Han slowly stood up from the shadow. The victim hadn't seen him yet. For some reason, he had a pebble in his right hand and it came from under his cloak. He flung it at the unknowing prey.

  “Huh?! Eh? Shit.” The sword wielder went through multiple emotions, but the latter didn't matter as he unsheathed his sword. A low-level that didn't run away surprised Han. However, he had hoped for that. It was getting boring.

  Han crouched beyond the sword wielder. His two daggers collided after slashing his target. The sword of his enemy was in the air. There was no need to kill them anymore. He didn't gain anything from them. At this rate he needed to kill over a hundred players — for half a level.

  Anyway, choosing rogue was the right decision. In his hands, the basic skill ?Intercepting Slash? — a traditional dash paired with a slash that could counterstrike an incoming attack. That was how his daggers forced the player's sword to fling back at him whilst Han slashed downwards, marking his chest with a bloody X. As the player's body finally caught up to dying, it fell backwards. Soon after, the red-tinted text notification appeared.

  [72 EXP GRANTED]

  His eyes glanced over the numbers. It had been the same for a while now. The meaning — the meaning was numb to him, whatever it was. Two names remained: Ferul and Rhapari. No other thoughts went through his head. There was no recent memory of him talking, or even thinking to himself.

  It became clear. It was time. He was as prudent as he could be. There truly was nothing to do. He had already overstayed his welcome in the crypt, since when, he couldn't remember. Furthermore, he was far too strong for this low-level crypt, yet still, something kept him here.

  I… need to leave.

  The shadow corner that had become his space, his home, his domicile. He left it. As he turned the corner, a skeleton group greeted him. They were somehow more lively than Han at this point, and he saw it. His fist clenched. His other hand, with instantaneous speed, threw one of the daggers. It whizzed through the air, effortlessly piercing its skull. And even then, the force he'd thrown it with made it not only pierce through each of the three skeleton skulls but also get stuck in the stone wall far behind them.

  [2 EXP GRANTED 3x]

  He swatted the notification away, passing by the stuck dagger. Until he paused. His eyes stared at the dagger. It was now rusty. The wrapped leather handle no longer existed. A blunt dagger would've been more effective at killing than whatever was in that wall. After unsheathing his other one, he dropped it.

  W-What the fuck is going on…

  His shaking hands came up to his face. The dagger that fell was brand new, identical to the one he looted, yet it began rusting over. The leather unraveled, and due to the puddle, it even began to mold. Without those, he was a simple zombie. His hands latched onto the cloak. It was the last thing that showed his intelligence. He had an epiphany.

  There went the uncomfortable topic. His actual body, a mana tick, needed someone to live or maybe simply prosper. Despite his knowledge about the game, it had nothing to do with this predicament. Before that, there was one more thing to try. Walking out.

  It didn't take much time to go back to the first floor. The mob spawns went back to regular, slow zombies. Han's steps, filled with anticipation, halted. The familiar stone walls' foliage, the vines and plants had gone dead and even charred. He was getting close

  The entrance was just up ahead. The walls stopped entirely. The surroundings turned into an actual cave. Despite the walls disappearing into the thick dirt held by black roots, there was a stone staircase ahead of him. He couldn't control his hands. They started shaking. If only his heart could beat, it would be pacing.

  When the moment came, he was somehow afraid. Han couldn't help but scoff at himself as it reminded him of his old life. A life of a shut-in. He glanced up at the top of the stairs.

  Since the entrance to the crypt was straight up, it clearly faced the sky. The sky he couldn't see from down at the base. The freedom was in twenty or so steps. Yet he, or rather Zom, couldn't. Han pushed Zom's foot up, attempting to take a single step. As he did, he looked down. Zom's feet weren't moving.

  There was nothing but the freedom ahead of him. One he couldn't get just yet. A strong feeling washed over him, he hadn't noticed that his brain tracker was alerting him. There were three people coming to the crypt.

  I hope… I hope they have an NPC.

  He hid by going deeper into the crypt. With his hopes up, he had to stay attentive. NPCs that went into crypts were rarely alone except for unique ones; those were accompanied by players. It didn't matter whether they were forced, bought, or asked to follow them in. No matter what life they had, he had to be selfish and steal its existence. It was the only way.

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  Sadly, there was no accurate way of testing who the NPC was or if there was one among them. The online menu features would've been a pleasure to have. The Friends menu, for example, he could hover over a person, and it would obstruct their name, showing they were a player. With NPCs, it didn't even let you do that. Anyhow, the only option left was to observe.

  ?

  “Pochirin… be safe, okay?” A young girl said. She stood and patted the dirt off her knees, her worn-out battle outfit nothing more than a cheap leather chestplate and pants. Her eyes locked onto a small black fur-ball that fearlessly went into the dark. A familiar.

