MEANWHILE…
The tavern was loud, but not joyful.
Voices blended into a constant murmur—laughter too loud, fragmented conversations, heavy silences between gulps of lukewarm alcohol. The restless noise of survivors pretending to live.
A?cha hated this place for that exact reason.
She leaned against a dark wooden pillar, one foot braced against the wall, arms crossed. A black eyepatch covered her right eye, worn at the edges. Her other eye scanned the room, never settling for long.
Habit.
Necessity.
“We’re going to rot here,” she finally said.
Her voice didn’t seek attention. Still, several nearby conversations fell silent.
Mikhail, half-sitting on an overturned table, lifted his head. His gray gaze slid toward her, then across the tavern.
“It’s a neutral zone,” he replied.
“Exactly.”
A?cha spat the word like an insult.
Since their arrival in the city, everything had been too… calm. NPCs smiled. Merchants sold goods. The wounded were healed. The walls stood firm.
A false relief.
Fragile.
Almost insulting after the Tutorial.
A?cha didn’t believe it for a second.
She had learned one thing early in the Tower:
When nothing is trying to kill you, something is waiting.
She watched the scattered groups inside the tavern. Some talked about settling down. Others about building something. A few already dreamed of a future here—as if the city were a reward.
“They think it’s over,” she murmured.
“They want to believe that,” Mikhail answered.
He wasn’t contradicting her.
He wasn’t reassuring her either.
Just stating a fact.
Mikhail Volkov no longer looked like the soldier he had once been. His posture was loose, almost feral, but his reflexes remained sharp and precise.
He always watched the exits.
“Look at them,” A?cha continued.
“They’re waiting for clear rules. Orders.”
She straightened and walked toward the back of the tavern.
There, against a wall that had been blank only hours earlier, stood a large wooden board. Rough. Functional. Papers were nailed to it in haste.
Contracts.
Requests.
Promises of payment.
A?cha stopped in front of it.
The words were simple.
Subjugation requested.
Outside the city walls.
High risk.
Variable reward.
“There,” she said softly.
“The real face of this city.”
Mikhail stepped closer and read. His brow furrowed.
“No one is forced to go.”
“No one is forced to survive either.”
Around them, several survivors drifted closer, drawn by the board. Murmurs began immediately.
“You saw this one…”
“They’re talking about something outside…”
“A rabbit… but not normal…”
A?cha tilted her head slightly.
“Say that again.”
“A Demon Rabbit,” someone said behind them. “The ones who went out talked about it. Too fast. Too aggressive. Not prey.”
A brief, joyless smile curved A?cha’s lips.
“Of course.”
She turned to Mikhail.
“We’re not built to wait here.”
“You think it’s a trap,” he said.
“I think staying is one.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment. No speeches needed. Since the Tutorial, their dynamic was simple.
A?cha decided.
Mikhail made sure the decision held.
“I’m not saying we leave now,” she continued.
“But we’re not dying sitting at a table.”
Some people nearby looked away. Others stayed. A few listened.
A silent selection was taking place.
A?cha placed her hand against the wooden board.
“Those who want to stay ‘clean’ can stay.
Those who want to live… better get used to dirty hands.”
She turned without waiting for a reply.
Behind her, Mikhail drew a slow breath.
“I’ll inform the others.”
“No,” she answered.
“Let them come on their own.”
She walked to an empty table and finally sat.
Not to rest.
To observe.
A pack is never born from a call.
It forms when those who remain realize they have no other choice.
And beyond the walls, something was already waiting.
After the newly formed group prepared…
They crossed the gates at the rise of a false dawn.
The light was too even. Too soft to be honest. The walls behind them already seemed distant, as if the city were trying to swallow them again.
A?cha didn’t look back.
“We’re not going far,” she said.
They were nine.
Not a squad. Not yet.
Just those who hadn’t looked away from the board.
Improvised weapons. Ill-fitted protection. Eyes too alert.
The road thinned quickly beyond the city. Cobblestones gave way to gray, compact earth, marked with old tracks.
Not fresh.
But numerous.
A?cha raised her fist.
Everyone stopped.
She crouched and placed a hand on the ground.
Not to pray.
To listen.
“There,” she murmured.
“What?” someone asked.
She didn’t explain. She nudged a flat stone aside with her boot, revealing brittle soil underneath. Then she stepped back two paces.
“If it charges… it gives.”
