faint stench of rabbicorn lingering like a badge of labor. People always looked when he came in. Some with curiosity. Some with envy. Some with that calculating stare adventurers got when they saw something valuable walking past.

  Kara was almost always there at the counter when he arrived.

  Almost.

  There was one day she'd been off—just one—and Austin hadn't realized how much he'd come to expect her presence until it wasn't there. The man behind the counter that day introduced himself as Dale. He was polite, efficient, and utterly unmemorable in the way polite efficiency often was. He processed the pelts, confirmed the aura transfer, and wished Austin a good night.

  And Austin walked out with his money feeling strangely… flat.

  Not because the aura didn't matter, but because Kara's sharp smile and easy banter had become part of the ritual. Her teasing remarks, her raised eyebrow when she saw the bag, the way she made the whole transaction feel like something more than a cold exchange.

  Dale had simply done his job.

  Kara, when she returned, went right back to reacting the same way every time Austin unloaded his haul: disbelief mixed with impressed amusement, like her brain refused to accept what her eyes were seeing.

  Most parties of four or five barely managed that kind of number in an entire day. Yet Austin kept delivering overflowing bundles within a few hours.

  She'd raise an eyebrow and say, "You sure you're not summoning these things yourself?"

  Austin would laugh it off, because he didn't know what else to do.

  But sometimes—especially after the fifth day, when even he started losing track of how many kills he'd logged—he found himself wondering the same thing in a different way.

  Why does this feel so easy for me now?

  To Austin, the rabbicorns had become routine. Predictable. They weren't harmless—he'd learned that the hard way—but they were readable once he understood them. Once he learned their attack range, their timing, their tells, it all became rhythm.

  Position right. Let them commit. Counter clean.

  They were fast, but sloppy. Aggressive, but easily baited. They lunged too hard and left themselves open, hooves skidding on stone. Their charge patterns practically announced themselves if you weren't panicking.

  Maybe everyone else just rushes in too hard, he thought once, wiping sweat from his brow as another rabbicorn collapsed at his feet. Maybe they let the chaos throw them off.

  He'd come to enjoy the precision of it—slipping aside at the last instant, letting the creature's momentum carry it forward, then striking with a clean, efficient cut. No wasted motion. No drama. Just work.

  And he wasn't the only one improving.

  Every so often, he spotted other solo adventurers on the first floor—focused, quiet types who'd clearly carved out their own methods. Their hauls were respectable. Their movements were practiced. But none of them came close to matching his pace.

  Austin didn't brag.

  He didn't even bring it up.

  He just noticed the difference and filed it away.

  The work was becoming less about survival and more about speed—how quickly he could defeat rabbicorns, how efficiently he could fill the bag, how much aura he could convert into stats and gear.

  Over the next five days, he settled into that steady rhythm with increasing confidence.

  At first, he limited himself to three runs a day—testing the limits of his body, learning how far he could push before exhaustion turned dangerous. Even with rest, the dungeon took its toll. His hands blistered, then hardened. His shoulders burned. His legs cramped. But he kept going.

  As his Strength grew, so did his ambition.

  By the fourth day, he was managing four full trips.

  By the fifth, he pushed himself even further—five complete dives into those dank tunnels teeming with squeaking, charging rabbicorns.

  By the end of it, the numbers stacked up in a way that made his tired brain feel almost giddy.

  Nineteen trips total.

  Sixty-two pelts per run.

  It was simple math. Beautiful in its simplicity.

  Over a thousand pelts sold. Each worth four aura.

  He'd earned just over four thousand aura.

  4,752, to be exact.

  Of course, the world didn't let you keep everything.

  Five nights at the inn cost him 165 aura. The backpack and that first healing potion had set him back another 140. When he subtracted the expenses, when he looked at the amount he'd actually managed to keep—

  4,447 aura.

  Austin stared at that number more than once, feeling something deep in his chest loosen.

  A small fortune compared to when he first arrived nearly broke.

  It wasn't glamorous work. His body ached from repetition, his hands stayed sore, and there were moments when he wondered if he was turning into a machine that only knew how to kill and carry and sell.

  But as he stepped out of the guild hall that night, that ache felt earned.

  The cool air brushed against his sweat-damp hair. Lanterns flickered along the cobblestone streets like fireflies trapped in glass. The city hummed softly in the night—less frantic than midday, more intimate.

  For the first time in days, Austin allowed himself to simply stand there.

  To breathe.

  To look around without immediately thinking about his next run.

  He pulled up his aura count, the glowing number floating before his eyes like a quiet reward—proof that his effort had become something real. Not just survival. Not just scraping by.