  “How long will it take? A man's aggravated voice seemed numb — he didn't even bother to shout. He didn't even look at her; in fact, he hadn't glanced at her their whole trip. His armor was superior to the girl's in every way, to a point it wasn't even worth gassing it up more than it needed to. But to put an image on the man: he was a human with better-than-average looks and less than amount of empathy. That was all she really saw of him or cared for, for that matter.

  She shifted her focus to his friend, or that's what she thought they were at first. The longer she was forced to work with him as a scout, the more it cemented that he was no friend of his. The pseudo-friend in question had worse armor than her. Although he possessed a mass-produced, cheap sword, he was expected to be the second combatant among the three of them. Whilst she had a dagger stashed by her ankle.

  As Pochirin did his thing, the pseudo-friend was applying some kind of ointment to a pristine sword, presumably the posh one's. He had mentioned that it had a holy element; she assumed that made it extra strong against zombies. She couldn't understand this level of vanity even Pochirin could take care of a couple zombies in this crypt.

  “Ah, yes…” Was the least she could muster after a deafening pause. Her eyes quickly drifted to the stairs and back to the cave. Cat-like ears flopped around, catching any sound she could. She wasn't exactly human, but rather a demihuman, and her nose was nothing to scoff at. In the end, something wasn't right. The stench of the dead. Out of the dozen times she had been in this crypt, not once had a zombie ever carried this condensed a stench, and it had somehow managed to wander this close to the exit.

  All the hair on her body stood up. Cold needles pierced through her. It was as if death itself was coming towards them.

  Where’s Pochirin?! Her mind went to her familiar first, but the vague link between them was still there. No distress or alarms going off. But he would've warned her if a zombie had passed him.

  “Get ready! Something’s coming!” She shouted, and by circumstance, forced herself closer to the annoying adventurer, who remained undisturbed by her distress.

  “So what? Let the stupid deadling come. Ha-ha!” He laughed in the poshest, yet unrefined way. His hand grabbed the sword out of the other's lap, spilling the opaque gray ointment on his hands.

  “Better clean yourself up before I hand it back to you…” He added, swinging the bright, clean, and seemingly unused sword in the air, removing any leftover product that might have clumped up during the process.

  He stood between them and the only corridor to the crypt. He smiled as he had already thought of something cool to say. “Say cat-girl… after we’re done with this crypt. Might you be interested in becoming a permanent mem-“

  “W-Watch out!” She interrupted him. And before he could comment on it, his weary eyes darted to the figure that emerged from the depth of the crypt. A mere zombie.

  “What’s this? Are you really a scout?” He scoffed. His amateur battle stance faltered making light work of the zombie in front of him and instead began walking towards it.

  Kanade couldn't understand why her heart was still pounding so heavily. Her gut soon accompanied her heart, screaming living curses throughout her nervous system. The zombie attempted an attack, more of a grab, really, but it sloppily failed.

  But why did—

  —Thunk!

  “Ah… ahh…?! Eh!?!” Kanade fell to the ground. She had seen it. Her eyes could barely perceive that speed. As the adventurer had been lining up a single strike aimed right at the zombie's head, the zombie struck him first.

  The impact was so strong that the dust, the dirt, the leaves everything came up into the air. It was hard to breathe. She couldn't see. She followed her instinct and crawled into the corner like an injured cat, hoping the airborne dust would linger long enough for the zombie to leave.

  Pochirin had to be still wandering the crypt's entrance. She couldn't recall him, and now she couldn't leave. There was nothing to do but hope. However, that changed.

  Her heartbeat filled her head. She couldn't see or hear anything. Yet she was still alive. The debris in the air didn't even need to clear for her to make out the other person and it. It was still standing there, right where it had struck the adventurer. Speaking of which, right where he'd ended up, his whole body was stuck inside the thick dirt. The dense roots made it comparable to stone. There was no need for guesswork. He hadn't made it.

  I-If he leaves, I’ll take his armor!

  With that promise to herself, whilst still in a deadly situation, the unmoving and terrifying zombie was still there to foster doubt in that promise. Her steeled focus was broken

  What is he doing!?!

  “Aghhhh! run!!” The man, wearing nothing to protect himself from harm and armed with a cheap sword, rushed at it. He had something she didn't. Resolve. Even now, she couldn't do anything despite his suicidal run. She had to wait for Pochirin.

  The man swung. It hit. Since he also aimed at the biggest zombie weakness, their necks, the zombie blocked it with his arm. The puny sword couldn't slice through the bone and got stuck. She had already squinted, whether to avoid seeing this stupidly brave man die or simply to avoid getting dust in her eyes, she couldn't have known.

  She waited and waited. Nothing happened. Once she opened her eyes, the scene was one she couldn't imagine: the zombie, with the sword still stuck in its left forearm, was handing him the adventurer's sword. A vague feeling emerged rapidly. Pochirin was close. Before she could warn him, it bit into the zombie's right ankle.

  N-No!