No one argued.
They moved forward again.
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The Demon Rabbit appeared without sound.
It didn’t leap out.
It was already there.
Crouched atop a black rock too large to be natural, too still to be an ordinary beast. Its torn ears hung like strips of flesh. Its red eyes did not blink.
Someone swore under their breath.
“That’s… it?”
The Rabbit moved.
Not toward them.
Around them.
It vanished in a sharp blur, so fast the air seemed to fold behind it.
A second later—
A scream.
“RIGHT!”
Too late.
The creature struck without biting. A paw. A brutal impact. A man flew into a tree and collapsed, still breathing—but barely conscious.
“FALL BACK!” Mikhail shouted.
A?cha was already moving.
She hurled a piece of metal from the ground—not at the Rabbit, but behind it.
The projectile hit a dead trunk, triggering a fall of rotten branches.
The Rabbit turned.
Just a fraction of a second.
Enough.
A?cha took the opening.
She struck the ground with the flat edge of her dulled blade.
The soil gave way exactly where she had anticipated.
The Demon Rabbit sank to its legs, trapped in the collapsing earth.
“Now!”
They attacked.
Badly.
Too fast. Too hard.
The Rabbit screamed.
A high, warped sound that didn’t belong to anything truly alive.
And then—
They felt them.
Not seen.
Felt.
Pressure at the back of the neck. A vibration in the chest.
“We’re not alone…” Mikhail muttered.
Shapes moved between the trees.
Low.
Massive.
Silent.
A?cha understood immediately.
“Fall back. NOW.”
“But we almost have it!” someone shouted.
As if in answer, a deep growl rolled through the clearing.
A black muzzle emerged between the roots.
Then another.
Demonic Hunting Hounds.
They did not charge.
They circled.
A?cha stepped back slowly, striking the flat of her blade against a rock, cracking it. A sharp odor rose as the stone fractured, releasing a cloud of dust that blurred the silhouettes.
“This way!” Mikhail shouted.
They ran.
Not in formation.
Not as heroes.
They ran like prey that refused to die just yet.
A scream behind them.
A bite.
Blood.
But no full pursuit.
The hounds were watching.
Testing.
When they finally crossed back into sight of the city walls, no monster followed.
They collapsed behind a small embankment, gasping, wounded, covered in dust.
A heavy silence fell.
“…That wasn’t a simple quest,” someone said.
“No,” A?cha replied, wiping blood from her cheek.
She looked at each of them.
Some avoided her gaze.
Others still gripped their weapons too tightly.
“Anyone who wants to go back can,” she said calmly.
“No one will stop you.”
She stood.
“But understand one thing.
Out there—it’s not a hunt.
It’s a selection.”
Behind them, the city still looked welcoming.
But A?cha knew the truth now.
The first floor didn’t ask for courage.
It asked who would be willing to go back out.
And who would never do it again.
They returned to the city in silence.
The gates opened without resistance. The NPCs greeted them as if nothing had happened. As if no one had fallen a few hundred meters away.
“…It’s like they don’t know,” someone muttered.
“Or they don’t care,” Mikhail replied.
Inside the tavern, the looks changed.
No cheers. No applause.
Just the way people stared at wounds, chipped weapons, hardened faces.
A?cha felt something shift around them.
Not an enemy.
A silent collective decision.
They sat down.
Some ordered drinks. Others remained standing, too tense to sit.
“I’m not going back,” a voice said.
“Me neither.”
“That’s not what was written on the board.”
No one argued.
A?cha let a few seconds pass.
Then she placed her blade on the table.
“No one lied to you,” she said.
“You just believed ‘subjugation’ meant ‘safety.’”
She stood.
“If you want to stay here, stay.
But don’t come outside with me if you hesitate.”
Silence.
Two people left the table.
No words.
No anger.
Just… tired.
A?cha didn’t stop them.
Mikhail straightened.
“Those who stay—listen carefully.
The next outing won’t be improvised.
No more screaming. No more stupid charges.”
He pointed at the survivors around the table.
“From now on, we don’t go out as a team.
We go out as a pack.”
The word lingered.
Someone gave a nervous laugh.
“What’s the difference?”
A?cha answered for him.
“A team protects individuals.
A pack protects its cohesion.”
Her gaze swept the room.
“If you panic, you endanger everyone.
If you run without warning, you create a breach.
And if you want to be a hero…
You’ll die first.”