  A small smile tugged at his lips, and it didn't fade.

  He had enough aura to breathe a little now. Enough to stay at the inn as long as he needed without the constant fear of waking up broke and homeless. Enough to buy food without counting every bite in his head.

  The relief that followed was genuine and almost dizzying.

  Because the alternative was clear.

  Camping in a field or forest, alone in the dark, swatting at insects and listening for predators? No thanks. He'd take four walls and a bed any day. He already spent enough time in damp tunnels filled with squeaking rabbicorns and the constant threat of something going wrong.

  He didn't need his sleeping hours to match the dungeon's atmosphere.

  Feeling accomplished, Austin decided it was time to upgrade his gear and get some leather armor. He remembered passing a blacksmith's shop along the main street—a squat building with an anvil-shaped sign hanging above the door and the constant clang of hammer on metal echoing from within.

  When he entered, the smell of iron, oil, and smoke hit him immediately. The interior was lit by the orange glow of a forge, and behind the counter stood the owner—a stocky, gray-bearded dwarf whose arms looked like they'd been carved from the very metal he worked. His apron was scorched and stained, his expression sharp and practical. Austin didn't even have to explain what he needed.

  "Leather armor," the dwarf grunted, giving him a once-over before disappearing into the back. He returned a moment later with a full set that looked worn but sturdy. "This'll fit. Twelve hundred Aura."

  Austin blinked. "You're not even gonna measure me?"

  "Don't need to. I've been makin' armor since before your grandpappy learned to crawl," the dwarf said flatly, crossing his arms.

  That was enough for Austin. The armor fit surprisingly well once he tried it on—tough, flexible leather that hugged his torso snugly and offered solid protection over his legs and arms. It even had shoulder guards, which made him feel a little more like an actual adventurer rather than a guy who'd just fallen into a fantasy world with nothing but stubbornness and luck.

  "Not bad," Austin said, adjusting one of the straps and testing his range of motion. "Feels solid."

  The dwarf gave a curt nod. "It'll keep the teeth out. Assuming you don't do anything stupid."

  Austin transferred the 1,200 Aura with no hesitation. It stung to see that much vanish from his total, but as he stepped back into the cool evening air, the weight on his shoulders felt different—less like fatigue and more like readiness. The armor creaked slightly as he walked, the faint smell of treated leather following him down the street.

  As he made his way back to the inn, Austin couldn't help but glance toward the direction of the dungeon. The rabbicorns there had become easy prey, barely a challenge anymore. But deeper down, past those first few levels, he knew the threats would grow stronger—bigger monsters, faster attacks, maybe even real danger. He wasn't sure what awaited him, but one thing was certain: he wasn't going to face it unprepared.

  He smirked faintly, flexing his newly protected leg. "No more ankle attacks," he muttered under his breath, the thought almost enough to make him laugh. Then, with the quiet satisfaction of someone who'd survived the grind and earned his place, he pushed open the inn's door and stepped inside, ready to rest before whatever came next.

  ***

  On the sixth day of Austin's routine, the familiar rhythm of morning dungeon runs was broken by an unusual noise—shouting, chatter, and the steady hum of excitement rolling through the square outside the dungeon entrance. A crowd had gathered, thick and restless, blocking one of the entrances to the dungeon. At first, Austin didn't pay much attention. He knew the crowd could bring a whole lot of unwanted attention.

  But as he passed closer, bits of conversation began to drift through the noise.

  "The academy students are here today!" a girl whispered excitedly.

  "No way," a man replied. "You mean those academy students? I heard the heir of the Elandros family is over there!"

  Austin slowed his step, raising an eyebrow.

  Another voice—a gruff, wolfish tone—cut through the buzz. "It's crazy that all the heirs of the major powers are here right now."

  "Yeah," said his human friend, "I wonder how high their stats are."

  That made Austin stop completely. Elandros. He recognized the name. Selvara had mentioned it once when talking about the high noble factions. His curiosity flickered like a lit match, and before long, he found himself nudging his way through the crowd, drawn in by equal parts interest and a change of pace from his normal routine.

  The closer Austin got, the louder the buzz became—like a beehive full of gossip. Everyone around him seemed to be talking about the same thing. Academy students, noble heirs, prodigies. Apparently, this was a big deal.

  He remembered Lira mentioning that she attended an academy, though she never said much about it. In any case, if they're hanging out at the dungeon, I'm guessing they're not studying algebra or writing essays. He could almost picture a teacher yelling, "Alright class, today's lesson—how not to get eaten by a rabbicorn!" That earned a quiet chuckle from him as he squeezed through a gap between two taller adventurers.

