Chapter 4: Scars and Sparks
The streets of Varnholt buzzed with morning activity, but Ryo Aelren barely noticed. His arm burned where the Stone Reaver's blade had sliced him, the makeshift bandage soaked with blood. The party trudged toward the Adventurer's Guild, their faces grim despite their survival. Ten coppers jingled in Ryo's pocket—his pay for the dungeon—but it felt hollow. The System's chime lingered in his mind: Level 0: 20/100. Endurance increased by 1. He was changing, but at what cost?
Tor led the way, his warhammer slung across his back. Lysa leaned on her staff, her mana-drained pallor stark in the sunlight. Gav walked apart, clutching the mana crystal, his eyes darting as if expecting an ambush. Ryo trailed behind, the weight of the now-empty pack lighter but his thoughts heavier. The dungeon had nearly killed them, and Gav's suspicion gnawed at him. What are you, kid? The rogue's words echoed, sharp and accusing.
The guild hall was crowded, adventurers jostling for jobs or boasting over ale. Tor pushed through to the counter, where a clerk with ink-stained fingers took their report. "Low-rank dungeon, my ass," Tor muttered, slamming the mission scroll down. "Stone Reaver, Rank C. Fix your damn intel."
The clerk paled, scribbling notes. "We'll investigate. Any loot?"
Gav tossed the mana crystal onto the counter. "Low-grade. Split it four ways."
Ryo blinked. Four ways? He'd expected nothing as a porter. Lysa caught his surprise and gave a small nod. "You earned it, Ryo. That crystal stunt saved our hides."
The clerk appraised the crystal, handing each of them a small pouch of coins. Ryo's share was three silvers—a fortune compared to his usual coppers. He pocketed it, his mind racing. Food, a proper bandage, maybe even a new sword. But more than that, he wanted answers about the System.
"Get that arm looked at," Tor said, glancing at Ryo. "You're no use if you bleed out."
Ryo nodded, grateful for the gruff concern. The party dispersed—Tor to the blacksmith, Lysa to a mana font, Gav to gods-know-where. Ryo headed to a healer's stall in the market, the pain in his arm growing sharper with each step.
The healer, an old woman with hands like leather, tsked as she unwrapped his bandage. "Nasty cut. Riftspawn, eh? You're lucky it wasn't poisoned." She smeared a foul-smelling salve on the wound and wrapped it in clean cloth. "Two coppers."
Ryo paid, wincing at the dent in his earnings. "Will it scar?"
"Likely," she said, shrugging. "Scars tell stories. Wear it proud."
He left the stall, the bandage tight but soothing. The market hummed around him—vendors hawking mana-infused trinkets, adventurers bartering over gear. Ryo's eyes lingered on a weapons stall, where a steel short sword gleamed. It was worlds better than his rusted blade, but the price—ten silvers—was far beyond him.
As he turned away, the System chimed, startling him.
Status Screen Unlocked. Access available.
Words appeared before his eyes, glowing faintly:
*Name: Ryo Aelren
Level: 0
Class: None
Stats:
Strength: 3
Agility: 5 (+15% in combat, Survival Instinct)
Endurance: 4
Mana: 0
Skills:
Survival Instinct (Passive): Boosts agility by 10-15% when threatened.
Basic Strike (Active): Increases single-target attack damage by 5%.
Danger Sense (Passive): Heightens awareness of imminent threats.
Experience: 20/100*
Ryo stared, his breath catching. A Status Screen—like the Awakened had. He wasn't one of them, not officially, but the System treated him as if he were. His stats were pitiful, but they were his. Strength, agility, endurance—he could feel them, like threads of potential waiting to be woven.
He ducked into an alley, away from the market's noise, and focused. "System," he whispered. "How do I improve?"
No response. He tried again, picturing the Status Screen. Still nothing. Frustration welled, but he pushed it down. The System had given him skills in the dungeon; it responded to action, not questions. He needed to fight, to survive, to earn its secrets.
Footsteps broke his thoughts. Gav emerged from the shadows, his dagger glinting in the dim light. "Thought I'd find you skulking, porter."
Ryo tensed, his hand drifting to his sword. Danger Sense prickled, faint but present. "What do you want, Gav?"
"You're no porter," Gav said, stepping closer. "That dodge in the dungeon, that crystal idea—nobodies don't pull stunts like that. You're hiding something. System-touched, maybe?"
Ryo's pulse quickened. Gav was fishing, but he was dangerously close to the truth. "I'm just trying to survive," Ryo said, keeping his voice steady. "Same as you."
Gav's smirk didn't reach his eyes. "Survive, sure. But I don't trust you, kid. Cross me, and you'll regret it."
He turned and vanished into the crowd, leaving Ryo's heart pounding. Danger Sense faded, but the unease lingered. Gav was a problem—one Ryo couldn't solve with a rusted sword.
He returned to the guild, hoping to find another job. The job board was packed with high-rank missions, but a few low-rank ones caught his eye: Clear Goblin Nest, Rank E and Escort Caravan, Rank F. Both were safer than the dungeon, but neither would push the System like a Rift would. He hesitated, then tore down the goblin mission. It paid five coppers, enough to eat for a week.
As he registered with the clerk, Lysa appeared, her robes pristine again. "Goblins, huh?" she said, glancing at the scroll. "Going solo already?"
Ryo shrugged. "Need the coin. And the practice."
She studied him, her eyes sharp but not unkind. "You're different, Ryo. Most porters would've quit after that dungeon. Why keep going?"
He thought of the System, of the Status Screen, of the spark of possibility it had ignited. "I want to be more," he said quietly. "More than this."
Lysa nodded, as if she understood. "Be careful. Goblins are weak, but they're sneaky. And… watch out for Gav. He's trouble."
Ryo gave a grim smile. "Noted."
That night, he slept in a cheap inn, the first real bed he'd had in months. His dreams were fragmented—flashes of the Rift, the Stone Reaver, and that strange symbol on the altar. When he woke, his arm ached, but his resolve was iron. The goblin nest was a start, a chance to test the System, to grow.
As he left Varnholt at dawn, his rusted sword at his side, the Rift glowed faintly in the sky. It was a reminder of the world's dangers—and its possibilities. Ryo Aelren was no Awakened, but he was no longer a nobody. The System had chosen him, and he would carve his path, one scar at a time.
To be continued…
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