No one protested.
Because all of them had seen the Rabbit.
Because all of them had felt what was watching from behind.
Later, near the end of the day, they went out again.
Not far.
Just far enough to see.
The trees stood still.
Too still.
Then, between two roots, a shape appeared.
A Demonic Hunting Hound.
It did not charge.
It simply stared at them.
And this time, the System reacted.
An interface forced itself upon everyone present.
[Entity Detected]
Name: Demonic Hunting Hound
Rarity: ★★☆☆☆☆☆
Description:
Pack predator specialized in the pursuit and elimination of human targets.
Extremely territorial. Never hunts alone.
Known Abilities:
– Enhanced olfactory senses (can track a target for several kilometers)
– Pack coordination
– Piercing bite (causes rapid bleeding)
Warning:
?? Avoid isolated engagements
?? Evaluates target before attacking
The interface vanished.
The hound stepped back slowly.
Then disappeared into the undergrowth.
No one spoke for several seconds.
“…It’s sizing us up,” someone whispered.
“No,” A?cha replied.
“It’s learning.”
She turned toward the group.
“Do you understand now?
This world doesn’t reward courage.
It rewards structures that hold.”
She sheathed her blade.
“Those who stay…
you may never be heroes.
But you’ll have a chance to survive.”
The pack had just been born.
No banner.
No title.
No promise.
Just necessity.
“Formation,” Mikhail breathed.
They moved almost instinctively.
And that was when A?cha’s skill truly revealed itself.
[Passive Skill Activated — A?cha Ben Khaled]
Name: Pack Instinct
Type: Passive / Combat / Leadership
A?cha didn’t need to read further to understand.
Effect:
The more A?cha fights surrounded by people she consciously recognizes as part of her pack, the more her physical and mental abilities increase.
Each action seemed ordinary.
But together, they formed a chain of consequences.
The hounds slowed.
“Now!” Mikhail shouted.
Behind her, Mikhail felt his own body shift.
His muscles responded faster.
His perception synchronized with A?cha’s.
[Passive Skill Active — Mikhail Volkov]
Name: Silent Command
Effect:
When Mikhail acts in direct support of a person he recognizes as his commander,
he gains 50% of that person’s stat bonuses.
He becomes an extension of their will.
He received no order.
He didn’t need one.
As long as A?cha advanced,
he became her extension.
He moved forward.
Not to strike.
To enforce repetition.
The movement one hound had used to charge seconds earlier
replayed before him like an imperfect projection.
The monster hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Long enough to be pierced by an improvised spear.
First hound down.
Blood sprayed.
And that was when it slipped.
“It’s now…” someone whispered behind them.
A?cha felt the shift.
One member of the pack—too calm, too precise—
waited until the second hound staggered under accumulated damage.
He lunged.
Ignored orders.
Ignored formation.
And drove his weapon straight into the creature’s throat.
Silence.
The hound collapsed.
No one shouted in triumph.
Because something was waiting.
The traitor stepped back, panting, eyes fixed on his interface.
“That… that should work, right…?”
Nothing happened.
No teleportation.
No message.
Just the fight continuing.
“Formation!” Mikhail roared.
The last two hounds attacked with disorganized fury.
A?cha absorbed a blow, felt teeth tear into her flesh—
and turned her own fall into a trap, dragging the beast into weakened ground.
The final hound died with a dull crack.
Silence.
The traitor trembled.
“Why… why didn’t—”
Then the System spoke.
[Individual Exploit Detected]
Condition: First Demonic Hunting Hound Eliminated
Validation in progress…
A light enveloped him.
Not instantly.
Just long enough for him to understand.
He vanished.
No one watched him go.
Because at that same moment, something appeared beside the last hound’s corpse.
A dark, pulsing mass.
The System hesitated.
Then displayed:
[Essence Detected — Demonic Hunting Hound]
Stability: Medium
Potential Effects:
– Reflex increase (+20%)
– Pack Affinity (Passive) (+20% strength when fighting in a group)
All eyes turned to A?cha.
She asked for nothing.
She stepped forward.
And absorbed the essence.
The pain was brief.
But the sensation…
Deep.
As if something had finally recognized where it belonged.
The System remained silent for several seconds.
Then, almost reluctantly:
[Title Granted]
Queen of Mercenaries
(A collective exploit is in progress…)
Mikhail understood.
A?cha understood.
The pack had survived.