  The crowd thickened as he got closer to the front, the air practically vibrating with excitement. Everyone was craning their necks, pointing, and whispering like they were at some celebrity red carpet event.

  Finally, Austin reached the edge of the crowd—only to find a wall of metal waiting for him. A row of guards stood shoulder-to-shoulder, each one broad enough to block out the sun. Their armor gleamed so brightly he half expected to see his reflection in it. Guess these guys don't get many days off, he thought.

  He leaned to the side, trying to peek past one of the guards. Come on, just a little to the left… yeah, that's it. Whatever was going on past them had everyone losing their minds, and now Austin was too curious to walk away.

  Beyond the wall of steel stood several dozen young men and women gathered in neat formations, all listening intently to a woman who looked to be their instructor. She was middle-aged, sharp-featured, and dressed in a crisp uniform trimmed with silver embroidery. Even from a distance, her voice carried authority as she gestured toward the dungeon entrance, giving instructions Austin couldn't quite hear.

  The students themselves looked like something out of a recruitment poster—clean, confident, and clearly well-funded. A few wore full suits of plate armor that caught the sun like mirrors, while others sported light but ornate battle gear marked with their own style. They were divided into three distinct groups. One in bright red, another in deep royal purple, and the last in an earthy green. Each uniform bore the same crest—a stylized flame encircled by three wings—but the difference in colors made them stand apart like rival teams preparing for a competition.

  Man, Austin thought as he watched the scene unfold, this looks like one of those flashy high school anime openings. All that's missing is theme music and a dramatic zoom-in.

  His eyes caught on the students in purple, their polished outfits reminding him of the ambient room lights from his bedroom back on Earth. He used to lay in his bed and set those things to pulse or if he was playing a game on his computer he would set the background to warm pulsing tones.

  He let out a quiet sigh, staring at the sleek purple armor of one student in particular. I love how purple looks.

  As if on cue, the girl he'd been staring at glanced his way. For a brief, awkward heartbeat, their eyes met. She had pale violet eyes that seemed almost to glow against her dark uniform. Then she quickly looked away, and so did he.

  Austin rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat rise to his ears. Yeah, that was a little awkward.

  He exhaled through his nose and tried to refocus. The instructor up front was pointing at the dungeon entrance now, her voice firm and commanding though still muffled by distance. Austin couldn't make out the words, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that they were about to head into the dungeon.

  Austin tried to lean a little farther to the side, craning his neck to peek around the heavily armored guards in front of him. He wasn't even sure what—or who—he was looking for until the thought crossed his mind. Maybe Lira's here? If these were all academy students, and if Lira really had said she studied at one, then maybe…

  But after a good minute of scanning faces, he saw no sign of her. What he did see, however, made him pause.

  Okay, he admitted to himself, eyes darting between the rows of polished armor and immaculate uniforms. These academy girls are all absolutely smoking hot.

  Compared to the rugged, grimy adventurers he usually saw around the guild—half of whom looked like they wrestled boars for breakfast—these women were in an entirely different league. Their hair looked like it had been brushed sometime this decade, their armor actually matched, and some even had perfume.

  The caveman part of Austin's brain immediately suggested that maybe—just maybe—he should stick around a bit longer, purely to "make sure the ladies stayed safe." But the logical, non-hormonal part of his brain—the one located north of the waistline—quickly slapped that idea down.

  Focus, Austin, he told himself firmly. Right now is stat and rap pelt grinding.

  By now, the students and their guards were beginning to move toward the dungeon entrance. The crowd parted slightly, and Austin decided to take advantage of the gap, slipping around the edge of the guards. He wasn't following them exactly—he just happened to be heading in the same direction. Totally coincidental, he assured himself. If I happen to spot Lira, that's just bonus XP.

  He walked a few paces behind the groups of students, close enough to overhear bits of conversation but far enough not to look suspicious—though, given the amount of armor and pomp in front of him, he probably looked like a lost delivery guy.

  Their instructor, the same middle-aged woman from before, stopped near the dungeon entrance and turned to face her students. Her voice carried clearly over the chatter. "Now remember, students. Most of you are very capable, talented, and strong—thanks to both your upbringing and your personal drive to succeed. But never forget—one mistake can cost you your life, and the only one you'll be able to blame is yourself."

  Austin raised his eyebrows. Dang, he thought, someone's definitely the "I don't accept late homework" type.

  The instructor continued, pointing toward the dungeon. "Follow the lessons I've taught you, and you will succeed."